Gratitude
Sweet song of appreciation
connected to the heart
An experience, event or person
becomes a gift gratefully received
An exchange of positive energy
for through appreciation and receiving
we also give back
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.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Collaborative Feature Submission Guidelines
In an effort to increase opportunities for contributors and other writers, Whispers is offering an opportunity for collaborative poetry. Two or more writers may collaborate to submit poems for consideration to be featured at the site. At least one writer must be a current contributor.
1. Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable. Please do not send quotes from others unless they are in the context of the piece submitted and that the original author is given credit. It is up to the authors to obtain permission if needed for reprints. By submitting to Whispers, the writers are assuring that the work is their own. Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from other writers without credit or authorization.
2. Send one poem 40 lines or less
3. These features will be in addition to the regular submission opportunities. Any writer submitting for a feature will still be able to submit a single author poem every other month. All authors of the poems submitted must provide consent for publication.
4. No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.
5. Whispers reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.
6. Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers. Humor is appreciated.
7. Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency. Please keep that in mind when submitting.
8. Preferred method of submission is to send poetry as a works document or in the body of an email with your name and country. Please email your submission to Karen O’Leary at gksm@cableone.net If you would rather submit by snail mail, please email Karen for her address. You may email her with any questions you may have.
9. I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing.
In this challenging time for many, it is the hope that Whispers will connect people in a way that is supportive, encouraging and inspiring to others. Thank you for considering being a part of this community.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor
1. Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable. Please do not send quotes from others unless they are in the context of the piece submitted and that the original author is given credit. It is up to the authors to obtain permission if needed for reprints. By submitting to Whispers, the writers are assuring that the work is their own. Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from other writers without credit or authorization.
2. Send one poem 40 lines or less
3. These features will be in addition to the regular submission opportunities. Any writer submitting for a feature will still be able to submit a single author poem every other month. All authors of the poems submitted must provide consent for publication.
4. No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.
5. Whispers reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.
6. Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers. Humor is appreciated.
7. Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency. Please keep that in mind when submitting.
8. Preferred method of submission is to send poetry as a works document or in the body of an email with your name and country. Please email your submission to Karen O’Leary at gksm@cableone.net If you would rather submit by snail mail, please email Karen for her address. You may email her with any questions you may have.
9. I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing.
In this challenging time for many, it is the hope that Whispers will connect people in a way that is supportive, encouraging and inspiring to others. Thank you for considering being a part of this community.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Blood Lines--By Jan Henson--Turkey
Blood Lines
Down through time
Passed to the soul
From them to us
It makes one whole
Carrying the link
From old to young
Makes you different
From the throng
With D.N.A.
And so much more
Recognition
That’s the score
The time has come
Duty to be done
A babe is born
You’ve passed it on
No matter where
Your child may be
He’s still yours
Can’t you see
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.
Down through time
Passed to the soul
From them to us
It makes one whole
Carrying the link
From old to young
Makes you different
From the throng
With D.N.A.
And so much more
Recognition
That’s the score
The time has come
Duty to be done
A babe is born
You’ve passed it on
No matter where
Your child may be
He’s still yours
Can’t you see
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.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Calligraphy--By George L. Ellison--England
Calligraphy
It takes a special talent and
Many years to perfect
Written documents in many fonts
With such precise effect
Artistic and so long lasting
Such pure creative script
A craft passed down since ancient times
Scholarly ancient text that’s so beautiful and sublime
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!
It takes a special talent and
Many years to perfect
Written documents in many fonts
With such precise effect
Artistic and so long lasting
Such pure creative script
A craft passed down since ancient times
Scholarly ancient text that’s so beautiful and sublime
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!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Autumn’s Passion--By Yvonne Sparkes--England
Autumn’s Passion
Autumn’s Passion burns as gold
Undulating dreams of old,
Testing shades of nature’s art,
Untried patterns from her heart.
Mist, like cobwebs, frills the air,
Now heat within the day is rare.
Parts the sun and chills the night,
New moon illuminates the heights.
Soon the winds shall blow and moan,
So too those leaves from trees are flown,
Carpets laid for pleasured eye,
Our glorious myriad from on high.
Never shall a sweeter scene
Show life and death as this serene.
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.
Autumn’s Passion burns as gold
Undulating dreams of old,
Testing shades of nature’s art,
Untried patterns from her heart.
Mist, like cobwebs, frills the air,
Now heat within the day is rare.
Parts the sun and chills the night,
New moon illuminates the heights.
Soon the winds shall blow and moan,
So too those leaves from trees are flown,
Carpets laid for pleasured eye,
Our glorious myriad from on high.
Never shall a sweeter scene
Show life and death as this serene.
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.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Real Living--By Karen O'Leary--United States
Real Living
Dusted
with black coal grit,
miners drag sore bodies
home to the light of their children’s
laughter.
Renewed
with hugs and smiles,
these heroes drift to sleep
knowing sweat and struggles are worth
the cost.
So many in our poetry community and in the world are struggling right now. Please keep them in your prayers. Thank you to those who have been leaving encouraging comments for others. Words have the ability to uplift and brighten lives. That is a gift. Blessings to you for sharing it.
