Amidst Potent Floods
Though thunderous noises besiege me
And menacing flames threaten my being
I will gaze upon wondrous works of creation
And trust that I should not fear
Amidst potent floods, I will stand
Anxiety may hang thick as clouds above me
And though I trod through dark, murky waters
My feet, by God's grace, planted well
For who keeps the ocean tucked in its bed?
Who bids the caterpillar, sleep and sprout wings?
If He cares so much for these creations
There is no doubt, He cares for me!
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.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Sunshine of Her Smile--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom
The Sunshine of Her Smile
She beamed so much sunshine
out of her tender heart,
so pure and welcoming,
straight to mine
through her radiant smile
and the warmth in her beguiling eyes,
so enchanting and sublime.
And within that glorious tender moment
my heart and soul were captured.
I felt reborn and so alive.
As we planted a beautiful blooming garden of vibrant color
and the world melted away.
I was so lost in her exquisite beauty
and the story within her eyes.
For in her I saw the future,
what I prayed for.
I had found paradise!
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.
She beamed so much sunshine
out of her tender heart,
so pure and welcoming,
straight to mine
through her radiant smile
and the warmth in her beguiling eyes,
so enchanting and sublime.
And within that glorious tender moment
my heart and soul were captured.
I felt reborn and so alive.
As we planted a beautiful blooming garden of vibrant color
and the world melted away.
I was so lost in her exquisite beauty
and the story within her eyes.
For in her I saw the future,
what I prayed for.
I had found paradise!
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.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Selected Poems--By Robert Epstein--United States
on disability
his homespun blanket
wins first prize
___________
inspired by
the public fountain
her ballet poses
___________
opening the blinds
morning is my house
of worship
___________
born to be wild mustard
___________
despite her age
she wakes up to
a hopscotch day
___________
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.
his homespun blanket
wins first prize
___________
inspired by
the public fountain
her ballet poses
___________
opening the blinds
morning is my house
of worship
___________
born to be wild mustard
___________
despite her age
she wakes up to
a hopscotch day
___________
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.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Whispering Wind--By Joseph S. Spence, Sr.--United States
Whispering Wind
Lovely wind blowing in the air
From place to place never erase
So soft and sweet it takes you there
So full of charm so full of grace
Whispers of songs on many lips
A serenade not torn apart
In the soft breeze leaves even flip
Like the sweet glow of lovers’ hearts
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.
Lovely wind blowing in the air
From place to place never erase
So soft and sweet it takes you there
So full of charm so full of grace
Whispers of songs on many lips
A serenade not torn apart
In the soft breeze leaves even flip
Like the sweet glow of lovers’ hearts
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.
Friday, September 20, 2013
When Mourning Dawns--By Poppy Herrin--United States
When Mourning Dawns
All day your name has been against my mind
and hurt me like the too frail loveliness
of pear blooms in the rain.
All night my voice undefined
has swung from star to star
to call you back.
Tomorrow I will know that you can’t come
and after that I won’t know anything
but small hard shells against my bare feet
and sand upon my lips at dawn.
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.
All day your name has been against my mind
and hurt me like the too frail loveliness
of pear blooms in the rain.
All night my voice undefined
has swung from star to star
to call you back.
Tomorrow I will know that you can’t come
and after that I won’t know anything
but small hard shells against my bare feet
and sand upon my lips at dawn.
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.
Trees of Concrete and Steel--By John Henson--England
Trees of Concrete and Steel
I peer from beneath eaves of green
From the brink of your human world
As an intelligence visible yet unseen
I watched you as your follies unfurled
To you I am some legendary being
A myth as your understanding fails
For you wander this earth unseeing
As your fate all of creation bewails
Mere children in the fabric of time
Perceiving not your lack of stature
Or of committing the cosmic crime
Assuming God’s power over nature
Centuries my kind have watched you
For in your blindness you cannot see
Unaware of that which is held true
That all living things should live free
The watcher am I, I have no name
Great sadness for your savagery I feel
I cannot save you from losing the game
From your trees of concrete and steel
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.
I peer from beneath eaves of green
From the brink of your human world
As an intelligence visible yet unseen
I watched you as your follies unfurled
To you I am some legendary being
A myth as your understanding fails
For you wander this earth unseeing
As your fate all of creation bewails
Mere children in the fabric of time
Perceiving not your lack of stature
Or of committing the cosmic crime
Assuming God’s power over nature
Centuries my kind have watched you
For in your blindness you cannot see
Unaware of that which is held true
That all living things should live free
The watcher am I, I have no name
Great sadness for your savagery I feel
I cannot save you from losing the game
From your trees of concrete and steel
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Comfort in Blue--By Karen O'Leary--United States
Comfort in Blue
Clad in navy denim jeans,
my royal sandals match
the beat of azure waves
slapping the shore.
