Turning
On this sizzling August day
Leaves are already turning
But a vague melancholia wants summer to stay
As tinges of red ignite old yearning...
Memories of hopes and loves long past
Which I can no longer retrieve
Nostalgic shadows just beyond my grasp
Enticing me while they deceive.
The turning seasons can seem so cruel -
Of my backward gazing they have no need.
From time immemorial they're bent on renewal,
Now scolding my spirit to take heed.
Best turn and greet September's face
She's waiting just beyond the bend
Painting the leaves of a new time and place
I'll welcome what intrigues she may send.
Claiming Hawaii as her true home, Molly Moore is currently residing in Seattle, Washington, pursuing a nursing degree. Perhaps her previous career as an international flight attendant is what launched Molly’s "flights of fancy" into poetry. A love of rhythm and rhyme sparks her creative side, especially while outdoors in nature.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Haiku--By Karen O'Leary--United States
hospice
the last leaf falls
in peace
_______________
Simon says
take two steps back--
spring layoff
_______________
windstorm
the wheat bent
but not broken
_______________
rattling windows
dad gasps his final breath
during a blizzard
_______________
winter seclusion
at the hill’s base
a lone cross
_______________
There haiku have been previously published in order at A Hundred Gourds, Frogpond, Showcase Haiku Haijin--Sketchbook, Sharpening the Green Pencil 2012, and Poems of the World. Special thank you to these editors for allowing me to share my words.
_______________
Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND. Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues. She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher. Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012. Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.
the last leaf falls
in peace
_______________
Simon says
take two steps back--
spring layoff
_______________
windstorm
the wheat bent
but not broken
_______________
rattling windows
dad gasps his final breath
during a blizzard
_______________
winter seclusion
at the hill’s base
a lone cross
_______________
There haiku have been previously published in order at A Hundred Gourds, Frogpond, Showcase Haiku Haijin--Sketchbook, Sharpening the Green Pencil 2012, and Poems of the World. Special thank you to these editors for allowing me to share my words.
_______________
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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Our Peanut Puppy--By Shirley Smothers--United States
Our Peanut Puppy
Silly little Puppy,
Silly little Dog.
She’s hyperactive
she’s an attention hog.
I love her
to pieces,
with her I
love to play.
But sometimes I
wish she’d just
go away.
For just a
few minutes,
to give
me a rest.
Because sometimes
my patience,
she does test.
RIP Peanut
Nov. 10-1999
Aug 12-2014
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
Silly little Puppy,
Silly little Dog.
She’s hyperactive
she’s an attention hog.
I love her
to pieces,
with her I
love to play.
But sometimes I
wish she’d just
go away.
For just a
few minutes,
to give
me a rest.
Because sometimes
my patience,
she does test.
RIP Peanut
Nov. 10-1999
Aug 12-2014
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Poppies for the Fallen--By George L. Ellison--England
Poppies for the Fallen
(Remembrance)
Poppies they grow now on Flanders fields
Where once many a brave soldier did fight
Against all the odds never wanting to yield
An unknown soldier lies there now
His bravery was never in any doubt
We remember each year as our heads we bow
We salute to the fallen that died
Who took up arms to protect against the foe
Did their sworn duty without fuss and with pride
So many wars through so many ages
So many warriors of land, sea and air
Gave their lives willingly their lore writ in pages
So many owed so much back at home
To those brave souls fighting so far from our shores
Some did return from conflicts to their kingdom
Poppies still grow now in Flanders fields
There are white headstones as far as one can see
Against all odds they never, never did yield
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
(Remembrance)
Poppies they grow now on Flanders fields
Where once many a brave soldier did fight
Against all the odds never wanting to yield
An unknown soldier lies there now
His bravery was never in any doubt
We remember each year as our heads we bow
We salute to the fallen that died
Who took up arms to protect against the foe
Did their sworn duty without fuss and with pride
So many wars through so many ages
So many warriors of land, sea and air
Gave their lives willingly their lore writ in pages
So many owed so much back at home
To those brave souls fighting so far from our shores
Some did return from conflicts to their kingdom
Poppies still grow now in Flanders fields
There are white headstones as far as one can see
Against all odds they never, never did yield
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
Evergreen of Faith--By Kevin Bates--United States
Evergreen of Faith
I stand before you an evergreen of faith;
never seasonal in faith, yet year round.
Deeply rooted I am my foundation strong.
There will be test, offers from those of evil;
setbacks as I grow & learn the Lord’s word.
Every leaf that falls there’s more to replace it.
Standing tall and erect forever reaching out.
Glorious colors of faith are never changing,
proud of who I am the way the Lord shapes me.
Fresh pine needles to irritate those that oppose,
never easy to brake those walking in true faith.
Forever my colors, love and gratitude for the Lord.
Kevin Bates is an avid reader. You will find him reading everyday books of non-fiction or poetry online. He loves family, sports, reading and writing poetry. He has one handsome son and grandson. He hopes to one day be published, bring a smile, and help many through his poetry. He lives outside Houston, Texas and can find him reading or writing right now.
I stand before you an evergreen of faith;
never seasonal in faith, yet year round.
Deeply rooted I am my foundation strong.
There will be test, offers from those of evil;
setbacks as I grow & learn the Lord’s word.
Every leaf that falls there’s more to replace it.
Standing tall and erect forever reaching out.
Glorious colors of faith are never changing,
proud of who I am the way the Lord shapes me.
Fresh pine needles to irritate those that oppose,
never easy to brake those walking in true faith.
Forever my colors, love and gratitude for the Lord.
Kevin Bates is an avid reader. You will find him reading everyday books of non-fiction or poetry online. He loves family, sports, reading and writing poetry. He has one handsome son and grandson. He hopes to one day be published, bring a smile, and help many through his poetry. He lives outside Houston, Texas and can find him reading or writing right now.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Prairie Flower--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States
Prairie Flower
The fiery sun blushes the cactus and sage
The flowers unfold to the morning rays.
A harmless roadrunner hustles down the road.
Prairie Flower rises in a happy mode.
The cloudless sky echoes with desert tunes.
To come and play among the dunes.
The Scorpion circles its prey and stalks.
Prairie Flower puts on her hat and walks.
The mockingbird repeats its many songs.
The Diamondback rattler slithers along.
Life among the sand dunes is very strong.
Prairie Flower strolls humming a soft song.
A hawk swoops down on a scared running prey.
An antelope jumps, looks and runs away.
Each inhabitant lives life in its own way.
Prairie Flower stops to rest in the shade.
All her desert friends pass by her each day.
She smiles and wishes them well in her way.
Angel of the desert for a day,
then Prairie Flower fades away.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
The fiery sun blushes the cactus and sage
The flowers unfold to the morning rays.
A harmless roadrunner hustles down the road.
Prairie Flower rises in a happy mode.
The cloudless sky echoes with desert tunes.
To come and play among the dunes.
The Scorpion circles its prey and stalks.
Prairie Flower puts on her hat and walks.
The mockingbird repeats its many songs.
The Diamondback rattler slithers along.
Life among the sand dunes is very strong.
Prairie Flower strolls humming a soft song.
A hawk swoops down on a scared running prey.
An antelope jumps, looks and runs away.
Each inhabitant lives life in its own way.
Prairie Flower stops to rest in the shade.
All her desert friends pass by her each day.
She smiles and wishes them well in her way.
Angel of the desert for a day,
then Prairie Flower fades away.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
a micropoem--By Shivapriya Ganapathy--India
a micropoem
clouded by tears,
the night wears
a black moon.
Shivapriya Ganapathy is from Kanchipuram, India. She graduated with a Masters degree in English Language and Literature from Madras Christian College, Chennai, and is now a research scholar at University of Madras. Apart from being a researcher and an avid reader, she is an aspiring poet, constantly learning and experimenting with new forms like micropoetry, black out and erasure. She maintains a personal poetry blog (www.wordsfromdarkness.blogspot.in) and finds writing, therapeutic.
clouded by tears,
the night wears
a black moon.
Shivapriya Ganapathy is from Kanchipuram, India. She graduated with a Masters degree in English Language and Literature from Madras Christian College, Chennai, and is now a research scholar at University of Madras. Apart from being a researcher and an avid reader, she is an aspiring poet, constantly learning and experimenting with new forms like micropoetry, black out and erasure. She maintains a personal poetry blog (www.wordsfromdarkness.blogspot.in) and finds writing, therapeutic.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
If You Are Lonely--By Connie Marcum Wong--United States
If You Are Lonely
If you are lonely, watch the birds In their freedom of flight...
Feel the warmth of the sun kiss your cheeks and smile.
Visit the shore and listen to the waves sing sweet songs.
Close your eyes and smell the fragrant seasonal flowers.
Transport yourself through Time’s great abyss
In memories of streams that flow with a youthful glow...
Dive in pools of aqua waters through your mind’s eye.
Delight in the breeze’s playful mood
As lush verdant trees sway in tune.
Listen to the purr of a contented cat in your lap.
Write a letter to yourself and promise to answer...
Better yet write a poem, one that will linger long
In someone’s lonely mind.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
If you are lonely, watch the birds In their freedom of flight...
Feel the warmth of the sun kiss your cheeks and smile.
Visit the shore and listen to the waves sing sweet songs.
Close your eyes and smell the fragrant seasonal flowers.
Transport yourself through Time’s great abyss
In memories of streams that flow with a youthful glow...
Dive in pools of aqua waters through your mind’s eye.
Delight in the breeze’s playful mood
As lush verdant trees sway in tune.
Listen to the purr of a contented cat in your lap.
Write a letter to yourself and promise to answer...
Better yet write a poem, one that will linger long
In someone’s lonely mind.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
Nocturnal Hum--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal
Nocturnal Hum
She sat in her nightdress on the steps up to
the terrace looking up to the sky - Full moon
and stars so near you only needed a curtain
ladder to pick stars as galactic fruit.
She had fallen asleep I carried her to bed and
her dream continued. Overcast and a cooling
wind, the good night was erased and I had been
warming my cold heart on a child’s dream
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
She sat in her nightdress on the steps up to
the terrace looking up to the sky - Full moon
and stars so near you only needed a curtain
ladder to pick stars as galactic fruit.
She had fallen asleep I carried her to bed and
her dream continued. Overcast and a cooling
wind, the good night was erased and I had been
warming my cold heart on a child’s dream
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Storm Clouds--By Russell Sivey--United States
Storm Clouds
The clouds spike their way in, grey and powerful
An amazing sight, climbing up to the sky
Such power and light flows through in bountiful
Electric pulses-mastermind-move and die
Where now the rain begins to flow very hard
Storm comes striking in just like a razor shard
It leaves its mark in the barren land beneath
Drowning the cacti with power, rain bequeath
Russell Sivey lives in the United States and has been writing poetry for 26 years (after his major car accident that left his arm paralyzed). He has been improving year after year. Russell enjoys reading poetry as well as writing it He finds himself listening to almost any type of music. Russell has been with Poetry Soup for almost 3 years and enjoys the poetry that he reads there from his friends. He is currently attending school for a Creative Writing degree with a specialization in Poetry. Yes, that means he will have a poetry degree. He looks forward to reading everyone's poems here on this site. His muse is the moon.
