A Journey of Love
How the soul reaches out to be touched
by the hand of love that caresses
the heart searching fulfillment
as it soars through the night
and on into the infinite light
of life dreaming of joys
yet to be experienced,
singing songs of love.
Beverly Reedy is an assistant editor and poetess from Washington State. Her first book of poetry called Treasures of a Poet Volume 1 was published by Creative Memories in 2006. She was published in anthology series from 1988 to 2007. Her work has appeared in American Poets Society, League of American Poets, Famous Poets Society, Poets Word Wide, and Passion for Poetry. She is a member of Poets For Integrity and The Writers and Poetry Alliance.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Saving Against Alzheimer's--By Lenora Good--United States
Saving Against Alzheimer's
How do you save your nouns and your verbs?
Do you write them in a notebook and keep it with you?
Do you tie them in brightly colored silk scarves?
A blue scarf for water, as it flows upon the rocks,
under the bridge, fills the river, sings of love
and sorrow. Knot it about your neck. Do not forget.
Take your red scarf, the color of blood, the color of life.
Into it put memories of your babies, your husband,
the war he didn't survive. Knot it, twice. Do not lose.
Your white scarf holds your prayers and tears, the
mourning of what might have been but can never be.
Gather your sadness, remember it, respect it. Tie the knot tight.
Fill your yellow scarf with happiness. The bliss
of laughing babies, your first published poem,
happy times with good friends, the joys of discovery.
Knot that scarf over your heart; hold it tight. Keep the
good nouns close, the happy verbs a part of your life. Hold
onto the scarves, the knots, as you sail off the bridge.
Your nouns and your verbs will survive.
Lenora Good lives in the desert of Washington State (yes, we have one). She writes poems, novels, and radio plays. When not writing she is reading, quilting, out taking photographs, or when very fortunate, taking a road trip, she may also be found at her blog, http://livingwithrainyday.blogspot.com.
How do you save your nouns and your verbs?
Do you write them in a notebook and keep it with you?
Do you tie them in brightly colored silk scarves?
A blue scarf for water, as it flows upon the rocks,
under the bridge, fills the river, sings of love
and sorrow. Knot it about your neck. Do not forget.
Take your red scarf, the color of blood, the color of life.
Into it put memories of your babies, your husband,
the war he didn't survive. Knot it, twice. Do not lose.
Your white scarf holds your prayers and tears, the
mourning of what might have been but can never be.
Gather your sadness, remember it, respect it. Tie the knot tight.
Fill your yellow scarf with happiness. The bliss
of laughing babies, your first published poem,
happy times with good friends, the joys of discovery.
Knot that scarf over your heart; hold it tight. Keep the
good nouns close, the happy verbs a part of your life. Hold
onto the scarves, the knots, as you sail off the bridge.
Your nouns and your verbs will survive.
Lenora Good lives in the desert of Washington State (yes, we have one). She writes poems, novels, and radio plays. When not writing she is reading, quilting, out taking photographs, or when very fortunate, taking a road trip, she may also be found at her blog, http://livingwithrainyday.blogspot.com.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Excerpts from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me--By Nila J. Webster--United States
Excerpts from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me
Thank you, hands,
For reaching out
Over sadness
And over doubt
Toward all
that is wonder
______________
For believing, loving,
Feeling, seeing,
The gift of Earth
The miracle of being
______________
These excerpts are from Nila J. Webster's picture book The Gift of You, The Gift of Me. She wrote the book in one sitting as a response in an incident of bullying, with the hope that honoring the beauty in nature, and in ourselves, will create a beautiful space where bullying will dissolve and be replaced by love and acceptance.
______________
Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at nila.webster@comcast.net.
Thank you, hands,
For reaching out
Over sadness
And over doubt
Toward all
that is wonder
______________
For believing, loving,
Feeling, seeing,
The gift of Earth
The miracle of being
______________
These excerpts are from Nila J. Webster's picture book The Gift of You, The Gift of Me. She wrote the book in one sitting as a response in an incident of bullying, with the hope that honoring the beauty in nature, and in ourselves, will create a beautiful space where bullying will dissolve and be replaced by love and acceptance.
______________
Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at nila.webster@comcast.net.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Heaven’s Promise--By Poppy Herrin--United States
Heaven’s Promise
The hills that march to Heaven grow harder with the years;
when one begins the journey the higher land appears.
It is a little distant but never very far,
a mile or two at most from any place you are.
As mountains on a clear day seem close when they are not,
Heaven becomes elusive and when its fields are sought,
it drifts beyond the questioning and lifts a spire to say:
“What makes you think you’ll enter my premises one day?”
But Heaven has a promise and suddenly sometimes,
with blue skies and green fields, its sweet, unbroken chimes
come hastily before us—a miracle is wrought.
Heaven is a strange land, not found when it is sought.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.
The hills that march to Heaven grow harder with the years;
when one begins the journey the higher land appears.
It is a little distant but never very far,
a mile or two at most from any place you are.
As mountains on a clear day seem close when they are not,
Heaven becomes elusive and when its fields are sought,
it drifts beyond the questioning and lifts a spire to say:
“What makes you think you’ll enter my premises one day?”
But Heaven has a promise and suddenly sometimes,
with blue skies and green fields, its sweet, unbroken chimes
come hastily before us—a miracle is wrought.
Heaven is a strange land, not found when it is sought.
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.
Friday, May 23, 2014
At the Pawn Shop--By Elaine George--Canada
At the Pawn Shop
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Gratified--By Cristine A. Gruber--United States
Gratified
I wish
to live simply…
view as an observer
‘til life’s unfolding is complete.
Content.
Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver and a devout vegan. Her poetry reflects her view of the human condition in all its complexity and beauty. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal, Foliate Oak, Full of Crow, Leaves of Ink, The Old Red Kimono, The Penwood Review, Poetry Now, The Poet’s Haven, and The Tule Review. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, was released by Infinity Publishing and is available from Amazon.com.
I wish
to live simply…
view as an observer
‘til life’s unfolding is complete.
Content.
Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver and a devout vegan. Her poetry reflects her view of the human condition in all its complexity and beauty. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal, Foliate Oak, Full of Crow, Leaves of Ink, The Old Red Kimono, The Penwood Review, Poetry Now, The Poet’s Haven, and The Tule Review. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, was released by Infinity Publishing and is available from Amazon.com.
With a Pen’s Magic--By Karen O'Leary--United States
With a Pen’s Magic
Writers help others experience the world…
Through sight…painting pictures of a sunset
the beauty of a tulip, and the majesty
of snow-capped mountains in summer.
Through hearing…capturing the magic
in cascading water, the peace of harp
music, and the joy in a child’s laughter.
Through taste…savoring the richness of coffee,
the delight of a Thanksgiving dinner,
and the pleasure of milk chocolate.
Through smell…delivering the fresh scent
of spring rain, the aroma of baking
bread, and fragrance of a new book.
Through touch…transferring the breath
of the wind, hands linked in sorrow,
and the feel of an warm embrace.
…and jot on paper what others rush by.
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.
Writers help others experience the world…
Through sight…painting pictures of a sunset
the beauty of a tulip, and the majesty
of snow-capped mountains in summer.