It is here I find peace
in this secluded haven.
The powder blue sky
on this warm sunny day,
calms my inner spirit.
The bottom of a rainbow,
immersed in blue, I feel
the presence of God.
Whispers passed the 20,000 view mark thanks to the support of talented writers and wonderful readers. People are reading words here from several different countries. I would like to invite people of all writing levels to consider sharing their words here. I am willing to work with anyone that has an interest in sharing family friendly poetry. Guidelines on January 21, 2013 for your reference. Thank you for considering this. I am so grateful to anyone that has been a part of this journey.
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.
Clad in navy denim jeans,
my royal sandals match
the beat of azure waves
slapping the shore.
It is here I find peace
in this secluded haven.
The powder blue sky
on this warm sunny day,
calms my inner spirit.
The bottom of a rainbow,
immersed in blue, I feel
the presence of God.
Whispers passed the 20,000 view mark thanks to the support of talented writers and wonderful readers. People are reading words here from several different countries. I would like to invite people of all writing levels to consider sharing their words here. I am willing to work with anyone that has an interest in sharing family friendly poetry. Guidelines on January 21, 2013 for your reference. Thank you for considering this. I am so grateful to anyone that has been a part of this journey.
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.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Grandpa, Sitting on the Porch--By Celine Rose Mariotti--United States
Grandpa, Sitting on the Porch
his favorite place to sit
in his old brown rocking chair
his Kelly on his head
wearing his old beige sweater
and a pair of dark visors over his glasses
that was Grandpa
he and I would sit on that old porch
he’d tell me stories
about growing up in Italy
Grandpa was funny and he
made me laugh
one day while we talked
he told me seriously
“Someday you’re going to be famous,
I won’t be here to see it,
But I know it’s going to happen”
My Grandpa, I hope your words are blessed,
For I always think about you,
Grandpa, you and me,
Sitting on the porch,
Those memories forever linger.
Celine Rose Mariotti is an accomplished writer whose work has appeared in magazines all over the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Australia and India. Some of those magazines include: Green’s Magazine, Poet’s Review, Poet’s Art, Tombigbee, Hindu Young World, Magnolia Quarterly, Lone Stars Magazine, Pablo Lennis, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Pink Chameleon and many more. She has had six books published. She plays the guitar and banjo; has her own home business and lives with her family in Shelton,CT.
his favorite place to sit
in his old brown rocking chair
his Kelly on his head
wearing his old beige sweater
and a pair of dark visors over his glasses
that was Grandpa
he and I would sit on that old porch
he’d tell me stories
about growing up in Italy
Grandpa was funny and he
made me laugh
one day while we talked
he told me seriously
“Someday you’re going to be famous,
I won’t be here to see it,
But I know it’s going to happen”
My Grandpa, I hope your words are blessed,
For I always think about you,
Grandpa, you and me,
Sitting on the porch,
Those memories forever linger.
Celine Rose Mariotti is an accomplished writer whose work has appeared in magazines all over the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Australia and India. Some of those magazines include: Green’s Magazine, Poet’s Review, Poet’s Art, Tombigbee, Hindu Young World, Magnolia Quarterly, Lone Stars Magazine, Pablo Lennis, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Pink Chameleon and many more. She has had six books published. She plays the guitar and banjo; has her own home business and lives with her family in Shelton,CT.
Friday, September 13, 2013
A Summer Couplet--By Rick Parise--United States
A Summer Couplet
Upon my knees in desperation the parched sand trickles through my hand
the steady drumbeat of Summer's song rolls like death across the land,,,,,
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
Upon my knees in desperation the parched sand trickles through my hand
the steady drumbeat of Summer's song rolls like death across the land,,,,,
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
Vacation Home--By Joann Grisetti--United States
Vacation Home
Our cabin perches e’er so high
To best survey the rock-strewn shore
Where steadily the ocean’s tide
Sounds crashing waves’ resounding roar;
Weathered shingles exclude the storms
That sometimes rage through the night
A cozy fire glowing warm
Will lure us closer by its light;
Why we return here every year
Remains to me a mystery
Yet when departure time draws near
I pack my share of memories.
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.
Our cabin perches e’er so high
To best survey the rock-strewn shore
Where steadily the ocean’s tide
Sounds crashing waves’ resounding roar;
Weathered shingles exclude the storms
That sometimes rage through the night
A cozy fire glowing warm
Will lure us closer by its light;
Why we return here every year
Remains to me a mystery
Yet when departure time draws near
I pack my share of memories.
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.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Eyes That Are Blind--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States
Eyes That Are Blind
How my heart yearned, truths to infuse
Into stubborn minds that refused
To see all God's simple truths.
Blind youths!
The tears came with fear induced thoughts.
Despairing, are their souls all lost?
But God's truth dried up the drops.