The clouds spike their way in, grey and powerful
An amazing sight, climbing up to the sky
Such power and light flows through in bountiful
Electric pulses-mastermind-move and die
Where now the rain begins to flow very hard
Storm comes striking in just like a razor shard
It leaves its mark in the barren land beneath
Drowning the cacti with power, rain bequeath
Russell Sivey lives in the United States and has been writing poetry for 26 years (after his major car accident that left his arm paralyzed). He has been improving year after year. Russell enjoys reading poetry as well as writing it He finds himself listening to almost any type of music. Russell has been with Poetry Soup for almost 3 years and enjoys the poetry that he reads there from his friends. He is currently attending school for a Creative Writing degree with a specialization in Poetry. Yes, that means he will have a poetry degree. He looks forward to reading everyone's poems here on this site. His muse is the moon.
Special Feature Youth Writer--Dayva Ann Learned--United States
Stinger
Soaring through the sky
Wings fluttering majestically
Get on my wrong side I'll be your worst nightmare
Inside of me lives a bee
Don't judge a book by its cover
Though a bee is glorious to look at
With alternating stripes of yellow and black
Being the size of your fingernail
A bee could leave you crying in a second
Small but powerful I have the ability to sting
Leave me alone, I leave you alone
Get on my bad side, feel the sting
At moments the bee inside me is calling
Begging me to let it out
I am a fun loving creature
I can get as happy as a child on Christmas morning
Although inside me lives a feisty little beast
With a horrid temper
You don't want to meet it
It is only released at the most wicked times
I am proud and playful
I am tough fierce and persistent
I am determined and clever
Deep inside me lives a bee
Dayva Ann Learned received second place for Stinger in the 2013 Florida State Poets Association Student Poetry Contest. She is twelve years old and lives in Ormond Beach, Florida with her parents and two brothers. Dayva enjoys writing poetry and short stories as well as painting and drawing. In addition, she is a fierce bumble bee on the soccer field.
Editor's note--Dayva is our first youth writer. In order for writing to live on , it is important that we have talented young people to share in the journey. This is a special honor for me to be able to publish her words. Best wishes, Dayva, with all your writing endeavors!
Soaring through the sky
Wings fluttering majestically
Get on my wrong side I'll be your worst nightmare
Inside of me lives a bee
Don't judge a book by its cover
Though a bee is glorious to look at
With alternating stripes of yellow and black
Being the size of your fingernail
A bee could leave you crying in a second
Small but powerful I have the ability to sting
Leave me alone, I leave you alone
Get on my bad side, feel the sting
At moments the bee inside me is calling
Begging me to let it out
I am a fun loving creature
I can get as happy as a child on Christmas morning
Although inside me lives a feisty little beast
With a horrid temper
You don't want to meet it
It is only released at the most wicked times
I am proud and playful
I am tough fierce and persistent
I am determined and clever
Deep inside me lives a bee
Dayva Ann Learned received second place for Stinger in the 2013 Florida State Poets Association Student Poetry Contest. She is twelve years old and lives in Ormond Beach, Florida with her parents and two brothers. Dayva enjoys writing poetry and short stories as well as painting and drawing. In addition, she is a fierce bumble bee on the soccer field.
Editor's note--Dayva is our first youth writer. In order for writing to live on , it is important that we have talented young people to share in the journey. This is a special honor for me to be able to publish her words. Best wishes, Dayva, with all your writing endeavors!
Thursday, August 21, 2014
We all walk…--By Jim Teeters--United States
We all walk…
this tired earth
hopeful or afraid
carry burdens
speak love
follow or lead
sometimes alone or
hand-in-hand
toward an uncertain
destination
Jim Teeters has published poetry in several anthologies. He conducts poetry workshops for children and adults and is active in poetry readings in the Seattle area through the Striped Water Poets. He is the author of six poetry collections and the book, Teach with Style, (ASTD Press July 2013). Jim is a retired social worker living in Kent, Washington.
this tired earth
hopeful or afraid
carry burdens
speak love
follow or lead
sometimes alone or
hand-in-hand
toward an uncertain
destination
Jim Teeters has published poetry in several anthologies. He conducts poetry workshops for children and adults and is active in poetry readings in the Seattle area through the Striped Water Poets. He is the author of six poetry collections and the book, Teach with Style, (ASTD Press July 2013). Jim is a retired social worker living in Kent, Washington.
Memories--By Linda Hurdwell--England
Memories
I hear the voice of dreams
And sniff the scent of memory.
Your touch, your noise, your smell.
How cruel is life as his mask now beams
Upon my broken heart
That’s turned into a shell.
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
I hear the voice of dreams
And sniff the scent of memory.
Your touch, your noise, your smell.
How cruel is life as his mask now beams
Upon my broken heart
That’s turned into a shell.
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Spring Song--By Marlene Million--United States
Spring Song
Winter's gone, all the frost and
snowmelt flowing into local streams.
Sun's warmth shines in reverie upon May's
buds, bursting into youthful spring dreams.
Park and valleys are green, grassy, lush
refreshing rain cascades to nourish.
Array of daisies, daffodils, and tulips
are mid-high, dance in breezes, and flourish.
Robins and sparrows have nests to tend,
their young, ready to leave, scout.
Beneath eaves of safety from harm,
fledglings try their wings, fly out.
As clear streams run over mossy stone,
butterflies, bumble-bees scatter on land.
Crickets chirp under fresh-scented peonies,
and spring's melody of rebirth blooms grand.
Marlene Million is a retired insurance secretary from her husband's business and grandmother of four. She has published two chapbooks and belongs to several writers’ groups. She had a poem on display at Indianapolis Arts Garden the month of February, 2013 and has been published in a variety of venues.
Winter's gone, all the frost and
snowmelt flowing into local streams.
Sun's warmth shines in reverie upon May's
buds, bursting into youthful spring dreams.
Park and valleys are green, grassy, lush
refreshing rain cascades to nourish.
Array of daisies, daffodils, and tulips
are mid-high, dance in breezes, and flourish.
Robins and sparrows have nests to tend,
their young, ready to leave, scout.
Beneath eaves of safety from harm,
fledglings try their wings, fly out.
As clear streams run over mossy stone,
butterflies, bumble-bees scatter on land.
Crickets chirp under fresh-scented peonies,
and spring's melody of rebirth blooms grand.
Marlene Million is a retired insurance secretary from her husband's business and grandmother of four. She has published two chapbooks and belongs to several writers’ groups. She had a poem on display at Indianapolis Arts Garden the month of February, 2013 and has been published in a variety of venues.
Silence--By Mary Kent--United States
Silence
The room is quite
my eyes are closed
the only sound I hear is the beating of my heart
I listen closely--and I can hear my heart
telling my life story with each beat
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 room is quite
my eyes are closed
the only sound I hear is the beating of my heart
I listen closely--and I can hear my heart
telling my life story with each beat
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.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Retrospective--By Brian Strand--England
Retrospective (a phrasis)
Humble stirrings of our spheres,
flowers of inner feelings in a retrospective
of words, made now, for the
moment. From heart to pen,
to heart. Inner & outer thoughts
this capacity to evoke, soul to soul.
Roses from the flush of youth, petal
by petal the unconscious to impart.
Moving images of the intellect,
intangible yet speechless, felt &
seen, said sounds to paraphrase
the resonance of truth.
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
Humble stirrings of our spheres,
flowers of inner feelings in a retrospective
of words, made now, for the
moment. From heart to pen,
to heart. Inner & outer thoughts
this capacity to evoke, soul to soul.
Roses from the flush of youth, petal
by petal the unconscious to impart.
Moving images of the intellect,
intangible yet speechless, felt &
seen, said sounds to paraphrase
the resonance of truth.
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
An Unwelcome Guest--By Robert P. Hansen--United States
An Unwelcome Guest
Just outside my window,
the flutter of wings
against the pane.
A robin has built a nest
of mud-encrusted twigs
and feathers on the sill.
I’ve lived here years, and
never has a bird encroached
upon my territory.
I know what spring will
bring: the noisome squawks
of hungry little birds.
I try to open the window,
but it is cemented into place
by the dried mud.
I have no ladder to reach
it from the outside, but there
are no blue eggs in the nest.
Yet….
Robert P. Hansen teaches philosophy and ethics at a community college, and he is currently finishing the second book of a fantasy series. His other three novels and collections of his poetry and short stories are currently available as e-books through various online retailers. For details, visit his blog at: http://rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com/.
Just outside my window,
the flutter of wings
against the pane.
A robin has built a nest
of mud-encrusted twigs
and feathers on the sill.
I’ve lived here years, and
never has a bird encroached
upon my territory.
I know what spring will
bring: the noisome squawks
of hungry little birds.
I try to open the window,
but it is cemented into place
by the dried mud.
I have no ladder to reach
it from the outside, but there
are no blue eggs in the nest.
Yet….
Robert P. Hansen teaches philosophy and ethics at a community college, and he is currently finishing the second book of a fantasy series. His other three novels and collections of his poetry and short stories are currently available as e-books through various online retailers. For details, visit his blog at: http://rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com/.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Carolyn Devonshire--United States and Paul Callus--Malta
Halloween’s Mask of Comfort
By Carolyn Devonshire and Paul Callus
In a house beside the forest lives a woman and her son
He is scarred by burns and fire – hidden kept from everyone
There is land where he can wander far away from prying eyes,
But he misses friends to play with; all alone he often cries.
That is why he gets excited at the thought of Halloween
He can mix with other children without fear of being seen.
Mother picks the perfect costume that will fit his height and size
Then she adds a mask for comfort – the completion of disguise.
The boy behind the mask wishes every day was Halloween
He'd gladly offer friendship to any child who wasn't mean
But he knows that one day he will be too old for trick or treat
And he prays each morn to see the sunshine on a public street
Even though he realizes his wish may never be fulfilled
For he'd have to learn to avoid stares and let confidence build
After reading the sad tale of Frankenstein, he sheds a tear
As he can relate to Frankenstein and sees him as a peer
And so he keeps reading stories of people judged by their looks
His greatest fear is what will happen when he runs out of books
By Carolyn Devonshire and Paul Callus
In a house beside the forest lives a woman and her son
He is scarred by burns and fire – hidden kept from everyone
There is land where he can wander far away from prying eyes,
But he misses friends to play with; all alone he often cries.
That is why he gets excited at the thought of Halloween
He can mix with other children without fear of being seen.
Mother picks the perfect costume that will fit his height and size
Then she adds a mask for comfort – the completion of disguise.
The boy behind the mask wishes every day was Halloween
He'd gladly offer friendship to any child who wasn't mean
But he knows that one day he will be too old for trick or treat
And he prays each morn to see the sunshine on a public street
Even though he realizes his wish may never be fulfilled
For he'd have to learn to avoid stares and let confidence build
After reading the sad tale of Frankenstein, he sheds a tear
As he can relate to Frankenstein and sees him as a peer
And so he keeps reading stories of people judged by their looks
His greatest fear is what will happen when he runs out of books
Of Promises and Ashes--By Joe Maverick--England
Of Promises and Ashes
A promotion of anxiety
entwines with current society,
engendering moral surrendering,
we live a life now so compromised,
with more to fear therein, than mortal demise.
