Thank you for considering Whispers for a place to share your writing. The guidelines follow:
1. Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are
acceptable. Please do not send quotes from others unless they are in
the context of the piece submitted and that the original author is given
credit. It is up to the author to obtain permission if needed for
reprints. By submitting to Whispers, the writer is assuring that the work is his or her own. Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from another writer without credit or authorization.
2. Send one of the three following:
---1 poem 20 lines or less
---up to 5 haiku/senryu (please make sure to clearly identify that separate poems are
being submitted)
---up to 3 tanka (see above)
---for people that are not poets, 1 short paragraph of encouragement will be considered
Writers are eligible for publication every other month.
3. You may include a bio of 4-5 lines written in third person style.
See “Living Wings” published January 15, 2013 for an example. A bio is
not necessary for publication.
4. No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.
5. Whispers reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.
6. Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a
variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers. Humor is
appreciated.
7. Children’s poetry is appreciated. Parent permission is required. Please email gksm@cableone.net before sending.
8. Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency. Please keep that in mind when submitting.
9. Preferred method of submission is to send poetry as a works document
or in the body of an email with your name and country. Please email
your submission to Karen O’Leary at gksm@cableone.net If you would
rather submit by snail mail, please email Karen for her address. You
may email her with any questions you may have.
10. I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing.
In this challenging time for many, it is the hope that Whispers will
connect people in a way that is supportive, encouraging and inspiring
to others. Thank you for considering being a part of this community.
Stradivarius
Deep inside
Curling, rippling through the grain
This woody depth of tone
Singing a carver’s art
His blade so sharply honed
Brilliant, but sweet the tone
Reaching out to furthest ears
Fulfilling fond nature’s source
The forest
Those many hundred years
Its magic still a puzzle
What hidden source had guided Stradivari’s hand?
The wood, the varnish, shape
All wed together
By an oh so perfect plan
Yes, a masterpiece complete
Needing but virtuoso skill
To plumb the depth
Release the thrilling voice
Its inner will fulfill
David Austin is professional violinist and teacher, who communicates through poetry. He has played with the Cincinnati Symphony, taught at Colorado College and various public schools. He is a published author, who has been writing poetry and novels for over 40 years. His pride and joy is a shelter in which he feeds and cares for animals. David is a member of Poetry Soup.
Sign of the Cross Over the Chest
the body on the tip of his tongue
white staleness passes to the gut,
turning from having fasted all morn
to start anew, his hunger suppressed
he resolves to do better—
sign of the cross over the chest
a delicate sip from the golden chalice,
red blood flows thick,
intoxicates corporal extremities
the host now in the guest
she will sin no more—
sign of the cross over the chest
parishioners take of this plain supper
then pass through the cathedral pews
like blood flowing in their bodies
they commune together but leave alone
to do good in the world—
sign of the cross over the chest
Jacob Shaver, a Denver native and Phoenix resident, in addition to writing poetry, essays, and screenplays, is an independent editor, and a lead moderator for the Central Phoenix Writing Workshop. His collaborative participation in the art of crafting Renhai as well as his solo efforts are enlightening and fulfilling. He likens writing Renhai to playing Sudoku with words, and gives thanks to John Daleiden for introducing him to this art form.
Christmas Magic (for Trudy)
A box of heirlooms we look over, in a closet in the hallway,
A shelf of tapes and records, wait patiently for their time to play.
Their time has come once more to assume their annual relevance.
As each finds the light, and sheds light on memories, past tense.
Procuring special, significant Christmas tree ornaments annually.
Had we only known, we were gazing at crystal balls... facsimile.
Christmas cards, as by-products, accompanied gifts of major stature.
Wishes, signatures, serve to remind of loved ones' sentiments, pure.
Some trinkets evoke bygone memories, others provoke, reminisce, query.
Time and space are granted these, having earned their place, varied.
With most, I know the drill, follow order, little left to surprise.
Never quite prepared for the end result, as anew, I gaze into your eyes.