Hope swapped!
Accepting I can't change their minds.
The eye is where it's at, I'd find.
God opened eyes that were blind.
They're mine!
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.
How my heart yearned, truths to infuse
Into stubborn minds that refused
To see all God's simple truths.
Blind youths!
The tears came with fear induced thoughts.
Despairing, are their souls all lost?
But God's truth dried up the drops.
Hope swapped!
Accepting I can't change their minds.
The eye is where it's at, I'd find.
God opened eyes that were blind.
They're mine!
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.
Book of Stamps--By Cindy Evans--United States
Book of Stamps
With a book of stamps you can
do many thoughtful things;
with creativity and caring,
many blessings you can bring!
You can send a card
to a patient so they'll feel better.
You can reach a prisoner
just by dashing off a letter!
You can help a hurting heart
by penning a kind note
or congratulate someone's work;
they'll be glad you wrote!
There are birthdays to celebrate,
a new home to acknowledge,
and wishes of good luck
for a student off to college!
So many reasons to mail some mail,
so many lives to touch--
so buy some stamps and send some love.
You can never send too much!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the sunny south. When she's not writing, she does office work for Christian companies, spends time with her husband, Mark, goes walking and visits grand openings!
With a book of stamps you can
do many thoughtful things;
with creativity and caring,
many blessings you can bring!
You can send a card
to a patient so they'll feel better.
You can reach a prisoner
just by dashing off a letter!
You can help a hurting heart
by penning a kind note
or congratulate someone's work;
they'll be glad you wrote!
There are birthdays to celebrate,
a new home to acknowledge,
and wishes of good luck
for a student off to college!
So many reasons to mail some mail,
so many lives to touch--
so buy some stamps and send some love.
You can never send too much!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the sunny south. When she's not writing, she does office work for Christian companies, spends time with her husband, Mark, goes walking and visits grand openings!
Thoughts….--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States
Thoughts….
When I am weak, You are strong, and
oh Lord, I need Your strength today
to help me continue on
through a day filled with matters
that weigh upon me;
through a period that feels empty
and unproductive;
through a time that has
not yet manifested itself.
Feels like I’m sinking
to the very bottom of
an abyss that is not only empty,
but compounds my anxiety
with each level down.
Up is where I want to be
so I need Your strength, Lord,
for I feel weakened from
the cares of this world, and
the day to day hoopla.
Give me strength, Lord. I need Your strength.
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.
When I am weak, You are strong, and
oh Lord, I need Your strength today
to help me continue on
through a day filled with matters
that weigh upon me;
through a period that feels empty
and unproductive;
through a time that has
not yet manifested itself.
Feels like I’m sinking
to the very bottom of
an abyss that is not only empty,
but compounds my anxiety
with each level down.
Up is where I want to be
so I need Your strength, Lord,
for I feel weakened from
the cares of this world, and
the day to day hoopla.
Give me strength, Lord. I need Your strength.
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.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
A Good Lesson is Taught--By Dena M. Ferrari--United States
A Good Lesson is Taught
There by the light of the moon you spy
You spy something in the distance far into the sky
Into the sky your imagination is swallowed
Imagination is swallowed by the gale winds that follow
Gale winds that follow the river stream path
Stream path is mixing and churning feeling wind's wrath
Feeling wind's wrath the clouds cover the moon
The moon hidden light will reappear soon
Eager to seek the path once again
Once again the moon shows the path on the glen
The path on the glen reaches the clearing surrounded by trees
Surrounded by trees you relax and feel pleased
Feel pleased that you have found a safe spot
A safe spot where a good lesson is taught
Lesson is taught for those that will learn
Those that will learn a lesson discerned
Poetry Form--Tumble Rhyme created by Dena Ferrari.
Last words are the first words on next line
a/a/b/b/c/c/d/d e/e/f/f/g/g/h/h
8 lines/2 stanza's
No word or syllable count
Ink flows in Dena's blood and spills its words upon the Parchment of Time...
Writing since four years old, she has a lifetime of created works in many genres.
Inspiration in Nature draws more work as Dena's Muse is relentless. Thank you Karen for having this work displayed....
There by the light of the moon you spy
You spy something in the distance far into the sky
Into the sky your imagination is swallowed
Imagination is swallowed by the gale winds that follow
Gale winds that follow the river stream path
Stream path is mixing and churning feeling wind's wrath
Feeling wind's wrath the clouds cover the moon
The moon hidden light will reappear soon
Eager to seek the path once again
Once again the moon shows the path on the glen
The path on the glen reaches the clearing surrounded by trees
Surrounded by trees you relax and feel pleased
Feel pleased that you have found a safe spot
A safe spot where a good lesson is taught
Lesson is taught for those that will learn
Those that will learn a lesson discerned
Poetry Form--Tumble Rhyme created by Dena Ferrari.
