A Haiku Sequence for New Year’s Morning 2014
pine decorations—
tearing off the final
calendar pages . . .
New Year’s morning—
drinking tomato juice
from a tall glass
first sunrise
over Estrella mountains
Year of the Horse
at breakfast
scrambled eggs and black beans—
cinnamon roll scents
up in smoke—
New Year’s decorations
transformed
John Daleiden is retired from 43 years of teaching Language Arts in Iowa Public Schools. He now lives in Phoenix, Arizona. He currently serves on the Editorial Board and Submissions Manager of Four Chambers: The Heart of Literature in Phoenix, Arizona (www.fourchamberspress.com) From 2006-2012, he was an editor and webmaster of Sketchbook: A Journal for Eastern and Western Short Forms (http://poetrywriting.org)
Friday, December 27, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Tanka--By Patricia Nolan--United States
gunmetal sky
surrounds a silver orb
partly cloudy
two below zero
partly sunny
Patricia Nolan is a member of Poetry West in Colorado Springs and the Haiku Society of America. She paints sumi-e (Japanese ink painting), also works in oil, pastel, and acrylic and writes poems in several Asian forms, as well as other poetry, essays, and outdoor articles. Western rivers, mountains, and trails provide most of her inspiration.
surrounds a silver orb
partly cloudy
two below zero
partly sunny
Patricia Nolan is a member of Poetry West in Colorado Springs and the Haiku Society of America. She paints sumi-e (Japanese ink painting), also works in oil, pastel, and acrylic and writes poems in several Asian forms, as well as other poetry, essays, and outdoor articles. Western rivers, mountains, and trails provide most of her inspiration.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Whispers Reaches 30,000 Views!!!
Dear Whispers' Friends,
It is hard to believe we would be at this point when the Whispers' journey began in January 2013. I decided to post this, because in addition to the talented contributors that have made this online journal possible, there are many readers out there that I do not know. Each and everyone of you are a blessing.
Currently, we have contributors from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. It would be wonderful to add to this list in the year ahead.
This journal is for new and experienced writers to come together to share the gift of words. For anyone just beginning to write poetry, I am willing to help with the editing process. For those experienced in the art, you are helping those new to the process.
May you all find joy in sharing your talent. Wishing everyone the best in 2014!
Blessings,
Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor
It is hard to believe we would be at this point when the Whispers' journey began in January 2013. I decided to post this, because in addition to the talented contributors that have made this online journal possible, there are many readers out there that I do not know. Each and everyone of you are a blessing.
Currently, we have contributors from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. It would be wonderful to add to this list in the year ahead.
This journal is for new and experienced writers to come together to share the gift of words. For anyone just beginning to write poetry, I am willing to help with the editing process. For those experienced in the art, you are helping those new to the process.
May you all find joy in sharing your talent. Wishing everyone the best in 2014!
Blessings,
Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Until--By Erich J. Goller--United States
Until
Until there is a brighter tomorrow
Let love and joy shine from your heart
There might be a time of pain and sorrow
If you have kept faith it shall be a new start,
When asking some questions, state your case
And with unfolding daily possibilities
The door is always wide open to that place
Showing some of the wondering mysteries.
With heavenly peace and His embrace
When the world is fair and cares are few
He rewards everyone with loving grace
His blessings are always bountiful and new.
To do the many things in life one has planned
Even when feeling confident and secure
At times everyone could use a helping hand
It shall give you the extra strength to endure.
No one has to take that lonely stand
Kindness and compassion give life a lift
When you reach out and take His Hand
It is a very blessed and wonderful gift.
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor, in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
Until there is a brighter tomorrow
Let love and joy shine from your heart
There might be a time of pain and sorrow
If you have kept faith it shall be a new start,
When asking some questions, state your case
And with unfolding daily possibilities
The door is always wide open to that place
Showing some of the wondering mysteries.
With heavenly peace and His embrace
When the world is fair and cares are few
He rewards everyone with loving grace
His blessings are always bountiful and new.
To do the many things in life one has planned
Even when feeling confident and secure
At times everyone could use a helping hand
It shall give you the extra strength to endure.
No one has to take that lonely stand
Kindness and compassion give life a lift
When you reach out and take His Hand
It is a very blessed and wonderful gift.
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor, in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
Winter Writes--By Maralee Gerke--United States
Winter Writes
I rise in the darkness of a winter day,
drink a cup of peppermint tea,
and breathe in pungent steam,
as the sun pokes its delicate corona
above the hoary fields.
I am the flannel goddess of dawn
the polyester priestess of birdseed.
I open bins of sunflower and millet
and measure out the right mix
for the finches, sparrows, jays, and doves,
inviting them to a ceremony of food.
Inside, I take off vest, gloves, hat,
and blow on my icy fingers.
I sit at my computer and begin to type.
My fingers move to the rhythms of take offs and landings,
the whirr of wings providing accompaniment
to the melody of my winter writes.
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems, "Refuge", was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
I rise in the darkness of a winter day,
drink a cup of peppermint tea,
and breathe in pungent steam,
as the sun pokes its delicate corona
above the hoary fields.
I am the flannel goddess of dawn
the polyester priestess of birdseed.
I open bins of sunflower and millet
and measure out the right mix
for the finches, sparrows, jays, and doves,
inviting them to a ceremony of food.
Inside, I take off vest, gloves, hat,
and blow on my icy fingers.
I sit at my computer and begin to type.
My fingers move to the rhythms of take offs and landings,
the whirr of wings providing accompaniment
to the melody of my winter writes.
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems, "Refuge", was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Inspiration-By Connie Marcum Wong--United States
Inspiration
I never knew I’d be in heaven
In the autumn of my years;
Or that I’d be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.
I never thought I’d meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet’s surrendering grace.
I just know that I’m contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
I never knew I’d be in heaven
In the autumn of my years;
Or that I’d be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.
I never thought I’d meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet’s surrendering grace.
I just know that I’m contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
Sonnet to Winter’s Glory--By Jan Henson--Turkey
Sonnet to Winter’s Glory
Cloaks of snow bedeck the woodland and hills,
Thrown from clouds in a leaden, windswept sky.
Falling so thickly, the valley, it fills
Closing out the view as blizzards blow by.
Lace at the windows etched by old Jack Frost,
Prettier than that made by human hand.
Swirls and fronds daintily, in ice, embossed,
Weak winter sun they’re too delicate to stand.
Strong winds howl around the roof’s smoky stacks,
Blowing sooty breaths in the icy room.
Candles guttering, spilling their hot wax,
As the wind softens, day turns to gloom.
Hark! The elements give you their story
Extolling this winter’s frozen glory.
Jan Henson has written poetry for a few years. She finds it an enjoyable experience. When she attended school in England (in the ‘50’s) poetry seemed such a dry medium and she wasn’t all that impressed. After school, she became a hairdresser and continued the profession after her marriage and birth of her four children. When her youngest was three, she started working nights at a nursing home. She realized her passion for the profession and became a nurse. She worked in the healthcare industry for 20 years. After her children were grown, she retired to Turkey where she currently lives.
Cloaks of snow bedeck the woodland and hills,
Thrown from clouds in a leaden, windswept sky.
Falling so thickly, the valley, it fills
Closing out the view as blizzards blow by.
Lace at the windows etched by old Jack Frost,
Prettier than that made by human hand.
Swirls and fronds daintily, in ice, embossed,
Weak winter sun they’re too delicate to stand.
Strong winds howl around the roof’s smoky stacks,
Blowing sooty breaths in the icy room.
Candles guttering, spilling their hot wax,
As the wind softens, day turns to gloom.
Hark! The elements give you their story
Extolling this winter’s frozen glory.
Jan Henson has written poetry for a few years. She finds it an enjoyable experience. When she attended school in England (in the ‘50’s) poetry seemed such a dry medium and she wasn’t all that impressed. After school, she became a hairdresser and continued the profession after her marriage and birth of her four children. When her youngest was three, she started working nights at a nursing home. She realized her passion for the profession and became a nurse. She worked in the healthcare industry for 20 years. After her children were grown, she retired to Turkey where she currently lives.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Christmas Greeting--By Karen O'Leary--United States
Christmas Greeting
The sun woke on Christmas;
David tumbled from his bed.
He scrambled down the stairs
and ran past the sparkling tree.
He did not stop to check
out the presents piled high.
David knelt before the stable
his grandpa carved years before
And spread his favorite blanket
out on the wooden floor.
He gently lifted the baby
with his little toddler hands.
He swaddled the small figure
in the flannel at his knees.
He hugged the Christ-like image
in his short, chubby arms.
“Happy Birthday Jesus!”
then sang the birthday song.
Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND. Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues. She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher. Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012. Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.
The sun woke on Christmas;
David tumbled from his bed.
He scrambled down the stairs
and ran past the sparkling tree.
He did not stop to check
out the presents piled high.
David knelt before the stable
his grandpa carved years before
And spread his favorite blanket
out on the wooden floor.
He gently lifted the baby
with his little toddler hands.
He swaddled the small figure
in the flannel at his knees.
He hugged the Christ-like image
in his short, chubby arms.
“Happy Birthday Jesus!”
then sang the birthday song.
Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND. Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues. She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher. Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012. Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Hey there, Mr. Santy Klaws--By Jane Richer--Canada
Hey there, Mr. Santy Klaws
My Mommy said remember all the needee children on Cristmas day,
they do not even have cloths, toys or food or even a place to stay.
So I thout I mite send you a very specal list on Daddys pcee,
I hope it gets thru the air waves to your home in the northern city.
Mommy says that you live at the north pole far away with raindeer,
elfs, toys and stuff to share and a sled to carry all that gear.
Well Santy there is this boy name Tony and he needs a new kidnee,
Daddy says that he is on a long list and he lives in Sidnee.
Daddys a doctor and he speclizs in help’n peple that don't have parts,
like kidnees, livers, broken bones and even some busted hearts.
Santy, Mommy says there are peple blind with missing legs and hands,
so can you regrow them so they can see when they walk and stand.
My church is needee to, ask God to help you if you find this too much,
he has angels and creechers to help and fly to kids needee and such.
So go talk to paster and he will tell who is there in need,
bring some turkees and stufing for those that want a cristmas feed.
Hey Santy if you need my help even tho I am only 6 and small,
I betcha Mommy and Daddy wood not say no if you made a fone call.
Thanks, Santy Klaws for all the toys and stuff you put under the tree,
unless another kid need it more then alrite - your friend Timmy Lee.
Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.
My Mommy said remember all the needee children on Cristmas day,
they do not even have cloths, toys or food or even a place to stay.
So I thout I mite send you a very specal list on Daddys pcee,
I hope it gets thru the air waves to your home in the northern city.
Mommy says that you live at the north pole far away with raindeer,
elfs, toys and stuff to share and a sled to carry all that gear.
Well Santy there is this boy name Tony and he needs a new kidnee,
Daddy says that he is on a long list and he lives in Sidnee.
Daddys a doctor and he speclizs in help’n peple that don't have parts,
like kidnees, livers, broken bones and even some busted hearts.
Santy, Mommy says there are peple blind with missing legs and hands,
so can you regrow them so they can see when they walk and stand.
My church is needee to, ask God to help you if you find this too much,
he has angels and creechers to help and fly to kids needee and such.
So go talk to paster and he will tell who is there in need,
bring some turkees and stufing for those that want a cristmas feed.
Hey Santy if you need my help even tho I am only 6 and small,
I betcha Mommy and Daddy wood not say no if you made a fone call.
Thanks, Santy Klaws for all the toys and stuff you put under the tree,
unless another kid need it more then alrite - your friend Timmy Lee.
Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.
Hope Has Arrived--By Pam Murray--Canada
Hope Has Arrived
As Autumn fades beyond a closing door
And winter pushes forth demanding more
A stillness cloaked in white begins to spread
As holly berries turn a vibrant red.
With morning, children playing in the street;
A snowball fight, no winners, no defeat,
As laughter fills the cold expectant air
And dreams of Christmas rise up everywhere
I find a joy once missing from my heart.
Old dreams from childhood suddenly impart
A sense of peace, a sense that life goes on
Just as footsteps march across my lawn.
Throughout the day, the memories come and go,
A tapestry that life has helped me sew
And dye with dreams all coloured innocence.
Hope has arrived and hope is so immense.
Born in Calgary, Alberta, Pam Murray has been writing poetry since the mid-1960’s. She was married for over 41 years and has two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandson. Pam has been published in a variety of venues. Her proudest writing accomplishment was a poem she wrote for a United Way fundraiser, which was later framed with a French translation and hung on the wall of the legislature in Ottawa, Canada. To her, poetry is a transposition of a vision she sees in her mind. Writing and crocheting are her passions.
As Autumn fades beyond a closing door
And winter pushes forth demanding more
A stillness cloaked in white begins to spread
As holly berries turn a vibrant red.
With morning, children playing in the street;
A snowball fight, no winners, no defeat,
As laughter fills the cold expectant air
And dreams of Christmas rise up everywhere
I find a joy once missing from my heart.
Old dreams from childhood suddenly impart
A sense of peace, a sense that life goes on
Just as footsteps march across my lawn.
Throughout the day, the memories come and go,
A tapestry that life has helped me sew
And dye with dreams all coloured innocence.
Hope has arrived and hope is so immense.
Born in Calgary, Alberta, Pam Murray has been writing poetry since the mid-1960’s. She was married for over 41 years and has two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandson. Pam has been published in a variety of venues. Her proudest writing accomplishment was a poem she wrote for a United Way fundraiser, which was later framed with a French translation and hung on the wall of the legislature in Ottawa, Canada. To her, poetry is a transposition of a vision she sees in her mind. Writing and crocheting are her passions.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Gift for the Christ Child--By A. Michele Leslie--United States
Gift for the Christ Child
"They then spoke to the angel of Yahweh standing among the myrtles; they said, 'We have been patrolling the world, and see, the whole world is at peace and rest."
I have lit that star.
I have strewn mint
on the ground,
that the scent
of that sacred place
be sweet; I have
prepared the stable
perfectly, except
the blossoms of the myrtle tree
you love
will not be plucked.