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.
Dusted
with black coal grit,
miners drag sore bodies
home to the light of their children’s
laughter.
Renewed
with hugs and smiles,
these heroes drift to sleep
knowing sweat and struggles are worth
the cost.
So many in our poetry community and in the world are struggling right now. Please keep them in your prayers. Thank you to those who have been leaving encouraging comments for others. Words have the ability to uplift and brighten lives. That is a gift. Blessings to you for sharing it.
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.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Halloween Fright--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States
Halloween Fright
Dressed as Superman ready to fly,
told my mom “just standby”.
Went up the steps all alone,
rang the doorbell, heard a moan.
A cackling sound off to my right,
a Witch on a broom in my sight.
Cape flowing and hand of claws,
reaching for me, trailing gauze.
I cannot move, frozen stiff,
eyes wide, my heart makes a skip.
Off to my left I hear a growl,
a fury monster on the prowl.
My feet came free, I started to howl,
my lungs bellowing behind my scowl.
Down the steps, a blur in sight,
passed my mom like a streak of light.
Home is where I want to be.
at age four, Halloween is not for me.
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"
Dressed as Superman ready to fly,
told my mom “just standby”.
Went up the steps all alone,
rang the doorbell, heard a moan.
A cackling sound off to my right,
a Witch on a broom in my sight.
Cape flowing and hand of claws,
reaching for me, trailing gauze.
I cannot move, frozen stiff,
eyes wide, my heart makes a skip.
Off to my left I hear a growl,
a fury monster on the prowl.
My feet came free, I started to howl,
my lungs bellowing behind my scowl.
Down the steps, a blur in sight,
passed my mom like a streak of light.
Home is where I want to be.
at age four, Halloween is not for me.
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"
My Guitar--By Terry O'Leary--France
My Guitar
With burdens bearing heavy down a road that’s hard and long
My body’s bent and weary so I’m reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker – fading ..., faint ... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.
Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulence’s writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they’re vanquished everywhere.
With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
With burdens bearing heavy down a road that’s hard and long
My body’s bent and weary so I’m reaching for a song;
My sorrows flicker – fading ..., faint ... - beneath the morning star,
While worried fingers seethe across the strings of my guitar.
Though seagulls fly forever, streaking, striving for the strand,
My troubles ebb, evaporate, with my guitar in hand;
Their turbulence’s writhing neath the notes within the air -
And hunted by the haunting beat, they’re vanquished everywhere.
With melodies erupting, bursting, splashing night with dawn,
The drifting dancing demons die, as time goes swirling on;
Guitars are roaming randomly across the rusty skies,
While cares have vanished, draped in dust of distant lullabies.
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Days of Autumn--By Connie Marcum Wong--United States
Days of Autumn
An argentine sky adorns
The woodlands in a misty shroud
As only slight remnants
Of a long forgotten path remain,
Embraced by the beauty of maples
And by the scent of cool crisp air--
Autumn permeates.
Yet there is a subtle warmth
In the mélange of colorful
Pumpkin, gold and vermilion leaves,
In their swirling harmonic dance
As they depart the boughs of their birth
Unified in death, as in life.
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.
An argentine sky adorns
The woodlands in a misty shroud
As only slight remnants
Of a long forgotten path remain,
Embraced by the beauty of maples
And by the scent of cool crisp air--
Autumn permeates.
Yet there is a subtle warmth
In the mélange of colorful
Pumpkin, gold and vermilion leaves,
In their swirling harmonic dance
As they depart the boughs of their birth
Unified in death, as in life.
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.
Paying Bills--By Jack Clubb--United States
Paying Bills
A woman in Beverly Hills
No longer could pay all her bills,
So she sold her best cars
In two splendid bazaars
And now drives a Hyundai for thrills.
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.
A woman in Beverly Hills
No longer could pay all her bills,
So she sold her best cars
In two splendid bazaars
And now drives a Hyundai for thrills.
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.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Song of a Lonely Traveler--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi
Song of a Lonely Traveler
I have tuned a hymn
That will live till love
Ceases to be love.
Is it madness to expose
Heart’s loneliness, my love?
I have been a traveler
On this road of loneliness,
I have journeyed a long way.
And now
I have reached my destination.
Yet you tell me to continue walking.
Lead my way and I will
Pace beside you to where
There is light!
There is joy!
There is…!
Aah! Where there is song to sing
And dance to dance is the destination.
Ndongolera C. Mwangupili works as a Senior Inspector of Schools in Malawi. He has vast experience as a teacher of English and Bible Knowledge. Many of his short stories, poems and essays have been published in the Malawi News and Weekend Nation. His stories are anthologized in Modern Stories from Malawi and The Bachelor of Chikanda and Other Stories. His poem “The Genesis” was anthologized in The Time Traveller of Maravi: New Poetry from Malawi. His other poem “Letters to a Comrade” is published online in India on www.openroadreview.in. He believes that there is a thin line between fiction and reality. All that people write is a re-creation of what is already known to the writer and exists not only in the mind of the writer but also outside the writer, therefore, fiction is actually facts written as if they are not facts. He is married to Angella, and they have a daughter Mary Magdalena.