Last words are the first words on next line
a/a/b/b/c/c/d/d e/e/f/f/g/g/h/h
8 lines/2 stanza's
No word or syllable count
Ink flows in Dena's blood and spills its words upon the Parchment of Time...
Writing since four years old, she has a lifetime of created works in many genres.
Inspiration in Nature draws more work as Dena's Muse is relentless. Thank you Karen for having this work displayed....
The Girl in the Indigo Jeans--By David Fox--United States
The Girl in the Indigo Jeans
She was the love of his life
The star of his dreams
The girl in the indigo jeans.
He imagined being with her
In many ways, many scenes
The girl in the indigo jean.
Standing by the boardwalk along the beach
But this girl that wanted was too far out of reach
He saw her for the first time and hoped maybe perchance
She would say yes if he asked her to dance
But she was out of his league
Though he tried he couldn't get her by any means
The girl in the indigo jeans.
Even though that he's older and she's moved away
In his heart she will forever stay.
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.
She was the love of his life
The star of his dreams
The girl in the indigo jeans.
He imagined being with her
In many ways, many scenes
The girl in the indigo jean.
Standing by the boardwalk along the beach
But this girl that wanted was too far out of reach
He saw her for the first time and hoped maybe perchance
She would say yes if he asked her to dance
But she was out of his league
Though he tried he couldn't get her by any means
The girl in the indigo jeans.
Even though that he's older and she's moved away
In his heart she will forever stay.
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, September 10, 2013
Sunset Reflections--By Robert A. Dufresne--United States
Sunset Reflections
Florescent sherbet Cirrus puffs floating
o’er wavy ribbon candy horizon,
saffron sun beams in clear jello coating
licking a custard filled moon rising.
Marmalade splattered skies,
wisps of folded blueberry streaked batter,
devoured by my eyes,
imagination over matter.
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 .
Florescent sherbet Cirrus puffs floating
o’er wavy ribbon candy horizon,
saffron sun beams in clear jello coating
licking a custard filled moon rising.
Marmalade splattered skies,
wisps of folded blueberry streaked batter,
devoured by my eyes,
imagination over matter.
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 .
Star-Fins--By Suzanne Delaney--United States
Star-Fins
Seaside holiday,
a child sculpting
from sand, a sea turtle
all consuming details
a geometric shell,
carved by a stick, four
well placed fins
round black eyes
of two, worn- flat sea pebbles
If an unseen force
was to animate
these cartoon-cute features
and sea-ready fins,
would it race for the breakers,
not looking back to see who was
its Creator ?
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.
Seaside holiday,
a child sculpting
from sand, a sea turtle
all consuming details
a geometric shell,
carved by a stick, four
well placed fins
round black eyes
of two, worn- flat sea pebbles
If an unseen force
was to animate
these cartoon-cute features
and sea-ready fins,
would it race for the breakers,
not looking back to see who was
its Creator ?
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.
In Dawn's Bright Glow--By Andrea Dietrich--United States
In Dawn's Bright Glow
The sweet notes of a bird drift down to me
from one grand oak that shines with day’s first rays.
I look up at blue sky and that old tree.
What joy, for at a glad lark I now gaze!
The lark sings on. Her song fills up my heart.
I turn to see a deer whose head is bent
to drink at a cool stream; the view is art. . .
Sun’s beams, the deer and lark from God were sent
to cheer me at this time. My eyes are drawn
to fields far off and near them - hills that gleam
in that gold stream of light, the blaze of dawn,
My thoughts now waft as if they were a dream.
I feel such bliss, I wish to keep it - so
I sit to write of it in dawn’s bright glow.
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.
The sweet notes of a bird drift down to me
from one grand oak that shines with day’s first rays.
I look up at blue sky and that old tree.
What joy, for at a glad lark I now gaze!
The lark sings on. Her song fills up my heart.
I turn to see a deer whose head is bent
to drink at a cool stream; the view is art. . .
Sun’s beams, the deer and lark from God were sent
to cheer me at this time. My eyes are drawn
to fields far off and near them - hills that gleam
in that gold stream of light, the blaze of dawn,
My thoughts now waft as if they were a dream.
I feel such bliss, I wish to keep it - so
I sit to write of it in dawn’s bright glow.
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.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Home--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands
Home
Like seagulls gliding high in delight
The sun kissed sailors varying voices
Are heard to echo gently in harmony
“Home”
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.
Like seagulls gliding high in delight
The sun kissed sailors varying voices
Are heard to echo gently in harmony
“Home”
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 Little Observation--By Christine Tate--United States
A Little Observation
You still say God is obscure?
with a little observation
He can be seen and heard
in all of His creation.