Joe Maverick is a freelance author, from a widely educated background. He has been writing for 27 years. He is interested in feedback from the public; readers are the reason for his writing. Some of his poems are short and succinct, others tell a story. He would like to see the literary flame burn bright in any day and age, believing that it can feed the spirit and bring enlightenment.
A promotion of anxiety
entwines with current society,
engendering moral surrendering,
we live a life now so compromised,
with more to fear therein, than mortal demise.
Joe Maverick is a freelance author, from a widely educated background. He has been writing for 27 years. He is interested in feedback from the public; readers are the reason for his writing. Some of his poems are short and succinct, others tell a story. He would like to see the literary flame burn bright in any day and age, believing that it can feed the spirit and bring enlightenment.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Reason for Mortal Life--By Yancy Lee Dalton--United States
Reason for Mortal Life
I remember, Dad taking his snow boots off, while observing upset mom.
She was listing to the battery powered radio. Dad asked, "What's wrong"
"Pearl Harbor was bombed and were now in the war," was her angry reply
This memory, I thought I experienced as a very young child. Years flew by
Memory still fresh in my mind, in the library, I looked it up in a history book
December 7, 1941 was day of the bomb, view May 12, 1942 my birth look
Shocked at this new found evidence, I saw my parents before I was born
Collecting criteria from others, some shady, some clear, thoughts did form
Concluding, birth is but a forgetting of an existence lived before this birth
Proving to me, every plant, beast or man existed before coming to earth
Now housed in a temporary mortal body to grow in, master and control
Preparatory to a greater permanent immortal body of a conscious soul
Growth challenge then becomes to lean not to our natural understanding
Often reeked with self, selfish ego, so becoming alarmingly demanding
Is so hard to imagine that a loving father prepared this for our discovery
Sending a mortal + immortal Son to ransom for our complete recovery?
Like scripture describes, individual growth is the reason each are here
Not war or slavery, but liberty to act with love, compassion, free of fear
Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.
I remember, Dad taking his snow boots off, while observing upset mom.
She was listing to the battery powered radio. Dad asked, "What's wrong"
"Pearl Harbor was bombed and were now in the war," was her angry reply
This memory, I thought I experienced as a very young child. Years flew by
Memory still fresh in my mind, in the library, I looked it up in a history book
December 7, 1941 was day of the bomb, view May 12, 1942 my birth look
Shocked at this new found evidence, I saw my parents before I was born
Collecting criteria from others, some shady, some clear, thoughts did form
Concluding, birth is but a forgetting of an existence lived before this birth
Proving to me, every plant, beast or man existed before coming to earth
Now housed in a temporary mortal body to grow in, master and control
Preparatory to a greater permanent immortal body of a conscious soul
Growth challenge then becomes to lean not to our natural understanding
Often reeked with self, selfish ego, so becoming alarmingly demanding
Is so hard to imagine that a loving father prepared this for our discovery
Sending a mortal + immortal Son to ransom for our complete recovery?
Like scripture describes, individual growth is the reason each are here
Not war or slavery, but liberty to act with love, compassion, free of fear
Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.
Tanka--By Chen-ou Liu--Canada
latest volley
in my diplomatic spat
with the muse ...
the words in my tanka
morph into dead cockroaches
the muse
hooded in black ...
clichés
cursing through
my veins
I wrestle
with the ghostly muse
until daybreak
my words of longing
spill onto the page
Chen-ou Liu is the author of four books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize Winner of the 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest). His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards. To read more of his poems, please go to Poetry in the Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/
in my diplomatic spat
with the muse ...
the words in my tanka
morph into dead cockroaches
the muse
hooded in black ...
clichés
cursing through
my veins
I wrestle
with the ghostly muse
until daybreak
my words of longing
spill onto the page
Chen-ou Liu is the author of four books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize Winner of the 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest). His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards. To read more of his poems, please go to Poetry in the Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/
Saturday, August 16, 2014
the color of august--by jani johe webster--(In Memory-May 2013)--United States
the color of august
what is the color of august
you ask me
what is the sound
of a shadow
and how do you say
a hope
can you see time
in a dream
i am looking you said
for a gentle
unhurried place
perhaps
you said
someday
i'll find it
Thoughts from jani johe’s daughter, Nila Webster--"I remember when jani johe webster, my beloved mother, got the idea for this poem, over 30 years ago. We were in the kitchen; she was ironing and I was drawing a calendar for her, and I asked her what color August was. She took my question and turned it into a poem. This was her gift, and a gift she gives still and always."
what is the color of august
you ask me
what is the sound
of a shadow
and how do you say
a hope
can you see time
in a dream
i am looking you said
for a gentle
unhurried place
perhaps
you said
someday
i'll find it
Thoughts from jani johe’s daughter, Nila Webster--"I remember when jani johe webster, my beloved mother, got the idea for this poem, over 30 years ago. We were in the kitchen; she was ironing and I was drawing a calendar for her, and I asked her what color August was. She took my question and turned it into a poem. This was her gift, and a gift she gives still and always."
Breath of Life--By Gerald A. McBreen--United States
Breath of Life
You filled my breast with hope
raised desire beyond promise
mocked the future, made it cry.
You were my breath of life
the song in the singing pines.
Your baby blues fluttered
like moth wings
teasing around the flame
of my burning heart.
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
You filled my breast with hope
raised desire beyond promise
mocked the future, made it cry.
You were my breath of life
the song in the singing pines.
Your baby blues fluttered
like moth wings
teasing around the flame
of my burning heart.
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
Friday, August 15, 2014
Angel-Bearer--By Jane Richer--Canada
Angel-Bearer
Going through mankind's wishes, suddenly a twinkling star appeared,
hidden inside - a heartfelt cry for a special soulmate most revered!
The star spoke of a man with a reverent longing in his heart,
a Moon-prince looking for his Sun-princess on realms apart!
His ache struck a chord deep within my tired and wintered soul
and I searched the worlds to attain his mate and make him whole!
I am the Angel-Bearer and I believed nothing of true love still remained,
so vexed at the lust and vows so wantonly broken; borne of men and women's shame!
Here was a man with a gentle spirit and a searing ache unfulfilled,
so with my magic, his soulmate I have procured; exerting my powers-skilled!
She flies a Moonbeam to where her companion stands alone in evening's glow,
and I shed a tear of joy, as at last; united souls walk hand-in-hand below!
Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.
Going through mankind's wishes, suddenly a twinkling star appeared,
hidden inside - a heartfelt cry for a special soulmate most revered!
The star spoke of a man with a reverent longing in his heart,
a Moon-prince looking for his Sun-princess on realms apart!
His ache struck a chord deep within my tired and wintered soul
and I searched the worlds to attain his mate and make him whole!
I am the Angel-Bearer and I believed nothing of true love still remained,
so vexed at the lust and vows so wantonly broken; borne of men and women's shame!
Here was a man with a gentle spirit and a searing ache unfulfilled,
so with my magic, his soulmate I have procured; exerting my powers-skilled!
She flies a Moonbeam to where her companion stands alone in evening's glow,
and I shed a tear of joy, as at last; united souls walk hand-in-hand below!
Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.
Poet of the Month--Terry O’Leary
We May Meet Again
By Terry O’Leary
Beneath long lashes, misty clad,
Your limpid eyes are sometimes sad;
They bring to mind a homeless waif
Engulfed in rain with nowhere safe
Most times I find a cheerful light
Within your eyes that sparkles bright,
And though my thoughts I try to hide
My happiness wells up inside
At dawn I see your eyes aglow
Like founts through which your passions flow;
And when I’m low they always loom
Like morning glories through the gloom
Your smile ashine beneath my gaze
Effulgent eyes beam all ablaze:
A look, a touch, a kiss I yearn,
You slowly make my body burn
While at your side and in a heap
I scanned your eyes, half closed, asleep,
And as you slept with pillow clutched,
Your eyelids with my lips I touched
And if you’ve ever wondered why
I try to search within each eye,
Though past is past, your eyes remind
Of bygone times when love was kind
Yet, though your eyes still cast a spell
They seem to bid a fond farewell,
Reflecting but a fading storm
Although I know your thoughts are warm
But now our paths will part, alas,
For good things always come to pass;
Perhaps it lies within God’s ken
That someday we may meet again
_______________
From the editor--It is a pleasure to announce that Terry O’Leary is August’s Poet of the Month. He is a talented writer accomplished in a variety of forms. Readers at Whispers enjoy his work. Terry has been an encouraging voice in our community since 2013, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate. And if you are wondering, we are not related. This award was truly earned!
_______________
Thoughts on “We May Meet Again”--When Terry sent me this poem, I was immediately drawn to the stair casing format which enhances the artistic experience. In poetry, details matter. The rhyme flows easily giving his poem a whimsical feel that works well for the subject matter. The imagery helps the reader experience what Terry conveys. It is evident that he has delivered a truly remarkable poem. Maybe some day the two will meet again.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Terry! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
By Terry O’Leary
Beneath long lashes, misty clad,
Your limpid eyes are sometimes sad;
They bring to mind a homeless waif
Engulfed in rain with nowhere safe
Most times I find a cheerful light
Within your eyes that sparkles bright,
And though my thoughts I try to hide
My happiness wells up inside
At dawn I see your eyes aglow
Like founts through which your passions flow;
And when I’m low they always loom
Like morning glories through the gloom
Your smile ashine beneath my gaze
Effulgent eyes beam all ablaze:
A look, a touch, a kiss I yearn,
You slowly make my body burn
While at your side and in a heap
I scanned your eyes, half closed, asleep,
And as you slept with pillow clutched,
Your eyelids with my lips I touched
And if you’ve ever wondered why
I try to search within each eye,
Though past is past, your eyes remind
Of bygone times when love was kind
Yet, though your eyes still cast a spell
They seem to bid a fond farewell,
Reflecting but a fading storm
Although I know your thoughts are warm
But now our paths will part, alas,
For good things always come to pass;
Perhaps it lies within God’s ken
That someday we may meet again
_______________
From the editor--It is a pleasure to announce that Terry O’Leary is August’s Poet of the Month. He is a talented writer accomplished in a variety of forms. Readers at Whispers enjoy his work. Terry has been an encouraging voice in our community since 2013, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate. And if you are wondering, we are not related. This award was truly earned!