I have tuned a hymn
That will live till love
Ceases to be love.
Is it madness to expose
Heart’s loneliness, my love?
I have been a traveler
On this road of loneliness,
I have journeyed a long way.
And now
I have reached my destination.
Yet you tell me to continue walking.
Lead my way and I will
Pace beside you to where
There is light!
There is joy!
There is…!
Aah! Where there is song to sing
And dance to dance is the destination.
Ndongolera C. Mwangupili works as a Senior Inspector of Schools in Malawi. He has vast experience as a teacher of English and Bible Knowledge. Many of his short stories, poems and essays have been published in the Malawi News and Weekend Nation. His stories are anthologized in Modern Stories from Malawi and The Bachelor of Chikanda and Other Stories. His poem “The Genesis” was anthologized in The Time Traveller of Maravi: New Poetry from Malawi. His other poem “Letters to a Comrade” is published online in India on www.openroadreview.in. He believes that there is a thin line between fiction and reality. All that people write is a re-creation of what is already known to the writer and exists not only in the mind of the writer but also outside the writer, therefore, fiction is actually facts written as if they are not facts. He is married to Angella, and they have a daughter Mary Magdalena.
The Next Level--By Charlotte Ann Zuzak--United States
The Next Level
I dislike the term "senior citizen."
still can't decide at what age that happened;
I cringe when I read of social events
where youthful choirs sing at "old folk homes"
for our "golden agers."
I can't stand the ads for scooter chairs,
I'm still on the treadmill at the Y
pumping my legs which still can move,
no hip or knee replacement.
I don't go to Florida, preferring four seasons
and I love a hard snowstorm
with knitting and reading.
I still can drive, my sight is good
corrected with contacts since I was a girl.
I'm a widow and survivor of breast cancer,
the future is mine for however long.
Next month I travel to Europe,
nothing will stop me, I turn a new page.
Charlotte Ann Zuzak received her BA degree from Albion College and her MA from the University of Michigan in foreign languages. She taught Spanish for several years on both the high school and college levels. She has always been involved with music, namely piano and organ. Charlotte worked with voice students as an accompanist, and also as a church organist. She has been involved in writing starting in grade school when she wrote short stories and poetry. After she quit teaching she returned to her love of writing. With her husband, a retired university dean, she has traveled extensively in Europe, Russia and the United States. Charlotte and her husband have a daughter who is a medical doctor in Bethesda, Maryland.
I dislike the term "senior citizen."
still can't decide at what age that happened;
I cringe when I read of social events
where youthful choirs sing at "old folk homes"
for our "golden agers."
I can't stand the ads for scooter chairs,
I'm still on the treadmill at the Y
pumping my legs which still can move,
no hip or knee replacement.
I don't go to Florida, preferring four seasons
and I love a hard snowstorm
with knitting and reading.
I still can drive, my sight is good
corrected with contacts since I was a girl.
I'm a widow and survivor of breast cancer,
the future is mine for however long.
Next month I travel to Europe,
nothing will stop me, I turn a new page.
Charlotte Ann Zuzak received her BA degree from Albion College and her MA from the University of Michigan in foreign languages. She taught Spanish for several years on both the high school and college levels. She has always been involved with music, namely piano and organ. Charlotte worked with voice students as an accompanist, and also as a church organist. She has been involved in writing starting in grade school when she wrote short stories and poetry. After she quit teaching she returned to her love of writing. With her husband, a retired university dean, she has traveled extensively in Europe, Russia and the United States. Charlotte and her husband have a daughter who is a medical doctor in Bethesda, Maryland.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
My Evening--By Linda Hurdwell--England
My Evening
How I love the evening
Cool but sinking sun
Tiredly smiling down at me
Now my work is done
Whispers of life surround me
Butterflies whirl on by
Birds flap their wings carelessly
Soar into the sky
Hidden shades of autumn hue
Lean against my heart
Time to listen quietly
As the day departs.
So I see the evening
Push the light away
I see the dark descending
Shadows that can’t stay.
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.
How I love the evening
Cool but sinking sun
Tiredly smiling down at me
Now my work is done
Whispers of life surround me
Butterflies whirl on by
Birds flap their wings carelessly
Soar into the sky
Hidden shades of autumn hue
Lean against my heart
Time to listen quietly
As the day departs.
So I see the evening
Push the light away
I see the dark descending
Shadows that can’t stay.
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.
Baking in Winter--By Maralee Gerke--United States
Baking in Winter
It is a dark winter day,
perfect for baking chocolate chip cookies.
Standing at the sink looking out
at the slashing rain,
I think of my mother and grandmother
baking on days like these.
Grandma in her stained apron
taking trays of poppy seed pastry
and braids of fragrant almond studded bread out of her oven.
Mom lifting fragrant ginger snaps
and chewy date filled cookies to fill the jar.
Stirring the ingredients is a connection to sweet memories,
as raindrops dissolve the distance between generations.
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.
It is a dark winter day,
perfect for baking chocolate chip cookies.
Standing at the sink looking out
at the slashing rain,
I think of my mother and grandmother
baking on days like these.