Every time a bird sings
or a newborn baby cries,
each time a flower blooms
or a bee goes buzzing by...
when autumn leaves fall
and summer breezes blow,
from the frost on a pumpkin
or in freshly fallen snow...
just gaze upon a sunset
or a golden sunrise,
and behold the lightning
illuminate the sky...
when the ocean waves crash
or a rainbow should appear,
remember the creator God
has made His presence clear!
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."
You still say God is obscure?
with a little observation
He can be seen and heard
in all of His creation.
Every time a bird sings
or a newborn baby cries,
each time a flower blooms
or a bee goes buzzing by...
when autumn leaves fall
and summer breezes blow,
from the frost on a pumpkin
or in freshly fallen snow...
just gaze upon a sunset
or a golden sunrise,
and behold the lightning
illuminate the sky...
when the ocean waves crash
or a rainbow should appear,
remember the creator God
has made His presence clear!
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."
Sunday, September 8, 2013
The Scrambling of Humpty-Dumpty--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States
The Scrambling of Humpty-Dumpty
Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall and gambled,
That if he fell his yolk would not be scrambled!
Yet when he fell,
He cracked his shell!
Alas, no way he could be reassembled!
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.
Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall and gambled,
That if he fell his yolk would not be scrambled!
Yet when he fell,
He cracked his shell!
Alas, no way he could be reassembled!
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.
Our Lighthouse--By Donna Wallace--United States
Our Lighthouse
I've been tossed upon the ocean
then brutally dumped on shore
My Lord has been my Lighthouse
and will be forevermore.
From my path I've often wandered
on a journey of guilt and shame
Lost, and alone I trembled
not knowing My Lord's name.
Yet, He was always with me
though His presence was unknown
My storm is finally over
because, in faith, I’ve grown.
I now have reached my understanding
of how The Father has saved my life
He is, unceasingly, my Lighthouse
who's delivered me from strife.
Though our seas are cold and rocky
at times we crash upon our shore
Our Lord will be our Lighthouse
for now...and evermore...
Donna Wallace is a writer from Katy, TX.
I've been tossed upon the ocean
then brutally dumped on shore
My Lord has been my Lighthouse
and will be forevermore.
From my path I've often wandered
on a journey of guilt and shame
Lost, and alone I trembled
not knowing My Lord's name.
Yet, He was always with me
though His presence was unknown
My storm is finally over
because, in faith, I’ve grown.
I now have reached my understanding
of how The Father has saved my life
He is, unceasingly, my Lighthouse
who's delivered me from strife.
Though our seas are cold and rocky
at times we crash upon our shore
Our Lord will be our Lighthouse
for now...and evermore...
Donna Wallace is a writer from Katy, TX.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Aditi in a Dream at Wollongong (A Poem for My Daughter)--By Sunil Uniyal--India
Aditi in a Dream at Wollongong (A Poem for My Daughter)
That evening jogging on the beach with my friends
miles and miles away from home I was alone
the sea was rolling and unrolling its carpet of blue and grey
with what was a milk-border of foam
rolling and unrolling it endlessly or so it seemed
a score of seagulls on the shore flapped their wings
starch white some picking morsels from the sand
jogging on the beach that evening miles and miles away from home
I ran into a dream
a little challenged girl in knickers and sport shirt
was carried by the waves to the shore and as she stepped
on the beach I held her hand
she walked with me her puny feet at every step battling
with the sand her head swayed sideward with the breeze
she clapped her hands now and then and broke
into an incoherent song seemingly happy walking the beach
I was happy too holding her hand that evening jogging
till the shout of friends behind woke me up
alone in my room that night I felt restless, sleep was long in coming...
waking up at morn I learnt my TV had been on whole night !
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.
That evening jogging on the beach with my friends
miles and miles away from home I was alone
the sea was rolling and unrolling its carpet of blue and grey
with what was a milk-border of foam
rolling and unrolling it endlessly or so it seemed
a score of seagulls on the shore flapped their wings
starch white some picking morsels from the sand
jogging on the beach that evening miles and miles away from home
I ran into a dream
a little challenged girl in knickers and sport shirt
was carried by the waves to the shore and as she stepped
on the beach I held her hand
she walked with me her puny feet at every step battling
with the sand her head swayed sideward with the breeze
she clapped her hands now and then and broke
into an incoherent song seemingly happy walking the beach
I was happy too holding her hand that evening jogging
till the shout of friends behind woke me up
alone in my room that night I felt restless, sleep was long in coming...
waking up at morn I learnt my TV had been on whole night !
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.
The Rain Starved Dirt…--By Richard Sponaugle--United States
The Rain Starved Dirt…
is a vast, parched graveyard.
I’m the last ghost in town,
so somberly mourn my twin;
the same dry, steadfast surface,
hiding tears deep within;
identical tic tac toe lines,
engulfing faces worn by time and weather,
that only a mother nature could love;
a mirrored lack of love and human contact.