Oh do not ask that I
give nothing more
than tamar, myrrh,
and dawn.
A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Minneapolis with her husband, David, and two cats.
"They then spoke to the angel of Yahweh standing among the myrtles; they said, 'We have been patrolling the world, and see, the whole world is at peace and rest."
I have lit that star.
I have strewn mint
on the ground,
that the scent
of that sacred place
be sweet; I have
prepared the stable
perfectly, except
the blossoms of the myrtle tree
you love
will not be plucked.
Oh do not ask that I
give nothing more
than tamar, myrrh,
and dawn.
A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Minneapolis with her husband, David, and two cats.
Christmas Night--By George L. Ellison--England
Christmas Night
Carols sung by Cathedral choirs
About the Christ child in Bethlehem
On Christmas Eve night
Rejoicing in birth of our Lord Jesus Christ
From Nazareth to Bethlehem Mary and Joseph came
No rooms at the inn did they find for a home
So the story goes and of the same mind
Mary and Joseph the stable did find
Resigned were they to this fate so decreed?
The stable was offered to fulfill their needs
A babe was born to mother Mary, mother mild
Of the one and only Holy Spirit above
Destined to be Jesus the Christ child
Born into the world to take away our sins
Visited by the shepherds and three kings
All bearing their gifts
Of gold of frankincense and of myrrh
Glory be to God this night
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
Carols sung by Cathedral choirs
About the Christ child in Bethlehem
On Christmas Eve night
Rejoicing in birth of our Lord Jesus Christ
From Nazareth to Bethlehem Mary and Joseph came
No rooms at the inn did they find for a home
So the story goes and of the same mind
Mary and Joseph the stable did find
Resigned were they to this fate so decreed?
The stable was offered to fulfill their needs
A babe was born to mother Mary, mother mild
Of the one and only Holy Spirit above
Destined to be Jesus the Christ child
Born into the world to take away our sins
Visited by the shepherds and three kings
All bearing their gifts
Of gold of frankincense and of myrrh
Glory be to God this night
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
The Parting--By Yvonne Sparkes--England
The Parting
Think of me by starlight, think of me by day.
Think of me a little, somewhere along the way
Think of me with kindness, always with a smile,
Let your thoughts bend to me, stay with me for awhile.
Give me room to dwell, with your fonder feelings there,
Remember how I looked to you, the colour of my hair.
Always in those moments of your peace and solitude
No angry thoughts should enter, so regrets cannot intrude.
If parting brings us sorrow, let nothing cause regrets,
Or love can turn to bitterness and all that it begets.
Just keep me in the birdsong, the flowers of your spring,
Remember how I made you laugh, and caused your heart to sing.
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
Think of me by starlight, think of me by day.
Think of me a little, somewhere along the way
Think of me with kindness, always with a smile,
Let your thoughts bend to me, stay with me for awhile.
Give me room to dwell, with your fonder feelings there,
Remember how I looked to you, the colour of my hair.
Always in those moments of your peace and solitude
No angry thoughts should enter, so regrets cannot intrude.
If parting brings us sorrow, let nothing cause regrets,
Or love can turn to bitterness and all that it begets.
Just keep me in the birdsong, the flowers of your spring,
Remember how I made you laugh, and caused your heart to sing.
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
haiku--By Ron Moss--Australia
between breaths
the gentle shades
of stillness
_______________
moon viewing
reflections carved
with light
_______________
raindrops
all the tears
of this world
_______________
fine webs
catch the sunlight
in a golden shimmer
_______________
storm clouds
all the colors
in a raven’s call
Published on Daily Haiga, October/November 2012
_______________
These haiku with photography….click on image to see it larger
http://www.dailyhaiga.org/haiga-archives/?c=moss-ron-c
and
http://www.dailyhaiga.org/haiga-archives/?pg=2&c=moss-ron-c
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
the gentle shades
of stillness
_______________
moon viewing
reflections carved
with light
_______________
raindrops
all the tears
of this world
_______________
fine webs
catch the sunlight
in a golden shimmer
_______________
storm clouds
all the colors
in a raven’s call
Published on Daily Haiga, October/November 2012
_______________
These haiku with photography….click on image to see it larger
http://www.dailyhaiga.org/haiga-archives/?c=moss-ron-c
and
http://www.dailyhaiga.org/haiga-archives/?pg=2&c=moss-ron-c
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
Rachel’s Tears--By Elizabeth Wesley--Canada
Rachel’s Tears
***
Close now the starry curtains of the night
As the dream fades for a child who could not stay;
Death’s wings stretch out to embrace the night
And take her where night meets day.
***
The silence from former broken years
Torn by a sob and whispered prayer
Is filled with anguish that won't console fears
In days to come where no comfort lingers there.
***
There comes a voice from echoes of the past,
A sigh from Rama weeping her sad lot;
Lamentation for a woman's cry is cast
As Rachel grieves her babes that were not.
***
There's no comfort in a cold grey tomb
Where time has released its relentless grasp;
A child so early from the womb
Finds comfort in death's tender clasp.
***
Matthew 2:18
Elizabeth went through a period of darkness from memory loss after retiring. It finally ended and living was possible again. Finding poetry of the masters enticed her to write and she feels this was part of her healing process.
***
Close now the starry curtains of the night
As the dream fades for a child who could not stay;
Death’s wings stretch out to embrace the night
And take her where night meets day.
***
The silence from former broken years
Torn by a sob and whispered prayer
Is filled with anguish that won't console fears
In days to come where no comfort lingers there.
***
There comes a voice from echoes of the past,
A sigh from Rama weeping her sad lot;
Lamentation for a woman's cry is cast
As Rachel grieves her babes that were not.
***
There's no comfort in a cold grey tomb
Where time has released its relentless grasp;
A child so early from the womb
Finds comfort in death's tender clasp.
***
Matthew 2:18
Elizabeth went through a period of darkness from memory loss after retiring. It finally ended and living was possible again. Finding poetry of the masters enticed her to write and she feels this was part of her healing process.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
scraps--By jani johe webster--(In Memory-May 2013)--United States
jani johe shared her unique style and insight which still leaves readers in awe. But more importantly, she was a bright light in the writing community, always ready to support others in their journeys. I am glad to have been able to call her my friend. She is missed by many. Sincerely, Karen O’Leary--Editor
scraps
scribbling words
wherever i go
on tiny scraps
of ragged paper
stuttering thoughts
crying out dreams
hoping not to leave
this earth
regretting
This poem, written by my beloved mother jani johe webster, conveys a deep sense of longing and a fear of regret that, as she would be the first to admit, can haunt us in late hours. I wish she were still alive, so I could hug her and tell her, your life continues to be a fountain of positive energy and creative inspiration. I am comforted to know that now she has peace, and that by the grace of the Divine Love that permeates our lives, and by the grace of the Muse, she feels my embrace and gratitude. ---Nila Webster
scraps
scribbling words
wherever i go
on tiny scraps
of ragged paper
stuttering thoughts
crying out dreams
hoping not to leave
this earth
regretting
This poem, written by my beloved mother jani johe webster, conveys a deep sense of longing and a fear of regret that, as she would be the first to admit, can haunt us in late hours. I wish she were still alive, so I could hug her and tell her, your life continues to be a fountain of positive energy and creative inspiration. I am comforted to know that now she has peace, and that by the grace of the Divine Love that permeates our lives, and by the grace of the Muse, she feels my embrace and gratitude. ---Nila Webster
Jeremiah!--By Linda Hurdwell--England
Jeremiah!
Jeremiah stuttered and would rarely talk
His legs so crippled he could barely walk
Yet his eager smile was full of cheer
Not portraying one selfish tear.
Jeremiah loved fresh air on his face
And would hold out bony arms to embrace
“I I I am so h h a happy,”
His words stammered out with glee.
For each Thursday night in the school hall
While the other lads played football,
Jeremiah would sing with a clear pure voice
Leaving his teacher with little choice
But to clasp her hands with such joy
As she listened to this little boy
“Oh Jeremiah,” she cried, “You’re doing well.”
And as he sang his heart would swell.
It seemed this boy found it hard to talk
And no, he never learned to walk.
It seemed at first he could do not a thing.
But then he sang. – And oh how he could sing!
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
Jeremiah stuttered and would rarely talk
His legs so crippled he could barely walk
Yet his eager smile was full of cheer
Not portraying one selfish tear.
Jeremiah loved fresh air on his face
And would hold out bony arms to embrace
“I I I am so h h a happy,”
His words stammered out with glee.
For each Thursday night in the school hall
While the other lads played football,
Jeremiah would sing with a clear pure voice
Leaving his teacher with little choice
But to clasp her hands with such joy
As she listened to this little boy
“Oh Jeremiah,” she cried, “You’re doing well.”
And as he sang his heart would swell.
It seemed this boy found it hard to talk
And no, he never learned to walk.
It seemed at first he could do not a thing.
But then he sang. – And oh how he could sing!
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne--England
Janus
To say I've no regrets would be a lie.
The pace of life is too fast for me
in the 21st century.
With age comes wisdom:
I'm now called the Wise Owl.
That mirror in the bathroom tells no lies;
however, it can surprise.
When did my blonde locks turn to grey?
Past memories are vibrant;
yet last week's have faded.
I've more memories to look back on
than events to look forward to.
My mind is energetic;
my body refuses to cooperate.
The voice doesn't age like the body.
Friendship becomes more valuable than possessions.
I live and breathe with caution.
My sensitivity causes hurt feelings.
I'm fragile, afraid of falling.
I look forward to future happiness,
hoping to fulfill ambitions and dreams.
Thankful for family and friends,
and rejoicing in my life's little triumphs,
I rise to meet fresh challenges.
Shutting out the sadness of the past,
I give closure to love that is gone.
Brutal blows, as well as happy nostalgia,
shaped the person I am:
have made me...
...me.
Just like Janus,
we all stand at a point between past and future
and while looking back and looking forward,
maybe we should live for today.
To say I've no regrets would be a lie.
The pace of life is too fast for me
in the 21st century.
With age comes wisdom:
I'm now called the Wise Owl.
That mirror in the bathroom tells no lies;
however, it can surprise.
When did my blonde locks turn to grey?
Past memories are vibrant;
yet last week's have faded.
I've more memories to look back on
than events to look forward to.
My mind is energetic;
my body refuses to cooperate.
The voice doesn't age like the body.
Friendship becomes more valuable than possessions.
I live and breathe with caution.
My sensitivity causes hurt feelings.
I'm fragile, afraid of falling.
I look forward to future happiness,
hoping to fulfill ambitions and dreams.
Thankful for family and friends,
and rejoicing in my life's little triumphs,
I rise to meet fresh challenges.
Shutting out the sadness of the past,
I give closure to love that is gone.
Brutal blows, as well as happy nostalgia,
shaped the person I am:
have made me...
...me.
Just like Janus,
we all stand at a point between past and future
and while looking back and looking forward,
maybe we should live for today.
Twenty Lines--By Gerald Heyder--United States
Twenty Lines
Much can be said within twenty lines
from philosophy to nursery rhymes.
Nature’s beauty by us when sought
can be painted through verse so wrought.
Love and passion are powerful chains
when linked to paper via ink stains
and broken hearts and fretful fears
splash on parchment through museful tears.
Limericks remove grit from our pail
when laughter is needed hearty and hail.
The provocative sonnets with lines we read
give much wisdom through implanted seeds.
Many letters penned in haste
contain true lines honestly chaste
and a soulful ballad with melody sweet
embellishes lyrics the heart seeks.
Children’s tales most potently told
are lines akin to nuggets of gold.
Yes, I’ve said what I wanted to say
through twenty lines and now good day!
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Much can be said within twenty lines
from philosophy to nursery rhymes.
Nature’s beauty by us when sought
can be painted through verse so wrought.
Love and passion are powerful chains
when linked to paper via ink stains
and broken hearts and fretful fears
splash on parchment through museful tears.
Limericks remove grit from our pail
when laughter is needed hearty and hail.
The provocative sonnets with lines we read
give much wisdom through implanted seeds.
Many letters penned in haste
contain true lines honestly chaste
and a soulful ballad with melody sweet
embellishes lyrics the heart seeks.
Children’s tales most potently told
are lines akin to nuggets of gold.
Yes, I’ve said what I wanted to say
through twenty lines and now good day!
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
The Acrobat--By Terry O’Leary--France
The Acrobat
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pit-a-pat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pit-a-pat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Daddy--By Shirley Smothers--United States
Daddy
My Brother
called you back
from the edge
of death.
But you were
in so much
pain, and you
had suffered enough.
We said good bye,
My Mother, My Sister,
My Brother and I.
We held each
other and we
did cry.
The day that
you left us.
The day
that you died.
Clovis W. Henderson
Dec 27, 1931--Dec. 9 2009
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
My Brother
called you back
from the edge
of death.
But you were
in so much
pain, and you
had suffered enough.
We said good bye,
My Mother, My Sister,
My Brother and I.
We held each
other and we
did cry.
The day that
you left us.
The day
that you died.
Clovis W. Henderson
Dec 27, 1931--Dec. 9 2009
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
His Birthday--By Joyce Johnson--United States
His Birthday
Do you have that Christmas feeling?
Can you smell it in the air?
All the folks you meet are smiling,
Happiness is every where.
We are all hiding presents
That our loved ones must not see,
And no matter where we go
There is a shining Christmas tree.
It is the birthday party for
A Child of long ago.
Baby Jesus is the reason
That so many candles glow.
He came to bring us peace and joy
And goodwill every where.
In December we remember and
For a little while we care.
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce will celebrate her 95th birthday in July of 2013.
Do you have that Christmas feeling?
Can you smell it in the air?
All the folks you meet are smiling,
Happiness is every where.
We are all hiding presents
That our loved ones must not see,
And no matter where we go
There is a shining Christmas tree.
It is the birthday party for
A Child of long ago.
Baby Jesus is the reason
That so many candles glow.
He came to bring us peace and joy
And goodwill every where.
In December we remember and
For a little while we care.