Grandma in her stained apron
taking trays of poppy seed pastry
and braids of fragrant almond studded bread out of her oven.
Mom lifting fragrant ginger snaps
and chewy date filled cookies to fill the jar.
Stirring the ingredients is a connection to sweet memories,
as raindrops dissolve the distance between generations.
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.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
The Creepy Old House--By Shirley Smothers--United States
The Creepy Old House
In a creepy old house I found a creepy old doll.
I bent to pick it up and boy did I take a fall.
I stood up had a lump on my head, but otherwise alright.
I looked out the window, day had turned to night.
I looked and looked but did not find the doll.
I turned to leave and there it was hanging by it’s neck against the wall.
It’s creepy smile seemed to say, “Come and play with me my friend.
We can play forever without any end.”
To get out of this house I ran for the door.
But there was no way out it wasn’t there anymore.
Through a window I threw a heavy bust.
The window smashed and there was a ton of dust.
I looked out the window we seemed to be floating in air
I said “No, no this just isn’t fair!”
I felt a hand upon my shoulder, I let out a scream.
I heard someone say, “Wake up honey your having a dream.”
I opened my eyes to see my husbands concerned face.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I was in a safe place.
I heard My husband say, “Go back to sleep my friend,
then you can play forever without any end.”
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
In a creepy old house I found a creepy old doll.
I bent to pick it up and boy did I take a fall.
I stood up had a lump on my head, but otherwise alright.
I looked out the window, day had turned to night.
I looked and looked but did not find the doll.
I turned to leave and there it was hanging by it’s neck against the wall.
It’s creepy smile seemed to say, “Come and play with me my friend.
We can play forever without any end.”
To get out of this house I ran for the door.
But there was no way out it wasn’t there anymore.
Through a window I threw a heavy bust.
The window smashed and there was a ton of dust.
I looked out the window we seemed to be floating in air
I said “No, no this just isn’t fair!”
I felt a hand upon my shoulder, I let out a scream.
I heard someone say, “Wake up honey your having a dream.”
I opened my eyes to see my husbands concerned face.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I was in a safe place.
I heard My husband say, “Go back to sleep my friend,
then you can play forever without any end.”
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
Haiku--By Ron C. Moss--Australia
freezing rain—
a child kisses
the snowman’s cheek
Paper Wasp 9:3
second bell
a flame robin scatters
heavy dew
Contemporary Haibun Online, Dec 2005, Vol. 1 #3
lovers on the dune
lucerne pods burst
In the heat
Frogpond 25.2, 2012
silence . . .
my shadow eases
into the rock
Simply Haiku , Issue 1
simmering milk
my baby sister’s bonnet
feathered with frost
The Heron’s Nest Vol. XVI, Number 1, March 2013
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
a child kisses
the snowman’s cheek
Paper Wasp 9:3
second bell
a flame robin scatters
heavy dew
Contemporary Haibun Online, Dec 2005, Vol. 1 #3
lovers on the dune
lucerne pods burst
In the heat
Frogpond 25.2, 2012
silence . . .
my shadow eases
into the rock
Simply Haiku , Issue 1
simmering milk
my baby sister’s bonnet
feathered with frost
The Heron’s Nest Vol. XVI, Number 1, March 2013
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
Friday, October 11, 2013
A Heavenly Light--By John W. (Bill) Williams--United States
A Heavenly Light
A heavenly light
raining from the sky
lifts my spirits high.
A heavenly light
radiating throughout my soul
circulates endeavors to stay whole.
A heavenly light
freeing me from an inky night
blesses me with a holy sight.
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.
A heavenly light
raining from the sky
lifts my spirits high.
A heavenly light
radiating throughout my soul
circulates endeavors to stay whole.
A heavenly light
freeing me from an inky night
blesses me with a holy sight.
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.
Autumn Memories--By Elizabeth Wesley--Canada
Autumn Memories
Spring chased old man winter from his place
And silenced him with her capricious face.
Sometimes a tear, sometimes a smile;
She would beguile
My lazy feet
To dance in some leafy bowered retreat.
Then dreamy delightful summer flies
And looks at me with laughing eyes
She draws me to her clover fields
Then my heart yields
To her winsome wooing
And her siren song is my undoing.
One day I saw the sudden flare
Of autumn's windblown crimson hair;
She stirred the whispering leaves and then
I felt again
A yearning glo
Of years remembered long ago
And I lived the dream I never knew
Of lost memories and my love for you.
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.
Spring chased old man winter from his place
And silenced him with her capricious face.
Sometimes a tear, sometimes a smile;
She would beguile
My lazy feet
To dance in some leafy bowered retreat.
Then dreamy delightful summer flies
And looks at me with laughing eyes
She draws me to her clover fields
Then my heart yields
To her winsome wooing
And her siren song is my undoing.
One day I saw the sudden flare
Of autumn's windblown crimson hair;
She stirred the whispering leaves and then
I felt again
A yearning glo
Of years remembered long ago
And I lived the dream I never knew
Of lost memories and my love for you.
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.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Not Forgotten--By Eleanor Michael--United States
Not Forgotten
A carved lion,
a statue, horse and rider,
a kitten, embossed in stone,
monuments to what
the deceased did in life.