Through hearing…capturing the magic
in cascading water, the peace of harp
music, and the joy in a child’s laughter.
Through taste…savoring the richness of coffee,
the delight of a Thanksgiving dinner,
and the pleasure of milk chocolate.
Through smell…delivering the fresh scent
of spring rain, the aroma of baking
bread, and fragrance of a new book.
Through touch…transferring the breath
of the wind, hands linked in sorrow,
and the feel of an warm embrace.
…and jot on paper what others rush by.
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, May 21, 2014
Tiny Prints in the Sand--By Marcus Omer--United States
Tiny Prints in the Sand
Ten little toes, two little feet
make tiny footprints in the sand.
Innocent years when life was sweet;
my finger circled in her hand.
The answers simple way back then
for daddy and his little girl;
it's flowers and kittens, count to ten
and living in a small, small world.
Like hands of time the years unroll,
they press against a lonely mind.
The changing seasons take their toll,
as days so precious left behind.
The prints now made are her alone,
for daddy steps have grown too slow.
A path that winds through rocks and stones.
Can you see where the wind may blow?
Though days of Winter come with pain,
those living memories are grand.
I play them over once again,
'bout tiny footprints in the sand.
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.
Ten little toes, two little feet
make tiny footprints in the sand.
Innocent years when life was sweet;
my finger circled in her hand.
The answers simple way back then
for daddy and his little girl;
it's flowers and kittens, count to ten
and living in a small, small world.
Like hands of time the years unroll,
they press against a lonely mind.
The changing seasons take their toll,
as days so precious left behind.
The prints now made are her alone,
for daddy steps have grown too slow.
A path that winds through rocks and stones.
Can you see where the wind may blow?
Though days of Winter come with pain,
those living memories are grand.
I play them over once again,
'bout tiny footprints in the sand.
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 SMILE Lady--By David Fox--United States
The SMILE Lady
There's a woman I know that
Edits a poetry publication called SMILE.
She's been doing it for quite awhile.
She prints just about every
Poem, story or letter
From her subscribers, and yet
With each issue the magazine
Seems to get better and better.
She's not doing it for wealth
And she's been battling with her health.
Though I'm just over 40 and she's over 80
To me, she'll always be "SMILE Lady".
Dedicated to Joyce M. Johnson, Editor of Smile
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. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
There's a woman I know that
Edits a poetry publication called SMILE.
She's been doing it for quite awhile.
She prints just about every
Poem, story or letter
From her subscribers, and yet
With each issue the magazine
Seems to get better and better.
She's not doing it for wealth
And she's been battling with her health.
Though I'm just over 40 and she's over 80
To me, she'll always be "SMILE Lady".
Dedicated to Joyce M. Johnson, Editor of Smile
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. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Waiting for the Lost--By Nikko Palmario--Philippines
Waiting for the Lost
Wait for me when I get back,
just wait for me...
I rub my weary eyes, as I write this
hoping you’ll understand,
hoping you’ll take our memories with you,
as we travel on different roads
until that day comes
when I find that path
that leads me back to you....
I was forced on this journey, and so were you.
Neither of us wanted this, but maybe this is what we need.
Now I have truly become lost,
my eyes immersed in teary glaze
Everything's a blur now,
and I grasp at cotton candy clouds~
sugar crystals
sticking on my warm fingers,
and that is all.
Nikko Palmario is someone who enjoys dabbling with words and chocolate.
Wait for me when I get back,
just wait for me...
I rub my weary eyes, as I write this
hoping you’ll understand,
hoping you’ll take our memories with you,
as we travel on different roads
until that day comes
when I find that path
that leads me back to you....
I was forced on this journey, and so were you.
Neither of us wanted this, but maybe this is what we need.
Now I have truly become lost,
my eyes immersed in teary glaze
Everything's a blur now,
and I grasp at cotton candy clouds~
sugar crystals
sticking on my warm fingers,
and that is all.
Nikko Palmario is someone who enjoys dabbling with words and chocolate.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Whispers Passes 50,000 Views!!!
It is hard to believe we would be at this point when the Whispers' journey began in January 2013. I decided to post this, because in addition to the talented contributors that have made this online journal possible, there are many readers out there that I do not know. Each and everyone of you are a blessing.
Currently, we have contributors from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Israel, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. If you are a writer that would like to help represent your country, please email Karen at gksm@cableone.net
This journal is for new and experienced writers to come together to share family friendly poetry. For anyone just beginning to write poetry, I am willing to help with the editing process. For those experienced in the art, you are helping those new to the process.
May you all find joy in sharing your talent. Writing is such a gift!
Blessings,
Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor
Best Road--By Janet Vick--United States
Best Road
Road to generosity
is warm hearts through toils,
friend’s gift of love,
grateful days
we share with others.
Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.
Road to generosity
is warm hearts through toils,
friend’s gift of love,
grateful days
we share with others.
Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Joy--By Barbara Siekierski--United States
Joy
I look up
to the heavens
to seek hope.
The whole universe
is crying out
in unison, saying
look beyond
the stars, sky
and sun--there
is your hope
and peace
for tomorrow
yet to come.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
I look up
to the heavens
to seek hope.
The whole universe
is crying out
in unison, saying
look beyond
the stars, sky
and sun--there
is your hope
and peace
for tomorrow
yet to come.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
Day Story--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom
Day Story
As the night succumbs, goes to rest
and dark velvet skies turn to vibrant blue,
the air still crisp.
The morning gently settles in.
The dawn chorus begins
with joyful bird song
awakening the sleepy unfolding flowers
kissed by moist droplets of dew.
As the warming sun
smiles down
upon the lush green ground
and nature comes alive in abundant glory
in celebration of a new day
and the beginning of another
day story.
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.
As the night succumbs, goes to rest
and dark velvet skies turn to vibrant blue,
the air still crisp.
The morning gently settles in.
The dawn chorus begins
with joyful bird song
awakening the sleepy unfolding flowers
kissed by moist droplets of dew.
As the warming sun
smiles down
upon the lush green ground
and nature comes alive in abundant glory
in celebration of a new day
and the beginning of another
day story.
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.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Silent Endurance--By Mary Kent--United States
Silent Endurance
The pain was so unbearable
to even think it through
When he placed the gun against his head-
that is when she got the news
She prayed dear Lord, forgive him,
while her eyes swelled up with tears
the room was still, the lights so dim
all I could offer was my hand
I light a candle and I pray
don't let her heart die with her pain!
Mary Kent resides in the Pacific Northwest, a successful business woman. She is a wife and mother, blessed with a wonderful family. Mary is ever inspired and enriched by life and nature. She is dedicated to writing in her journal of poetry. She writes from her heart and soul, pleased to share her words with us.
The pain was so unbearable
to even think it through
When he placed the gun against his head-
that is when she got the news
She prayed dear Lord, forgive him,
while her eyes swelled up with tears
the room was still, the lights so dim
all I could offer was my hand
I light a candle and I pray
don't let her heart die with her pain!
Mary Kent resides in the Pacific Northwest, a successful business woman. She is a wife and mother, blessed with a wonderful family. Mary is ever inspired and enriched by life and nature. She is dedicated to writing in her journal of poetry. She writes from her heart and soul, pleased to share her words with us.