Though we have reached a place in time, and our space, foundation sound.
Still see the future in our union, having built what is us, on solid ground.
The same stockings hang on this staircase, dwellings change, not the home.
Same hands hold each other, unique to us, work steadfast toward our gloam.
I loved you then. I love you now. All that is about you is all I'll ever be.
I say it now, as I said it then. Merry Christmas to us, to you and to me.
Shackles and encumbrance of obligation, whether great or small, realized,
Transcended. Supernatural agent... Christmas Magic, evidenced in your eyes.
Michael Todd aka Myke Todd has been writing and posting stories and poetry on social networking sites since 2006. He can currently be found at his dedicated poetry site... http://myketodd.blogspot.com/
Fished Up
Woke Up
Got Up
Run Up
Set Up
Cast Up
Hooked Up
Caught Up
Fished Up
Packed Up
Cleaned Up
Cooked Up
Ate Up
Days Up!
Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads.
A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18. Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters. Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents. After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently. She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.
A Lazy Winter’s Day
A frosted window
touched just right
with a hint of chill
that the winter season
provides. All the land
properly dressed
with a blanket of snow,
looking so pretty
in the stillness of cold
on a lazy winter’s day.
Maurice
J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in
various publications. He is the owner of To God be the Glory!
Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations. More information can be found at: www.tgbtgpublictions.com.
Atmosphere of Heaven
On the morning of a clear spring day, I eagerly awaited
the appointed time I would again enter His Holy House.
Arriving early by design, I walked the sacred grounds.
Red and yellow tulips plus pink begonias, interspersed
with bouquets of blue lobelia and little purple pansies,
lined the walk-ways invitingly to the wide Temple doors.
Mesmerized by the loveliness of such intricate beauty,
I closed my eyes and inhaled the heavenly fragrance;
musing, if Heaven has a scent, it has got to be the same.
A sweet sense of peace permeated the air and I felt
surrounded by love as I entered into the joy of my Lord.
Charlene McCutcheon is a 73 year old, wife, mother of seven, grandmother of thirty and great-grandmother of 14. She has just discovered her voice through poetry within the last few years. Her former ways of expression have been through the media of arts and crafts. Her desire to share herself with others for their benefit has been the motivating factor in all her endeavors. She loves life, work, play and most of all people.
Dad’s Hands
In the cafe booth his son asks,
Dad, what do you see
when you look at your hands?
Palms up, palms down, open, closed,
bent, scraped, swollen and raw. Dad
answers, These hands are not mine.
He looks across the table
at this young man’s hands,
smooth, strong, flexible, straight.
You have my hands, Son.
These hands that I have on
once belonged to my father.
Someday, way too soon, you’ll see
that your son will have your hands,
and you, Son, will have mine.
Carl "Papa" Palmer, retired Army, retired FAA, now just plain retired, lives in University Place, Washington. He has seven chapbooks and a contest winning poem riding buses somewhere in Seattle. Carl has been nominated for the Micro Award and Pushcart Prize.
MOTTO: Long Weekends Forever
www.authorsden.com/carlpalmer
I Thank You, Lord
I thank You, Lord, for common things--fresh air, and waters clean;
For butterflies and flowers bright; for trees and grass so green,
For all the birds and bees and bugs; for worms and wiggly things;
And even for the spider, Lord. What a splendid web she strings!
I thank You for the special things—far more than I could wish—
My husband, friends, a cozy house; my dogs, my cats, my fish.
I’m glad for this great country where I’m free to worship You,
Where everyone is welcome to express his point of view.
I thank You, God for precious things--like happiness and love;
For sending down Your only Son to earth from heaven above.
Christ cancelled out my debt of sin; He settled up the score.
I thank You, Lord, for all these things, and many, many more.
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish.
I Link Therefore I Am
I’m a loner,
and a drifter.
Mankind’s morals
disgust me more
each day and night.
But when I feed
birds in the park,
and read of a man
who kills boys,
I know I’m linked
to all mankind
by time and space;
but bound most
by the fact that all
God’s children sin.