_______________
Thoughts on “We May Meet Again”--When Terry sent me this poem, I was immediately drawn to the stair casing format which enhances the artistic experience. In poetry, details matter. The rhyme flows easily giving his poem a whimsical feel that works well for the subject matter. The imagery helps the reader experience what Terry conveys. It is evident that he has delivered a truly remarkable poem. Maybe some day the two will meet again.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Terry! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
Lost Love's Dream Shadow--By Robert Lindley--United States
Lost Love's Dream Shadow
Deep within a sunlit drop of refreshing rain
I saw a glimpse of her beautiful face again
Dreams flow past as swift mountain streams
she haunts me lovingly in midnight dreams
Outside my window the great moon dares to sink
more time, more time is all I can think
She appears all the more real in her golden gown
as the great moon glides slowly slipping down
I feel earth trembling deeply into night
nothing feels better, nothing feels so right
Her voice whispers from shadows all around
smiles so deep that it echoes in loving sound
As dawn flees upward to meet the newborn day
I hear her parting, caressing voice softly say
Dreams can not stay, they must go on past
our loves are forever and forever they last......
Robert Lindley is poet from the Southern USA. He has been writing poetry since 1969. Robert writes with the intent to offer others words to enjoy and with high hopes he may inspire and brighten lives in some way.
Deep within a sunlit drop of refreshing rain
I saw a glimpse of her beautiful face again
Dreams flow past as swift mountain streams
she haunts me lovingly in midnight dreams
Outside my window the great moon dares to sink
more time, more time is all I can think
She appears all the more real in her golden gown
as the great moon glides slowly slipping down
I feel earth trembling deeply into night
nothing feels better, nothing feels so right
Her voice whispers from shadows all around
smiles so deep that it echoes in loving sound
As dawn flees upward to meet the newborn day
I hear her parting, caressing voice softly say
Dreams can not stay, they must go on past
our loves are forever and forever they last......
Robert Lindley is poet from the Southern USA. He has been writing poetry since 1969. Robert writes with the intent to offer others words to enjoy and with high hopes he may inspire and brighten lives in some way.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Tanka--By Caroline Skanne--United Kingdom
i bury seeds
in morning sun
a flower prayer
for this earth
to be healed
crickets
in the night
your song
fills me with
summer stars
a dream
combed through
moonbeams
once more
surviving the pain
Caroline Skanne is a poet, originally from Sweden, educated in London. She lives with her family in a cottage near the river Medway in Kent. When she is not writing she enjoys photography, mudlarking, bird watching, foraging, gardening, yoga and martial arts. Her poems have appeared online and in printed journals most recently Moonbathing: a journal of women’s tanka and brass bell: a haiku journal.
in morning sun
a flower prayer
for this earth
to be healed
crickets
in the night
your song
fills me with
summer stars
a dream
combed through
moonbeams
once more
surviving the pain
Caroline Skanne is a poet, originally from Sweden, educated in London. She lives with her family in a cottage near the river Medway in Kent. When she is not writing she enjoys photography, mudlarking, bird watching, foraging, gardening, yoga and martial arts. Her poems have appeared online and in printed journals most recently Moonbathing: a journal of women’s tanka and brass bell: a haiku journal.
The Shy Rose--By Kelly Deschler--United States
The Shy Rose
Such a beautiful, blooming rose,
There is no reason to be shy,
So, why let your petals close,
When the sun is low in the sky.
Daisies and daffodils arrive in spring,
But, roses are rare, delicate flowers,
Brilliant sunsets are also amazing things,
So, why shy away in the midnight hours.
A rainbow of colors shine in daylight,
Pretty pink, sunny yellow, and rosy red,
But, don't be afraid of the night,
Don't go to sleep in your flower bed.
Look up, and behold the radiant moon,
Gaze at every shimmering, falling star,
The sun will be rising again, soon,
So, wait and see these beauties that are.
You do not get to experience any of this,
When you only awaken in early morn,
What celestial wonders you do miss,
But, every rose must have it's thorn.
Kelly Deschler is a poet, living in Big Falls, Wisconsin. She wrote this poem in the spring of 2013, for a fellow poet who asked that she write a special poem just for her, about her favorite subject....flowers!
Such a beautiful, blooming rose,
There is no reason to be shy,
So, why let your petals close,
When the sun is low in the sky.
Daisies and daffodils arrive in spring,
But, roses are rare, delicate flowers,
Brilliant sunsets are also amazing things,
So, why shy away in the midnight hours.
A rainbow of colors shine in daylight,
Pretty pink, sunny yellow, and rosy red,
But, don't be afraid of the night,
Don't go to sleep in your flower bed.
Look up, and behold the radiant moon,
Gaze at every shimmering, falling star,
The sun will be rising again, soon,
So, wait and see these beauties that are.
You do not get to experience any of this,
When you only awaken in early morn,
What celestial wonders you do miss,
But, every rose must have it's thorn.
Kelly Deschler is a poet, living in Big Falls, Wisconsin. She wrote this poem in the spring of 2013, for a fellow poet who asked that she write a special poem just for her, about her favorite subject....flowers!
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Burial--By Maureen Sudlow--New Zealand
Burial
They come to farewell us
before the lonely trek to Reinga
carried by the wings of the little owl
calling us to tangi with them
before the long night
hides us one from another
before we put on the mourning
leaves of the kawakawa
before the whanau gather
to share in our grief
Whanau is the Maori word for family, and the Maori believe that the spirits of the dead travel to Cape Reinga on their way to Hawaiki. Tangi is the Maori grieving process.
Maureen Sudlow is a member of the New Zealand Poetry Society, and lives in the Kaipara, in the North of New Zealand. She loves poetry, photography and writing for children. She has published a children’s picture book Fearless Fred and the Dragon and has written for various on-line journals and magazines.
They come to farewell us
before the lonely trek to Reinga
carried by the wings of the little owl
calling us to tangi with them
before the long night
hides us one from another
before we put on the mourning
leaves of the kawakawa
before the whanau gather
to share in our grief
Whanau is the Maori word for family, and the Maori believe that the spirits of the dead travel to Cape Reinga on their way to Hawaiki. Tangi is the Maori grieving process.
Maureen Sudlow is a member of the New Zealand Poetry Society, and lives in the Kaipara, in the North of New Zealand. She loves poetry, photography and writing for children. She has published a children’s picture book Fearless Fred and the Dragon and has written for various on-line journals and magazines.
This Way to the Egress--By Eleanor Michael--United States
This Way to the Egress
My generation is leaving
one at a time, more lately.
Yes, we’ll be around awhile,
but those left are slowing down.
Like me, writing short stories,
not novels, and short poetry.
Though, at this time, not sharp
enough to research non-fiction,
I’m sad for the loss of knowledge,
however flawed or out of date.
Recorded facts do not have
all our individual memories,
how each life was perceived.
To misquote a favorite quote:
we were rocks that sat up
and looked around.
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
My generation is leaving
one at a time, more lately.
Yes, we’ll be around awhile,
but those left are slowing down.
Like me, writing short stories,
not novels, and short poetry.
Though, at this time, not sharp
enough to research non-fiction,
I’m sad for the loss of knowledge,
however flawed or out of date.
Recorded facts do not have
all our individual memories,
how each life was perceived.
To misquote a favorite quote:
we were rocks that sat up
and looked around.
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Sinful Melody--By Shloka Shankar--India
Sinful Melody
The soundtrack
of my life is
a sinful melody
caught between
two worlds, I'm just
a tuneless whirligig
of emotions
broken keys
and staccato verses,
my brazen desire
for the unreachable
gnaws at me
I wait.
I wait.
I still wait.
Shloka Shankar resides in India, and works as a freelance writer. A contributing poet in over half a dozen anthologies such as The Dance of the Peacock, Traversal of Lines, Family Matters, Emanations IV, and Rainbow Hues, among others, Shloka has also seen her poems published in journals like Ekphrasis, Writers Asylum, The Literary Yard, Urban Confustions, Wordweavers, Verse Wrights, Miracle-ezine, and Cafe Dissensus.
The soundtrack
of my life is
a sinful melody
caught between
two worlds, I'm just
a tuneless whirligig
of emotions
broken keys
and staccato verses,
my brazen desire
for the unreachable
gnaws at me
I wait.
I wait.
I still wait.
Shloka Shankar resides in India, and works as a freelance writer. A contributing poet in over half a dozen anthologies such as The Dance of the Peacock, Traversal of Lines, Family Matters, Emanations IV, and Rainbow Hues, among others, Shloka has also seen her poems published in journals like Ekphrasis, Writers Asylum, The Literary Yard, Urban Confustions, Wordweavers, Verse Wrights, Miracle-ezine, and Cafe Dissensus.
All Is Not Lost--By Joyce Johnson--United States
All Is Not Lost
If I should grow so old that I
Forget my name, beloved faces,
Disremember who I am and
Get lost in familiar places,
Then I would be sad and confused,
I’m sure I would be lonely too;
Yet Lord above, my truest Friend,
I know I’d still remember You.
You who’ve been with me from the start,
From childhood to these aged days,
Would stay with me until life’s done.
I’d recognize You through the haze.
The saddest person I envision,
Who ever on this earth has trod,
Must be the one with mind so dulled,
He has forgotten the true God.
When pleasures of this life are through,
Dear God, my God, I’ll still have you.
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 96th birthday in July of 2014.
If I should grow so old that I
Forget my name, beloved faces,
Disremember who I am and
Get lost in familiar places,
Then I would be sad and confused,
I’m sure I would be lonely too;
Yet Lord above, my truest Friend,
I know I’d still remember You.
You who’ve been with me from the start,
From childhood to these aged days,
Would stay with me until life’s done.
I’d recognize You through the haze.
The saddest person I envision,
Who ever on this earth has trod,
Must be the one with mind so dulled,
He has forgotten the true God.
When pleasures of this life are through,
Dear God, my God, I’ll still have you.
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 96th birthday in July of 2014.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds--United States
Glorious Papillion
By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds
Bonjour, mon Papillion, my butterfly,
who rewrites the definition of stunning!
Oh, thou radiant insect, wings and body,
hues spectacularly woven, color 'pon color, vein by vein.
This rainbow to touch and admire -
is almost torture; this urge
to have thee as mine.
Alas, I know thou must go ...
How glorious thee Papillion,
in colors of grace and suave,
fluttering ‘pon luscious vales
of soft floral petals, créatures magnifiques!
Thee like soft vapors owning the summer air
filling the hearts of lovers
inspiring the poet’s lair!
Thine powers majestic, oh, precious butterfly!
Thou lights ‘pon the flower,
daring it to look more appealing than thee!
May I come nearer one moment? I shan't keep thee long,
That I may touch what my eyes see - is all that I ask!
Merci, glorious Papillion! Merci!
No creature shall ever be
more captivating than thee!
Au revoir mon ami.
By Sheri Stanley and Maurice Reynolds
Bonjour, mon Papillion, my butterfly,
who rewrites the definition of stunning!
Oh, thou radiant insect, wings and body,
hues spectacularly woven, color 'pon color, vein by vein.
This rainbow to touch and admire -
is almost torture; this urge
to have thee as mine.
Alas, I know thou must go ...
How glorious thee Papillion,
in colors of grace and suave,
fluttering ‘pon luscious vales
of soft floral petals, créatures magnifiques!
Thee like soft vapors owning the summer air
filling the hearts of lovers
inspiring the poet’s lair!