A Kiss--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States
A Kiss
A kiss as light as a feather
that lands softly on the lips
tickling the imagination
then drifting away with the
breath of a gentle wind.
Will it find its way back
to an awaiting heart that's
filled with sentimental thoughts?
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.
A kiss as light as a feather
that lands softly on the lips
tickling the imagination
then drifting away with the
breath of a gentle wind.
Will it find its way back
to an awaiting heart that's
filled with sentimental thoughts?
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.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Who Cares?--By Helen Dowd--Canada
Who Cares?
Psalm 142
I cried, "Oh Lord, please help me.
Please come and rescue me.
My enemy is waiting.
He's set a snare for me.
My spirit is so troubled.
My friends have fled away.
I looked around for refuge--
A place my head to lay.
There was no one to help me.
There was no one to care.
I turned to God my Savior.
He heard my desperate prayer.
My foe may still be present--
And stronger far than I--
Yet I'm no longer frightened,
For God, the Lord, is nigh.
He's wrapped His arms around me.
In Him I now can hide.
I'll ever sing His praises,
For He will be my Guide.
David's prayer from his cave.
See also I Sam. 22:1
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
Psalm 142
I cried, "Oh Lord, please help me.
Please come and rescue me.
My enemy is waiting.
He's set a snare for me.
My spirit is so troubled.
My friends have fled away.
I looked around for refuge--
A place my head to lay.
There was no one to help me.
There was no one to care.
I turned to God my Savior.
He heard my desperate prayer.
My foe may still be present--
And stronger far than I--
Yet I'm no longer frightened,
For God, the Lord, is nigh.
He's wrapped His arms around me.
In Him I now can hide.
I'll ever sing His praises,
For He will be my Guide.
David's prayer from his cave.
See also I Sam. 22:1
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
3-Legged Race--By Cindy Evans--United States
3-Legged Race
Some say love is flowers
and romance, a perfect place;
I feel instead love is more
like a three-legged race.
Your right leg and their left,
bonded together, a connection,
keeping in step together,
you head in the same direction.
If one falls, the other
is there to give a lift;
having someone alongside of you
truly is a gift.
When both are doing well,
they enjoy the ride -
together they share the victory
and win it side by side.
Unity and staying close
is the secret, know the wise;
shoulder to shoulder, racing ahead,
they'll surely claim the prize!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the greater Atlanta area. She does receptionist work for corporate offices as well as at non-for-profits. She is happily married to her husband, Mark, and they enjoy ferris wheels, lighthouses, Christian movies and walking trails.
Some say love is flowers
and romance, a perfect place;
I feel instead love is more
like a three-legged race.
Your right leg and their left,
bonded together, a connection,
keeping in step together,
you head in the same direction.
If one falls, the other
is there to give a lift;
having someone alongside of you
truly is a gift.
When both are doing well,
they enjoy the ride -
together they share the victory
and win it side by side.
Unity and staying close
is the secret, know the wise;
shoulder to shoulder, racing ahead,
they'll surely claim the prize!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the greater Atlanta area. She does receptionist work for corporate offices as well as at non-for-profits. She is happily married to her husband, Mark, and they enjoy ferris wheels, lighthouses, Christian movies and walking trails.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
An Interlude So Brief--By Pamela A. MacBean--United States
Pamela A. MacBean
An Interlude So Brief
Sunset brings a day to a close
folding it's petals like a red rose.
Starlight gauzy drapes nightfall
softly in a silvery shawl.
Life's cares can be trimmed in goldleaf
if you breathe in
an interlude so brief.
Pam is currently battling metastatic breast cancer and is doing remarkably well. Some of her poetry is shared on Poetry For Thought and AllPoetry.com. She has been published in many online and print journals, and has had two chapbooks published, Postscripts in Time and A Dalton View. In the Great Northwoods, a collection of poetry was published by Publish America. She lives in New Hampshire.
An Interlude So Brief
Sunset brings a day to a close
folding it's petals like a red rose.
Starlight gauzy drapes nightfall
softly in a silvery shawl.
Life's cares can be trimmed in goldleaf
if you breathe in
an interlude so brief.
Pam is currently battling metastatic breast cancer and is doing remarkably well. Some of her poetry is shared on Poetry For Thought and AllPoetry.com. She has been published in many online and print journals, and has had two chapbooks published, Postscripts in Time and A Dalton View. In the Great Northwoods, a collection of poetry was published by Publish America. She lives in New Hampshire.
Poet of the Month--Jack Horne
House on Henley Street
By Jack Horne
Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'
I closed my eyes and wished him there.
My fingers traced the bricks and slate,
Exploring textures rough and smooth:
The wooden beams, the open grate.
I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked,
And climbed the narrow flight of stairs.
I stopped by windows where he’d stood,
And patted tables, beds and chairs.
The building held his tears and joys.
He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet.
I felt him etched upon the place:
He’d loved the house on Henley Street.
_______________
From the editor--It a pleasure to announce that Jack Horne is May’s Poet of the Month. His is a talented writer and the author of two books. Readers at Whispers enjoy his poetry. He has been consistent in encouraging me and others since the onset of the site in January 2013. Jack has collaborated with several other writers in a variety of poems that have been featured at Whispers. He has promoted our online journal bringing new writers to our poetry community. It is a privilege to present Jack with this honor.
_______________
Thoughts on “House on Henley Street”--I first read this poem when Jack submitted it for a book called Snippets that I was compiling. Of course, I accepted it! Through his eyes, we get to experience Shakespeare’s birthplace with him. It almost has a haunting feel as Jack awakens part of artistic history for us. He uses multi-sense images taking readers on the journey through the halls walked by a literary icon. He captures so much in just twelve lines, one of his best poems.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Jack! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
By Jack Horne
Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'
I closed my eyes and wished him there.
My fingers traced the bricks and slate,
Exploring textures rough and smooth:
The wooden beams, the open grate.
I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked,
And climbed the narrow flight of stairs.
I stopped by windows where he’d stood,
And patted tables, beds and chairs.
The building held his tears and joys.
He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet.
I felt him etched upon the place:
He’d loved the house on Henley Street.
_______________
From the editor--It a pleasure to announce that Jack Horne is May’s Poet of the Month. His is a talented writer and the author of two books. Readers at Whispers enjoy his poetry. He has been consistent in encouraging me and others since the onset of the site in January 2013. Jack has collaborated with several other writers in a variety of poems that have been featured at Whispers. He has promoted our online journal bringing new writers to our poetry community. It is a privilege to present Jack with this honor.