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce will celebrate her 95th birthday in July of 2013.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Time Travel--By Brian Whatcott--United States
Time Travel
looking at the camera, smiling,
two kids, it was the strangest thing,
I caught a glimpse of one, the smallest clone
now fifty, looking back on the whole wing-ding...
Mommy gone, Daddy gone, there for a moment, alone
while she somehow gazed back upon the snowy scene
I saw and thought of how it might have been.
Brian Whatcott is a writer from Oklahoma. He and his wife, Norma, have three children. He enjoys flying, sailing and water-skiing.
looking at the camera, smiling,
two kids, it was the strangest thing,
I caught a glimpse of one, the smallest clone
now fifty, looking back on the whole wing-ding...
Mommy gone, Daddy gone, there for a moment, alone
while she somehow gazed back upon the snowy scene
I saw and thought of how it might have been.
Brian Whatcott is a writer from Oklahoma. He and his wife, Norma, have three children. He enjoys flying, sailing and water-skiing.
sad--By James Rasmusson--United States
sad (double tetractys)
i
always
know you’re sad
when you answer
me in a nearly inaudible drone
the eardrum of my heart nearly bursting
from the thunder
clap of tears
falling
down
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
i
always
know you’re sad
when you answer
me in a nearly inaudible drone
the eardrum of my heart nearly bursting
from the thunder
clap of tears
falling
down
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
Undressing Autumn--By Phyllis Babcock--Canada
Undressing Autumn
The wind gently touched the colored leaves
Shaking them ever so gently and watched
As they glided gently downward to the ground
Soft and colorful not yet crisp from the
ever changing season's cold
Soon the trees will be barren
The green dress of summer changed
to autumn's splendid colorful suit
The wind smiled for it will have fun
undressing and blowing autumn's leaves.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
The wind gently touched the colored leaves
Shaking them ever so gently and watched
As they glided gently downward to the ground
Soft and colorful not yet crisp from the
ever changing season's cold
Soon the trees will be barren
The green dress of summer changed
to autumn's splendid colorful suit
The wind smiled for it will have fun
undressing and blowing autumn's leaves.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
Friday, December 6, 2013
A Thought--By Eleanor Michael--United States
A Thought
Not meant for man:
The pipes of Pan,
The pool of Narcissus,
The home of the tree sprite,
The dark of the moonless night,
The mountains of the moon.
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
Not meant for man:
The pipes of Pan,
The pool of Narcissus,
The home of the tree sprite,
The dark of the moonless night,
The mountains of the moon.
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
Frankie’s Christmas Tree--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States
Frankie’s Christmas Tree
Fred Blackman and Little Frankie sat by the fire at home.
Frankie, deformed since birth, bent, he could barely walk alone.
Frankie’s mother died that year, they were broke and very sad.
Frankie hoped to dress up a tree like he and his Mom had.
“Frankie, I don’t have money for any tree, live or dead.”
“I know dad, could we just go look before I go to bed.”
“Okay, Frankie, we will go to the tree lot and just look.”
Light snow and brisk wind made it seem like a scene in a book.
“We can’t afford to buy a tree; my son just wants to look.”
The owner stared at the bent body, his heart on a hook.
This boy should not go home without a real tree for free.
The owner smiled and said “I have a tree that I want you to see.”
Frankie looked at the frail little tree, the same height as he.
He smiled, “It’s perfect I can trim this tree; it’s just like me.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Frankie picked up the tree, smiled, happy and free.
Frankie thought, “Mom, look down, you will be proud of me and this tree.”
**********************
Author’s footnote: It takes so little to make Christmas Great.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
Fred Blackman and Little Frankie sat by the fire at home.
Frankie, deformed since birth, bent, he could barely walk alone.
Frankie’s mother died that year, they were broke and very sad.
Frankie hoped to dress up a tree like he and his Mom had.
“Frankie, I don’t have money for any tree, live or dead.”
“I know dad, could we just go look before I go to bed.”
“Okay, Frankie, we will go to the tree lot and just look.”
Light snow and brisk wind made it seem like a scene in a book.
“We can’t afford to buy a tree; my son just wants to look.”
The owner stared at the bent body, his heart on a hook.
This boy should not go home without a real tree for free.
The owner smiled and said “I have a tree that I want you to see.”
Frankie looked at the frail little tree, the same height as he.
He smiled, “It’s perfect I can trim this tree; it’s just like me.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Frankie picked up the tree, smiled, happy and free.
Frankie thought, “Mom, look down, you will be proud of me and this tree.”
**********************
Author’s footnote: It takes so little to make Christmas Great.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Different Jungles--By Jack Clubb--United States
Different Jungles
Jungle calls. Animal cries.
The screech of birds.
Treachery in the forest.
Pythons in trees.
How I long for the simple life in the city.
Gang gunfire. Ragged homeless.
Murder. Mayhem.
People in cardboard boxes
Under freeway bridges.
Give me city life any day.
It is my preferred jungle.
I live right where the Hollywood Freeway
Enters downtown.
Where is my cardboard box,
My mattress, my blanket?
Jack Clubb has had short stories published in publications such as Black Creek Review, Coffee-Ground Breakfast, The Magic of Words, Northern Stars, Opinion Magazine, Rockford Review, Sunrise, The Taylor Trust, and Voices From The Valley. He has also had several hundred poems published in the United States, the United Kingdom, and India. Jack is grateful every time an editor gives one of his poems an opportunity to sing or gives him the opportunity to tell a story as he writes feverishly from his century-old house at the foot of the Silver Lake Hills in Los Angeles.
Jungle calls. Animal cries.
The screech of birds.
Treachery in the forest.
Pythons in trees.
How I long for the simple life in the city.
Gang gunfire. Ragged homeless.
Murder. Mayhem.
People in cardboard boxes
Under freeway bridges.
Give me city life any day.
It is my preferred jungle.
I live right where the Hollywood Freeway
Enters downtown.
Where is my cardboard box,
My mattress, my blanket?
Jack Clubb has had short stories published in publications such as Black Creek Review, Coffee-Ground Breakfast, The Magic of Words, Northern Stars, Opinion Magazine, Rockford Review, Sunrise, The Taylor Trust, and Voices From The Valley. He has also had several hundred poems published in the United States, the United Kingdom, and India. Jack is grateful every time an editor gives one of his poems an opportunity to sing or gives him the opportunity to tell a story as he writes feverishly from his century-old house at the foot of the Silver Lake Hills in Los Angeles.
The Recipe Book--By Ralph Stott--England
The Recipe Book
It was not her late-father's
Hand-written recipe notes
She cherished;
(The Lancashire hot-pot she never made
Or followed.)
It was more his aroma:
Of hand-rolled tobacco and
Classic-cars,
That permeated these leaves.
His unique fragrance, transported her to places
He'd scarcely remembered:
When jasmine filled the air,
Where he gathered, cherry-blossom bouquets
In his hands;
For her, his princess of another time,
Holding court over another world.
Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters. He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called Twist and Twist Again, which is a collection of Twister poems, a form he created.
It was not her late-father's
Hand-written recipe notes
She cherished;
(The Lancashire hot-pot she never made
Or followed.)
It was more his aroma:
Of hand-rolled tobacco and
Classic-cars,
That permeated these leaves.
His unique fragrance, transported her to places
He'd scarcely remembered:
When jasmine filled the air,
Where he gathered, cherry-blossom bouquets
In his hands;
For her, his princess of another time,
Holding court over another world.
Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters. He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called Twist and Twist Again, which is a collection of Twister poems, a form he created.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Advent II 2007--By Suzanne Clement--United States
Advent II 2007
Sunday School Pageant
with many classes playing
parts in the story
of the birth of Jesus Christ.
I’ve been asked to read for them.
So I stand down front
at the lectern of the church
and read the account
from Isaiah 11,
foretelling the holy birth
and sit with some of
the smallest participants
before and after
they do their parts on this
Second Sunday of Advent.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Sunday School Pageant
with many classes playing
parts in the story
of the birth of Jesus Christ.
I’ve been asked to read for them.
So I stand down front
at the lectern of the church
and read the account
from Isaiah 11,
foretelling the holy birth
and sit with some of
the smallest participants
before and after
they do their parts on this
Second Sunday of Advent.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jane Richer and Pam Murray--Canada
Risen in Triumph
A rumbling was heard in the foul chasms of Hell,
believers heard, but none of them could tell.
The demons and devils shook with the force of the quakes,
As leaves will do when angry storm wind breaks.
The walls buckled and fell inward and smashed to the ground,
the faithful trembled when they heard the awesome sound.
A light shone upward from within the deepest pit,
and all the world bowed down on the seeing of it.
Angels danced and rejoiced in the highest heavens above,
as the Almighty God revealed His anger and love.
It was time for His Son to take back what Satan had fouled,
to send back all those minions, darkly cowled.
Amidst the Devil's cowering; a figure walked towards that throne,
the Light of lights, He came forth to make this place His own.
He ripped away the keys of Sin and Death; that was on the Devil's breast,
and lighting all the world, left none hurt and none repressed.
Then His Father lifted him up and removed His body from the grave,
reminding us that His beloved Son had died, so that we all can be saved.
Now we His children remember the sacrifice He made there on the tree,
and how He's risen in triumph to give us all Eternity.
A rumbling was heard in the foul chasms of Hell,
believers heard, but none of them could tell.
The demons and devils shook with the force of the quakes,
As leaves will do when angry storm wind breaks.
The walls buckled and fell inward and smashed to the ground,
the faithful trembled when they heard the awesome sound.
A light shone upward from within the deepest pit,
and all the world bowed down on the seeing of it.
Angels danced and rejoiced in the highest heavens above,
as the Almighty God revealed His anger and love.
It was time for His Son to take back what Satan had fouled,
to send back all those minions, darkly cowled.
Amidst the Devil's cowering; a figure walked towards that throne,
the Light of lights, He came forth to make this place His own.
He ripped away the keys of Sin and Death; that was on the Devil's breast,
and lighting all the world, left none hurt and none repressed.
Then His Father lifted him up and removed His body from the grave,
reminding us that His beloved Son had died, so that we all can be saved.
Now we His children remember the sacrifice He made there on the tree,
and how He's risen in triumph to give us all Eternity.
Genes of the Bourgeois Woman--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand
Genes of the Bourgeois Woman
I do battle with them daily
They are in my way constantly
These bourgeois genes
Their voices grind into my ears
Dust the furniture : make the bed
Vacuum the carpet : bake cakes
Here comes Aunt Brenda
who every day wipes the window sills
and venetians : here comes Aunt Mildred
who preserves and fills bottles
with fruit. And Uncle Fred with his secateurs
Uncle Arthur with his mower
I let out a scream, shout for them to go
Back to the cemetery
And leave me alone to my writing
And my solitude
but no these restless genes have their way
As I smooth the cover on the bed
then mop the floors
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
I do battle with them daily
They are in my way constantly
These bourgeois genes
Their voices grind into my ears
Dust the furniture : make the bed
Vacuum the carpet : bake cakes
Here comes Aunt Brenda
who every day wipes the window sills
and venetians : here comes Aunt Mildred
who preserves and fills bottles
with fruit. And Uncle Fred with his secateurs
Uncle Arthur with his mower
I let out a scream, shout for them to go
Back to the cemetery
And leave me alone to my writing
And my solitude
but no these restless genes have their way
As I smooth the cover on the bed
then mop the floors
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Once Upon A Winter's Night--By Sara Kendrick--United States
Once Upon A Winter's Night
Once upon a cold winter's night
There reigned a snow-capped mountain
The rock hearth glowed with embers bright
And love flowed like a seeping fountain
In memories it flows again unchained
Snowy winters come and go and go
Snow 'pon the mountain thins
Fires in the rocky hearth sometimes glows
Only on cold winter nights~ love spins
And pain's memory chamber ends
Snowy mountains don't remain
Avalanches, earthquakes take their due
For that mountain love uncontained
Let that hearth fire now renew
Amazing love flourish and accrue
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
Once upon a cold winter's night
There reigned a snow-capped mountain
The rock hearth glowed with embers bright
And love flowed like a seeping fountain
In memories it flows again unchained
Snowy winters come and go and go
Snow 'pon the mountain thins
Fires in the rocky hearth sometimes glows
Only on cold winter nights~ love spins
And pain's memory chamber ends
Snowy mountains don't remain
Avalanches, earthquakes take their due
For that mountain love uncontained
Let that hearth fire now renew
Amazing love flourish and accrue
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
Hope--By Beth Winchcombe--England
Hope
I hope all your dreams will come true -
and meet your expectations, your imagination!
I hope you'll always be happy.
I hope you'll find contentment.
I hope your wishes will be granted!
I hope you'll attain whatever you wanted!
I hope your convictions will never wane.
If you ever lose your way -
I hope you'll soon find it again!
If you fall into the depths of depression -
I hope you'll find happiness again!
Whatever you want,
I hope and PRAY God will grant!
I hope you'll always find light at the end of the tunnel.
I hope you'll never lose the warmth and compassion held within your heart!
I hope you'll never falter -
I hope you'll never alter.
Just stay as you are,
shining bright like a star!
Lastly I hope and ' PRAY ' we'll always be friends.......
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils.
I hope all your dreams will come true -
and meet your expectations, your imagination!
I hope you'll always be happy.
I hope you'll find contentment.
I hope your wishes will be granted!
I hope you'll attain whatever you wanted!
I hope your convictions will never wane.
If you ever lose your way -
I hope you'll soon find it again!
If you fall into the depths of depression -
I hope you'll find happiness again!
Whatever you want,
I hope and PRAY God will grant!
I hope you'll always find light at the end of the tunnel.
I hope you'll never lose the warmth and compassion held within your heart!
I hope you'll never falter -
I hope you'll never alter.
Just stay as you are,
shining bright like a star!
Lastly I hope and ' PRAY ' we'll always be friends.......