Thine powers majestic, oh, precious butterfly!
Thou lights ‘pon the flower,
daring it to look more appealing than thee!
May I come nearer one moment? I shan't keep thee long,
That I may touch what my eyes see - is all that I ask!
Merci, glorious Papillion! Merci!
No creature shall ever be
more captivating than thee!
Au revoir mon ami.
God’s Gift--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India
God’s Gift
Tinkle of temple bells
as the sun peeks over the horizon,
Trickle of the holy river
flanked by trees on both the sides,
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
Dappled sunlight
on the peaks of Kanchenjunga,
First raindrop
on the barren spell,
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
Full moon in a starry night
blankets the jasmines in my backyard
Amidst the cedar flowers
warble of cockatoos at twilight
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
I find solace in the lap of nature –
God’s gift to mankind.
Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.
Tinkle of temple bells
as the sun peeks over the horizon,
Trickle of the holy river
flanked by trees on both the sides,
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
Dappled sunlight
on the peaks of Kanchenjunga,
First raindrop
on the barren spell,
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
Full moon in a starry night
blankets the jasmines in my backyard
Amidst the cedar flowers
warble of cockatoos at twilight
Deep within inside I think –
life is God’s gift to mankind.
I find solace in the lap of nature –
God’s gift to mankind.
Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.
Emily’s Tea Party 1907--By Zona Rowand Lawrence--United States
Emily’s Tea Party 1907
The tiny tea pot and sugar bowl made of the finest china
sits on the small round table in Emily’s room where Dinah
has set the plates of cookies in the middle of the Damask cloth.
Emily is five years old and enjoys her once a week tea party with friends
Today it is Annabelle and Jessie who come to share her hot chocolate
and ginger snaps cook has made with care especially for her party.
Emily cleans up her toys and puts on her new dress
she checks that her ribbons are still tied in bows
A knock on the door tells her the friends are here
they come in and exclaim on the beautifully set table
they adore the tea pot and sugar bowl so delicate
It is painted with flowers and cherubs to spark imaginations.
They don’t know it’s their last tea party -- for tomorrow
all of the special dishes are to be sold. Emily’s father
has had a financial set-back. They must have money
for food -- but for today the children have a tea party to enjoy.
After many years as a stage performer, Zona found she enjoyed writing. She studies at Paradise Valley Community College. Her work has appeared in several anthologies at the school and elsewhere. In 2004, she won $20,000.00 for her poem, “Indiscriminate Sestina.” She and her husband, Jack, are creating a Diet by Poetry Journal to help whittle away those pounds with a little rhyming fun. Last year in the Paradise Review her poem, “If He Had Hit Me”, won third place and her one act play, “A Shaggy Dog Story”, won second place.
The tiny tea pot and sugar bowl made of the finest china
sits on the small round table in Emily’s room where Dinah
has set the plates of cookies in the middle of the Damask cloth.
Emily is five years old and enjoys her once a week tea party with friends
Today it is Annabelle and Jessie who come to share her hot chocolate
and ginger snaps cook has made with care especially for her party.
Emily cleans up her toys and puts on her new dress
she checks that her ribbons are still tied in bows
A knock on the door tells her the friends are here
they come in and exclaim on the beautifully set table
they adore the tea pot and sugar bowl so delicate
It is painted with flowers and cherubs to spark imaginations.
They don’t know it’s their last tea party -- for tomorrow
all of the special dishes are to be sold. Emily’s father
has had a financial set-back. They must have money
for food -- but for today the children have a tea party to enjoy.
After many years as a stage performer, Zona found she enjoyed writing. She studies at Paradise Valley Community College. Her work has appeared in several anthologies at the school and elsewhere. In 2004, she won $20,000.00 for her poem, “Indiscriminate Sestina.” She and her husband, Jack, are creating a Diet by Poetry Journal to help whittle away those pounds with a little rhyming fun. Last year in the Paradise Review her poem, “If He Had Hit Me”, won third place and her one act play, “A Shaggy Dog Story”, won second place.
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Inspired--By Phyllis Babcock--Canada
Inspired
I want you to see my smile
On the mark you left behind
~~that lasting impression~~
I think of you in high regard
With fond memories
~~your sweet expression~~
You did touch my life
You did leave your sign
~~that warm inscription~~
A piece of you will be
embedded forever
~~in clear description~~
A inspiration in my heart.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
I want you to see my smile
On the mark you left behind
~~that lasting impression~~
I think of you in high regard
With fond memories
~~your sweet expression~~
You did touch my life
You did leave your sign
~~that warm inscription~~
A piece of you will be
embedded forever
~~in clear description~~
A inspiration in my heart.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
If Summer Were to Linger--By James Rasmusson--United States
If Summer Were to Linger
Longer by longer the nights
intrude upon the days.
Soon autumn leaves and winter snow
will hide the summer earth on which
we walked and talked and laughed.
If summer were to linger
only eyes and ears would care,
yet for my heart
there is no season.
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
Longer by longer the nights
intrude upon the days.
Soon autumn leaves and winter snow
will hide the summer earth on which
we walked and talked and laughed.
If summer were to linger
only eyes and ears would care,
yet for my heart
there is no season.
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
"Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds"--By Yvonne Sparkes--England
"Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds"
Hearts that lose their fickle sway,
Their lustful youth of yesterday,
When joined as one they’re sure to last,
Through a lifetime in their clasp.
No temptation in the dark,
Will ever move this wandering bark.
A purist refuge from life’s woes,
Within each bosom love still grows,
Such demands bring faithful hearts,
A comfort true, that ne’er departs.
Like armour that will guard the soul,
Makes both the halves join there as whole.
Love is temperance, faithful, true,
Joins the lovers hard like glue.
No finer thing on earth is found,
Nor hides it’s worth when love abounds.
(Title is the first line of William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116)
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
Hearts that lose their fickle sway,
Their lustful youth of yesterday,
When joined as one they’re sure to last,
Through a lifetime in their clasp.
No temptation in the dark,
Will ever move this wandering bark.
A purist refuge from life’s woes,
Within each bosom love still grows,
Such demands bring faithful hearts,
A comfort true, that ne’er departs.
Like armour that will guard the soul,
Makes both the halves join there as whole.
Love is temperance, faithful, true,
Joins the lovers hard like glue.
No finer thing on earth is found,
Nor hides it’s worth when love abounds.
(Title is the first line of William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116)
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
A Heavenly View--By Suzanne Clement--United States
A Heavenly View
Lovely are the summer days
With nature’s beautiful things.
Therefore, to God shall we raise
Our happy voices and sing:
Wonderful is the Lord
Who made this lovely world.
Streams and ponds, rivers and rills
And pretty grass so green,
The tall mountains and the hills
Make a gorgeous scene;
Heavenly objects too.
The Father cares for you.
Since God’s near, we shouldn’t fear.
Caring for us, He is always true.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Lovely are the summer days
With nature’s beautiful things.
Therefore, to God shall we raise
Our happy voices and sing:
Wonderful is the Lord
Who made this lovely world.
Streams and ponds, rivers and rills
And pretty grass so green,
The tall mountains and the hills
Make a gorgeous scene;
Heavenly objects too.
The Father cares for you.
Since God’s near, we shouldn’t fear.
Caring for us, He is always true.
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Whispers Milestone Feature--Contributors' Thoughts
On August 1, we reached the 60,000 view milestone. In celebration, I asked contributors to share their thoughts about Whispers. I am in awe of the outpouring of kindness. It is a gift to work with so many talented writers with different views and different styles from across the world. This is their honor, their achievement. Thank you to each and everyone who has contributed to this journey. With that, I will say good-bye and let the contributors speak to you.
--Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor
**********************
Joann Grisetti--I enjoy Whispers for the variety of poets and range of subjects. I am grateful for a place to share my poems with other poets. I look forward to reading new comments on my poems as much as reading new poems. You have done much to create an atmosphere conducive to writers. Thank you.
Robert J. Lindley--I find my time spent at Whispers to be a very informative and pleasurable experience. I love reading other writer's offerings and the inspirations they impart. One can see the high standards set here and the brilliance of the authors that meet those high standards. I find Whispers to be a truly enjoyable and nice site to be involved with. I thank this site, it's administrator and all the members here for all that they do.
Anna-Marie Docherty--I love the fellowship, learning together, commenting, helpfulness, sharing and caring from those involved with Whispers... The set up of the site makes it easy to use, and Karen makes everyone feel welcome!
Sheri Stanley--What I thoroughly enjoy about Whispers is the intermingling of poets across this globe. That is so phenomenal to me, how different we are, yet so very much alike! The poetry is incredible and such a pleasure to read. Commenting on others' writings is an honor. Whispers is an honor.
Paul Callus--To me, relatively new on the site, Whispers provides a place where poems are show-cased in limited 'helpings', thus giving us the chance and time to read and savour without any hurry. This also goes towards building up a friendly and compact relationship among authors and readers. I also like the concept which keeps the writes to a reasonable length. Thank you.
Suzanne Delaney--I like reading and commenting on the other Whispers' poets, seeing their thoughts on nature, spirituality, humor and countless other subjects. I feel privileged to be a part of such a caring community of writers and enjoy the chance of having my poems read by other poets and reading their encouraging comments.
Peter Dome--An oasis of talent and creativity like none I've known--such great people. I’ve finally found home.
Nila Webster--Congratulations on this incredible Milestone. Whispers is the most beautiful on-line journal I have ever seen, and I envision a shimmering thread of poetry published in Whispers that goes around the world, illuminating the way for poets and poetry-lovers everywhere. Whispers matters because it is changing lives every single day by publishing poems from the soul, and inviting readers around the world to celebrate the human experience through the beauty of poetry. Thank you, Karen, for making this possible.
Gert Knop--I truly appreciate your energy and enthusiasm for poetry and Whispers, and my congratulation on 60,000 views! But what is really great with Whispers that you know how to make Whispers so special with poetry from different countries and cultures.
Carolyn Devonshire--Whispers provides a safe haven for a diverse group of authors to share their work and interact. We grow as a community, often co-writing with others and learning different forms and poetic styles. It is a blessing to be part of a site that offers so much to writers from many nations throughout the world. This is a site where friendships are born.
Isha Wagner--I so enjoy Whispers simply because in my many travels I lost any feelings of national pride and this was quite involuntary, it just slipped away and my mind became global. The pleasure of Whispers with contributors from all over the planet gives me a sense of a manageable perspective.
Robert Hinshaw--Thank you so much for all you do to support and encourage poetry and poets. I am so honored to counted among the many outstanding poets associated with Whispers.
David Fox--I just love the fact that I can write poems that will be seen from all over the world, at no cost. I have been other sites like yours, but your site seems to have gotten more exposure.
Shloka Shankar--Congratulations! It's wonderful to hear about Whispers’ Milestone, and I hope this is the first of lots more great things to come for this wonderful journal! It has been an absolute pleasure to be a part of the Whispers’ family that has been nothing short of friendly, warm and encouraging. With an editor like you, it's every writer's delight to get published at Whispers! I wish you and Whispers all the very best.