_______________
Thoughts on “House on Henley Street”--I first read this poem when Jack submitted it for a book called Snippets that I was compiling. Of course, I accepted it! Through his eyes, we get to experience Shakespeare’s birthplace with him. It almost has a haunting feel as Jack awakens part of artistic history for us. He uses multi-sense images taking readers on the journey through the halls walked by a literary icon. He captures so much in just twelve lines, one of his best poems.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Jack! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
Rebirth and Renewal--By Christina R. Jussaume--United States
Rebirth and Renewal
The pine tree sheds needles and spreads seed each year
An old tree’s death may be near
Sometimes trees get sick with some type of disease
Little sprouts come up to please
Nature has way of replenishing all things
Not all trees have lots of rings
Some trees are not healthy from the very start
They may need more sun and heart
After fires new seedlings then must be brought in
With care their life does begin
Severe storms bring some down and then new ones grow
New seedlings do grow quite slow
The forest always shows us rebirth, just look
It is like our Holy Book
Only the strong will survive in God’s great plan
Now is time to make your stand
Rebirth is through Jesus, please do understand
God is Savior to man
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
The pine tree sheds needles and spreads seed each year
An old tree’s death may be near
Sometimes trees get sick with some type of disease
Little sprouts come up to please
Nature has way of replenishing all things
Not all trees have lots of rings
Some trees are not healthy from the very start
They may need more sun and heart
After fires new seedlings then must be brought in
With care their life does begin
Severe storms bring some down and then new ones grow
New seedlings do grow quite slow
The forest always shows us rebirth, just look
It is like our Holy Book
Only the strong will survive in God’s great plan
Now is time to make your stand
Rebirth is through Jesus, please do understand
God is Savior to man
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Haiku--By Robert Epstein--United States
home alone
slowly slipping into
the sleeve of night
________________
cemetery
looking for something
to hold on to
________________
in the crying rain death is still holy
________________
the sun
on my face
that’s all
________________
morning light
searching for a lullaby
to die by
________________
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.
slowly slipping into
the sleeve of night
________________
cemetery
looking for something
to hold on to
________________
in the crying rain death is still holy
________________
the sun
on my face
that’s all
________________
morning light
searching for a lullaby
to die by
________________
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.
My Silent Hours--By Anne R. C. Neale--United States
My Silent Hours
As night's darkness touches the corners of my room
And a small night light shines small light rays into the darkness of the night,
I know God's healing hands are gently touching my Spirit and Soul,
Soothing and healing my body slowly but most assuredly making me to be fit and all right.
God's positive program for how He wants me to be now
Will be accepted by what God chooses to do,
God is the Master and Healer of all His creations,
And I will accept what ever God decides He wants me to do.
God is a compassionate God, our Master Physician,
My aches and pains and of all things God will take care of His way,
God's power of Healing is the most Powerful Miracle ever,
God gently holds my hand as we walk together with love on life's earthly path night and day
Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old. She taught outdoor education for 20 years. Anne still works at school as crossing guard. She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums. She resides in New Jersey .
As night's darkness touches the corners of my room
And a small night light shines small light rays into the darkness of the night,
I know God's healing hands are gently touching my Spirit and Soul,
Soothing and healing my body slowly but most assuredly making me to be fit and all right.
God's positive program for how He wants me to be now
Will be accepted by what God chooses to do,
God is the Master and Healer of all His creations,
And I will accept what ever God decides He wants me to do.
God is a compassionate God, our Master Physician,
My aches and pains and of all things God will take care of His way,
God's power of Healing is the most Powerful Miracle ever,
God gently holds my hand as we walk together with love on life's earthly path night and day
Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old. She taught outdoor education for 20 years. Anne still works at school as crossing guard. She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums. She resides in New Jersey .
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
The Candle Glow--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands
The Candle Glow
(Candlelight)
See the candle glow
For all those we know
That has life above
Prayer is from love
Blessed then are they
Gone on way
To be
Safely
With God
Where
Joy
Does
Run
Deep
And
Yet
Flows very fast while it's still
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.
(Candlelight)
See the candle glow
For all those we know
That has life above
Prayer is from love
Blessed then are they
Gone on way
To be
Safely
With God
Where
Joy
Does
Run
Deep
And
Yet
Flows very fast while it's still
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.
This Ditty--By Andrea Dietrich--United States
This Ditty
In limerick form is this ditty,
A rhyme not sublime, but it’s witty.
I’m a Word Warrior who
Kicks a rhyme like Kung-fu.
Don’t haiku me. It won’t be pretty!
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.
In limerick form is this ditty,
A rhyme not sublime, but it’s witty.
I’m a Word Warrior who
Kicks a rhyme like Kung-fu.
Don’t haiku me. It won’t be pretty!
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, May 12, 2014
The Desert Rose--By Joann Grisetti--United States
The Desert Rose
the desert rose stretches a yawn
swiftly she swings her scythe
the darkened rocks rapidly react
pour forth a blood-red glow
the desert rose lifts her head
to glance upon her work
the glowing rocks respond once more
and lighten into gold
on she strolls across the land
ever they shift their colors
daily they repeat this ritual
the rocks and the admired
rocks shift and weather -
the rose remains the same
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.
the desert rose stretches a yawn
swiftly she swings her scythe
the darkened rocks rapidly react
pour forth a blood-red glow
the desert rose lifts her head
to glance upon her work
the glowing rocks respond once more
and lighten into gold
on she strolls across the land
ever they shift their colors
daily they repeat this ritual
the rocks and the admired
rocks shift and weather -
the rose remains the same
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.
Great Tree--By David Austin--United States
Great Tree
tree out my window
the various multitudes
call your branches home
world within a world
a mystery large to small
and each blade of grass
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.
tree out my window
the various multitudes
call your branches home
world within a world
a mystery large to small
and each blade of grass
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.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jack Horne, England and Sandra Stefanowich, Canada
On A Misty Road
By Jack Horne and Sandra Stefanowich
It's raining and I'm soaking wet,
the water's rolling down my cheeks;
my face is wet with tears - my friend
is missing and it feels like weeks.
Tears run like a river with no end
mile markers of time slipping away
distance; the silent killer in the night
wondering if there was another way
As bitterness and anger die,
let raindrops wash all ills away,
I promise after heavy rain,
the sun will shine again today.
I see your hand reach out for mine
your love; as warm as the sun's rays
your promise is all I can hope for
as I find my way through the misty haze.
By Jack Horne and Sandra Stefanowich
It's raining and I'm soaking wet,
the water's rolling down my cheeks;
my face is wet with tears - my friend
is missing and it feels like weeks.
Tears run like a river with no end
mile markers of time slipping away
distance; the silent killer in the night
wondering if there was another way
As bitterness and anger die,
let raindrops wash all ills away,
I promise after heavy rain,
the sun will shine again today.
I see your hand reach out for mine
your love; as warm as the sun's rays
your promise is all I can hope for
as I find my way through the misty haze.
Heart in the Clouds--By Lisa DeVinney--United States
Heart in the Clouds
Today God said, “I love you.”
He wrote it in the sky,
Up in a cloud formation
That caught my wandering eye;
A perfect heart formation
Between two clouds that passed.
I tried to take a picture –
It disappeared too fast.
I smiled just a little,
And said, “I love You, too,”
Back to my Heavenly Father,
With heartfelt gratitude;
That He would take that moment
To share His heart with me.
Oh, what a thoughtful Father –
A precious memory.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com
Today God said, “I love you.”
He wrote it in the sky,
Up in a cloud formation
That caught my wandering eye;
A perfect heart formation
Between two clouds that passed.
I tried to take a picture –
It disappeared too fast.
I smiled just a little,
And said, “I love You, too,”
Back to my Heavenly Father,
With heartfelt gratitude;
That He would take that moment
To share His heart with me.