Are they here--
as wraiths, ethereal,
as imprint or spirit,
wandering among the stones--
or only memory?
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
A carved lion,
a statue, horse and rider,
a kitten, embossed in stone,
monuments to what
the deceased did in life.
Are they here--
as wraiths, ethereal,
as imprint or spirit,
wandering among the stones--
or only memory?
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
Love Query--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand
Love Query
Love surely is the strangest thing
That rocks the world by its absence
That rocks the world by its presence
And I can no longer contribute
Anything worthwhile to this treatise
consuming through the centuries
As I have loved too much and lost
too much or is this statement false?
I believe it's untrue
now
What I think has happened is this:
I have used up my love quotient
Only so much allotted to a life
And entered a neutral zone
where love barters with hate
And need outdoes it all
The question is:
How much need is the ration
I have yet to find out
It's still very functional.
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.
Love surely is the strangest thing
That rocks the world by its absence
That rocks the world by its presence
And I can no longer contribute
Anything worthwhile to this treatise
consuming through the centuries
As I have loved too much and lost
too much or is this statement false?
I believe it's untrue
now
What I think has happened is this:
I have used up my love quotient
Only so much allotted to a life
And entered a neutral zone
where love barters with hate
And need outdoes it all
The question is:
How much need is the ration
I have yet to find out
It's still very functional.
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.
Haiku--By Johnette Downing--United States
tai chi class
the weight
of air
--bottle rockets
dandelions
old ladies
under hairdryers
--bottle rockets
katydid
katydidn’t
insect gossip
--bottle rockets
flashlight moon
low
on batteries
--bottle rockets
coffin
in the curves
of the tuba
The co-founder of the New Orleans Haiku Society, Johnette Downing is a multi-award winning children's book author, musician and haiku poet. She has received twenty-one awards for her music, books and haiku and has performed in the Middle East, Africa, Asia, Central America, North America and the Caribbean. Her haiku have appeared in Frogpond, bottle rockets, Modern Haiku, tiny words, YAWP, and various haiku books, anthologies and journals.
the weight
of air
--bottle rockets
dandelions
old ladies
under hairdryers
--bottle rockets
katydid
katydidn’t
insect gossip
--bottle rockets
flashlight moon
low
on batteries
--bottle rockets
coffin
in the curves
of the tuba
The co-founder of the New Orleans Haiku Society, Johnette Downing is a multi-award winning children's book author, musician and haiku poet. She has received twenty-one awards for her music, books and haiku and has performed in the Middle East, Africa, Asia, Central America, North America and the Caribbean. Her haiku have appeared in Frogpond, bottle rockets, Modern Haiku, tiny words, YAWP, and various haiku books, anthologies and journals.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Fall Cleanup Time--By Joyce Johnson--United States
Fall Cleanup Time
It is fall cleanup in my garden, Lord.
I'm feeling guilty, sad, lonesome and blue.
The grasses and the weeds have over-run
The lovely flowers planted there for you.
Is this a mirror of my life, dear Lord?
Have all my kinder deeds been overcome
By ugly thoughts and hurting acts and words?
Wild dandelion crowds out chrysanthemum?
Forgive me, Lord, if I have failed to tend
My garden in the manner that I should.
I'd claim the days I spent so foolishly
And use them gainfully now, if I could.
Now that I'm in the autumn of my years,
I hope to take each day I have in store
And spend each precious second of that time,
More usefully than I have done before.
And as I pull the baneful weeds and grass,
Removing each intruder one by one,
I hope to stand before you judgment day,
Well kept, weed free, with all my gardening done.
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.
It is fall cleanup in my garden, Lord.
I'm feeling guilty, sad, lonesome and blue.
The grasses and the weeds have over-run
The lovely flowers planted there for you.
Is this a mirror of my life, dear Lord?
Have all my kinder deeds been overcome
By ugly thoughts and hurting acts and words?
Wild dandelion crowds out chrysanthemum?
Forgive me, Lord, if I have failed to tend
My garden in the manner that I should.
I'd claim the days I spent so foolishly
And use them gainfully now, if I could.
Now that I'm in the autumn of my years,
I hope to take each day I have in store
And spend each precious second of that time,
More usefully than I have done before.
And as I pull the baneful weeds and grass,
Removing each intruder one by one,
I hope to stand before you judgment day,
Well kept, weed free, with all my gardening done.
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.
The Perceived Offence--By Ralph Stott--England
The Perceived Offence
The spider in the glass
Rode upon your name
An envelope was its carriage
This window was its frame
In the garden it dropped
There upon the grass
Its muddy feet vacated
Gone from the house at last
But on my quick return
You were there to ask
On which paper had it stood
To complete this small task
I showed this envelope
You showed your disgust
For spiders feet had trampled
On my name you did cuss
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.
The spider in the glass
Rode upon your name
An envelope was its carriage
This window was its frame
In the garden it dropped
There upon the grass
Its muddy feet vacated
Gone from the house at last
But on my quick return
You were there to ask
On which paper had it stood
To complete this small task
I showed this envelope
You showed your disgust
For spiders feet had trampled
On my name you did cuss
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.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
That’s Why Roses Die--By Gerald Heyder--United States
That’s Why Roses Die
Broken hearts can never sing
and diamonds cannot cry.