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Glimmers of Hope--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales
Glimmers of Hope
The candles we light in honor of your name
Reflect the brightness you gave to our lives
Burn away at the darker side surrounding
Giving way to freedom’s path for your spirit
Helping bring healing to the hearts that miss you
Binding you in mind, faith and prayer
So your memory can live on and bring comfort
To those that walk in hope, with you beside them
Anna-Marie Docherty lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK and is often inspired by nature and the world around her. Having been writing poetry now for 4 - 5 years, her works have developed in structure and form as well as using free verse in her writing as she walks this endless art form and creativity in her thirst to further learn. Letting the pen and the muse dictate topic and form both humour, religion, nature or the serious subject might be touched upon therefore keeping the writing fresh and easy to read by those who follow. Writing both as given name above and pen name anaisnais through the net, examples of poems can be found both in Snippets, an anthology of short verse by various international poets, compiled by Karen O'Leary and Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson; also Pink Panther magazine, an anthology written by several poets and artists on feminist issues in our environment and various poems on the internet for taster.
The candles we light in honor of your name
Reflect the brightness you gave to our lives
Burn away at the darker side surrounding
Giving way to freedom’s path for your spirit
Helping bring healing to the hearts that miss you
Binding you in mind, faith and prayer
So your memory can live on and bring comfort
To those that walk in hope, with you beside them
Anna-Marie Docherty lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK and is often inspired by nature and the world around her. Having been writing poetry now for 4 - 5 years, her works have developed in structure and form as well as using free verse in her writing as she walks this endless art form and creativity in her thirst to further learn. Letting the pen and the muse dictate topic and form both humour, religion, nature or the serious subject might be touched upon therefore keeping the writing fresh and easy to read by those who follow. Writing both as given name above and pen name anaisnais through the net, examples of poems can be found both in Snippets, an anthology of short verse by various international poets, compiled by Karen O'Leary and Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson; also Pink Panther magazine, an anthology written by several poets and artists on feminist issues in our environment and various poems on the internet for taster.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Carolyn Devonshire and Sandra Stefanowich--United States and Canada
Celebrating in Solitude
scents from your chimney waft my way
curtains aside, a dozen cars are dusted by snow
boys in your yard cry out while pitching snowballs
sensing both comfort and sadness
holidays go on, even when stillness fills your home
surrounded by memories of Christmases long past
wondering what it would feel like to have family again
don a shawl, footsteps crunch in fresh snow
seeing a visitor from across the street, I wave
while on my way to join a neighbor’s celebration
preparing to smile at countless nameless faces
aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews
the “lady next door” self-consciously mingles
aching for solitude; dreading it as well
the visitor comes to mind, is she feeling the same
where alone, holiday survivors learn
to appreciate the peace....
I see a lady making her way next door
she smiles and waves from across the street
I give her a smile and wave back
grateful for a moment to stall before going in
we all showed as we said we'd do
a gathering of "family" to pay our due
appearances to appease
somewhere else I'd rather be
on this day is when I feel the most alone
this feeling of distance when I'm in this home
stilted, polite, unease when there's nothing left to say
it was long ago, when we all went our separate ways
it's gets too hard to remember
reliving the yesterdays of December
dreading being here, when solitude is what I want
I wonder about that lady, is she feeling just like me
where alone, I find refuge in the peace
scents from your chimney waft my way
curtains aside, a dozen cars are dusted by snow
boys in your yard cry out while pitching snowballs
sensing both comfort and sadness
holidays go on, even when stillness fills your home
surrounded by memories of Christmases long past
wondering what it would feel like to have family again
don a shawl, footsteps crunch in fresh snow
seeing a visitor from across the street, I wave
while on my way to join a neighbor’s celebration
preparing to smile at countless nameless faces
aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews
the “lady next door” self-consciously mingles
aching for solitude; dreading it as well
the visitor comes to mind, is she feeling the same
where alone, holiday survivors learn
to appreciate the peace....
I see a lady making her way next door
she smiles and waves from across the street
I give her a smile and wave back
grateful for a moment to stall before going in
we all showed as we said we'd do
a gathering of "family" to pay our due
appearances to appease
somewhere else I'd rather be
on this day is when I feel the most alone
this feeling of distance when I'm in this home
stilted, polite, unease when there's nothing left to say
it was long ago, when we all went our separate ways
it's gets too hard to remember
reliving the yesterdays of December
dreading being here, when solitude is what I want
I wonder about that lady, is she feeling just like me
where alone, I find refuge in the peace
Lost Dreams--By Gert W. Knop--Germany
Lost Dreams
When mind wanders,
and travels with the soul
thoughts wait for answers.
Abysses there,
where once were forests and life,
now only bare land remains.
Lost like future dreams,
and frozen as autumn leaves
in early winter.
Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany.
When mind wanders,
and travels with the soul
thoughts wait for answers.
Abysses there,
where once were forests and life,
now only bare land remains.
Lost like future dreams,
and frozen as autumn leaves
in early winter.
Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Love Never Melting--By John W. (Bill) Williams--United States
Love Never Melting
Press your soul against my heart.
Listen to the depth of its love.
Take it as yours and feel its warmth.
Open your heart and let my soul
Search out your love.
Let us move closer
into a world of our own.
Dance with me in meadows of scented flowers
Let us ride upon the wings of time,
Where stars never stop shining.
Keep me close; never free my heart.
In winter we’ll walk in snow,
Hearts together, love never melting.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
Press your soul against my heart.
Listen to the depth of its love.
Take it as yours and feel its warmth.
Open your heart and let my soul
Search out your love.
Let us move closer
into a world of our own.
Dance with me in meadows of scented flowers
Let us ride upon the wings of time,
Where stars never stop shining.
Keep me close; never free my heart.
In winter we’ll walk in snow,
Hearts together, love never melting.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
Futility--By Brian Strand--England
Futility
somewhere
red poppies
grow
fertilised
by blood
sun
and
winter snow
lost
freedoms
seed
on widow's
weeds
sadness flows
to that
no-man’s land
where,
there
are,
but crows
*An Open verse form is one where Classical poetry metre is replaced by cadence in rhythm, line indentation with pauses implied by the context, thus naturally incorporating the limiting factor of all poetry, the human breath.(Marianne Moore was a great exponent of this style)
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
somewhere
red poppies
grow
fertilised
by blood
sun
and
winter snow
lost
freedoms
seed
on widow's
weeds
sadness flows
to that
no-man’s land
where,
there
are,
but crows
*An Open verse form is one where Classical poetry metre is replaced by cadence in rhythm, line indentation with pauses implied by the context, thus naturally incorporating the limiting factor of all poetry, the human breath.(Marianne Moore was a great exponent of this style)
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
DECEMBER ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN NOVEMBER
Lisa DeVinney--United States
Alice Stevens--United States
Gerald A. McBreen--United States
Leokadia Durmaj--Australia
Eunice G. B. Kowa--Botswana
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. I look forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Carolyn Devonshire, Sandra Stefanowich and Jack Horne announce the release of their collaboration poetry book, Shades of Darkness and Light. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $2.50 http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Joann Grisetti released In The Quiet Valley, a book of short poems in 2013. This book is now available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Joann directly at gneissmom@aol.com
Jack Horne announces the release of his debut novel, A Ghost Hunt: a paranormal romance. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $3.99
http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Eunice.Gaba,Rafywa released her first poetry book titled, The Poet in Me in September 24, 2013 published by Xlibrispublishing. It is her very first book as a writer which has not had many reviews yet and it is available for reviews online @amazon.com, Barnes and noble and the e-book is also available in kindle.com (search The Poet in Me under Eunice. Gaba.Rafywa) OR contact Eunice at; pythongal@yahoo.com gabaefew@yahoo.com
Ndaba Sibanda’s short story, "Of Tokoloshe And The Translator" has been published in India by Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine, and his poem "River Love" has been published by the Elohi Gadugi Journal. Links:
http://outsideinmagazine.com/issue-fifteen/fiction/of-tikoloshi-and-the-translator-ndaba-sibanda/ http://egjournal.org/issue/fall-2013/article/river-love/
Robert Epstein, editor of the anthology, Now This: Contemporary Poems of Beginnings, Renewals, and Firsts, is pleased to announce its publication, which is available online at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Now-This-Contemporary-Beginnings-Renewals/dp/1600478956/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380645452&sr=8-1&keywords=robert+epstein%2C+now+this
(Editor note--Thank you Robert for including my poem in this anthology. For those who enjoy haiku, I recommend this book.)
Rhoda Galgiani released Expressions From the Inside Out, a book of poetry in 2011. Rhoda's second book is a child's story entitled No Snow for Johnny in 2012. Both books are published by APF Publisher. They have received good reviews and is available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Rhoda at: chesakat@verizon.net
Brian Strand latest kindle now available on Amazon is Structured Prose in which Brian demonstrates therein his theme confirmed by D H Lawrence words about poetry it all depends upon the ''pause'', the natural pause, the natural lingering of the voice according to the feeling. http://www.amazon.co.uk/STRUCTURED-PROSE-VERSE-Sounds-Poetry-ebook/dp/B00GRT1CPU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1384876871&sr=8-1&keywords=structured+prose+by+brian+strand
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
Karen O’Leary makes homemade cards with poetry and other features. With cards in stores getting so expensive, she would like to offer the opportunity to have cards with your poetry or cards she designs for occasions made to fit your needs. She will be charging $2 for United States and $3 (US currency only) for other countries including postage. Cards will include envelopes ready for mailing to others. Sample cards are available. Please contact her a gksm@cableone.net if you would like to discuss options or if you want her mailing address to order a sample card.
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
Pat Simpson, APFPUBLISHER and the owner of The Writers Alliance Poetry website, is seeking poetry 24 lines or less to be donated for a 100% Fund Raising Book that she is doing to help benefit the people affected by the Philippines disaster. Please send A.S.A.P. all donated poems to apfpublisher@gmail.com along with permission for it to published in the charity book.
Please consider supporting The Pen, The Jokester, and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com
(click on guidelines).
Robert Epstein, the editor of the poetry collection, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, is seeking haiku, senryu, tanka, and haiga related to the theme of the sacred, broadly conceived. Unpublished poems are preferred but published poems with full credits may
be sent to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. There is no compensation for inclusion. The deadline is: 12/31/13. The anthology will be available for purchase online at Amazon.com.
Robert Epstein, the author of an article on haiku and veganism and animal rights is
seeking haiku, senryu or tanka on the aforementioned themes. Please send poetry
to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. The deadline is: 12/31/13. There is no compensation for inclusion.
Whispers is always looking for new writers to join our community. Please send family friendly poems 20 lines or less to gksm@cableone.net Complete guidelines posted 1/21/2013. Thank you to everyone who has already contributed to the site.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.
Lisa DeVinney--United States
Alice Stevens--United States
Gerald A. McBreen--United States
Leokadia Durmaj--Australia
Eunice G. B. Kowa--Botswana
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. I look forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Carolyn Devonshire, Sandra Stefanowich and Jack Horne announce the release of their collaboration poetry book, Shades of Darkness and Light. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $2.50 http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Joann Grisetti released In The Quiet Valley, a book of short poems in 2013. This book is now available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Joann directly at gneissmom@aol.com
Jack Horne announces the release of his debut novel, A Ghost Hunt: a paranormal romance. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $3.99
http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Eunice.Gaba,Rafywa released her first poetry book titled, The Poet in Me in September 24, 2013 published by Xlibrispublishing. It is her very first book as a writer which has not had many reviews yet and it is available for reviews online @amazon.com, Barnes and noble and the e-book is also available in kindle.com (search The Poet in Me under Eunice. Gaba.Rafywa) OR contact Eunice at; pythongal@yahoo.com gabaefew@yahoo.com
Ndaba Sibanda’s short story, "Of Tokoloshe And The Translator" has been published in India by Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine, and his poem "River Love" has been published by the Elohi Gadugi Journal. Links:
http://outsideinmagazine.com/issue-fifteen/fiction/of-tikoloshi-and-the-translator-ndaba-sibanda/ http://egjournal.org/issue/fall-2013/article/river-love/
Robert Epstein, editor of the anthology, Now This: Contemporary Poems of Beginnings, Renewals, and Firsts, is pleased to announce its publication, which is available online at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Now-This-Contemporary-Beginnings-Renewals/dp/1600478956/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380645452&sr=8-1&keywords=robert+epstein%2C+now+this
(Editor note--Thank you Robert for including my poem in this anthology. For those who enjoy haiku, I recommend this book.)
Rhoda Galgiani released Expressions From the Inside Out, a book of poetry in 2011. Rhoda's second book is a child's story entitled No Snow for Johnny in 2012. Both books are published by APF Publisher. They have received good reviews and is available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Rhoda at: chesakat@verizon.net
Brian Strand latest kindle now available on Amazon is Structured Prose in which Brian demonstrates therein his theme confirmed by D H Lawrence words about poetry it all depends upon the ''pause'', the natural pause, the natural lingering of the voice according to the feeling. http://www.amazon.co.uk/STRUCTURED-PROSE-VERSE-Sounds-Poetry-ebook/dp/B00GRT1CPU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1384876871&sr=8-1&keywords=structured+prose+by+brian+strand
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
Karen O’Leary makes homemade cards with poetry and other features. With cards in stores getting so expensive, she would like to offer the opportunity to have cards with your poetry or cards she designs for occasions made to fit your needs. She will be charging $2 for United States and $3 (US currency only) for other countries including postage. Cards will include envelopes ready for mailing to others. Sample cards are available. Please contact her a gksm@cableone.net if you would like to discuss options or if you want her mailing address to order a sample card.
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
Pat Simpson, APFPUBLISHER and the owner of The Writers Alliance Poetry website, is seeking poetry 24 lines or less to be donated for a 100% Fund Raising Book that she is doing to help benefit the people affected by the Philippines disaster. Please send A.S.A.P. all donated poems to apfpublisher@gmail.com along with permission for it to published in the charity book.
Please consider supporting The Pen, The Jokester, and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com
(click on guidelines).
Robert Epstein, the editor of the poetry collection, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, is seeking haiku, senryu, tanka, and haiga related to the theme of the sacred, broadly conceived. Unpublished poems are preferred but published poems with full credits may
be sent to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. There is no compensation for inclusion. The deadline is: 12/31/13. The anthology will be available for purchase online at Amazon.com.
Robert Epstein, the author of an article on haiku and veganism and animal rights is
seeking haiku, senryu or tanka on the aforementioned themes. Please send poetry
to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. The deadline is: 12/31/13. There is no compensation for inclusion.