Oh, what a thoughtful Father –
A precious memory.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Lingual Diversity--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States
Lingual Diversity
We share the bench
at a neighborhood park,
watch children play.
He says something,
points toward a running, laughing boy,
probably his son,
about the same age as my daughter,
also running and laughing.
I point toward my little girl,
say the same thing in English
he most likely said in German.
Like our children’s laughter
we require no translation.
Carl "Papa" Palmer, retired Army, retired FAA, now just plain retired, lives in University Place, Washington. He has seven chapbooks and a contest winning poem riding buses somewhere in Seattle. Carl has been nominated for the Micro Award and Pushcart Prize.
MOTTO: Long Weekends Forever
www.authorsden.com/carlpalmer
We share the bench
at a neighborhood park,
watch children play.
He says something,
points toward a running, laughing boy,
probably his son,
about the same age as my daughter,
also running and laughing.
I point toward my little girl,
say the same thing in English
he most likely said in German.
Like our children’s laughter
we require no translation.
Carl "Papa" Palmer, retired Army, retired FAA, now just plain retired, lives in University Place, Washington. He has seven chapbooks and a contest winning poem riding buses somewhere in Seattle. Carl has been nominated for the Micro Award and Pushcart Prize.
MOTTO: Long Weekends Forever
www.authorsden.com/carlpalmer
A Cup of Tea--By Christine Tate--United States
A Cup of Tea
Growing up mom was there
to spend time with me...
I talked, she listened
over a hot cup of tea.
When I became a newlywed
and visited for the day,
we'd sat around the table,
drink some tea, and pray.
Soon I became a mother
and mom knew instantly,
I needed to relax as
she prepared a cup of tea.
When mom was old and frail
and came to live with me,
I was the one preparing
a soothing cup of tea.
I'll never forget those years
and the great memories,
sharing with my mom
over a simple cup of tea.
My precious mom went home to be with the Lord on 7/21/11, but the
memories we shared are forever etched on my heart.
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."
Growing up mom was there
to spend time with me...
I talked, she listened
over a hot cup of tea.
When I became a newlywed
and visited for the day,
we'd sat around the table,
drink some tea, and pray.
Soon I became a mother
and mom knew instantly,
I needed to relax as
she prepared a cup of tea.
When mom was old and frail
and came to live with me,
I was the one preparing
a soothing cup of tea.
I'll never forget those years
and the great memories,
sharing with my mom
over a simple cup of tea.
My precious mom went home to be with the Lord on 7/21/11, but the
memories we shared are forever etched on my heart.
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."
Friday, May 9, 2014
Fire Fries--By Jack Horne--England
Fire Fries
Bro Tuck was a jolly old friar,
Who fried all his food near a briar,
And as Robin ate fries,
With a roll of his eyes,
He muttered, ‘That bush is on fire!’
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
Bro Tuck was a jolly old friar,
Who fried all his food near a briar,
And as Robin ate fries,
With a roll of his eyes,
He muttered, ‘That bush is on fire!’
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
Distant Yesterdays--By Richard Sponaugle--United States
Distant Yesterdays
Once sparkling blue eyes
reflect as murky olive.
Retinal and mental deterioration
squeeze them inward…
Picture postcard memories
of crisp, mountain air,
chirping robins and honey perfume,
padlocked lips that smooch,
and two hearts with boundless dreams…
Windows to the soul
shut tighter than coffins,
as early morning Spring
fades to Winter at midnight.
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.
Once sparkling blue eyes
reflect as murky olive.
Retinal and mental deterioration
squeeze them inward…
Picture postcard memories
of crisp, mountain air,
chirping robins and honey perfume,
padlocked lips that smooch,
and two hearts with boundless dreams…
Windows to the soul
shut tighter than coffins,
as early morning Spring
fades to Winter at midnight.
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.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Haiku--By Elizabeth Howard--United States
April starlight--
disparate voices rejoicing
the old pond reborn
_______________
deep woods--
fox grape tendrils
searching for light
_______________
at nightfall
fireflies on the hillside
flashing in sync
_______________
sipping coffee--
a fawn on the porch
eye to eye
_______________
strawberry fields--
under a red umbrella
a baby crying
_______________
Elizabeth Howard lives in Crossville, Tennessee. She writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Poem, Still, Mobius, Now & Then, Slant, and other journals.
disparate voices rejoicing
the old pond reborn
_______________
deep woods--
fox grape tendrils
searching for light
_______________
at nightfall
fireflies on the hillside
flashing in sync
_______________
sipping coffee--
a fawn on the porch
eye to eye
_______________
strawberry fields--
under a red umbrella
a baby crying
_______________
Elizabeth Howard lives in Crossville, Tennessee. She writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Poem, Still, Mobius, Now & Then, Slant, and other journals.
A Kiss Goodbye?--By Robert A. Dufresne--United States
A Kiss Goodbye?
Cold metal trains pressing refrains on hard steel tracks,
racing ever, changing never the lyrics of clickity clack.
Loved ones scurrying, hurrying, never worrying,
that they may never be riding back,
in cold metal trains pressing refrains on hard steel tracks,
racing ever, changing never the lyrics of clickity clack.
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 .
Cold metal trains pressing refrains on hard steel tracks,
racing ever, changing never the lyrics of clickity clack.
Loved ones scurrying, hurrying, never worrying,
that they may never be riding back,
in cold metal trains pressing refrains on hard steel tracks,
racing ever, changing never the lyrics of clickity clack.
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 .
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Out of Sync on a Summer Evening--By Sunil Uniyal--India
Out of Sync on a Summer Evening
The god ran all day in his seven-horsed chariot
chasing shadows all around o'er hills, hamlets, towns,
shooting light arrows at shadows that ran and fell,
ran and fell, got up and ran again, without a sound
The shadows could not be killed,
falling, rising, falling, rising, like the demon Raktabeej,
they laughed and mocked and spat on the god's beaming face
And the god was wild with rage
his seven horses he whipped and whipped,
and whipped till they bled, their blood sprinkling in the sky...
Now, it's the evening here
the god is gone, the chariot gone, the horses gone, too
a stillness hangs all around and red stains are over there
I faintly hear, a low wail coming from the west,
perhaps the horses neigh in agony, left behind in the air !
________________
Note: The 'god' here refers to the Sun. According to the Hindu mythology, he drives a chariot pulled by seven horses; and 'Raktabeej' is a demon who had a boon that if anyone tried to slay him, every drop of his blood falling on the ground, would create another demon like him, and thus it would be impossible to kill him.
________________
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 god ran all day in his seven-horsed chariot
chasing shadows all around o'er hills, hamlets, towns,
shooting light arrows at shadows that ran and fell,
ran and fell, got up and ran again, without a sound
The shadows could not be killed,
falling, rising, falling, rising, like the demon Raktabeej,
they laughed and mocked and spat on the god's beaming face
And the god was wild with rage
his seven horses he whipped and whipped,
and whipped till they bled, their blood sprinkling in the sky...
Now, it's the evening here
the god is gone, the chariot gone, the horses gone, too
a stillness hangs all around and red stains are over there
I faintly hear, a low wail coming from the west,
perhaps the horses neigh in agony, left behind in the air !