The best of us
sin less and beg
for mercy more.
Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia. He received a BA from George Mason University. A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues.
One’s View Point
Thoughts come to one's mind
bringing clarity to the subject at hand
Wipe away the webs and let His light in
a brightness you will forever see -
As you, continue your stride in faith...
Rhoda Galgiani is a published Poet and Author of two books, Expressions from the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny - a Child’s Story listed at LuLu.com or Amazon.com. Rhoda is a retired senior that delights in maintaining her own website entitled Expressions Poetry Journal which is dedicated to the world of poetry. Come visit her at - chesakat1.blogspot.com
What Shall We Do...
‘What shall we do today?’
My inner voice said
‘Let’s go kick Autumn leaves
Golden and vivid red’
Through barren trees we trod
Crunching sounds underfoot
Of those leaves of old
By winds gently put
‘What shall we do right now?’
My inner voice said
‘Let’s go home for some tea
And butter with bread’
Sitting by the fireside
Warming our numb toes
Munching with such delight
Wrapped in cosy throws
‘What shall we do later?’
My inner voice said
‘Give thanks to Ma Nature
As we fall into bed’
Jan Henson has written poetry for a few years. She finds it an enjoyable experience. When she attended school in England (in the ‘50’s) poetry seemed such a dry medium and she wasn’t all that impressed. After school, she became a hairdresser and continued the profession after her marriage and birth of her four children. When her youngest was three, she started working nights at a nursing home. She realized her passion for the profession and became a nurse. She worked in the healthcare industry for 20 years. After her children were grown, she retired to Turkey where she currently lives.
The Sunset
As the sun slowly sinks below the horizon,
And darkness slowly sends dark shadows on the ground.
You can sit and become mesmerized with its beauty,
As the sun slowly disappears without a sound.
The beauty and the solitude that you can find,
Is wonderful as you watch the day light end,
Taking time out of your busy day, to see it,
Is a tranquility you can find in life, Amen.
There's so much beauty if only we would take time to look
And see the Glorious scenes that God creates,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
But sunsets and sunrises are all really great.
Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old. She taught outdoor education for 20 years. Anne still works at school as crossing guard. She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums. She resides in New Jersey .
Yesterday’s Joys
Yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
In my mind they reside endlessly
like bright recollections rosy in hue
or the notes of a sweet melody.
Sorrow and pain won’t burden me, for
yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
Rich in blessings, I’ll never be poor.
Happy memories carry me through.
The “good old days” end; along comes the new,
and so much of it also is sweet!
Yesterday’s joys are more than a few.
With the new ones, my soul is replete!
Sweet recollections never will cease,
for no matter what strife may ensue,
I know in the end, I will find peace.
Yesterday’s joys are more than a few!
Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.
He Knows
He is aware of the tiniest sparrow,
knows when it falls from the sky.
He knows the situations which sadden me,
that which can make me cry.
Knows there are times my faith falters,
times when I have to question why.
He knows each and every single strand
of hair upon my head.
He knows the troubles and worries that plague me,
and the words that have gone unsaid.
Knows the situations which frighten me,
that which fills my heart with dread.
He knows the day, the hour, the minute
when I am destined to leave this place,
to enter into my heavenly home
where I will finally see His face.
And I know the blessings of knowing Him,
that He fills my life with His grace.
Lanette Kissel lives in southern Indiana with her adopted Yorkie-Poo, Benjy. She enjoys writing Inspirational poetry, essays, articles, and some secular fiction. Her work has been published in small print publications and in online magazines. Some of her fiction has been published as e-books at Red Rose Publishing.
Lest We Forget--The Poppy
In Flander's field where courageous soldiers lie below
there I am planted besides the crosses row by row.
To forever be a reminder of the brave ones that died,
my face is sad; the darkest black as you look inside.
I wear a red velvet gown; to remind you of the blood that was shed,
I hear every cry and feel the tears that are dropped upon my head.