Whispers is always looking for new writers to join our community. Please send family friendly poems 20 lines or less to gksm@cableone.net Complete guidelines posted 1/21/2013. Thank you to everyone who has already contributed to the site.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A Poet by Definition--By Eunice.Gaba,Rafywa--Botswana
A Poet by Definition
I’m a poet by definition
My love for poetry says it all
With poetic devices I sometimes try to mingle
Poetry is like a burning hole in the pocket
Through the stars of the night
God granted me a gift
Through the sun of the day
My poetic ability was revealed
I’m a poet by definition
Potentiality is what I possess
I’m a genuine poet
Like a little ant I don’t
Get stepped on easily
Poetry is my life partner
I’m a poet by definition
Some display foul moods while
Some turn a blind eye and
Some marvel at the poet in me
Eunice.Gaba,Rafywa is a health coordinator, a teacher, a writer of poetry, drama and literature. She published her first Poetry book in September 24, 2013 called The Poet in Me. Eunice is very active in coordinating health and wellness, HIV and AIDS and charity clubs. She views herself as a woman of change who is driven by creativity and thrives for excellence in all aspects of life. She is a member of at least 27 poetry groups on Facebook as she would like to learn more about the world of writing.
I’m a poet by definition
My love for poetry says it all
With poetic devices I sometimes try to mingle
Poetry is like a burning hole in the pocket
Through the stars of the night
God granted me a gift
Through the sun of the day
My poetic ability was revealed
I’m a poet by definition
Potentiality is what I possess
I’m a genuine poet
Like a little ant I don’t
Get stepped on easily
Poetry is my life partner
I’m a poet by definition
Some display foul moods while
Some turn a blind eye and
Some marvel at the poet in me
Eunice.Gaba,Rafywa is a health coordinator, a teacher, a writer of poetry, drama and literature. She published her first Poetry book in September 24, 2013 called The Poet in Me. Eunice is very active in coordinating health and wellness, HIV and AIDS and charity clubs. She views herself as a woman of change who is driven by creativity and thrives for excellence in all aspects of life. She is a member of at least 27 poetry groups on Facebook as she would like to learn more about the world of writing.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Spirit of Paradise--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia
Spirit of Paradise
God painted a masterpiece
Showcasing alluring landscapes
Mesmerizing scenery casts a spell
Moonlight and stars captivate the soul
Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.
God painted a masterpiece
Showcasing alluring landscapes
Mesmerizing scenery casts a spell
Moonlight and stars captivate the soul
Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Winding Road--By Karen O'Leary--United States
Winding Road
Ten paces past yesterday,
long after the rising sun,
my life’s journey continues
though I do not know how long.
Each step up the mountainside
is another challenge won.
And when the day is over,
I hope I have touched someone.
For the road still beyond me;
I trust God to guide my way.
With faith’s strength and compassion,
I walk the path of today.
Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND. Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues. She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher. Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012. Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.
Ten paces past yesterday,
long after the rising sun,
my life’s journey continues
though I do not know how long.
Each step up the mountainside
is another challenge won.
And when the day is over,
I hope I have touched someone.
For the road still beyond me;
I trust God to guide my way.
With faith’s strength and compassion,
I walk the path of today.
Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND. Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues. She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher. Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012. Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.
Monday, November 18, 2013
A Riddle from an Upanishad Re-told--By Sunil Uniyal--India
A Riddle from an Upanishad Re-told ~
Two birds sit on a peepal bough
One flies off to pick a dry twig
with his beak to build a nest
The other bird just watches
quietly this process
Both are happy,
but one is happier of the two
Which one?
Guess.
------------------------
Note: Peepal is a common tree of India, sacred in both the Hindu and Buddhist traditions. Its botanical name is 'Ficus religiosa'. Buddha attained enlightenment while meditating under a peepal tree in Bodh Gaya.
Sunil Uniyal ( born 1953-) is a poet and translator based in New Delhi, India. He has been writing haiku and poems for over thirty years and many of these have appeared in e-journals like Muse India, Kritya, AHA Poetry, Poetica Magazine, Sketch Book, Notes From the Gean, A Hundred Gourds and Haiku Dreaming Australia. His work in translation includes, The Target is Behind the Sky -Fifty Poems of Kabir, brought out by the Low Price Publications, Delhi in February 2012.
Two birds sit on a peepal bough
One flies off to pick a dry twig
with his beak to build a nest
The other bird just watches
quietly this process
Both are happy,
but one is happier of the two
Which one?
Guess.
------------------------
Note: Peepal is a common tree of India, sacred in both the Hindu and Buddhist traditions. Its botanical name is 'Ficus religiosa'. Buddha attained enlightenment while meditating under a peepal tree in Bodh Gaya.
Sunil Uniyal ( born 1953-) is a poet and translator based in New Delhi, India. He has been writing haiku and poems for over thirty years and many of these have appeared in e-journals like Muse India, Kritya, AHA Poetry, Poetica Magazine, Sketch Book, Notes From the Gean, A Hundred Gourds and Haiku Dreaming Australia. His work in translation includes, The Target is Behind the Sky -Fifty Poems of Kabir, brought out by the Low Price Publications, Delhi in February 2012.
A Cord of 3 Strands--By Cindy Evans--United States
A Cord of 3 Strands
(to Mark)
A cord of three strands we are with Him.
He has woven us in love.
With His connection and His power,
we have extra strength from above.
With His help, we are given
an extra measure of grace,
showered down on us for good,
keeping us in place.
All things held together by Him;
you and I with Him make three.
All will be fine as we intertwine,
and our love brings Him glory!
Cindy Evans lives in the greater Atlanta area with her husband, Mark, after relocating from Indianapolis. They enjoy being a cord of 3 strands with God. In their free time, you may find them at inspirational movies, helping with their church small group, going on walks or riding Ferris wheels and climbing lighthouses!
(to Mark)
A cord of three strands we are with Him.
He has woven us in love.
With His connection and His power,
we have extra strength from above.
With His help, we are given
an extra measure of grace,
showered down on us for good,
keeping us in place.
All things held together by Him;
you and I with Him make three.
All will be fine as we intertwine,
and our love brings Him glory!
Cindy Evans lives in the greater Atlanta area with her husband, Mark, after relocating from Indianapolis. They enjoy being a cord of 3 strands with God. In their free time, you may find them at inspirational movies, helping with their church small group, going on walks or riding Ferris wheels and climbing lighthouses!
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Glory on High--By Joseph S. Spence, Sr.--United States
Glory on High
Believe it and achieve it
Look at it and go for it
Heads up
Shoulders back
Eyes open
Reach for it
Motivation high
Aspiration toward the sky
Inspiration never dies
Barriers down
Ceilings crashed
Mountains moved
Ain’t going back
Heading for the top
Thanks you Master
Joseph S. Spence, Sr. is the author of The Awakened One Poetics, and co-author of two other poetry books. The Awakened One Poetics won 2nd place in the Critters Writers Workshop 2009 Best Author’s Pool. Spence invented the Epulaeryu Poetry. His writings have appeared in numerous anthologies. He is a Goodwill Ambassador for the state of Arkansas, and is a recipient of the 2006 Poetry Ambassador Medal from The International Library of Poetry. He is a member of various honor societies. www.TheAwakenedOnePoetics.Com.
Believe it and achieve it
Look at it and go for it
Heads up
Shoulders back
Eyes open
Reach for it
Motivation high
Aspiration toward the sky
Inspiration never dies
Barriers down
Ceilings crashed
Mountains moved
Ain’t going back
Heading for the top
Thanks you Master
Joseph S. Spence, Sr. is the author of The Awakened One Poetics, and co-author of two other poetry books. The Awakened One Poetics won 2nd place in the Critters Writers Workshop 2009 Best Author’s Pool. Spence invented the Epulaeryu Poetry. His writings have appeared in numerous anthologies. He is a Goodwill Ambassador for the state of Arkansas, and is a recipient of the 2006 Poetry Ambassador Medal from The International Library of Poetry. He is a member of various honor societies. www.TheAwakenedOnePoetics.Com.
You Can't Take It With You--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States
You Can't Take It With You
The other day I saw the most pathetic thing I think I shall ever see!
It was so macabre and shocking that it piqued my curiosity!
Seems this old miser died having atoned for his many transgressions,
But was adamant about taking with him all his earthly possessions!
He had derided that well-known saw, "you can't take it with you",
And asserted, "Them's my things that took a lifetime to accrue!"
Even on his deathbed as he breathed his last and ceased to function,
He fretted about his stuff as the priest administered extreme unction!
In the funeral procession behind the hearse was a huge U-Haul truck,
Containing his suits and shoes, booze and gold plus all his other ruck!
Oft' I've pondered about that old tightwad and his ultimate fate,
And how St. Peter handled the matter when he greeted him at the Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.
The other day I saw the most pathetic thing I think I shall ever see!
It was so macabre and shocking that it piqued my curiosity!
Seems this old miser died having atoned for his many transgressions,
But was adamant about taking with him all his earthly possessions!
He had derided that well-known saw, "you can't take it with you",
And asserted, "Them's my things that took a lifetime to accrue!"
Even on his deathbed as he breathed his last and ceased to function,
He fretted about his stuff as the priest administered extreme unction!
In the funeral procession behind the hearse was a huge U-Haul truck,
Containing his suits and shoes, booze and gold plus all his other ruck!
Oft' I've pondered about that old tightwad and his ultimate fate,
And how St. Peter handled the matter when he greeted him at the Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Where Nature Always Sings--By Poppy Herrin--United States
Where Nature Always Sings
I don’t long for riches, for gold or fancy things,
I want the country life where nature always sings.
I feel the need to be close to a winding stream,
where evenings at sunset, I can relax and dream.
Scenic open spaces with clear skies overhead,
cool nights in the forest, pine needles for a bed—
I don’t want the city where horrid clamor rings,
I want the country life where nature always sings.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.
I don’t long for riches, for gold or fancy things,
I want the country life where nature always sings.
I feel the need to be close to a winding stream,
where evenings at sunset, I can relax and dream.
Scenic open spaces with clear skies overhead,
cool nights in the forest, pine needles for a bed—
I don’t want the city where horrid clamor rings,
I want the country life where nature always sings.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.
The Man with the Thorn Scarred Face--By Helen Dowd--Canada
The Man with the Thorn Scarred Face
I looked at the dying Man's thorn-scarred face.
I tried to turn away.
I saw the whip-marks on His back,
From the lashes they gave Him that day.
I saw the nails that pierced His hands.
I saw the blood from His feet.
It was then I saw the love in His eyes;
It was then, our eyes did meet.
Again I looked at the Man hanging there.
No longer did I turn away.
I knew His face was scarred for me.
Christ saved me on that day.
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
I looked at the dying Man's thorn-scarred face.
I tried to turn away.
I saw the whip-marks on His back,
From the lashes they gave Him that day.
I saw the nails that pierced His hands.
I saw the blood from His feet.
It was then I saw the love in His eyes;
It was then, our eyes did meet.
Again I looked at the Man hanging there.
No longer did I turn away.
I knew His face was scarred for me.
Christ saved me on that day.
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
Friday, November 15, 2013
one rock...--By Shannon O'Leary--United States
one rock drops
many ripples
spread across the river
Shannon O'Leary is a first grade teacher from Fargo, North Dakota. She provides creative writing activities to inspire her students. Her first-graders have published poems in a local newspaper. Shannon has published her own poetry in the following venues, Sketchbook, Snippets and Smile. She is the daughter of our editor.
many ripples
spread across the river
Shannon O'Leary is a first grade teacher from Fargo, North Dakota. She provides creative writing activities to inspire her students. Her first-graders have published poems in a local newspaper. Shannon has published her own poetry in the following venues, Sketchbook, Snippets and Smile. She is the daughter of our editor.
Three Sisters of Fall--By Andrea Dietrich--United States
Three Sisters of Fall
asters in her hair
and wearing a hint of blush-
September strolls in. . . .
crooning melancholy strains
she bids adieu to summer.
October follows-
whimsical and ruddy-cheeked. . . .
sometimes blowing in
she brightly draws attention
then exits quite eerily
following sulking
in her sister’s faded gown
November arrives -
stepping lively at the time
of harvest’s celebration
Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.
asters in her hair
and wearing a hint of blush-
September strolls in. . . .
crooning melancholy strains
she bids adieu to summer.
October follows-
whimsical and ruddy-cheeked. . . .
sometimes blowing in
she brightly draws attention
then exits quite eerily
following sulking
in her sister’s faded gown
November arrives -
stepping lively at the time
of harvest’s celebration
Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Hear Your Children--By Christine Tate--United States
Hear Your Children
Hear your children crying
like the baby birds,
longing for their food
as we hunger for Your word.
With wings of expectation
prepared to leave the nest,
we soar above the turmoil
where we are given rest.
Hear Your children panting
like the thirsty deer,
yearning for pure water
to refresh our lives down here.
Hear your children praying
for lost sinners to know,
You'll wash away their sins
and make them white as snow!
Lead Your children Lord
by your brilliant light;
grant us calm assurance
and peace both day and night.
Christine Tate lives in New Jersey. She is the mother of three married sons and has eight grandchildren. She started writing inspirational poetry in 1994, and is blessed to encourage others and honor the Lord. She was widowed in 2007 and met her new husband Artie, a widower, in the nursing facility where their late mothers resided. They've been happily married for 2 1/2 years. Since neither of them ever expected to marry again, they consider it a "divine appt."
Hear your children crying
like the baby birds,
longing for their food
as we hunger for Your word.
With wings of expectation
prepared to leave the nest,
we soar above the turmoil
where we are given rest.
Hear Your children panting
like the thirsty deer,
yearning for pure water
to refresh our lives down here.
Hear your children praying
for lost sinners to know,
You'll wash away their sins
and make them white as snow!
Lead Your children Lord
by your brilliant light;
grant us calm assurance
and peace both day and night.