________________
Note: The 'god' here refers to the Sun. According to the Hindu mythology, he drives a chariot pulled by seven horses; and 'Raktabeej' is a demon who had a boon that if anyone tried to slay him, every drop of his blood falling on the ground, would create another demon like him, and thus it would be impossible to kill him.
________________
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.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds--United States
When Angels Smile Upon, A Sonnet
By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds
What is this whisp’ring brush against my cheek
That calls to me in flutters through the trees
With playful strokes teasing the sun to peek
Inspired waters calm; dancing in the breeze
In one felled swoop and instantaneous
One dark moment turned into glorious
Angelic kisses filling up the heart
Rejuvenating, lifting with love’s dart
An obvious presence felt but unseen
Its gentle touch of majestic power
Wakens desire to interact so keen
Soothing, soft like the kiss of a flower
When majestic angels do smile upon
Life plays its guided role as led by God
By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds
What is this whisp’ring brush against my cheek
That calls to me in flutters through the trees
With playful strokes teasing the sun to peek
Inspired waters calm; dancing in the breeze
In one felled swoop and instantaneous
One dark moment turned into glorious
Angelic kisses filling up the heart
Rejuvenating, lifting with love’s dart
An obvious presence felt but unseen
Its gentle touch of majestic power
Wakens desire to interact so keen
Soothing, soft like the kiss of a flower
When majestic angels do smile upon
Life plays its guided role as led by God
I Dream--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States
I Dream
When on the lonely midnight watch and gazing out to sea,
Thoughts of you waft through my mind, gossamer like, floating free.
And though we are oceans apart and urgent duties beckon me,
I can simply close my eyes and pleasantly dream of thee.
We've been at sea seven months visiting mysterious ports of call.
We've had our rigging rent by many a ferocious squall.
Though our Man O' War may be tossed about by billowing foam,
I am ever comforted when I close my eyes and dream of home.
We've borne the brutal battle midst furious shot and shell.
The terrible stench and gore of war I know all too well.
My earnest prayer is that I survive never more to roam,
And hold you in my arms to fulfill that dream of coming home!
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.
When on the lonely midnight watch and gazing out to sea,
Thoughts of you waft through my mind, gossamer like, floating free.
And though we are oceans apart and urgent duties beckon me,
I can simply close my eyes and pleasantly dream of thee.
We've been at sea seven months visiting mysterious ports of call.
We've had our rigging rent by many a ferocious squall.
Though our Man O' War may be tossed about by billowing foam,
I am ever comforted when I close my eyes and dream of home.
We've borne the brutal battle midst furious shot and shell.
The terrible stench and gore of war I know all too well.
My earnest prayer is that I survive never more to roam,
And hold you in my arms to fulfill that dream of coming home!
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.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
The Soil of Life--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States
The Soil of Life
Within myself I hide a seed
that is buried deep beneath
the soil of life a consuming weed
Nurturing simple delicate ways
protects the shell that covers
and grows with an external haze
Longing to climb as a morning glory vine
to reach new heights of knowledge brings
soul contentment to the mind that's mine
Wildly consume all there is to know
storing images that are in my garden
as my future adventures grow...
outside my seed of capture
Rhoda Galgiani has published two books - Expressions From the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny - A Child's Book. She also maintains a website with instructional poetry forms called Expressions Poetry Journal at chesakat1.blogspot.com Come visit for a relaxing moment and poetry instructions.
Within myself I hide a seed
that is buried deep beneath
the soil of life a consuming weed
Nurturing simple delicate ways
protects the shell that covers
and grows with an external haze
Longing to climb as a morning glory vine
to reach new heights of knowledge brings
soul contentment to the mind that's mine
Wildly consume all there is to know
storing images that are in my garden
as my future adventures grow...
outside my seed of capture
Rhoda Galgiani has published two books - Expressions From the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny - A Child's Book. She also maintains a website with instructional poetry forms called Expressions Poetry Journal at chesakat1.blogspot.com Come visit for a relaxing moment and poetry instructions.
Amazing Mother’s Struggles--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia
Amazing Mother’s Struggles
Mother, you embody love.
You define noble nourishment of a child.
You bestow a child with amazing queenly care.
Mother, you saw beyond what l was,
To what l could be in this competitive world.
You helped me build my destiny and chart out my way.
You struggled in London with a high measure of selflessness.
For all the wonderful sacrifices no countless words are enough honour.
May our Creator’s love continue to reign and radiate through your life.
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".
Mother, you embody love.
You define noble nourishment of a child.
You bestow a child with amazing queenly care.
Mother, you saw beyond what l was,
To what l could be in this competitive world.
You helped me build my destiny and chart out my way.
You struggled in London with a high measure of selflessness.
For all the wonderful sacrifices no countless words are enough honour.
May our Creator’s love continue to reign and radiate through your life.
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".
Monday, May 5, 2014
Footprints--By Carolyn Devonshire--United States
Footprints
Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore
Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers
Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide
The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait
Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again
A Florida writer, Carolyn enjoys writing humor but also receives inspiration from nature and people who touch her life. She has enjoyed co-writing with other poets and finds that both writers grow when they share their thoughts. She has spent most of her life as a reporter and a writer for magazines.
Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore
Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers
Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide
The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait
Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again
A Florida writer, Carolyn enjoys writing humor but also receives inspiration from nature and people who touch her life. She has enjoyed co-writing with other poets and finds that both writers grow when they share their thoughts. She has spent most of her life as a reporter and a writer for magazines.
Grandmother Burns--By Jean Calkins--United States
Grandmother Burns
Grandmother, I never knew you.
I was but a fledgling when you flew
the nest. But I remember your little
white house, set lower than the highway—
the highway that is now no more
than an extended drive. And I remember
the precious old flour bin you said was mine.
But mother never agreed, and claimed
it as her own. I see your white-topped
head, lying on pale sheets, but the face
is gone, and there are no pictures
to remind me. But your blood flows
through my veins, and across the years,
I feel a connection to that other life.
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.
Grandmother, I never knew you.
I was but a fledgling when you flew
the nest. But I remember your little
white house, set lower than the highway—
the highway that is now no more
than an extended drive. And I remember
the precious old flour bin you said was mine.
But mother never agreed, and claimed
it as her own. I see your white-topped
head, lying on pale sheets, but the face
is gone, and there are no pictures
to remind me. But your blood flows
through my veins, and across the years,
I feel a connection to that other life.
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.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The Permanence of Art--By--Suzanne Delaney--United States
The Permanence of Art
In the third act
a recital of a dream
Beauty transcribes it, punctuating it,
entering when the poet is out
for a moment
The song, a promise from a meadow
begins with bird notes.. a real masterpiece
viewed as poetry begins
and makes a parody of song
Authorship of the song is sung
as an impulse, love
and youthful ardor,
the poet discourses on the
permanence of art.
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 the third act
a recital of a dream
Beauty transcribes it, punctuating it,
entering when the poet is out
for a moment
The song, a promise from a meadow
begins with bird notes.. a real masterpiece
viewed as poetry begins
and makes a parody of song
Authorship of the song is sung
as an impulse, love
and youthful ardor,
the poet discourses on the
permanence of art.
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.