I am there as a reminder; to those families of brave ones gone,
that their sacrifice; led to freedom and a brand new dawn!
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.
Passage from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me
Thank you for life
And death
And life again
For the seed of hope
Born of each sad end
November is my beloved mother's birth month, and I know she always held close the sacred gift of hope, no matter what.
Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at nila.webster@comcast.net.
"Stepping Stones"
Sometimes our plotted course in life
Is altered by a sudden turn
The days routine, must then give way
A new approach, we have to learn
It's never pleasant at the time
We could permit despair to reign
But a greater burden then we'd know
Just added stress, and increased pain
A better way it seems to me
Just use the fragments that abide
To buoy us to a higher plane
The issue then, is thrust aside
Life doesn't always give it's best
Even though so hard we try
A learning process can be found
Amid a task that would defy
So take courage when turmoil prevails
Remember that you're not alone
When mountains loom across our way
just let them be a "Stepping Stone"
Colan Hiatt resides in Mt. Airy, NC. with his wife. A retired electronic technician, he has been writing for several years. Most all the poetry, is derived from observing "down-to-earth" events that occur around us. A personal "mini-story" is often associated with the majority of compositions. Usually a metaphor is found with spiritual implications that portray God as the ultimate solution to life's problems. To direct the reader to this "Source", is the desired goal.
A Fruitful Life
I am with you…
Planted firmly
on the ground,
you will take root
and produce many
good things.
You will sprout
and receive my light.
You will withstand
every tribulation.
My love will
carry you…
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
a blue sky
bursts into silence...
these aches
feel so familiar now
as I let them go
(First published in Issue 1 of Frameless Sky)
_______________
wildflowers
paint summer hues...
the labyrinthine
wanderings of my heart
in this wilderness
_______________
an empty nest
dangles from the branch...
still hoping
to revive what we had
so many moons ago
_______________
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.
Sister
There's a special bond between us
It's something no one else can take
For whomever gets between us
This bond shall never break.
It's like we've signed a contract,
In which the terms are "For Life":
To be there for your sibling
In good times and in strife.
Whatever shall become of us,
Whether it be famine, fortune, fame,
You'll always be my sister
And I'll love you just the same.
David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet, Aphelion, Poet’s Expresso and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
Whispers Within
I am the spirit of satin stardust
and the antiquities of golden memories alive
I call to you from the rising warmth of the sun
and greet you in the misty morning light
I am the steady and rolling drum beat
echoing from the jagged heights above
I am the mysterious curves of the raging waters'
and the freedom birds of love
I rise above the white summer clouds
in lilting songs of grace
and roam with the western tail-winds
to take you home again
I am a Spirit of our gracious Lord God Almighty
of love, hope and faith
I have come to tell
Rick
Parise, known as “A Pondering Poet”, is from the beautiful land of
Salem, Oregon. The main focus of his poetry is to take the reader to a
meaningful, personal time in their lives, to a place where spirit's are
touched and memories unwind. He hopes you enjoy his work. To Contact
Rick please email him at rapondering@yahoo.com
Marley's Breakfast
Marley awakens while it's still dark,
her tummy grumbling with hunger.
Her mother who works the night shift
at the diner will not be home until
after Marley and Billy have gone
to school. She finds a little cornmeal
in the bin, mixes it with water, cooks it,
and gives it to Billy who gobbles it up.
She licks the spoon and puts it in the sink.
They do not need to dress. They are
wearing the only clothes they have.
Marley takes Billy's hand, and they walk
to school. Her first class is English,
but she does not hear the teacher.
She only hears the grumbling in her tummy
Elizabeth Howard lives in Crossville, Tennessee. She writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Poem, Still, Mobius, Now & Then, Slant, and other journals.
New Delhi Railroad Station
Hot, tired, dusty, out of sync
to the station staggering luggage
Swarms of beings standing, bending, lying
Dark beautiful faces with eyes that bind
Making you think of God
And his strange creation.