Christine Tate lives in New Jersey. She is the mother of three married sons and has eight grandchildren. She started writing inspirational poetry in 1994, and is blessed to encourage others and honor the Lord. She was widowed in 2007 and met her new husband Artie, a widower, in the nursing facility where their late mothers resided. They've been happily married for 2 1/2 years. Since neither of them ever expected to marry again, they consider it a "divine appt."
Barefoot in Paradise--By David Austin--United States
Barefoot in Paradise
There is a special place
That my memory serves,
Far beyond worldly eyes
Barefoot in Paradise
Where is a perfect light
From no sun, and me free
Padding, weightless, ‘neath blue sky
Barefoot in Paradise
Where is tranquil music
From no man-crafted source
Where I need only listen
Barefoot in Paradise
Though indescribable,
A rainbow of colors
Will surround and kindly blend
Barefoot in Paradise
May I now sit me down,
Mantra inwardly humming,
To seek the light and sound.
Barefoot in Paradise
David Austin is professional violinist and teacher, who communicates through poetry. He has played with the Cincinnati Symphony, taught at Colorado College and various public schools. He is a published author, who has been writing poetry and novels for over 40 years. His pride and joy is a shelter in which he feeds and cares for animals. David is a member of Poetry Soup.
There is a special place
That my memory serves,
Far beyond worldly eyes
Barefoot in Paradise
Where is a perfect light
From no sun, and me free
Padding, weightless, ‘neath blue sky
Barefoot in Paradise
Where is tranquil music
From no man-crafted source
Where I need only listen
Barefoot in Paradise
Though indescribable,
A rainbow of colors
Will surround and kindly blend
Barefoot in Paradise
May I now sit me down,
Mantra inwardly humming,
To seek the light and sound.
Barefoot in Paradise
David Austin is professional violinist and teacher, who communicates through poetry. He has played with the Cincinnati Symphony, taught at Colorado College and various public schools. He is a published author, who has been writing poetry and novels for over 40 years. His pride and joy is a shelter in which he feeds and cares for animals. David is a member of Poetry Soup.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Gold Coast Life--By Suzanne Delaney--United States
Gold Coast Life
There are no soft, dewy sunrises here.
No mist that rises, between islands of trees.
No shy wallabies that graze on rich lawns,
to secretly flee- as the farm-house fills
with sounds of cluttering coffee cups
and cheery morning chatter.
I miss the gentle exodus as their mauve-grey
hides, blend into lilac- bark.
Here, there is the sound of waves breaking.
The daily march of exercisers that trek
on the edges of a sunrise sea.
The distant hum of traffic where,
high rises pierce a skyline hung with gulls.
The beach stretches away but I see
civilization has encroached.
I walk with all the others wishing
for my own secret exodus.
Suzanne Delaney is a retired Registered Nurse. A resident of Hawaii, USA she was born in Tasmania. She now has time to pursue her passion for writing poetry, creating collages and for traveling.
There are no soft, dewy sunrises here.
No mist that rises, between islands of trees.
No shy wallabies that graze on rich lawns,
to secretly flee- as the farm-house fills
with sounds of cluttering coffee cups
and cheery morning chatter.
I miss the gentle exodus as their mauve-grey
hides, blend into lilac- bark.
Here, there is the sound of waves breaking.
The daily march of exercisers that trek
on the edges of a sunrise sea.
The distant hum of traffic where,
high rises pierce a skyline hung with gulls.
The beach stretches away but I see
civilization has encroached.
I walk with all the others wishing
for my own secret exodus.
Suzanne Delaney is a retired Registered Nurse. A resident of Hawaii, USA she was born in Tasmania. She now has time to pursue her passion for writing poetry, creating collages and for traveling.
Hope--By David Fox--United States
Hope
Be happy now, don't you cry
Hope will keep your spirits high
Believe in hope and you definitely will
Climb every mountain and every hill
Let your dreams grow forever more
Let the hope inside you soar.
David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry. He is currently accepting work for the January 2014 issue. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
Be happy now, don't you cry
Hope will keep your spirits high
Believe in hope and you definitely will
Climb every mountain and every hill
Let your dreams grow forever more
Let the hope inside you soar.
David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry. He is currently accepting work for the January 2014 issue. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Fishing or Fished--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands
Fishing or Fished
A man once went fishing in a loch
Hoping to catch a haddock
So he cast in his line
Seeing the fish playing fine
Hoped to get one to dine
But “Nessie” grabbing line
Pulled him in
Saying "You're mine" …
Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads. A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18. Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters. Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents. After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently. She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.
A man once went fishing in a loch
Hoping to catch a haddock
So he cast in his line
Seeing the fish playing fine
Hoped to get one to dine
But “Nessie” grabbing line
Pulled him in
Saying "You're mine" …
Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads. A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18. Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters. Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents. After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently. She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.
Lamenting Lovers--By Robert A. Dufresne--United States
Lamenting Lovers
That sliced harvest crescent
rising erubescent,
weaned from previous orb shining,
looked down on lovers pining,
separated by distance
at tragedy’s insistence.
As the sickle slipped across the sky,
the lamenting lovers asked it why,
But nought was said by that celestial Slice;
they both knew they were paying the price.
Robert A. Dufresne was born in Vermont and raised on a dairy farm. After four years in the Navy and trying his hand at a couple of trades, he settled in as a self employed remodeling carpenter for 31 years. He and his wife moved to Florida in 1998, where he continued his career. He began writing poetry in 2009 .
That sliced harvest crescent
rising erubescent,
weaned from previous orb shining,
looked down on lovers pining,
separated by distance
at tragedy’s insistence.
As the sickle slipped across the sky,
the lamenting lovers asked it why,
But nought was said by that celestial Slice;
they both knew they were paying the price.
Robert A. Dufresne was born in Vermont and raised on a dairy farm. After four years in the Navy and trying his hand at a couple of trades, he settled in as a self employed remodeling carpenter for 31 years. He and his wife moved to Florida in 1998, where he continued his career. He began writing poetry in 2009 .
Monday, November 11, 2013
Learning From Rain--By Joann Grisetti--United States
Learning From Rain
Learning from rain. Its hypnotic
drumming on umbrellas, its rhythmic
pattering of tulip poplar trees,
splattering fallen maple leaves,
turning the grave site chaotic.
I shiver from the erratic
spray, cold grey moisture’s rhapsodic
ballet, dewy tears follow me,
learning from rain.
Pellets of moisture beat drastic
rivulets upon the casket
as my shoulders shake, my mind heaves,
my now lonely heart soon perceives
her absence, a quite traumatic
learning from rain.
Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.
Learning from rain. Its hypnotic
drumming on umbrellas, its rhythmic
pattering of tulip poplar trees,
splattering fallen maple leaves,
turning the grave site chaotic.
I shiver from the erratic
spray, cold grey moisture’s rhapsodic
ballet, dewy tears follow me,
learning from rain.
Pellets of moisture beat drastic
rivulets upon the casket
as my shoulders shake, my mind heaves,
my now lonely heart soon perceives
her absence, a quite traumatic
learning from rain.
Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.
Picturesque--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States
Picturesque
The air is so still, and
just like a tear kissing a cheek,
the delicate snowflakes introduce themselves to the ground.
Delighted.
They now have the joy of
sticking around for a little while,
bringing a chilly but splendid
change of season.
Clear skies allow the stars to shine brighter.
Winter.
Feel the silence.
Embrace the time.
Maurice J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in various publications. He is the owner of To God be the Glory! Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations. More information can be found at: www.tgbtgpublictions.com.
The air is so still, and
just like a tear kissing a cheek,
the delicate snowflakes introduce themselves to the ground.
Delighted.
They now have the joy of
sticking around for a little while,
bringing a chilly but splendid
change of season.
Clear skies allow the stars to shine brighter.
Winter.
Feel the silence.
Embrace the time.
Maurice J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in various publications. He is the owner of To God be the Glory! Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations. More information can be found at: www.tgbtgpublictions.com.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
It’s Impossible--By Gerald A. McBreen--United States
It’s Impossible
It’s impossible a thousand sighs among violins
playing songs my heart is no longer concealing
It’s impossible words alone no matter how sweet
can’t tell you what my eyes must be revealing
It’s impossible stars like diamonds sparkle in your
golden halo
It’s impossible heaven is walking hand in hand
by your side
So my darling I’m conceding it’s impossible
your kisses tell me that you love me too
and we are dancing yes we’re waltzing
on our honeymoon
So my darling I’m conceding the impossible
is possible with you
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
It’s impossible a thousand sighs among violins
playing songs my heart is no longer concealing
It’s impossible words alone no matter how sweet
can’t tell you what my eyes must be revealing
It’s impossible stars like diamonds sparkle in your
golden halo
It’s impossible heaven is walking hand in hand
by your side
So my darling I’m conceding it’s impossible
your kisses tell me that you love me too
and we are dancing yes we’re waltzing
on our honeymoon
So my darling I’m conceding the impossible
is possible with you
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
Thoughts for the Homeless--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom
Thoughts for the Homeless
Some times in winter
when the cold winds bite
I go out for a walk
on a freezing night
to feel what the homeless on the street
must feel
on the cold concrete
longing for warmth
shelter
and a meal
And love.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.
Some times in winter
when the cold winds bite
I go out for a walk
on a freezing night
to feel what the homeless on the street
must feel
on the cold concrete
longing for warmth
shelter
and a meal
And love.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.
Power Within--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States
Power Within
What an incredible source of power I have
At my fingertips every minute of every day,
If I live in gratitude; for true Thanksgiving is
Thanks living and opens the door to 'the way'.
Give and it shall be given, benefits galore.
Blessings come via gratitude, I've been told.
It is the opposite of what one would think.
To God, "I want more", must really get old.
The natural man focuses on insufficiency.
He'll work hard to gain the whole world
That without notice can all be wiped out,
Shattered hopes and fond dreams spoiled.
Sometimes it takes something really drastic
To change a heart hardened in self and lack.
But God knew the way to change my heart.
Peace and love is not found in another snack.
To overcome my tendency to turn to treats,
In times of tribulation and emotional stress
To find peace and love, I must forget myself,
Kindly think of others and give loving service.
Charlene McCutcheon is a 73 year old, wife, mother of seven, grandmother of thirty and great-grandmother of 14. She has just discovered her voice through poetry within the last few years. Her former ways of expression have been through the media of arts and crafts. Her desire to share herself with others for their benefit has been the motivating factor in all her endeavors. She loves life, work, play and most of all people.
What an incredible source of power I have
At my fingertips every minute of every day,
If I live in gratitude; for true Thanksgiving is
Thanks living and opens the door to 'the way'.
Give and it shall be given, benefits galore.
Blessings come via gratitude, I've been told.
It is the opposite of what one would think.
To God, "I want more", must really get old.
The natural man focuses on insufficiency.
He'll work hard to gain the whole world
That without notice can all be wiped out,
Shattered hopes and fond dreams spoiled.
Sometimes it takes something really drastic
To change a heart hardened in self and lack.
But God knew the way to change my heart.
Peace and love is not found in another snack.
To overcome my tendency to turn to treats,
In times of tribulation and emotional stress
To find peace and love, I must forget myself,
Kindly think of others and give loving service.
Charlene McCutcheon is a 73 year old, wife, mother of seven, grandmother of thirty and great-grandmother of 14. She has just discovered her voice through poetry within the last few years. Her former ways of expression have been through the media of arts and crafts. Her desire to share herself with others for their benefit has been the motivating factor in all her endeavors. She loves life, work, play and most of all people.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
A View Of Eternity--By Marcus Omer--United States
A View Of Eternity
Eternity sits on the edge of my eye.
Overhead the circling moon
dodges the little specks of light
that dart sideways
in the midnight sky.
Above the rim of my eye
the orbs of fire and ice
glide like precision clockwork
of a master watchmaker.
You, Neal, are among the few
who have touched the edge.
Did you feel the breath of God?
Could you hear His whisper?
Unshackle my earthy chains,
let me touch the beginning,
let my view be as Your view
O’ Creator of time.
Eternity sits on the edge of my eye.
Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.
Eternity sits on the edge of my eye.
Overhead the circling moon
dodges the little specks of light
that dart sideways
in the midnight sky.
Above the rim of my eye
the orbs of fire and ice
glide like precision clockwork
of a master watchmaker.
You, Neal, are among the few
who have touched the edge.
Did you feel the breath of God?
Could you hear His whisper?
Unshackle my earthy chains,
let me touch the beginning,
let my view be as Your view
O’ Creator of time.
Eternity sits on the edge of my eye.
Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.
Poe's pen...By Arthur C. Ford--United States
Poe's pen paints paper
Tintinnabulation--
Van Gogh hears too much
Arthur C. Ford, Sr. is originally from New Orleans, LA., where he graduated from Southern University (S.U.N.O.). He studied Mathematics, Physics, Creative Writing (Poetry) and was a member of The Drama Society. He has traveled to 45 States, lived in Europe (Bruxelles, Belgium), and more recently spent 30 days doing missionary work and traveling throughout the country of India. He publishes a quarterly poetry newsletter entitled THE PEN(The Poetry Explosion Newsletter), and resides in Pittsburgh, PA.
Tintinnabulation--
Van Gogh hears too much
Arthur C. Ford, Sr. is originally from New Orleans, LA., where he graduated from Southern University (S.U.N.O.). He studied Mathematics, Physics, Creative Writing (Poetry) and was a member of The Drama Society. He has traveled to 45 States, lived in Europe (Bruxelles, Belgium), and more recently spent 30 days doing missionary work and traveling throughout the country of India. He publishes a quarterly poetry newsletter entitled THE PEN(The Poetry Explosion Newsletter), and resides in Pittsburgh, PA.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Please Slow Down Artificial Chaps!--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia
Please Slow Down Artificial Chaps!
they say
artificial intelligence is moving faster than humans
and sooner than later it is likely that
robots will be smarter than us
before
the end of the century—not just at chess or mathematics
or engineering or science and medicine but at everything
they say
there might be a few jobs left for entertainers and writers
but computers will ultimately be able to sequence
themselves
and gobble up massive quantities of information and reason
in ways that we humans can only faintly imagine
some say
we should not fear a mere darkness without leopards because
these machines are created by humans and should they fool
themselves by trying to outsmart us at every
corner we simply unplug them!