Only love can heal the heart
that slowly wants to die.
I believe I can’t go on;
my soul doesn’t want to try.
Dandelions creep thru’ my lawn
and flowers sadly sigh!
A sea of tears will surely flow
because you said good-bye.
Now, my garden doesn’t grow
and that’s why roses die!
How I hope and how I pray
for the day you come back to me.
Only love can mend my heart.
Yes, you can set it free.
Dandelions creep thru’ my lawn
and flowers want to cry.
My garden will never grow
and that’s why roses die!
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Broken hearts can never sing
and diamonds cannot cry.
Only love can heal the heart
that slowly wants to die.
I believe I can’t go on;
my soul doesn’t want to try.
Dandelions creep thru’ my lawn
and flowers sadly sigh!
A sea of tears will surely flow
because you said good-bye.
Now, my garden doesn’t grow
and that’s why roses die!
How I hope and how I pray
for the day you come back to me.
Only love can mend my heart.
Yes, you can set it free.
Dandelions creep thru’ my lawn
and flowers want to cry.
My garden will never grow
and that’s why roses die!
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin
A Pearl Within--By Beth Winchcombe--England
A Pearl Within
Treading through sand, bare footed.
Rock pools glistening,
I search for a pearl.
Is it somewhere in the oyster?
NO, it's a treasured pearl of friendship!
Far more precious - than any pearl -
within the shell of an oyster!
Treading the same sand with bare feet -
in the darkness of the night -
the stars shining bright.
The oyster cannot be seen in the rock pools -
BUT, it's there in the precious
treasure of friendship.
The pearl may be hidden from view,
BUT, it's there in my friendship with you!
A cultured pearl -
my cultured friend!
The Atlantic ocean waves crash against the shore,
before descending to the ocean once more!
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils.
Treading through sand, bare footed.
Rock pools glistening,
I search for a pearl.
Is it somewhere in the oyster?
NO, it's a treasured pearl of friendship!
Far more precious - than any pearl -
within the shell of an oyster!
Treading the same sand with bare feet -
in the darkness of the night -
the stars shining bright.
The oyster cannot be seen in the rock pools -
BUT, it's there in the precious
treasure of friendship.
The pearl may be hidden from view,
BUT, it's there in my friendship with you!
A cultured pearl -
my cultured friend!
The Atlantic ocean waves crash against the shore,
before descending to the ocean once more!
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Monarch at Midnight--By Jim Rasmusson--United States
Monarch at Midnight
Exhausted from a hectic day
I walked outside in disarray.
And there upon a blooming rose
a golden Monarch did repose.
I felt my energy return
and gone was worry and concern.
I thought about our chrysalis
that opened with a single kiss.
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.
Exhausted from a hectic day
I walked outside in disarray.
And there upon a blooming rose
a golden Monarch did repose.
I felt my energy return
and gone was worry and concern.
I thought about our chrysalis
that opened with a single kiss.
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.
Beyond Midnight--By Phyllis Babcock--Canada
Beyond Midnight
The moonlight cast pure magic
Among summer's greenery
Floral scents filled the warm humid air
Soft petals caressed the evening breeze
Crystalline dew drops gathered on the grass
Shimmering like millions of diamonds
Silver threads wove through the shadowed canopy
Stars twinkled upon the heavens
The aurora's danced in sweet refrain
To the melody of earth's orb
Morning would soon salute a new day.
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 moonlight cast pure magic
Among summer's greenery
Floral scents filled the warm humid air
Soft petals caressed the evening breeze
Crystalline dew drops gathered on the grass
Shimmering like millions of diamonds
Silver threads wove through the shadowed canopy
Stars twinkled upon the heavens
The aurora's danced in sweet refrain
To the melody of earth's orb
Morning would soon salute a new day.
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.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Endless Flight--By Erich J. Goller--United States
Endless Flight
Words of comfort and courage
Blessed with love and wisdom
Deep longings hidden within
It challenges each deed with encouragement
When the soul is privileged
With everlasting beauty
In its timeless, endless flight
It strengthens my faith and redeems belief
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
Words of comfort and courage
Blessed with love and wisdom
Deep longings hidden within
It challenges each deed with encouragement
When the soul is privileged
With everlasting beauty
In its timeless, endless flight
It strengthens my faith and redeems belief
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
Coming Home--By Brian Strand--England
Coming Home
I pushed at the open door, no sound
just darkness inside. Dust filtered my
nostrils, a mustiness of lost years
inhabited my senses. A loose floorboard
creaked in the stairwell, the aroma
of her Chanel provoked memories of my
living hell. A tear of self-pity congealed
in the dirt at my feet. I switched on the light,
"Hello son I knew you'd be back; He's gone..."
Note: Structured Prose Form illustrates there is only two real differences between prose and Structured prose poetry-Visual presentation and the fact that poetry is written to read aloud, for however we structure a poem traditionally or otherwise, poetry is constructed to be read aloud. (Note taken from my Kindle ebook Structured Prose - language with shape)
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.