Breathing, sheer force of life, exhaling
Stinking smells, flower perfume mingling
Drifting, mouths gabbling unknown languages
Floating the air, shouts, whispers
Stares, trains in, trains out
Monks shaven heads, tranquil looks
Turbans, beards abound
Babies who choke you with emotion
Their innocence lit so bright
My head hurts, my throat hurts
I want to see it as a movie
Lights, camera, action
But the Director makes no cuts
I am a bit player.
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.
Vestige
He didn’t have much
in the way of mementos,
a bible that belonged
to his mama, a tobacco tin
that his daddy had used.
There were a few gifts
from his girls over the years,
and more recently, keepsakes
from the grandchildren too.
He kept these things,
but rarely looked at them.
But once each autumn,
when the earth gleamed golden
for a time, just before turning
barren for yet another winter,
he would retrieve the small box
from the back of his closet, sit
for a spell, and re-read each card,
one by one, voicing each word,
reliving every moment.
Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver as well as a widely-published poet. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, California Quarterly, The Homestead Review, Iodine Poetry Journal, The Penwood Review, The Poet’s Haven, Red River Review, The Tule Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, and The Write Place at the Write Time. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, is available from Amazon.com. More of Cristine's work can be found at http://sierraviewjournal.blogspot.com/.
The Great Depression
(In memory of my mother, born 1919)
The Great Depression
made quite an impression
on Mom and her foods of choice.
Chicken was prized,
beans despised,
and she loved all cakes and pies.
We took her out.
A special treat,
dinner at a restaurant down the street.
But the Great Depression
made such an impression,
she would not order a platter.
She opted instead
for the basket of bread,
with a bowl of bean and ham chowder.
Elizabeth Kral is retired and resides with her husband in Surprise, Arizona. Local memberships include the Arizona West Valley Writers Workshop and the Arizona West Valley Writers Critique Group. Elizabeth and her husband enjoy spending summers in Colorado, and she is a member there of the Steamboat Springs Writer’s Workshop.
Autumn
listening as Autumn's voice takes hold
aimlessly roaming among the red, green and gold
as daylight slowly falls from the sky
I'm content to watch the pastel clouds pass me by
holding the remnants of yesterday in my hand
I let them go and wonder where they might land
a bonfire smolders, lingering in the air as memories burn
where this soul longs to be and one day return
flames break through the landscape setting it afire
to not see this vision end is my deep desire
my eyes far away in a silent moment of thought
in awe of the beauty of this world I'm caught
in the twilight of fall the love of a season again found
captivated by its presence and to it forever bound
Born in Toronto, Ontario, Sandra is a self taught writer. She has been writing off and on since an early age. Most of her writing revolves around what she sees in everyday life, nature and her concerns about mankind. She enjoys reading, writing, hiking, animals and photography.
autumn’s rose petals
gently falling
may my years pass
with such poise
and such grace
ayaz daryl nielsen is a husband, father, veteran, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs)/hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (25+ years/120+ issues), homes include Lilliput Review, Jellyfish, Whispers, Shamrock, and! bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com (translates as joie de vivre)
Yesterday’s Echo
The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight.
Regrets were catalogued, redeemed as lost
and dreams contained within self-floating spheres
because reality was smeared in fears
as time evaporated all it cost.
The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight
but tiny kisses from the memories
brought hope tomorrow’s walk would echo free.
Regrets were catalogued, redeemed as lost
as time evaporated all it cost.
The yesterdays echoed with anger’s bite
while sorrow’s seam unraveled, lost the fight.
Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.
Memories of Summer Rambles
A girl of the last century
strides
along the bike path,
past the goldenrod
the spiky chicory,
and Queen Anne’s lace.
With a brick red anthology in her book bag,
she wishes she lived among the Romantics
walking twenty miles or more
through the car-free countryside.
Waiting for a walk light
in August’s brittle brilliance,
she remembers a minor poem
that her grandmother still recites from memory,
having learned it
by a river
brick-red with dye
at the beginning of the last century.