Falling Up--By Sandra Stefanowich--Canada
Falling Up
Deep through wooded forest she ran for her life
branches and leaves snapped and crackled under her feet
she felt its eyes following her as wind taunted and laughed
reaching a hillside, she paused but she didn't to stop to rest
scrambling up loose rock she slipped, grabbing onto trees
she pulled and picked herself up off her bloodied knees determined
neither thirst nor hunger would stop her now and its eyes followed
it watched the girl in quiet curiosity; would she make it this time?
she knew what followed had been at her door too many times before
her will was strong as she looked back at her adversary and continued
she reached the top upon a clearing just as darkness filled the sky
beneath a full moon; her heart slowed, a quiet peace fell over her
stars shone brightly tonight and she smiled for the first time in a long time
once lost in a world where she had never belonged, always falling down
she now stood and heard the world call out to her in a different way
and as the wolf howled its mournful cry, she knew it was no longer at her door
Born in Toronto, Ontario, Sandra is a self taught writer. She has been writing off and on since an early age. Most of her writing revolves around what she sees in everyday life, nature and her concerns about mankind. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, animals and photography.
Deep through wooded forest she ran for her life
branches and leaves snapped and crackled under her feet
she felt its eyes following her as wind taunted and laughed
reaching a hillside, she paused but she didn't to stop to rest
scrambling up loose rock she slipped, grabbing onto trees
she pulled and picked herself up off her bloodied knees determined
neither thirst nor hunger would stop her now and its eyes followed
it watched the girl in quiet curiosity; would she make it this time?
she knew what followed had been at her door too many times before
her will was strong as she looked back at her adversary and continued
she reached the top upon a clearing just as darkness filled the sky
beneath a full moon; her heart slowed, a quiet peace fell over her
stars shone brightly tonight and she smiled for the first time in a long time
once lost in a world where she had never belonged, always falling down
she now stood and heard the world call out to her in a different way
and as the wolf howled its mournful cry, she knew it was no longer at her door
Born in Toronto, Ontario, Sandra is a self taught writer. She has been writing off and on since an early age. Most of her writing revolves around what she sees in everyday life, nature and her concerns about mankind. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, animals and photography.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
One Shared Moment--By Sheri Stanley--United States
One Shared Moment
(Whispers Dedication)
Whispers, so like a warm embrace
Taking you to another place
Placing a smile upon your face
Giving your soul a certain grace
The pen unites, therefore delights
Inspiring hearts in all it writes
At peaceful sleep in restful nights
In Whispers flows reaching new heights
Through words and rhyme we emerge one
All hopes and dreams under the sun
Rainbow of blends where dreams are spun
For one shared moment peace is won
(Editors note--Thank you, Sheri, for this lovely dedication and for all your do for the Whispers community.)
Sheri is an artist, song writer and poet. She is also a graphic and digital book illustrator. A citizen of the United States she enjoys golf and music and quiet evenings at home with her much cherished family. Her website is www.poetryandbeyond.net
(Whispers Dedication)
Whispers, so like a warm embrace
Taking you to another place
Placing a smile upon your face
Giving your soul a certain grace
The pen unites, therefore delights
Inspiring hearts in all it writes
At peaceful sleep in restful nights
In Whispers flows reaching new heights
Through words and rhyme we emerge one
All hopes and dreams under the sun
Rainbow of blends where dreams are spun
For one shared moment peace is won
(Editors note--Thank you, Sheri, for this lovely dedication and for all your do for the Whispers community.)
Sheri is an artist, song writer and poet. She is also a graphic and digital book illustrator. A citizen of the United States she enjoys golf and music and quiet evenings at home with her much cherished family. Her website is www.poetryandbeyond.net
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By James Marshall Goff and Carolyn Devonshire
Butterscotch Moon
By James Marshall Goff and Carolyn Devonshire
My hand
Wet with tears pouring down my face
Reaches out and finds nothing
Empty spaces where familiar voices
Once comforted me
My only hope
Is sleep, where dreams, in sketchy
Re-wind, promise a glimpse of lost
Loved ones, maybe a voice, if fleeting
Even, to soothe me
Those still with me
Look to me for strength, my motor
Memory urging me on, focusing
On the well, deep in my heart,
Cycle renews
Another beloved soul passes
Light they find
But darkness they leave behind
Grief
Hungry monster
Selfishly consumes my life
Devours all glimmers of hope
Leaving me
Destitute on a perilous plane
Mere existence
Not life as it once was
Sanity
Confronting memories, loneliness
Trek on an unbalanced bridge
Connecting life and death
Emotions purged
Shadows of yesterday surround me
Wisdom of loved ones
Permeates my thoughts
Filled
With clear vision, handed down to me
From my ancestors
By James Marshall Goff and Carolyn Devonshire
My hand
Wet with tears pouring down my face
Reaches out and finds nothing
Empty spaces where familiar voices
Once comforted me
My only hope
Is sleep, where dreams, in sketchy
Re-wind, promise a glimpse of lost
Loved ones, maybe a voice, if fleeting
Even, to soothe me
Those still with me
Look to me for strength, my motor
Memory urging me on, focusing
On the well, deep in my heart,
Cycle renews
Another beloved soul passes
Light they find
But darkness they leave behind
Grief
Hungry monster
Selfishly consumes my life
Devours all glimmers of hope
Leaving me
Destitute on a perilous plane
Mere existence
Not life as it once was
Sanity
Confronting memories, loneliness
Trek on an unbalanced bridge
Connecting life and death
Emotions purged
Shadows of yesterday surround me
Wisdom of loved ones
Permeates my thoughts
Filled
With clear vision, handed down to me
From my ancestors
The Violin--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia
The Violin
Play her like a melody,
Inhale the sweetness
you envisage, breathlessly;
caressing every thought.
Hear the soft whispers
dance within the silence
of your heart and soul,
Awaken the passion,
destined to ignite the fire,
allowing to burn slowly
like glowing embers,
just like the stars above,
Let the dance of love begin.
Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.
Play her like a melody,
Inhale the sweetness
you envisage, breathlessly;
caressing every thought.
Hear the soft whispers
dance within the silence
of your heart and soul,
Awaken the passion,
destined to ignite the fire,
allowing to burn slowly
like glowing embers,
just like the stars above,
Let the dance of love begin.
Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Procrastination--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States
Procrastination
A
habit
born of doubt
or perhaps fear,
procrastination,
has dire consequences.
Persistent, nagging feelings
of worry and anxiety build,
because progression has come to a halt.
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.
A
habit
born of doubt
or perhaps fear,
procrastination,
has dire consequences.
Persistent, nagging feelings
of worry and anxiety build,
because progression has come to a halt.
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.
I Recall--By Tim Ryerson--United States
I Recall
I recall a filthy sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oak
Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers
I recall one low spot
beneath a straggly Chinaberry
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes
Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home….
Tim Ryerson is a published poet from Ponchatoula, Louisiana who retired from the printing business in 2011. He began writing in the 80’s but did not take it seriously until 2001 after the untimely death of his then 21 year old son. He does not have a ‘signature style’ but prefers writing different forms of poetry. Many of his poems use southern slang and Cajun dialect. He also enjoys writing humorous poems, especially limericks and senryu and was among the winners in the latest Humor Press writing contest with his entry “Emergency Rooms Just KILL me.”