Ranu Uniyal--The beauty of Whispers lies in its amazing ability to bring writers from different parts of the world on one platform. Simply love and cherish my association with poetry through Whispers. It keeps our faith in humanity alive.
Jack Horne--Whispers is such a positive and encouraging site to visit. No negative blogs here!
Sandra Stefanowich--To me Whispers is like having an extended family of friends to share our thoughts and experiences in life. I often enjoy reading and contemplating the words of other poets as we all can learn from one another and try and make this world a better place.
Beth Winchcombe--Everything we do in life begins with an idea....whether we pursue it is up to us! Although I'm in my late seventies, it's never too late to learn. That's why I value the many comments I receive from other Whispers’ members. Everything I write comes from my heart, this includes when I comment on another member’s poetry. It's always good to see ones work in print. I write for the sheer joy and pleasure it gives to me and anyone who reads it! I'm totally addicted to Whispers...it's about caring and sharing.
Rhoda Galgiani--Whispers... brings together words from people in celebration of life. Joy comes to all as they read thoughts of others. Thank you Karen for this beautiful poet's website...
Carl "Papa" Palmer--Each day Whispers offers original poetry from another part of "our" world reminding us we're not all that much different, no matter our neighborhood.
Jane Richer--Well Karen, You and Whispers are wonderfully connected! With every fiber of your being, you go out of your way to make new writers and seasoned pros feel equally welcome. It shows the professionalism of this site. We in turn, post, peruse, comment and build up newer writers to give them confidence in this site that welcomes all with open arms and hearts. 60,000 is just the beginning!
Archana Kapoor Nagpal--Whispers is like a global family. It is one place where I get to read writers or poets or haijins who have tremendous potential and knowledge of their subject. I have enjoyed my short journey with Whispers; I look forward to a more joyful journey. It is like a writing regime for me to pen down a piece of work for Whispers as it gives a chance to me connect to different readers around the globe. Warm wishes from India to Whispers, and to all the contributors.
Maurice J. Reynolds-- There are several things I enjoy about Whispers. For one, it was a well-though-out idea from a lady (Karen O'Leary) who desired to see poets, writers and authors come together and share their gift of words with other. I love the personal comments of encouragement as well as reading some very good poetry from writers of different walks of life, with different styles and views. Whispers, for me, is a personal site where I enjoy going. Thanks to this site, I have met some amazing and gifted people.
Maralee Gerke--I enjoy being part of the Whispers' “family” as a poet, because it is so nice to have the community to share poetry with. I don’t have that where I live so I need the feedback. Hopefully, when the garden is done, I will have more time to leave comments but I do read the poems.
Christine Tate--I enjoy Whispers & would describe it as "a poetry in motion network." It's a good thing because people from around the world can connect to share words of encouragement, humor, or inspiration!
Yvonne Sparkes--Congratulations to all at Whispers too, an amazing amount of contributors and well deserved too as it is a very fine effort to bring an excellent E MAGAZINE to all us Poetry Fans. A wonderful showcase for worldwide talent, a place for positive critique and a place to grow and expand with some wonderful mentors.
Lanette Kissel--I am new to Whispers and just recently joined. I like seeing the names of other familiar poet friends on this site. Whispers is a good venue for poets to share our poetry messages with the online community.
Charlene McCutcheon--I have loved Whispers as it has been a place of growth and encouragement. I have ventured my hand at writing more poetry because of the gift Whispers has been to me.
Colan L. Hiatt--Since I became acquainted with Whispers sometime ago, I have found it to be a refreshing site. It seems the editor takes her endeavors seriously. I have found people to be courteous and sensitive to issues of the day. One thing that really stands out, is the prompt attention that is given to emails and a submission! May success smile on you, and God ever bless your efforts for Him!
Sara Kendrick--I enjoy visiting Whispers to be able to read poems from poets from the four corners of the earth. It is nice to be able to share my thoughts in a safe place with those poets who love to read and write poetry.
Leokadia Durmaj--I enjoy sharing my poetry with wonderful friends on Whispers. It is a place where gifted words come alive through heartfelt thoughts and images. It is a place where love abides in many forms as do blessings too.
Jean Calkins--A wonderful selection of poems, and well laid out so special ones can be found quickly.
--Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor
**********************
Joann Grisetti--I enjoy Whispers for the variety of poets and range of subjects. I am grateful for a place to share my poems with other poets. I look forward to reading new comments on my poems as much as reading new poems. You have done much to create an atmosphere conducive to writers. Thank you.
Robert J. Lindley--I find my time spent at Whispers to be a very informative and pleasurable experience. I love reading other writer's offerings and the inspirations they impart. One can see the high standards set here and the brilliance of the authors that meet those high standards. I find Whispers to be a truly enjoyable and nice site to be involved with. I thank this site, it's administrator and all the members here for all that they do.
Anna-Marie Docherty--I love the fellowship, learning together, commenting, helpfulness, sharing and caring from those involved with Whispers... The set up of the site makes it easy to use, and Karen makes everyone feel welcome!
Sheri Stanley--What I thoroughly enjoy about Whispers is the intermingling of poets across this globe. That is so phenomenal to me, how different we are, yet so very much alike! The poetry is incredible and such a pleasure to read. Commenting on others' writings is an honor. Whispers is an honor.
Paul Callus--To me, relatively new on the site, Whispers provides a place where poems are show-cased in limited 'helpings', thus giving us the chance and time to read and savour without any hurry. This also goes towards building up a friendly and compact relationship among authors and readers. I also like the concept which keeps the writes to a reasonable length. Thank you.
Suzanne Delaney--I like reading and commenting on the other Whispers' poets, seeing their thoughts on nature, spirituality, humor and countless other subjects. I feel privileged to be a part of such a caring community of writers and enjoy the chance of having my poems read by other poets and reading their encouraging comments.
Peter Dome--An oasis of talent and creativity like none I've known--such great people. I’ve finally found home.
Nila Webster--Congratulations on this incredible Milestone. Whispers is the most beautiful on-line journal I have ever seen, and I envision a shimmering thread of poetry published in Whispers that goes around the world, illuminating the way for poets and poetry-lovers everywhere. Whispers matters because it is changing lives every single day by publishing poems from the soul, and inviting readers around the world to celebrate the human experience through the beauty of poetry. Thank you, Karen, for making this possible.
Gert Knop--I truly appreciate your energy and enthusiasm for poetry and Whispers, and my congratulation on 60,000 views! But what is really great with Whispers that you know how to make Whispers so special with poetry from different countries and cultures.
Carolyn Devonshire--Whispers provides a safe haven for a diverse group of authors to share their work and interact. We grow as a community, often co-writing with others and learning different forms and poetic styles. It is a blessing to be part of a site that offers so much to writers from many nations throughout the world. This is a site where friendships are born.
Isha Wagner--I so enjoy Whispers simply because in my many travels I lost any feelings of national pride and this was quite involuntary, it just slipped away and my mind became global. The pleasure of Whispers with contributors from all over the planet gives me a sense of a manageable perspective.
Robert Hinshaw--Thank you so much for all you do to support and encourage poetry and poets. I am so honored to counted among the many outstanding poets associated with Whispers.
David Fox--I just love the fact that I can write poems that will be seen from all over the world, at no cost. I have been other sites like yours, but your site seems to have gotten more exposure.
Shloka Shankar--Congratulations! It's wonderful to hear about Whispers’ Milestone, and I hope this is the first of lots more great things to come for this wonderful journal! It has been an absolute pleasure to be a part of the Whispers’ family that has been nothing short of friendly, warm and encouraging. With an editor like you, it's every writer's delight to get published at Whispers! I wish you and Whispers all the very best.
Ranu Uniyal--The beauty of Whispers lies in its amazing ability to bring writers from different parts of the world on one platform. Simply love and cherish my association with poetry through Whispers. It keeps our faith in humanity alive.
Jack Horne--Whispers is such a positive and encouraging site to visit. No negative blogs here!
Sandra Stefanowich--To me Whispers is like having an extended family of friends to share our thoughts and experiences in life. I often enjoy reading and contemplating the words of other poets as we all can learn from one another and try and make this world a better place.
Beth Winchcombe--Everything we do in life begins with an idea....whether we pursue it is up to us! Although I'm in my late seventies, it's never too late to learn. That's why I value the many comments I receive from other Whispers’ members. Everything I write comes from my heart, this includes when I comment on another member’s poetry. It's always good to see ones work in print. I write for the sheer joy and pleasure it gives to me and anyone who reads it! I'm totally addicted to Whispers...it's about caring and sharing.
Rhoda Galgiani--Whispers... brings together words from people in celebration of life. Joy comes to all as they read thoughts of others. Thank you Karen for this beautiful poet's website...
Carl "Papa" Palmer--Each day Whispers offers original poetry from another part of "our" world reminding us we're not all that much different, no matter our neighborhood.
Jane Richer--Well Karen, You and Whispers are wonderfully connected! With every fiber of your being, you go out of your way to make new writers and seasoned pros feel equally welcome. It shows the professionalism of this site. We in turn, post, peruse, comment and build up newer writers to give them confidence in this site that welcomes all with open arms and hearts. 60,000 is just the beginning!
Archana Kapoor Nagpal--Whispers is like a global family. It is one place where I get to read writers or poets or haijins who have tremendous potential and knowledge of their subject. I have enjoyed my short journey with Whispers; I look forward to a more joyful journey. It is like a writing regime for me to pen down a piece of work for Whispers as it gives a chance to me connect to different readers around the globe. Warm wishes from India to Whispers, and to all the contributors.
Maurice J. Reynolds-- There are several things I enjoy about Whispers. For one, it was a well-though-out idea from a lady (Karen O'Leary) who desired to see poets, writers and authors come together and share their gift of words with other. I love the personal comments of encouragement as well as reading some very good poetry from writers of different walks of life, with different styles and views. Whispers, for me, is a personal site where I enjoy going. Thanks to this site, I have met some amazing and gifted people.
Maralee Gerke--I enjoy being part of the Whispers' “family” as a poet, because it is so nice to have the community to share poetry with. I don’t have that where I live so I need the feedback. Hopefully, when the garden is done, I will have more time to leave comments but I do read the poems.
Christine Tate--I enjoy Whispers & would describe it as "a poetry in motion network." It's a good thing because people from around the world can connect to share words of encouragement, humor, or inspiration!
Yvonne Sparkes--Congratulations to all at Whispers too, an amazing amount of contributors and well deserved too as it is a very fine effort to bring an excellent E MAGAZINE to all us Poetry Fans. A wonderful showcase for worldwide talent, a place for positive critique and a place to grow and expand with some wonderful mentors.
Lanette Kissel--I am new to Whispers and just recently joined. I like seeing the names of other familiar poet friends on this site. Whispers is a good venue for poets to share our poetry messages with the online community.
Charlene McCutcheon--I have loved Whispers as it has been a place of growth and encouragement. I have ventured my hand at writing more poetry because of the gift Whispers has been to me.