Does the earth mourn me?
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.
is a vast, parched graveyard.
I’m the last ghost in town,
so somberly mourn my twin;
the same dry, steadfast surface,
hiding tears deep within;
identical tic tac toe lines,
engulfing faces worn by time and weather,
that only a mother nature could love;
a mirrored lack of love and human contact.
Does the earth mourn me?
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.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Needed Discovery--By Jean Calkins--United States
Needed Discovery
What is it makes you want to kill?
Do you feel important
when another’s blood you spill?
Do you have no feeling for
their families at all,
or will you kill unnumbered more?
When you take your own sick life,
why? What made you so
confused and bitter, filled with strife?
They say God makes no errors
and he created you,
the monster of all terrors.
But mental illness has no bounds;
we all share some, it seems,
yet yours has crueler grounds.
How can we find the hidden hate
in someone’s precious son,
before he’s lost to murder’s fate?
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.
What is it makes you want to kill?
Do you feel important
when another’s blood you spill?
Do you have no feeling for
their families at all,
or will you kill unnumbered more?
When you take your own sick life,
why? What made you so
confused and bitter, filled with strife?
They say God makes no errors
and he created you,
the monster of all terrors.
But mental illness has no bounds;
we all share some, it seems,
yet yours has crueler grounds.
How can we find the hidden hate
in someone’s precious son,
before he’s lost to murder’s fate?
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.
Opportunity Missed--By Kathryn Collins--United States
Opportunity Missed
I neglected you.
My work-shy nature
left fallow
the raw page.
I heeded not unforeseen
whimsy of words,
the nitty-gritty of my
most solemn soul.
Sooner could have been
my release from bondage,
the levee-collapsing revelation:
a poem.
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.
I neglected you.
My work-shy nature
left fallow
the raw page.
I heeded not unforeseen
whimsy of words,
the nitty-gritty of my
most solemn soul.
Sooner could have been
my release from bondage,
the levee-collapsing revelation:
a poem.
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.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
So far away (untitled poem)--By Sandra Stefanowich--Canada
So far away
into clouds of rolling fire
holding onto a world of tears
moving across stained glass skies.
So far away - you led me.
Into a dark, barren sky
my soul swept away by the tempest
left adrift in the ashen silence that lingered
so far away.
Sandra Stefanowich is from Ontario.
into clouds of rolling fire
holding onto a world of tears
moving across stained glass skies.
So far away - you led me.
Into a dark, barren sky
my soul swept away by the tempest
left adrift in the ashen silence that lingered
so far away.
Sandra Stefanowich is from Ontario.
Winter's Rose--By Carolyn Devonshire--United States
Winter's Rose
white frost streaks her hair
smooth ice-sculpture skin of youth
stroked by cracks
wrinkles that have weathered life
skin once firmly packed sags
in the mirror a figure she doesn’t recognize
but she laughs
budding spring beauty
summer rose that danced through seemingly timeless evenings
restless rebellion came with fall
withering, yearning
but winter, sweet winter
fills her heart with warm memories
resignation, acceptance of a life well-lived
a spirit that will never die
winter’s rose smiles, prepares for eternal life
Carolyn Devonshire is from Ormond Beach, Florida.
white frost streaks her hair
smooth ice-sculpture skin of youth
stroked by cracks
wrinkles that have weathered life
skin once firmly packed sags
in the mirror a figure she doesn’t recognize
but she laughs
budding spring beauty
summer rose that danced through seemingly timeless evenings
restless rebellion came with fall
withering, yearning
but winter, sweet winter
fills her heart with warm memories
resignation, acceptance of a life well-lived
a spirit that will never die
winter’s rose smiles, prepares for eternal life
Carolyn Devonshire is from Ormond Beach, Florida.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Too Fast For Me--By Marcus Omer--United States
Too Fast For Me
The world all ‘round is moving fast,
it goes a-whizzing by,
the way its moves so frightens me,
I can only sit and cry.
Now everything is “drive-through”
or “overnight express”.
In every line I own the rear,
my more is always less.
The young folks say I poke along;
I think I’m in a trot.
They finish before I’ve started,
they’ve zipped before I squat.
Their thumbs growing sharp from texting,
it’s changed the way we spell.
Since they’ve dreamed-up all these shortcuts,
I’m tardy before the bell.
So I’m sittin’ on the sidelines,
ain’t gonna run no mo’
for the way they zip ‘round and ‘round,
I’m ‘fraid they’ll start to glow.
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.
The world all ‘round is moving fast,
it goes a-whizzing by,
the way its moves so frightens me,
I can only sit and cry.
Now everything is “drive-through”
or “overnight express”.
In every line I own the rear,
my more is always less.
The young folks say I poke along;
I think I’m in a trot.