I pushed at the open door, no sound
just darkness inside. Dust filtered my
nostrils, a mustiness of lost years
inhabited my senses. A loose floorboard
creaked in the stairwell, the aroma
of her Chanel provoked memories of my
living hell. A tear of self-pity congealed
in the dirt at my feet. I switched on the light,
"Hello son I knew you'd be back; He's gone..."
Note: Structured Prose Form illustrates there is only two real differences between prose and Structured prose poetry-Visual presentation and the fact that poetry is written to read aloud, for however we structure a poem traditionally or otherwise, poetry is constructed to be read aloud. (Note taken from my Kindle ebook Structured Prose - language with shape)
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.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Pears Hang--By Sara Kendrick-United States
Pears Hang
pears hang yellow-green
awaiting ripeness to fall...
September gale blows
green, yellow pears lie
bruised upon mother earth's breast...
ants, wasps, hornets feed
pears food for insects
ants lay in store for winter...
pouring rain floods the mound
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.
pears hang yellow-green
awaiting ripeness to fall...
September gale blows
green, yellow pears lie
bruised upon mother earth's breast...
ants, wasps, hornets feed
pears food for insects
ants lay in store for winter...
pouring rain floods the mound
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.
Magic Hours--By Pam Murray--United States
Magic Hours
As night steals down the silent streets
It brings a peaceful solitude.
I gaze beyond my windowsill
And wish the day would not intrude.
Night has no cares to worry me,
Just quiet thoughts meandering
Through distances and memories.
Who knows what future years will bring?
I sink into my favourite chair,
Close my eyes and drift along
Content to let these magic hours
Move slowly in an ageless song.
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 night steals down the silent streets
It brings a peaceful solitude.
I gaze beyond my windowsill
And wish the day would not intrude.
Night has no cares to worry me,
Just quiet thoughts meandering
Through distances and memories.
Who knows what future years will bring?
I sink into my favourite chair,
Close my eyes and drift along
Content to let these magic hours
Move slowly in an ageless song.
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, October 3, 2013
Sympathy for Charlie Brown--By Suzanne Clement--United States
Sympathy for Charlie Brown
Although as a kid
I never got bags of rocks
or had to model
for Jack o’lantern carving
the way that Charlie Brown did
in the special that
is shown on television
around the time of
Hallowe’en in October,
I understand his feelings
because as a kid
I was sometimes subjected
to verbal abuse
from some of the students who
went to the school I did.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Although as a kid
I never got bags of rocks
or had to model
for Jack o’lantern carving
the way that Charlie Brown did
in the special that
is shown on television
around the time of
Hallowe’en in October,
I understand his feelings
because as a kid
I was sometimes subjected
to verbal abuse
from some of the students who
went to the school I did.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
The Brainbow--By Jane Richer--Canada
The Brainbow
I watched, chuckling as my five-year old daughter spread her pack of crayons out.
'No sweetie!'; pick just one color from the pack, and put the others back!'
'But Mommy!' they all are so pretty and I really can't choose just one!'
'Do you know the names of them all, some of the prettiest ones I can't recall?'
I sighed, as I was tired and there was so much housework left to be done.
'Sometimes you give me a tired brain; but sweetie I will tell you once again!'
'Red, Yellow, Green & Blue, Orange, Pink, Black, White, Brown & Purple!'
'There are ten colors in your pack, nine of them you must put back!
'Sweetie did you understand what Mommy has said for you to do with nine?'
'Ah Huh Mommy?' she replied; with the world's cutest twinkle in her eye.
Full basket of clothes I turned to open the washer's lid, turning the dial.
I started to walk back and was angry at the three crayons in the pack.
'Didn't I tell you to put away nine; why is their still seven crayons out?'
Then she pointed to her page and she seemed so much wiser than her age.
'I was trying to remember what you had told me Mommy and it hurt my head!'
'God told me it had tired His brain, seeing His world all covered in rain!'
'That made me very sad, Mommy and I knew what I must do to make God smile!'
'So I took these colors of seven and made Him a Brainbow that reached Heaven!'
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.
I watched, chuckling as my five-year old daughter spread her pack of crayons out.
'No sweetie!'; pick just one color from the pack, and put the others back!'
'But Mommy!' they all are so pretty and I really can't choose just one!'
'Do you know the names of them all, some of the prettiest ones I can't recall?'
I sighed, as I was tired and there was so much housework left to be done.
'Sometimes you give me a tired brain; but sweetie I will tell you once again!'
'Red, Yellow, Green & Blue, Orange, Pink, Black, White, Brown & Purple!'
'There are ten colors in your pack, nine of them you must put back!
'Sweetie did you understand what Mommy has said for you to do with nine?'
'Ah Huh Mommy?' she replied; with the world's cutest twinkle in her eye.
Full basket of clothes I turned to open the washer's lid, turning the dial.
I started to walk back and was angry at the three crayons in the pack.
'Didn't I tell you to put away nine; why is their still seven crayons out?'
Then she pointed to her page and she seemed so much wiser than her age.
'I was trying to remember what you had told me Mommy and it hurt my head!'