Every so often Marianne Szlyk thinks about taking a walking tour in England, but for now she is happy to explore the Washington, DC area. She recently published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, at Kind of a Hurricane Press: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html Individual poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, Flutter Poetry Journal, The Greensilk Journal, bird's thumb, The Blue Hour Literary Anthology Volume 3, and Literature Today. She also edits The Song Is..., a journal of poetry inspired by music.
Strength
By Sara Kendrick
The trip to church on Sunday wasn't long
Down dry dusty country roads closer roamed
Hearts did rejoice when singing love's sweet song
Precious memories now deeply intoned
A home filled to the brim with kith and kin
No evidence of the grief she suffered
When in her youth tales of such loss did spin
By age of twenty-five her life crumbled
Joys of a young bride with husband beside
Darling daughters three in tow~gone~from life
Oh, life’s issues such hard brazen blows inside
No longer was she a mother and wife
Her faith in a loving God never failed
She had strength of character which prevailed
I have been doing some research about my biological family
I found that my father's mother was married in her youth
and had three daughters which all died as did her husband..
She married my grandfather and then had four sons which
all lived. She never gave up her faith through it all. What strength.
_______________
From the editor--It is a privilege to announce that Sara Kendrick is November’s Poet of the Month. She is a talented writer that has been published in a variety of venues. Readers at Whispers relate to her heartfelt poetry. Sara regularly leaves thoughtful comments which others appreciate. She has collaborated with other writers on poems that have been featured at Whispers and has brought new writers to our online journal. It is a pleasure to present Sara with this honor!
_______________
Thoughts on “Strength”--Sara sets the tone of the poem in the first two lines which are rich in imagery. Based on a true story, this poem has a powerful impact. We all have losses and challenges. It’s what we do with them that counts in life. Sara portrays a woman of amazing courage--“No evidence of the grief she suffered.” This poem conveys a real hero, one that was a light despite all she suffered. This is a wonderful piece with a timeless message.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Sara! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
Blinded by the Speed of Life
I never took the time to speak my love
I never told him what I was thinking of
I never thanked him for all he had done
I never said I was proud to be his son
I always waited for the perfect time
I always kept those thoughts inside my mind
I always choked on the words when in his sight
I always said I would, in bed at night
But, I was blinded by the speed of life
Now, on angel’s wings he’s taken flight
To have shared his world, I feel delight
I was blinded by the speed of life
And, now it’s too late, I missed my chance
I wasn’t there for his final dance
He never heard me say what I had to say
Now, I miss my father, every day
I was blinded by the speed of life
Now, on angel’s wings he’s taken flight
To have shared his world, I feel delight
I was blinded by the speed of life
Joe Flach is an amateur poet living in Gig Harbor, WA. Joe has been writing poetry, short stories and song lyrics his entire life but has only recently found the courage to share some of his work with others through internet websites and his own Poetry Facebook Page – “Poems, Lyrics and Stuff by an Average Joe”. As a professional consultant working in the fields of crisis management and disaster recovery, Joe uses has writing as a form of stress release and an opportunity to expand his horizons. Joe is a father of four children who he often relies on as a source for inspiration.
To What We Lost
As you leave,
I pass you a poppy
in remembrance of our love,
bloody and battered.
It died on life's battlefield,
another casualty,
another number.
Wear your poppy with pride
and remember me.
Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.
Dayspring
Dawn quietly seeps through the porous fog,
On this, a shrouded, frosty, autumn morn.
The veil begins to lift, the ground to thaw;
As bird, and beast, and flow’r begin to warm.
And sun reveals a bright and blessed new day,
Once hidden by a curtain, thick and cold.
Fresh glories waken, and stretch forth, anew.
God’s mercies for the day ahead unfold.
Oh Son, who melts away the darkest veil;
Who warms the heart that’s filled with joy and grace;
Come touch us with the rays of Thy sweet love,
And let us gaze upon Thy lovely face.
Oh, Dayspring from on high, shine down on me.