Colan L. Hiatt--Since I became acquainted with Whispers sometime ago, I have found it to be a refreshing site. It seems the editor takes her endeavors seriously. I have found people to be courteous and sensitive to issues of the day. One thing that really stands out, is the prompt attention that is given to emails and a submission! May success smile on you, and God ever bless your efforts for Him!
Sara Kendrick--I enjoy visiting Whispers to be able to read poems from poets from the four corners of the earth. It is nice to be able to share my thoughts in a safe place with those poets who love to read and write poetry.
Leokadia Durmaj--I enjoy sharing my poetry with wonderful friends on Whispers. It is a place where gifted words come alive through heartfelt thoughts and images. It is a place where love abides in many forms as do blessings too.
Jean Calkins--A wonderful selection of poems, and well laid out so special ones can be found quickly.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Bird (in India)--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand
Bird (in India)
Acres of watered grass surround the miniature palace
Peacocks strut delicately stretching out fans of plumage
Seemingly aware of being watched
Sacred bird of India, each feather with an eye spot.
Who could dream this subtle intricate design
Long slender neck, white patches over eye.
My friend Sontosh smiles at my astonishment of beauty
be not deceived, these creatures are like seductive women
Who hypnotise then kill : they keep my vices at bay.
He laughs.
I see it all as the work of the Creator, I say
We do not call it the work of God, he says
No, we say it is the play of God : a kind of dance
Do you see?
(I'm not sure I do)
Come we will drink tea
And we enter the cool marble portals.
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
Acres of watered grass surround the miniature palace
Peacocks strut delicately stretching out fans of plumage
Seemingly aware of being watched
Sacred bird of India, each feather with an eye spot.
Who could dream this subtle intricate design
Long slender neck, white patches over eye.
My friend Sontosh smiles at my astonishment of beauty
be not deceived, these creatures are like seductive women
Who hypnotise then kill : they keep my vices at bay.
He laughs.
I see it all as the work of the Creator, I say
We do not call it the work of God, he says
No, we say it is the play of God : a kind of dance
Do you see?
(I'm not sure I do)
Come we will drink tea
And we enter the cool marble portals.
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
In Fields of Nature--By John W. (Bill) Williams--United States
In Fields of Nature
A walk through fields of nature
Kindles my innermost feelings
With the spectacular beauty
Of God’s inspiring gifts…
Budding trees and wild flowers awake
With a refreshing signal that the life
Of springtime embraces again…
Fox prowl in tall grass, searching
For an early morning catch;
In nearby meadows, deer graze peacefully…
Birds’ melodies quicken my spirit
As they greet me with inviting songs;
A rainbow’s color after a sudden rain
Moves my soul with a satisfying praise…
I never cease to utter a thankful prayer
For the reaches of God’s beauty
In fields of nature.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
A walk through fields of nature
Kindles my innermost feelings
With the spectacular beauty
Of God’s inspiring gifts…
Budding trees and wild flowers awake
With a refreshing signal that the life
Of springtime embraces again…
Fox prowl in tall grass, searching
For an early morning catch;
In nearby meadows, deer graze peacefully…
Birds’ melodies quicken my spirit
As they greet me with inviting songs;
A rainbow’s color after a sudden rain
Moves my soul with a satisfying praise…
I never cease to utter a thankful prayer
For the reaches of God’s beauty
In fields of nature.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
There Once Was A...--By Terry O’Leary--France
There Once Was A...
Lotsa Limericks
From bad to verse
There once was a friar with stave
Overseeing a holy enclave ...
With a wag of the chin
At confessions of sin
He absolved wicked whims and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who desired a head with a shave ...
Well, the barber was such
That she cut far too much
To create a corona concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious, he couldn't behave ...
Well, his name was maligned,
But he paid it no mind,
Being simply a sinner to save
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
Lotsa Limericks
From bad to verse
There once was a friar with stave
Overseeing a holy enclave ...
With a wag of the chin
At confessions of sin
He absolved wicked whims and forgave
There once was a monk with a wave
Who desired a head with a shave ...
Well, the barber was such
That she cut far too much
To create a corona concave
There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious, he couldn't behave ...
Well, his name was maligned,
But he paid it no mind,
Being simply a sinner to save
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
Childhood Revisited--By Ronald Grognet--United States
Childhood Revisited
When I think of writing poetry
My skin crawls; my hair stands erect
Wondering if it's me only
Or the world of feeling that I reject
I think about my grandsons:
Good things all come in three.
It takes so little on their part
to make loving tears flow free
Their endless repertoire
Is never the same each day;
The latest tales reported,
Adorable things they do or say.
Similar feelings expressed to me
When I was a child adored;
Fond memories I recall
When exploring my treasure hoard
Though long gone at my age
My children's children channel instead.
My parents' love brought home again
Like a psychological return from the dead.
Ronald Grognet is a retired Clinical Psychologist who practiced private individual and family therapy for thirty-five years. He lived and worked in Washington D.C., and Sarasota, FL before retiring in New Orleans to be close to his grandsons. Besides his volunteer time spent on disaster assignments for the Red Cross, he fills his time devoted to haiku poetry. His interest in poetry came as a gift in retirement. Reading an article about haiku filled with many examples, he recognized its similarity to the reflective stance of the meditation he practiced for many years. He has vigorously pursued its study for the last two years, personally experiencing its healing and enlightening qualities.
When I think of writing poetry
My skin crawls; my hair stands erect
Wondering if it's me only
Or the world of feeling that I reject
I think about my grandsons:
Good things all come in three.
It takes so little on their part
to make loving tears flow free
Their endless repertoire
Is never the same each day;
The latest tales reported,
Adorable things they do or say.
Similar feelings expressed to me
When I was a child adored;
Fond memories I recall
When exploring my treasure hoard
Though long gone at my age
My children's children channel instead.
My parents' love brought home again
Like a psychological return from the dead.
Ronald Grognet is a retired Clinical Psychologist who practiced private individual and family therapy for thirty-five years. He lived and worked in Washington D.C., and Sarasota, FL before retiring in New Orleans to be close to his grandsons. Besides his volunteer time spent on disaster assignments for the Red Cross, he fills his time devoted to haiku poetry. His interest in poetry came as a gift in retirement. Reading an article about haiku filled with many examples, he recognized its similarity to the reflective stance of the meditation he practiced for many years. He has vigorously pursued its study for the last two years, personally experiencing its healing and enlightening qualities.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Yancy and Diana Dalton--United States
No Reason, No Rhyme
By Yancy and Diana Dalton
Syllable count, a word treason
Veiled mystery beyond reason
Man made trumped up rules
Shows us as complete fools
Counting what ears don't detect
To our eyes, it has same effect
Hum-bl-ing or hum-bling us down
Until we wear a puzzling frown
Good writers simply do not agree
Adding to this man made mystery
This makes us an-gr-y or an-gry
Depends on what we hear or see
Intelligent beings trained in stride
Rules of complexity, non can abide
Nothing can be labeled as the truth
That none a-gree or agree is proof
It is our opinion, man is outsmarted
With rules to make us downhearted
We like to abide by the game rules
Syllable counts has no exact tools
We grasp, writing in solid darkness
Finding syllable count to us useless
Some think Syllable count is easy
We find their non agreements teasy
By Yancy and Diana Dalton
Syllable count, a word treason
Veiled mystery beyond reason
Man made trumped up rules
Shows us as complete fools
Counting what ears don't detect
To our eyes, it has same effect
Hum-bl-ing or hum-bling us down
Until we wear a puzzling frown
Good writers simply do not agree
Adding to this man made mystery
This makes us an-gr-y or an-gry
Depends on what we hear or see
Intelligent beings trained in stride
Rules of complexity, non can abide
Nothing can be labeled as the truth
That none a-gree or agree is proof
It is our opinion, man is outsmarted
With rules to make us downhearted
We like to abide by the game rules
Syllable counts has no exact tools
We grasp, writing in solid darkness
Finding syllable count to us useless
Some think Syllable count is easy
We find their non agreements teasy
memory...--By Gert W. Knop--Germany
memory
has the face of an
invalid.
Thoughts
are engraved at the bottom
of the heart.
The search is another,
life goes by
like a crying child.
The day forgot its innocence
like a night bird
caged
in a silent time
Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany
has the face of an
invalid.
Thoughts
are engraved at the bottom
of the heart.
The search is another,
life goes by
like a crying child.
The day forgot its innocence
like a night bird
caged
in a silent time
Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany
In My Dreams--By Gerald Heyder--United States
In My Dreams
Once upon a summer pond
the sun did cast its glow
as I lay dreaming on the bank
of places I would go.
A gentle breeze of lilac scent
came to cool my brow;
pages in my mind’s eye book
are turning quickly now.
I failed to heed the scripted text
that irks my memory
like whippoorwill with nightly cry
of forlorn melody.
Many suns and many moons
have yearly come and gone
haunting me with sinful age
of never finished song.
Nonfulfillment of my dreams,
places I did not go,
as once upon a summer pond
the sun had cast its glow.
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Once upon a summer pond
the sun did cast its glow
as I lay dreaming on the bank
of places I would go.
A gentle breeze of lilac scent
came to cool my brow;
pages in my mind’s eye book
are turning quickly now.
I failed to heed the scripted text
that irks my memory
like whippoorwill with nightly cry
of forlorn melody.
Many suns and many moons
have yearly come and gone
haunting me with sinful age
of never finished song.
Nonfulfillment of my dreams,
places I did not go,
as once upon a summer pond
the sun had cast its glow.
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
broken-monoku--By Ralph Stott--England
broken-monoku
.......a wooden cross
............................a scar of trickling resin
________________
.....someone reads over your shoulder
....................a commemorative plaque on a park-bench
________________
.....silent movie
......................Wurlitzer-words
________________
.....musical thrones
.....................a republican's tune
________________
.....patched elbows
well-worn statements
________________
Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters. He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called The Sounding.
.......a wooden cross
............................a scar of trickling resin
________________
.....someone reads over your shoulder
....................a commemorative plaque on a park-bench
________________
.....silent movie
......................Wurlitzer-words
________________
.....musical thrones
.....................a republican's tune
________________
.....patched elbows
well-worn statements
________________
Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters. He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called The Sounding.
Forever Endless--By Erich J. Goller--United States
Forever Endless
Neath the skies of brightest blue
Where love fills every heart
Heaven’s miracles in view
That blessing shall never part.
When you are looking above
Feel the warmth of a bright ray
Your heart will light up with love
Though that light is far away
Forever in endless time
Where the soul is safe and free
Don’t give up, it’s worth the climb
Life throughout eternity.
Close your eyes, open your heart
Feel all the worries depart
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor,
in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
Neath the skies of brightest blue
Where love fills every heart
Heaven’s miracles in view
That blessing shall never part.
When you are looking above
Feel the warmth of a bright ray
Your heart will light up with love
Though that light is far away
Forever in endless time
Where the soul is safe and free
Don’t give up, it’s worth the climb
Life throughout eternity.