'God told me it had tired His brain, seeing His world all covered in rain!'
'That made me very sad, Mommy and I knew what I must do to make God smile!'
'So I took these colors of seven and made Him a Brainbow that reached Heaven!'
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.
the shadow of stillness-By jani johe webster--(In Memory-May 2013)--United States
the shadow of stillness
keep remembering me
to tomorrow
for there is yet
may spring thru the snow
still the moonset
after sun
still time that is
without time
and there is
still...
Thoughts from her daughter, Nila Webster--"When I first read this poem, written by my beloved and gifted mother jani johe webster, I could not help but think it was a message from someone who had passed from this life to the next. I recall reading it with her in her living room, with the sunlight streaming through the cut-glass windows, and seeing tiny rainbow prisms everywhere, just as I asked her if we could include this poem in our book Remember Beauty, which is about loved ones who never part, even after death. Yes, we do keep remembering jani johe webster and her poetry."
keep remembering me
to tomorrow
for there is yet
may spring thru the snow
still the moonset
after sun
still time that is
without time
and there is
still...
Thoughts from her daughter, Nila Webster--"When I first read this poem, written by my beloved and gifted mother jani johe webster, I could not help but think it was a message from someone who had passed from this life to the next. I recall reading it with her in her living room, with the sunlight streaming through the cut-glass windows, and seeing tiny rainbow prisms everywhere, just as I asked her if we could include this poem in our book Remember Beauty, which is about loved ones who never part, even after death. Yes, we do keep remembering jani johe webster and her poetry."
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Bends--By Andrew Ntchindi Jere--Malawi
The Bends
Excavated amid steep challenges
This make-up on escarpments of pain
Stepping up this vomiting
In these early life’s waspish bends
Winding without a compass
On every individuals compound
Like natural litter
That automatically dumps itself
Sweetness ahead
Engraved words on the road signs
Feeding our souls with strength
As we pretend to be going straight
But still we bend, snaking forward
Andrew Ntchindi Jere is a published youthful poet from Mzimba District, Malawi. He believes God is his source of creativity.
Excavated amid steep challenges
This make-up on escarpments of pain
Stepping up this vomiting
In these early life’s waspish bends
Winding without a compass
On every individuals compound
Like natural litter
That automatically dumps itself
Sweetness ahead
Engraved words on the road signs
Feeding our souls with strength
As we pretend to be going straight
But still we bend, snaking forward
Andrew Ntchindi Jere is a published youthful poet from Mzimba District, Malawi. He believes God is his source of creativity.
Threads of Time--By Patricia Nolan--United States
Threads of Time
(A Haiku Sequence)
October pond
one red leaf floats
away
chilies roast
as the season turns
kaleidoscope scents
wrinkled face
maps life's journey
crinkled aspen gold
rabbit in the rose hips
may I share some berries
for tea?
fisherman silhouetted
in slant sun rays casting
over and over
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.
(A Haiku Sequence)
October pond
one red leaf floats
away
chilies roast
as the season turns
kaleidoscope scents
wrinkled face
maps life's journey
crinkled aspen gold
rabbit in the rose hips
may I share some berries
for tea?
fisherman silhouetted
in slant sun rays casting
over and over
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.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Lonely--By Gert W. Knop--Germany
Lonely
Persuaded by the fog
of loneliness,
thoughts drifting with the wind,
returning
to times of happiness,
but now,
only an inferno
of feelings,
torn
like worthless paper.
Even dreams
are lost.
Thoughts
of yesterday return.
Illusions,
stolen,
like dark days,
the view
into future,
mirror of an empty world,
a love lost
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.
Persuaded by the fog
of loneliness,
thoughts drifting with the wind,
returning
to times of happiness,
but now,
only an inferno
of feelings,
torn
like worthless paper.
Even dreams
are lost.
Thoughts
of yesterday return.
Illusions,
stolen,
like dark days,
the view
into future,
mirror of an empty world,
a love lost
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.
Little Things--By A. Michele Leslie--United States
Little Things
Sons of Noise say,
“You shouldn’t talk.”
Chinese girl, hard wood,
wrapped in an orange blanket,
rests between shifts at work.
A man holds a golden egg yolk
in his spoon
and tosses it away.
A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Minneapolis with her husband, David, and two cats.
Sons of Noise say,
“You shouldn’t talk.”
Chinese girl, hard wood,
wrapped in an orange blanket,
rests between shifts at work.
A man holds a golden egg yolk
in his spoon
and tosses it away.
A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Minneapolis with her husband, David, and two cats.
OCTOBER ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN SEPTEMBER
Marcus Omer--United States
Robert Dufresne--United States
John Henson--England
Poppy Herrin--United States
Peter Dome--United Kingdom
Audrey Haick--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
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
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
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/
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.
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
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 everyodne who has already contributed to the site.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information. The deadline is for the November column is October 25.
Marcus Omer--United States
Robert Dufresne--United States
John Henson--England
Poppy Herrin--United States
Peter Dome--United Kingdom
Audrey Haick--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
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
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
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/
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.
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
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 everyodne who has already contributed to the site.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information. The deadline is for the November column is October 25.
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