Ndaba Sibanda is a Zimbabwean-born writer. His poems, essays and
short stories have been published in Africa and the USA. Ndaba
currently lives and teaches in Saudi Arabia. Of his career, he
says, "writing is my life, and my second wife".
they say
artificial intelligence is moving faster than humans
and sooner than later it is likely that
robots will be smarter than us
before
the end of the century—not just at chess or mathematics
or engineering or science and medicine but at everything
they say
there might be a few jobs left for entertainers and writers
but computers will ultimately be able to sequence
themselves
and gobble up massive quantities of information and reason
in ways that we humans can only faintly imagine
some say
we should not fear a mere darkness without leopards because
these machines are created by humans and should they fool
themselves by trying to outsmart us at every
corner we simply unplug them!
Ndaba Sibanda is a Zimbabwean-born writer. His poems, essays and
short stories have been published in Africa and the USA. Ndaba
currently lives and teaches in Saudi Arabia. Of his career, he
says, "writing is my life, and my second wife".
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Robert Hewett Sr. and Alice Stevens--United States
Dreams Flowing Through My Mind
Robert Hewett Sr. and Alice Stevens
My dream was filled with love and happiness
My strong heart quickening its rapid pace !!
picturing you in that bright yellow dress
I awoke with a smile on my bearded face.
Sipping coffee in the clear morning light
I thought of the man I dreamed of last night
He was my Shining Knight with eyes of blue
I prayed, "Dear God let this one dream come true !!”
I know she is waiting out there somewhere
Dreaming nightly, daydreaming daily there
Waiting for her Knight to appear in life
On his big white horse to take her for his wife !!
All day long I thought of my Shining Knight,
And hoped I would see him in clear daylight
Charging in on his steed to sweep me away
In his arms for ever and ever to stay !!
In early dawn I cantered down a flowery pathway
Lo!! In chorus the flowers and birds had this to say.
Open your eyes and your dream girl you will see
Gathering fresh flowers on bended knee !!
At a large bird bath with tracks leading that way,
I heard my feathered songsters say
It is here you’ll find your Shining Knight
Each day as morning sheds the night.
Robert Hewett Sr. and Alice Stevens
My dream was filled with love and happiness
My strong heart quickening its rapid pace !!
picturing you in that bright yellow dress
I awoke with a smile on my bearded face.
Sipping coffee in the clear morning light
I thought of the man I dreamed of last night
He was my Shining Knight with eyes of blue
I prayed, "Dear God let this one dream come true !!”
I know she is waiting out there somewhere
Dreaming nightly, daydreaming daily there
Waiting for her Knight to appear in life
On his big white horse to take her for his wife !!
All day long I thought of my Shining Knight,
And hoped I would see him in clear daylight
Charging in on his steed to sweep me away
In his arms for ever and ever to stay !!
In early dawn I cantered down a flowery pathway
Lo!! In chorus the flowers and birds had this to say.
Open your eyes and your dream girl you will see
Gathering fresh flowers on bended knee !!
At a large bird bath with tracks leading that way,
I heard my feathered songsters say
It is here you’ll find your Shining Knight
Each day as morning sheds the night.
God Has a Plan--By Lisa DeVinney--United States
God Has a Plan
If dark have been your dreams of late,
And prayers seem stuck at Heaven’s gate,
You’re sinking fast in shifting sand,
Take heart, my friend… God has a plan.
And when the winds begin to howl,
The enemy is on the prowl,
The ground shakes so you cannot stand,
Look up, my friend… God has a plan.
And His plan is always for good,
To make things turn out as they should.
Just leave things in His mighty hand;
And trust Him for God has a plan.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time.
If dark have been your dreams of late,
And prayers seem stuck at Heaven’s gate,
You’re sinking fast in shifting sand,
Take heart, my friend… God has a plan.
And when the winds begin to howl,
The enemy is on the prowl,
The ground shakes so you cannot stand,
Look up, my friend… God has a plan.
And His plan is always for good,
To make things turn out as they should.
Just leave things in His mighty hand;
And trust Him for God has a plan.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Moments--By Barbara Siekierski--United States
Moments
Moments can’t be held;
they vanish into nothingness.
Moments are whispers fading
until you can’t hear them anymore.
Moments are a windows of the soul
that open up your heart.
Moments are like melting snowflakes,
gone but not forgotten.
God has given us these moments,
thoughts that mean everything.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
Moments can’t be held;
they vanish into nothingness.
Moments are whispers fading
until you can’t hear them anymore.
Moments are a windows of the soul
that open up your heart.
Moments are like melting snowflakes,
gone but not forgotten.
God has given us these moments,
thoughts that mean everything.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
Limerick--By Jack Horne--England
There was an old chap with a bugle,
He wasn’t a tightwad but frugal,
As he wanted to play
On his bugle all day,
He searched for free lessons on Google.
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
He wasn’t a tightwad but frugal,
As he wanted to play
On his bugle all day,
He searched for free lessons on Google.
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Pieces of Poems…--By Richard Sponaugle--United States
Pieces of Poems…
pop in my mind;
instant inspiration plucked
from international headlines,
mixed with mundane vignettes
from my subconscious.
I wrote poems to impress Pam,
now I write them
to forget her.
Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia. He received a BA from George Mason University. A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues.
pop in my mind;
instant inspiration plucked
from international headlines,
mixed with mundane vignettes
from my subconscious.
I wrote poems to impress Pam,
now I write them
to forget her.
Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia. He received a BA from George Mason University. A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues.
Spell Checker--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States
Spell Checker
(Dedicated to Karen O'Leary)
A friend of mine who is very keen eyed
read my poetry and said as she spied,
you have a small boo-boo did you know -
or is this how the poem is supposed to go?
Her question did throw me for a loop
I hurriedly ran back jumped through a hoop
to read my poetry I was so proud to hold
posting so those could read what I told.
To my total utter surprise there it be,
a huge typo right in front of me
in the middle of my poem for all to see
a misspelling that embarrassed thee.
Quickly, I fixed my boo-boo mistake
hoping it didn’t cause those to ache,
for spell checker is faithfully there for me
I call her Karen, she watches over thee.
Rhoda Galgiani is a published Poet and Author of two books, Expressions from the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny, A Child’s Story. Rhoda is a retired senior that delights in maintaining her own website entitled Expressions Poetry Journal, established in 2009, which is dedicated to the world of poetry and the love of animals. You may view her work on her website at chesakat1.blog.com
(Dedicated to Karen O'Leary)
A friend of mine who is very keen eyed
read my poetry and said as she spied,
you have a small boo-boo did you know -
or is this how the poem is supposed to go?
Her question did throw me for a loop
I hurriedly ran back jumped through a hoop
to read my poetry I was so proud to hold
posting so those could read what I told.
To my total utter surprise there it be,
a huge typo right in front of me
in the middle of my poem for all to see
a misspelling that embarrassed thee.
Quickly, I fixed my boo-boo mistake
hoping it didn’t cause those to ache,
for spell checker is faithfully there for me
I call her Karen, she watches over thee.
Rhoda Galgiani is a published Poet and Author of two books, Expressions from the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny, A Child’s Story. Rhoda is a retired senior that delights in maintaining her own website entitled Expressions Poetry Journal, established in 2009, which is dedicated to the world of poetry and the love of animals. You may view her work on her website at chesakat1.blog.com
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Some Other Autumn--By Jean Calkins--United States
Some Other Autumn
The autumn trees were clad in brilliant hues
That trickled through brisk air to blanket earth
With patchwork carpet, covering the path
Where dreams were born, our gems of untold worth.
Then you were called to fight on foreign soil,
While I was left to wait, all dreams on hold.
The lonely months elapsed, then time stood still;
A fateful note transformed the warmth to cold.
The day when you returned, beneath draped flag,
Our son made his appearance from the womb.
His hand is now in mine; he wears your name;
His face is yours, without the years’ aplomb.
Some other autumn day we'll join once more
To savor what our futures have in store.
Jean, at 80, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at jcalkins01@charter.net.
The autumn trees were clad in brilliant hues
That trickled through brisk air to blanket earth
With patchwork carpet, covering the path
Where dreams were born, our gems of untold worth.
Then you were called to fight on foreign soil,
While I was left to wait, all dreams on hold.
The lonely months elapsed, then time stood still;
A fateful note transformed the warmth to cold.
The day when you returned, beneath draped flag,
Our son made his appearance from the womb.
His hand is now in mine; he wears your name;
His face is yours, without the years’ aplomb.
Some other autumn day we'll join once more
To savor what our futures have in store.
Jean, at 80, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at jcalkins01@charter.net.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne--England
Opposites
By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne
Why do opposites attract
Like me and you
They do
Warts and all
Curiosity and admiration
Yearning to be like you
Jack loves Shakespeare
In his laid back way
If he was Romeo
Could I be his Juliet
I like Robbie Burns
I love red roses
I’m a romanticist
My love has depth
Like the deep blue ocean
Not shallow as in a saucer
I no longer collect valuables
Friends are more precious
With age comes wisdom
Or is it second childhood
Yes, we’re opposites
North and South
Yin and Yen
Differences fascinate
How boring if everyone was like me
A world without colour
Greyness with no black or white
No darkness or light
Like a stew without seasoning
But in that state of sameness
Uniform blandness
Some uniqueness would surely grow
White roses and red
May the bouquet of our friendship
Be forever fragrant.
By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne
Why do opposites attract
Like me and you
They do
Warts and all
Curiosity and admiration
Yearning to be like you
Jack loves Shakespeare
In his laid back way
If he was Romeo
Could I be his Juliet
I like Robbie Burns
I love red roses
I’m a romanticist
My love has depth
Like the deep blue ocean
Not shallow as in a saucer
I no longer collect valuables
Friends are more precious
With age comes wisdom
Or is it second childhood
Yes, we’re opposites
North and South
Yin and Yen
Differences fascinate
How boring if everyone was like me
A world without colour
Greyness with no black or white
No darkness or light
Like a stew without seasoning
But in that state of sameness
Uniform blandness
Some uniqueness would surely grow
White roses and red
May the bouquet of our friendship
Be forever fragrant.
Summer Scenery--By Christina R. Jussaume--United States
Summer Scenery
The rising sun awakens the birds
The songbirds in chorus now start to sing
Chattering from the treetops are their words
This is Nature’s beauty from our King
The sun sparkles brightly in the sky
Kitties out all night now do return home
Hummingbirds dart back and forth as they fly
They enjoyed being free as they roam
Wild bunnies are seen grazing on grass
A hawk flies over looking for his meal
Flock of robins search for worms in a mass
He’ll hover down soon as has appeal
Closure and peace felt as stars shine bright
Mourning Doves are seen in pairs as they preen
Appreciate beauty both day and night
On Butterfly bush butterflies seen
All nature awakes for us to view
Accept Lord as foundation and glue
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
The rising sun awakens the birds
The songbirds in chorus now start to sing
Chattering from the treetops are their words
This is Nature’s beauty from our King
The sun sparkles brightly in the sky
Kitties out all night now do return home
Hummingbirds dart back and forth as they fly
They enjoyed being free as they roam
Wild bunnies are seen grazing on grass
A hawk flies over looking for his meal
Flock of robins search for worms in a mass
He’ll hover down soon as has appeal
Closure and peace felt as stars shine bright
Mourning Doves are seen in pairs as they preen
Appreciate beauty both day and night
On Butterfly bush butterflies seen
All nature awakes for us to view
Accept Lord as foundation and glue
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Sunlight and Shadow Play--By Sandra Stefanowich--Canada
Sunlight and Shadow Play
The history lies beneath our skins
as we walk upon the silent path of pages,
our scrolls of life tangled up in the rings of yesterday.
The scarred acknowledgments
of the missteps and mistakes that we made
the things we came to know and learned along the way.
The dreams we wished upon a star for
the ones that had by some miracle come true
and the ones we still hope will come around some day.
The people in our lives who came and went
the ones who had taught us the hard life lessons
and those that we came to love etched in our hearts to stay.
When we turned to look back on a lifetime
and at the elements of what we had battled and won,
we held onto the memories caught between sunlight and shadow play.
Sandra Stefanowich is from Ontario.
The history lies beneath our skins
as we walk upon the silent path of pages,
our scrolls of life tangled up in the rings of yesterday.
The scarred acknowledgments
of the missteps and mistakes that we made
the things we came to know and learned along the way.
The dreams we wished upon a star for
the ones that had by some miracle come true
and the ones we still hope will come around some day.
The people in our lives who came and went
the ones who had taught us the hard life lessons
and those that we came to love etched in our hearts to stay.
When we turned to look back on a lifetime
and at the elements of what we had battled and won,
we held onto the memories caught between sunlight and shadow play.
Sandra Stefanowich is from Ontario.
Emily’s Poetic Flare--By Carolyn Devonshire--United States
Emily’s Poetic Flare
There are few people I know
Who touch me like Emily
When I read her, my tears flow
‘Cause we were both so lonely
Only two lovers had she
Both had left her heartbroken
Would she find beau number three?
Fears in poetry spoken
She called herself “Nobody”
She had scant success in life
Surely she was somebody
Her sad words cut like a knife
Ms. Dickinson achieved fame
After death had doused her flame
A Florida writer, Carolyn enjoys writing humor but also receives inspiration from nature and people who touch her life. She has enjoyed co-writing with other poets and finds that both writers grow when they share their thoughts. She has spent most of her life as a reporter and a writer for magazines.
There are few people I know
Who touch me like Emily
When I read her, my tears flow
‘Cause we were both so lonely
Only two lovers had she
Both had left her heartbroken
Would she find beau number three?
Fears in poetry spoken
She called herself “Nobody”
She had scant success in life
Surely she was somebody
Her sad words cut like a knife
Ms. Dickinson achieved fame
After death had doused her flame
A Florida writer, Carolyn enjoys writing humor but also receives inspiration from nature and people who touch her life. She has enjoyed co-writing with other poets and finds that both writers grow when they share their thoughts. She has spent most of her life as a reporter and a writer for magazines.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Water--By Audrey Haick--United States
Water
Out of the vastness of void
He called water into being
And as the first rain drop formed
Suspended before her Master’s eyes
Arrested by the sight of his brilliance
She captured a portion of spirit divine
His beauty, glorious and incredible
Found her delirious with joy!