They finish before I’ve started,
they’ve zipped before I squat.
Their thumbs growing sharp from texting,
it’s changed the way we spell.
Since they’ve dreamed-up all these shortcuts,
I’m tardy before the bell.
So I’m sittin’ on the sidelines,
ain’t gonna run no mo’
for the way they zip ‘round and ‘round,
I’m ‘fraid they’ll start to glow.
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.
The Art of Poetry--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal
The Art of Poetry
I often read poetry on the internet because
from time to time, someone utterly unknown
and might remain so, produces a pearl.
Words that resonate like Tibetan bells in my
heart, they tell of love and humanity what
bind us together and transcend religion, creed
and race. And I think if I only once could
express this, just once, I would have donated
to the world something of lasting value.
I´m a pedestrian poet, a man of the everyday,
the none event of a shopkeepers daily life,
the plane falling down from the sky, the dream
that got lost, drowning seamen, in bitter seas.
The nameless in the ocean of life that will for
eternity be forgotten, yet dreamt like I do.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
I often read poetry on the internet because
from time to time, someone utterly unknown
and might remain so, produces a pearl.
Words that resonate like Tibetan bells in my
heart, they tell of love and humanity what
bind us together and transcend religion, creed
and race. And I think if I only once could
express this, just once, I would have donated
to the world something of lasting value.
I´m a pedestrian poet, a man of the everyday,
the none event of a shopkeepers daily life,
the plane falling down from the sky, the dream
that got lost, drowning seamen, in bitter seas.
The nameless in the ocean of life that will for
eternity be forgotten, yet dreamt like I do.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
Limerick--By Arthur C. Ford, Sr.--United States
Limerick
There once was a lady of Lot
Who cooked in a can not a pot,
She ate on a slate
Instead of a plate
But at least, her food, it was hot.
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.
There once was a lady of Lot
Who cooked in a can not a pot,
She ate on a slate
Instead of a plate
But at least, her food, it was hot.
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.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Memories--By Jack Horne--England
Memories
I went to places where we’d been,
Recalling times and sights we’d seen,
Remembered kissing, holding hands,
Romantic walks on moonlit sands.
I thought our love was meant to last
And can’t believe I’m in your past.
I need your love, but have to see
You’re not here now, it’s only me…
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
I went to places where we’d been,
Recalling times and sights we’d seen,
Remembered kissing, holding hands,
Romantic walks on moonlit sands.
I thought our love was meant to last
And can’t believe I’m in your past.
I need your love, but have to see
You’re not here now, it’s only me…
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
What It's About--By Yancy Lee Dalton--United States
What It's About
I came to be, by way of a family
It's not about them, not about me
My spirit abides inside my body
If acting bad, good or naughty?
If for me only, where fits the we?
May we open our souls eyes to see
It's not about you, not about me
It's about caring, making us free
Free to give, receive, to have joy
Not a fellow being, to ever annoy
It's about all us souls from above
It's about you, me, them and love
Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.
I came to be, by way of a family
It's not about them, not about me
My spirit abides inside my body
If acting bad, good or naughty?
If for me only, where fits the we?
May we open our souls eyes to see
It's not about you, not about me
It's about caring, making us free
Free to give, receive, to have joy
Not a fellow being, to ever annoy
It's about all us souls from above
It's about you, me, them and love
Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Tomorrow--By Barbara Siekierski--United States
Tomorrow
I sit by the window.
In my mind’s eye,
I see the light
shining on the water,
and His light
restores my soul.
It gives me hope
for tomorrow,
because I don’t know
what tomorrow brings.
Shadows dance
like a silhouette
on a lake,
like images
in a dream.
They are not real.
God is real.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
I sit by the window.
In my mind’s eye,
I see the light
shining on the water,
and His light
restores my soul.
It gives me hope
for tomorrow,
because I don’t know
what tomorrow brings.
Shadows dance
like a silhouette
on a lake,
like images
in a dream.
They are not real.
God is real.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
Astir--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia
Astir
You set it ablaze
Setting the tongues
In motion and wonder
You upped your game
Even startled the judges
Tore off the form book
The truth is yet to be told
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".
You set it ablaze
Setting the tongues
In motion and wonder
You upped your game
Even startled the judges
Tore off the form book
The truth is yet to be told
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".
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Enduring Playful Love--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States
Enduring Playful Love
As I strolled along the shore searching for
sea shells, memories came from the past.
Memories of a child again collecting
the shells running with shouts to Mother
"Save them, save them for me”.
Wondering where the sea shells have been
I peered deep within the ocean’s foam,
to retrieve the mystery of their journey.
Tumbling they swirl in the depths of the sea
washed cleverly clean by the salted water.
Answers of the question at hand
never seem to come because these are
the mysteries of the ocean’s world.
Answers that we long for leaves us
wondering, where do all the sea shells go?