I recall a filthy sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oak
Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers
I recall one low spot
beneath a straggly Chinaberry
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes
Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home….
Tim Ryerson is a published poet from Ponchatoula, Louisiana who retired from the printing business in 2011. He began writing in the 80’s but did not take it seriously until 2001 after the untimely death of his then 21 year old son. He does not have a ‘signature style’ but prefers writing different forms of poetry. Many of his poems use southern slang and Cajun dialect. He also enjoys writing humorous poems, especially limericks and senryu and was among the winners in the latest Humor Press writing contest with his entry “Emergency Rooms Just KILL me.”
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Ranu in her Sandals--By Ranu Uniyal--India
Ranu in her Sandals
I prefer my sandals without any heels
For me there is no signing of deals
Tripping and Falling I cannot afford
O my feet! look at them - they are so bored
Walk and run I do it all in sandals
High heels and boots are stacked in bundles.
Come and pick them if you need
My feet long for a different breed...
Editor’s Note--Inspired by “Ode to the Unwalkables” By Jack Horne, Sandra Stefanowich and Carolyn Devonshire--Published at Whispers 4/4/2014
Ranu Uniyal lives in Lucknow, India. Poetry keeps her going and is as much a part of her life as her love for humanity. She is a Professor of English at Lucknow University. She has two books of poems: Across the Divide and December Poems to her credit.
I prefer my sandals without any heels
For me there is no signing of deals
Tripping and Falling I cannot afford
O my feet! look at them - they are so bored
Walk and run I do it all in sandals
High heels and boots are stacked in bundles.
Come and pick them if you need
My feet long for a different breed...
Editor’s Note--Inspired by “Ode to the Unwalkables” By Jack Horne, Sandra Stefanowich and Carolyn Devonshire--Published at Whispers 4/4/2014
Ranu Uniyal lives in Lucknow, India. Poetry keeps her going and is as much a part of her life as her love for humanity. She is a Professor of English at Lucknow University. She has two books of poems: Across the Divide and December Poems to her credit.
Last Goodbyes--By Joe Flach--United States
Last Goodbyes
(In memory of the victims from Newtown, CT - 12/14/2012)
Nobody knew it would be their last goodbye
On a day not unlike many others
The sun still ascending into the sky
Waving goodbye to their fathers and mothers
No warning to give a prolonged hug
Or to repeat, “I love you” again
No reason to put aside the coffee mug
To kiss them as the day did begin
Nobody knew of the tragedy just hours away
And the thin ice upon which we walk
The torment of wondering if your child is okay
The breaking of a parent’s heart
Watching parent and child reunited
While others still stand there alone
Feeling guilty to be so excited
That your child will be coming home
Twenty plus angels ascended to heaven
On the river of a nation’s tears
Be thankful for every day you are given
To hug your children throughout the years
Joe Flach is an amateur poet living in Gig Harbor, WA. Joe has been writing poetry, short stories and song lyrics his entire life but has only recently found the courage to share some of his work with others through internet websites and his own Poetry Facebook Page – “Poems, Lyrics and Stuff by an Average Joe”. As a professional consultant working in the fields of crisis management and disaster recovery, Joe uses has writing as a form of stress release and an opportunity to expand his horizons. Joe is a father of four children who he often relies on as a source for inspiration.
(In memory of the victims from Newtown, CT - 12/14/2012)
Nobody knew it would be their last goodbye
On a day not unlike many others
The sun still ascending into the sky
Waving goodbye to their fathers and mothers
No warning to give a prolonged hug
Or to repeat, “I love you” again
No reason to put aside the coffee mug
To kiss them as the day did begin
Nobody knew of the tragedy just hours away
And the thin ice upon which we walk
The torment of wondering if your child is okay
The breaking of a parent’s heart
Watching parent and child reunited
While others still stand there alone
Feeling guilty to be so excited
That your child will be coming home
Twenty plus angels ascended to heaven
On the river of a nation’s tears
Be thankful for every day you are given
To hug your children throughout the years
Joe Flach is an amateur poet living in Gig Harbor, WA. Joe has been writing poetry, short stories and song lyrics his entire life but has only recently found the courage to share some of his work with others through internet websites and his own Poetry Facebook Page – “Poems, Lyrics and Stuff by an Average Joe”. As a professional consultant working in the fields of crisis management and disaster recovery, Joe uses has writing as a form of stress release and an opportunity to expand his horizons. Joe is a father of four children who he often relies on as a source for inspiration.
MAY ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN APRIL
Russel Sivey--United States
Rita Odeh--Israel
Shloka Shankar--India
Asni Amin--Singapore
Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India
Jim Teeters--United States
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Israel, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, 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
We have a world wide audience. If you are currently reading Whispers, please consider submitting a poem for consideration. You may contact Karen at gksm@cableone.net for guidelines. Thank you.
Note--Ads due for June column by May 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at liftingmyeyes.com
Sheri Stanley has opened a new web site and invites you to visit at: www.poetryandbeyond.net Please leave comments and visit often.
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
Carolyn Devonshire, Sandra Stefanowich and Jack Horne announce the release of their collaboration poetry book, Shades of Darkness and Light. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $2.50 http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Jack Horne announces the release of his debut novel, A Ghost Hunt: a paranormal romance. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $3.99
http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
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
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
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
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com
(click on guidelines).
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.
Russel Sivey--United States
Rita Odeh--Israel
Shloka Shankar--India
Asni Amin--Singapore
Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India
Jim Teeters--United States
Please welcome them to our community. We now have representatives from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Israel, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, 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
We have a world wide audience. If you are currently reading Whispers, please consider submitting a poem for consideration. You may contact Karen at gksm@cableone.net for guidelines. Thank you.
Note--Ads due for June column by May 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at liftingmyeyes.com
Sheri Stanley has opened a new web site and invites you to visit at: www.poetryandbeyond.net Please leave comments and visit often.
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
Carolyn Devonshire, Sandra Stefanowich and Jack Horne announce the release of their collaboration poetry book, Shades of Darkness and Light. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $2.50 http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
Jack Horne announces the release of his debut novel, A Ghost Hunt: a paranormal romance. This book is currently available from eTreasuresPublishing.com, price $3.99
http://jmhorneghosthunt.blogspot.com/
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
John W. (Bill) Williams published a science fiction book that he also illustrated called The Dream Hill. To order copies from Xlibris Company call 1-888-795-4274 or go to www.Xlibris.com The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.
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
Jean Calkins, editor: The Jokester, 2 pages of clean jokes free by email monthly, a forever stamp by snail mail (monthly or quarterly). Help bring smiles to shut-ins by contributing forever stamps. Even one stamp helps. Jean Calkins, 260 4th St., Waynesville, NC 28786-3762. jcalkins01@charter.net
Maurice J. Reynolds, the editor of the poetry publication Creative Inspirations, is seeking poetry 20 lines or less for his print magazine. Complete guidelines are available at www.tgbtgpublictions.com Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.
Arthur C. Ford, poet/editor of The Pen (Poetry Newsletter) is looking for new subscribers and submissions. See information at:www.thepoetbandcompany.yolasite.com
(click on guidelines).
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.
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