Close your eyes, open your heart
Feel all the worries depart
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor,
in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
Monday, August 4, 2014
Free Spirit--By Paul Callus--Malta
Free Spirit
She is a free spirit rebellious and wild
She’s changing so quickly – no longer a child.
Determined, impulsive, she gets into fights
She wants independence and quotes me her rights.
She is a free spirit now spreading her wings
In search of adventure and trying new things.
She sees the horizon that beckons from far;
Relies on the guidance of her lucky star.
But when the experience starts fading away
She finds disillusion obstructing her way
There’s home as an option to get her on track;
I will be there waiting to welcome her back.
Paul Callus is a Maltese author who writes both in Maltese and English. He has contributed to several anthologies. Apart from poetry he writes lyrics for songs and has published two books, one a story book aimed at children (related to his experience as a teacher) and a historical book based on research.
She is a free spirit rebellious and wild
She’s changing so quickly – no longer a child.
Determined, impulsive, she gets into fights
She wants independence and quotes me her rights.
She is a free spirit now spreading her wings
In search of adventure and trying new things.
She sees the horizon that beckons from far;
Relies on the guidance of her lucky star.
But when the experience starts fading away
She finds disillusion obstructing her way
There’s home as an option to get her on track;
I will be there waiting to welcome her back.
Paul Callus is a Maltese author who writes both in Maltese and English. He has contributed to several anthologies. Apart from poetry he writes lyrics for songs and has published two books, one a story book aimed at children (related to his experience as a teacher) and a historical book based on research.
Panther - The Great Hunter--By Mary A. Couch--United States
Panther - The Great Hunter
His shadow slinks slowly through velvet grass,
haunches move in rhythm with every breath.
Piercing amber eyes gaze about for prey,
he stops, spies quarry beneath brace of oaks.
Motionless within the grass, he crouches,
a sleek black panther ready to attack.
With one bound, he rushes forth toward prey,
sharp claws grab, and toss quarry into air.
A few minutes later, ground is littered
with the shreds of a child’s lost paper kite,
scraps of red and blue cover the landscape,
and black kitten with mischievous eyes.
Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.
His shadow slinks slowly through velvet grass,
haunches move in rhythm with every breath.
Piercing amber eyes gaze about for prey,
he stops, spies quarry beneath brace of oaks.
Motionless within the grass, he crouches,
a sleek black panther ready to attack.
With one bound, he rushes forth toward prey,
sharp claws grab, and toss quarry into air.
A few minutes later, ground is littered
with the shreds of a child’s lost paper kite,
scraps of red and blue cover the landscape,
and black kitten with mischievous eyes.
Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Floating Spirit--By Beth Winchcombe--England
Floating Spirit
Angels
Wings flutter
Shimmering gracefully
Through space
And time.
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils. She lives in Derbyshire, England.
Angels
Wings flutter
Shimmering gracefully
Through space
And time.
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils. She lives in Derbyshire, England.
Upset For?--By Diana Dalton--United States
Upset For?
Reason to be upset
Not what it seems
The more angry I get
Eludes me what it means
A trigger pushed
Driving me insane
I feel ambushed
Yet only reveals the pain
A truth rejected
A lie believed
Oh so affected
I am deceived
Yet illusive reasons come
To tempt false perception
Feelings again to numb
And believe self deception
Or will this messenger of pain?
Invite true perception and heal
A reminder of true self again
Your choice will reveal
Diana Dalton was born in England. She grew up loving the county side which later developed and inspired her desire to capture those beautiful moments which she does through her poetry, her spiritual nature and photography. Though not a prolific writer Diana has had her poems read on Dutch radio, and has been featured in some American compilations of poetry. She will dabble and challenge herself with some recognized forms, yet most often, Diana likes the freedom of words and will take some poetic license even to inventing non existent words together with her husband and fellow poet, Yancy Dalton.
Reason to be upset
Not what it seems
The more angry I get
Eludes me what it means
A trigger pushed
Driving me insane
I feel ambushed
Yet only reveals the pain
A truth rejected
A lie believed
Oh so affected
I am deceived
Yet illusive reasons come
To tempt false perception
Feelings again to numb
And believe self deception
Or will this messenger of pain?
Invite true perception and heal
A reminder of true self again
Your choice will reveal
Diana Dalton was born in England. She grew up loving the county side which later developed and inspired her desire to capture those beautiful moments which she does through her poetry, her spiritual nature and photography. Though not a prolific writer Diana has had her poems read on Dutch radio, and has been featured in some American compilations of poetry. She will dabble and challenge herself with some recognized forms, yet most often, Diana likes the freedom of words and will take some poetic license even to inventing non existent words together with her husband and fellow poet, Yancy Dalton.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
The Struggle…--By Sara Kendrick--United States
The Struggle…
one family
five children…
rabid dog bites dad
death angel visits
widow left to fend...
children struggle also
one pat of butter
slipped through four fluffy biscuits…
poverty
child works picking peas
in a field every day...
just for fabric
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
one family
five children…
rabid dog bites dad
death angel visits
widow left to fend...
children struggle also
one pat of butter
slipped through four fluffy biscuits…
poverty
child works picking peas
in a field every day...
just for fabric
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
Reading The Poets--By Pam Murray--Canada
Reading The Poets
I tried to walk in their footprints
The stride was much too long
And my voice seemed to fumble
When I tried to sing their song.
Yet the joy was wrapped around me
Immersed in what I’ve read;
So many dreams and visions
To filter through my head.
I tried to write of their seasons
But the words had all been used
And when I read each feeble line
I felt they’d be amused.
Yet, still the joy falls around me
And fills my spirit full.
A single verse of poetry
Has such a magical pull.
Born in Calgary, Alberta, Pam Murray has been writing poetry since the mid-1960’s. She was married for over 41 years and has two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandson. Pam has been published in a variety of venues. Her proudest writing accomplishment was a poem she wrote for a United Way fundraiser, which was later framed with a French translation and hung on the wall of the legislature in Ottawa, Canada. To her, poetry is a transposition of a vision she sees in her mind. Writing and crocheting are her passions.
I tried to walk in their footprints
The stride was much too long
And my voice seemed to fumble
When I tried to sing their song.
Yet the joy was wrapped around me
Immersed in what I’ve read;
So many dreams and visions
To filter through my head.
I tried to write of their seasons
But the words had all been used
And when I read each feeble line
I felt they’d be amused.
Yet, still the joy falls around me
And fills my spirit full.
A single verse of poetry
Has such a magical pull.
Born in Calgary, Alberta, Pam Murray has been writing poetry since the mid-1960’s. She was married for over 41 years and has two daughters, a son-in-law, and a grandson. Pam has been published in a variety of venues. Her proudest writing accomplishment was a poem she wrote for a United Way fundraiser, which was later framed with a French translation and hung on the wall of the legislature in Ottawa, Canada. To her, poetry is a transposition of a vision she sees in her mind. Writing and crocheting are her passions.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Sunrise Dancer--By Maralee Gerke--United States
Sunrise Dancer
The roadside sign said “ flagger ahead. “
Our car pulled up beside the
over weight orange-vested man.
A sign held loosely in his fingers
became a dance partner as
he passed it gracefully from hand to hand.
His thumb and forefinger raised
in a perfectly executed okay sign
he crossed his heavy ankles and saluted the traffic.
Bending his ample knees, he pirouetted
then finished the performance with a perfect curtsy.
Bowing low before the line of cars.
Was he a retired traffic cop, who ushered cars
through busy city streets, or a chubby kid
whose dad wouldn’t allow a “boy” to take ballet?
Before we could ask how he acquired such grace,
he waved us on with one more flourish of the sign
including us in his jubilant tribute to sunrise.
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems “Refuge”, was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
The roadside sign said “ flagger ahead. “
Our car pulled up beside the
over weight orange-vested man.
A sign held loosely in his fingers
became a dance partner as
he passed it gracefully from hand to hand.
His thumb and forefinger raised
in a perfectly executed okay sign
he crossed his heavy ankles and saluted the traffic.
Bending his ample knees, he pirouetted
then finished the performance with a perfect curtsy.
Bowing low before the line of cars.
Was he a retired traffic cop, who ushered cars
through busy city streets, or a chubby kid
whose dad wouldn’t allow a “boy” to take ballet?
Before we could ask how he acquired such grace,
he waved us on with one more flourish of the sign
including us in his jubilant tribute to sunrise.
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems “Refuge”, was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
Snow Falling--By Ron C. Moss--Australia
Snow Falling
the newborn lamb
curled in its steam . . .
snow falling
a tiny life
changing to white . . .
snow falling
the one breath
of a huddled flock . . .
snow falling
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
the newborn lamb
curled in its steam . . .
snow falling
a tiny life
changing to white . . .
snow falling
the one breath
of a huddled flock . . .
snow falling
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
AUGUST ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN JULY
John Polselli--United States
Dave Wood--United States
Lanette Kissel--United States
Colan L Hiatt--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 September column by August 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Zona Lawrence has a website called jazopublications.com to help writers with hints and tips to be a better reader of his/’her work. Please come to visit, learn and comment.
Rita Odeh released a new book of haiku called Buds of Dream. More information regarding the book is available at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/9865804093
Sheri Stanley has opened a new web site and invites you to visit at: www.poetryandbeyond.net Please leave comments and visit often.
Shloka Shankar has a poetry page on Facebook called 'Shloka Shankar: a rasika's musings'. To read more of her poems, please visit: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shloka-Shankar-a-rasikas-musings/745965042120215?ref_type=bookmark
Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at liftingmyeyes.com
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 Jokester and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
David Fox is seeking family-friendly poems for his magazine, The Poet's Art. Rates for the publication are $5 an issue or $20 for a 4 issue subscription. Checks should be made to cash. Foreign contributors should pay $10 by international money order or American cash only. Send submissions and money for subscriptions to David Fox,171 Silverleaf Lane, Islandia, NY 11749 USA.
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.
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
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.
John Polselli--United States
Dave Wood--United States
Lanette Kissel--United States
Colan L Hiatt--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 September column by August 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Zona Lawrence has a website called jazopublications.com to help writers with hints and tips to be a better reader of his/’her work. Please come to visit, learn and comment.
Rita Odeh released a new book of haiku called Buds of Dream. More information regarding the book is available at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/9865804093
Sheri Stanley has opened a new web site and invites you to visit at: www.poetryandbeyond.net Please leave comments and visit often.
Shloka Shankar has a poetry page on Facebook called 'Shloka Shankar: a rasika's musings'. To read more of her poems, please visit: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shloka-Shankar-a-rasikas-musings/745965042120215?ref_type=bookmark
Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at liftingmyeyes.com
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 Jokester and Creative Inspirations by sending stamps or other small donations to help with postage. Thank you for considering this. ---Karen
David Fox is seeking family-friendly poems for his magazine, The Poet's Art. Rates for the publication are $5 an issue or $20 for a 4 issue subscription. Checks should be made to cash. Foreign contributors should pay $10 by international money order or American cash only. Send submissions and money for subscriptions to David Fox,171 Silverleaf Lane, Islandia, NY 11749 USA.
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.
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
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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