My stroll is continued happily accepting
not all answers can come to me when expected.
Content to watch the waves caress the shore,
tossing the sea shells again and again
with an endearing playful love.
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
As I strolled along the shore searching for
sea shells, memories came from the past.
Memories of a child again collecting
the shells running with shouts to Mother
"Save them, save them for me”.
Wondering where the sea shells have been
I peered deep within the ocean’s foam,
to retrieve the mystery of their journey.
Tumbling they swirl in the depths of the sea
washed cleverly clean by the salted water.
Answers of the question at hand
never seem to come because these are
the mysteries of the ocean’s world.
Answers that we long for leaves us
wondering, where do all the sea shells go?
My stroll is continued happily accepting
not all answers can come to me when expected.
Content to watch the waves caress the shore,
tossing the sea shells again and again
with an endearing playful love.
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
The Absent Years--By David Austin--United States
The Absent Years
life becomes so sweet
so precious life to the eye
life in all its forms –
the rock strewn stream bubbles life
even those worn-round pebbles
a silver fish drowned
soaked to death in my shower
strange how sad i felt
after watching it struggle
after offering nothing
like mixed emotions
when i tangle spider’s web
the tiny worker
tiny artist full of life
and i so full of myself
death now seems all round
and i only half alive
in my absent years
floating down that rock-strewn stream
drowned silver fish, sad spider
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.
life becomes so sweet
so precious life to the eye
life in all its forms –
the rock strewn stream bubbles life
even those worn-round pebbles
a silver fish drowned
soaked to death in my shower
strange how sad i felt
after watching it struggle
after offering nothing
like mixed emotions
when i tangle spider’s web
the tiny worker
tiny artist full of life
and i so full of myself
death now seems all round
and i only half alive
in my absent years
floating down that rock-strewn stream
drowned silver fish, sad spider
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.
SEPTEMBER ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
It is such a pleasure to be a part of the writing community. Those that have placed ads are welcome to add additional information in the comments section. People having questions or comments, may use the comment section or contact the writers/editors at websites or email addresses provided. (Deadline for October ad column is September 25)
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN AUGUST
Michael J. Falotico--United States
Andrew Ntchindi Jere--Malawi
Elizabeth Wesley--Canada
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 States and Wales. Looking forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
jani johe webster's daughter, Nila, speaks to how her mother introduced her to the magic of creativity that lives within all of us. The youtube link is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uNwe0cDkqE
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
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
Ndaba Sibanda's short story, “Of Tokoloshe And The Translator” has been published by The Metric, a United Kingdom magazine. The Metric and Nigeria’s African Street Writer have published his poem, “Magwinya Woman” Links: http://www.themetric.co.uk/author-reveal-no-04/,http://theafricanstreetwriter.com/tag/the-magwinya-woman/
Karen O’Leary released Whispers, her first book of poetry in 2011, published by APF Publisher. It has been getting good reviews and is available at online at www.lulu.com (Search Whispers under Karen O'Leary) or contact Karen at gksm@cableone.net
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
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
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. Seeking Holiday poems for the November/December issue.
Karen O’Leary is seeking alliteration poems, 10 lines or less, for consideration in Creative Inspirations. Christmas/Thanksgiving and winter themes will be given first priority. Please submit to gksm@cableone.net For all other submissions to Creative Inspirations see the above ad.
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
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.
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN AUGUST
Michael J. Falotico--United States
Andrew Ntchindi Jere--Malawi
Elizabeth Wesley--Canada
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 States and Wales. Looking forward to expanding this list in the future. Thank you to everyone that has supported Whispers in any way. --Sincerely, Karen
ANNOUNCEMENTS
jani johe webster's daughter, Nila, speaks to how her mother introduced her to the magic of creativity that lives within all of us. The youtube link is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uNwe0cDkqE
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
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
Ndaba Sibanda's short story, “Of Tokoloshe And The Translator” has been published by The Metric, a United Kingdom magazine. The Metric and Nigeria’s African Street Writer have published his poem, “Magwinya Woman” Links: http://www.themetric.co.uk/author-reveal-no-04/,http://theafricanstreetwriter.com/tag/the-magwinya-woman/
Karen O’Leary released Whispers, her first book of poetry in 2011, published by APF Publisher. It has been getting good reviews and is available at online at www.lulu.com (Search Whispers under Karen O'Leary) or contact Karen at gksm@cableone.net
PUBLICATION/CONTEST OPPORTUNITIES
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
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. Seeking Holiday poems for the November/December issue.
Karen O’Leary is seeking alliteration poems, 10 lines or less, for consideration in Creative Inspirations. Christmas/Thanksgiving and winter themes will be given first priority. Please submit to gksm@cableone.net For all other submissions to Creative Inspirations see the above ad.
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
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)