And amidst the vacuous silence,
Her eternal song arose
Echoing throughout the deep
A solitary sigh of ecstasy; ascending
Reaching a thunderous roar…
She'd ride the four winds forever!
Audrey, a.k.a. Annalise Brigham resides in beautiful Maryland, U.S.A. A Mother to one amazing daughter. She's also a published author and loves writing and reading poetry.
Out of the vastness of void
He called water into being
And as the first rain drop formed
Suspended before her Master’s eyes
Arrested by the sight of his brilliance
She captured a portion of spirit divine
His beauty, glorious and incredible
Found her delirious with joy!
And amidst the vacuous silence,
Her eternal song arose
Echoing throughout the deep
A solitary sigh of ecstasy; ascending
Reaching a thunderous roar…
She'd ride the four winds forever!
Audrey, a.k.a. Annalise Brigham resides in beautiful Maryland, U.S.A. A Mother to one amazing daughter. She's also a published author and loves writing and reading poetry.
Imagination--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal
Imagination
Pre down borealis that had flashed through
the dark blue night sky had disappeared.
A light at the ridge a few stray sunrays lit
up the valley and the mist of mystery was
slowly dissipating, in the clearing I saw
a flock of wisents and a few red deer.
The animals stood still as listening for a sign
or a message of some kind.
A twig of an oak broke it sounded
like rifle shot but the beasts knew better
and began grazing.
Animals of the grassland had retreated
man had taken over ploughing the fertile soil
into fields of wheat.
It was day now and pearls on leaves dried.
When the mammals saw me they quickly,
as shadows of the unseen, vanished
into a landscape of dreams.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
Pre down borealis that had flashed through
the dark blue night sky had disappeared.
A light at the ridge a few stray sunrays lit
up the valley and the mist of mystery was
slowly dissipating, in the clearing I saw
a flock of wisents and a few red deer.
The animals stood still as listening for a sign
or a message of some kind.
A twig of an oak broke it sounded
like rifle shot but the beasts knew better
and began grazing.
Animals of the grassland had retreated
man had taken over ploughing the fertile soil
into fields of wheat.
It was day now and pearls on leaves dried.
When the mammals saw me they quickly,
as shadows of the unseen, vanished
into a landscape of dreams.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
lonesome room--By Kathryn McLoughlin Collins--United States
lonesome room
crown molding
borders an
empty space
no furniture
no soul.
Born in 1945, Kathryn Collins is a native New Yorker now living in Connecticut whose works have been described as “a gentle sort of poetry” by the editor of her first book No Need for Breadcrumbs, published by BeWrite Books, 2004. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, she developed a great love of poetry at an early age and has been writing for 20 years.
crown molding
borders an
empty space
no furniture
no soul.
Born in 1945, Kathryn Collins is a native New Yorker now living in Connecticut whose works have been described as “a gentle sort of poetry” by the editor of her first book No Need for Breadcrumbs, published by BeWrite Books, 2004. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, she developed a great love of poetry at an early age and has been writing for 20 years.
Selected Poems--By Robert Epstein--United States
sleepy hollow
hardly anyone talks about
heaven anymore
____________
not yet ready
to call it a day, my niece
pockets some sunshine
____________
winter wind riding the red fox home
____________
dad's death day
birds he imitated
one week early
____________
after heartache
the comfort of
swirling fog
____________
Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku. He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.
hardly anyone talks about
heaven anymore
____________
not yet ready
to call it a day, my niece
pockets some sunshine
____________
winter wind riding the red fox home
____________
dad's death day
birds he imitated
one week early
____________
after heartache
the comfort of
swirling fog
____________
Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku. He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.
Friday, November 1, 2013
The Voice of the Trees--By John Henson--England
The Voice of the Trees
Come now o man of the worldly mind
Hear the voice of the wind in the trees
See what deep wisdom you may find
Gifted with treasures such as these
The words that rustle through the leaves
With the tales of life they have to tell
Whispered under the green forest eaves
Enchanting all of life with their spell
You have left your family estranged
No longer knowing the gift of tongues
On plains of mammon you have ranged
Seeing not how great are your wrongs
Turn back and learn the words that they speak
The words of your brothers of the land and seas
For in it lies the ancient wisdom that you seek
Whispered in the gentle voice of the trees
For know o man that all of life is one
And the words of ancient wisdom abide
That peace on earth shall not come
Until all of life walks side by side
John Henson was born in the small mining town of Bolsover in Derbyshire, England and educated at Welbeck Road School for Boys and Bournemouth University. He is a graphic designer, illustrator and sculptor. He writes poetry and prose. Four books of his poetry are in publication, and a book of his pencil illustrations is forthcoming.
Come now o man of the worldly mind
Hear the voice of the wind in the trees
See what deep wisdom you may find
Gifted with treasures such as these
The words that rustle through the leaves
With the tales of life they have to tell
Whispered under the green forest eaves
Enchanting all of life with their spell
You have left your family estranged
No longer knowing the gift of tongues
On plains of mammon you have ranged
Seeing not how great are your wrongs
Turn back and learn the words that they speak
The words of your brothers of the land and seas
For in it lies the ancient wisdom that you seek
Whispered in the gentle voice of the trees
For know o man that all of life is one
And the words of ancient wisdom abide
That peace on earth shall not come
Until all of life walks side by side
John Henson was born in the small mining town of Bolsover in Derbyshire, England and educated at Welbeck Road School for Boys and Bournemouth University. He is a graphic designer, illustrator and sculptor. He writes poetry and prose. Four books of his poetry are in publication, and a book of his pencil illustrations is forthcoming.
A Day When Winter Said Goodbye--By Rick Parise--United States
~A Day When Winter Said Goodbye~
In the midst of morn she quietly rose
to greet the dawn of silent repose
She searched beyond the frozen hills
and through the bough's of crystal frills
She danced in dream as clouds rolled by
in hopes the sun would pierce the sky
As moments passed nil of light
the wind kicked up with all it's might
In tumbling turmoil the west winds raged
in fluttering beauty to turn the page
Within a breath a single sigh
the Winter wrath had waved goodbye
As sunlight burned of velvet white
upon her face a shaft of light...
Rick Parise, known as “A Pondering Poet”, is from the beautiful land of Salem, Oregon. The main focus of his poetry is to take the reader to a meaningful, personal time in their lives, to a place where spirit's are touched and memories unwind. He hopes you enjoy his work. To Contact Rick please email him at rapondering@yahoo.com
In the midst of morn she quietly rose
to greet the dawn of silent repose
She searched beyond the frozen hills
and through the bough's of crystal frills
She danced in dream as clouds rolled by
in hopes the sun would pierce the sky
As moments passed nil of light
the wind kicked up with all it's might
In tumbling turmoil the west winds raged
in fluttering beauty to turn the page
Within a breath a single sigh
the Winter wrath had waved goodbye
As sunlight burned of velvet white
upon her face a shaft of light...
Rick Parise, known as “A Pondering Poet”, is from the beautiful land of Salem, Oregon. The main focus of his poetry is to take the reader to a meaningful, personal time in their lives, to a place where spirit's are touched and memories unwind. He hopes you enjoy his work. To Contact Rick please email him at rapondering@yahoo.com
NOVEMBER ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN OCTOBER
Elizabeth Winchcombe--England
Johnette Downing--United States
Eleanor Michael--United States
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. I look forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Robert Epstein, editor of the anthology, Now This: Contemporary Poems of Beginnings, Renewals, and Firsts, is pleased to announce its publication, which is available online at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Now-This-Contemporary-Beginnings-Renewals/dp/1600478956/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380645452&sr=8-1&keywords=robert+epstein%2C+now+this
(Editor note--Thank you Robert for including my poem in this anthology. For those who enjoy haiku, I recommend this book.)
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
Rhoda Galgiani released Expressions From the Inside Out, a book of poetry in 2011. Rhoda's second book is a child's story entitled No Snow for Johnny in 2012. Both books are published by APF Publisher. They have received good reviews and is available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Rhoda at: chesakat@verizon.net
Brian Strand-Selected Poems, (published on kindle Sept 2013) a personal and representative selection to show the poet's poetic path from short imagism to structured prose.
Ndaba Sibanda’s short story, "Of Tokoloshe And The Translator" has been published in India by Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine, and his poem "River Love" has been published by the Elohi Gadugi Journal. Links: http://outsideinmagazine.com/issue-fifteen/fiction/of-tikoloshi-and-the-translator-ndaba-sibanda/ http://egjournal.org/issue/fall-2013/article/river-love/
Celine Rose Mariotti has a home business, CRM Enterprises, where she edits and critiques manuscripts, designs note cards and business cards, helps you polish your resume, and sells her beaded jewelry. Contact Celine at: celinem@aol.com
Celine Rose Mariotti has a new book out, Minister's Shoes. It is a mystery/detective book about a Baptist Minister who solves mysteries with the help of the Lord Who appears to him and gives him clues. You can access Celine's book on Amazon, WriteWordsInc.com, Nook, and omnilit. It is both a print book and an e-book.
Patricia Nolan announces the release of her latest book Western Brushstrokes, a collection of haiku and Japanese ink art. Contact: patrician1023@gmail.com or the book may seen at and ordered from: www.rosenberrybooks.com
Karen O’Leary makes homemade cards with poetry and other features. With cards in stores getting so expensive, she would like to offer the opportunity to have cards with your poetry or cards she designs for occasions made to fit your needs. She will be charging $2 for United States and $3 (US currency only) for other countries including postage. Cards will include envelopes ready for mailing to others. Sample cards are available. Please contact her a gksm@cableone.net if you would like to discuss options or if you want her mailing address to order a sample card.
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
Robert Epstein, the editor of the poetry collection, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, is seeking haiku, senryu, tanka, and haiga related to the theme of the sacred, broadly conceived. Unpublished poems are preferred but published poems with full credits may be sent to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. There is no compensation for inclusion. The deadline is: 12/31/13. The anthology will be available for purchase online at Amazon.com.
Robert Epstein, the author of an article on haiku and veganism and animal rights is seeking haiku, senryu or tanka on the aforementioned themes. Please send poetry to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. The deadline is: 12/31/13. There is no compensation for inclusion.
Please consider supporting The Pen, The Jokester, and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com (click on guidelines).
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Whispers is always looking for new writers to join our community. Please send family friendly poems 20 lines or less to gksm@cableone.net Complete guidelines posted 1/21/2013. Thank you to everyone who has already contributed to the site. Please see the new collaboration poem opportunity posted October 29.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.
Elizabeth Winchcombe--England
Johnette Downing--United States
Eleanor Michael--United States
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. I look forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Robert Epstein, editor of the anthology, Now This: Contemporary Poems of Beginnings, Renewals, and Firsts, is pleased to announce its publication, which is available online at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Now-This-Contemporary-Beginnings-Renewals/dp/1600478956/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1380645452&sr=8-1&keywords=robert+epstein%2C+now+this
(Editor note--Thank you Robert for including my poem in this anthology. For those who enjoy haiku, I recommend this book.)
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
Rhoda Galgiani released Expressions From the Inside Out, a book of poetry in 2011. Rhoda's second book is a child's story entitled No Snow for Johnny in 2012. Both books are published by APF Publisher. They have received good reviews and is available online at lulu.com and amazon.com (search book titles or author's name at the appropriate website) or contact Rhoda at: chesakat@verizon.net
Brian Strand-Selected Poems, (published on kindle Sept 2013) a personal and representative selection to show the poet's poetic path from short imagism to structured prose.
Ndaba Sibanda’s short story, "Of Tokoloshe And The Translator" has been published in India by Outside In Literary & Travel Magazine, and his poem "River Love" has been published by the Elohi Gadugi Journal. Links: http://outsideinmagazine.com/issue-fifteen/fiction/of-tikoloshi-and-the-translator-ndaba-sibanda/ http://egjournal.org/issue/fall-2013/article/river-love/
Celine Rose Mariotti has a home business, CRM Enterprises, where she edits and critiques manuscripts, designs note cards and business cards, helps you polish your resume, and sells her beaded jewelry. Contact Celine at: celinem@aol.com
Celine Rose Mariotti has a new book out, Minister's Shoes. It is a mystery/detective book about a Baptist Minister who solves mysteries with the help of the Lord Who appears to him and gives him clues. You can access Celine's book on Amazon, WriteWordsInc.com, Nook, and omnilit. It is both a print book and an e-book.
Patricia Nolan announces the release of her latest book Western Brushstrokes, a collection of haiku and Japanese ink art. Contact: patrician1023@gmail.com or the book may seen at and ordered from: www.rosenberrybooks.com
Karen O’Leary makes homemade cards with poetry and other features. With cards in stores getting so expensive, she would like to offer the opportunity to have cards with your poetry or cards she designs for occasions made to fit your needs. She will be charging $2 for United States and $3 (US currency only) for other countries including postage. Cards will include envelopes ready for mailing to others. Sample cards are available. Please contact her a gksm@cableone.net if you would like to discuss options or if you want her mailing address to order a sample card.
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
Robert Epstein, the editor of the poetry collection, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, is seeking haiku, senryu, tanka, and haiga related to the theme of the sacred, broadly conceived. Unpublished poems are preferred but published poems with full credits may be sent to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. There is no compensation for inclusion. The deadline is: 12/31/13. The anthology will be available for purchase online at Amazon.com.
Robert Epstein, the author of an article on haiku and veganism and animal rights is seeking haiku, senryu or tanka on the aforementioned themes. Please send poetry to worldofdewhaiku@gmail.com. The deadline is: 12/31/13. There is no compensation for inclusion.
Please consider supporting The Pen, The Jokester, and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com (click on guidelines).
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Whispers is always looking for new writers to join our community. Please send family friendly poems 20 lines or less to gksm@cableone.net Complete guidelines posted 1/21/2013. Thank you to everyone who has already contributed to the site. Please see the new collaboration poem opportunity posted October 29.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.
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