I shall, forever, gladly worship Thee.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com
Fisherman
By Sara Kendrick and Doris Culverhouse
Swimming, life carefree
Net tightens around the school
Deliverance, grace
May your hook always be cast
Where you least expect fish caught
Synergism, save
These lost fish, grateful intent
Catch and release, Life
Responsible now
Freedom, new life in warm water
Breach, spout words, joy, sing
School of life, protective school
Numbers rise with the right bait
Bait, love, nurturance
Guide... North Star...The leader Home
Reward eternal life
The Warlock’s Rubric
Sail down upon the river, child;
Sail on beneath the bridge,
Where lives a hidden wizard, mild,
Providing tutelage.
Drift deep within the darkness, where
His soft voice beckons thee,
And drop thy anchor by his lair--
O, heed his urgent plea:
“Do not release the rose of youth
Regardless of thy years,
For should it fall and wither, truth
And joy shall turn to tears.
Ensnare the springtime in thy heart
Until thy final breath,
For though thy mortal cloak depart,
Thy soul shall conquer death.”
John Polselli’s poetry has been published in many literary journals and is the recipient of several Editor’s Choice Awards. As a poet, John enjoys composing in all traditional forms including free verse as well as inventing his own.
How Dare You
For Denis, my nephew
How dare you die and leave us wondering
How you dared dying? Is this one
Of those games you like playing -
Missing in action - and your fellow men
In uniform coming to look for you?
How dare you die and leave your child wondering
How possible it can be to know no father? Is this
How silly life can be that you come back
From a soldierly mission only to die of malaria
On a silly Wednesday like an Ash Wednesday?
How dare you die and leave your wife wondering
How a morning bye can lead to widowhood? And how
Stupid life can be when what we see becomes
An illusion of what really is. And there we are -
Fools, chasing our own follies. And life remains life.
Ndongolera C. Mwangupili works as a Senior Inspector of Schools in Malawi. He has vast experience as a teacher of English and Bible Knowledge. Many of his short stories, poems and essays have been published in the Malawi News and Weekend Nation. His stories are anthologized in Modern Stories from Malawi and The Bachelor of Chikanda and Other Stories. His poem “The Genesis” was anthologized in The Time Traveller of Maravi: New Poetry from Malawi. His other poem “Letters to a Comrade” is published online in India on www.openroadreview.in. He believes that there is a thin line between fiction and reality. All that people write is a re-creation of what is already known to the writer and exists not only in the mind of the writer but also outside the writer, therefore, fiction is actually facts written as if they are not facts. He is married to Angella, and they have a daughter Mary Magdalena.
Forever There Within Our Minds
( For Chad )
The days of weeping slowly pass,
but still within the question why
a life so young could not last,
and one so dear to us must die.
The answers wait another day,
when all our sorrows will be healed.
The giver of life will have His say,
and life’s mysteries are revealed.
Until that day this void we’ll fill
with memories frozen in time.
A part of you is with us still,
as from these shadows we must climb.
A zest for life, your carefree ways
made bright the path of all you met.
Exuberant thoughts filled your days,
a sunny smile we’ll n’er forget.
We’ll reap those thoughts when days are long,
reflections that you left behind.
Your time with us becomes a song,
forever there within our minds.
Grandpa
Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.
before dusk settles
Herb Robert’s dainty wavering
in the gentle evening breeze …
Hart’s Tongue ferns now savouring
the dewfall, by degrees …
A Scot’s Pine, still, regretting
the limbs it left behind …
Two Goldcrests pirouetting,
their voices intertwined …
__________________
The setting is European, so some of the plants and animals may not be familiar:
Herb Robert is a small pink flower, with delicate leaves.
Hart's Tongue is a fern with a rather peculiar shape.
The Goldcrest is a close relative of the Golden-crowned Kinglet.
__________________
David J. Kelly is an animal ecologist based in Dublin, Ireland. While his day job revolves around science writing, his light poetry and Japanese verse forms (haiku, tanka, haibun and haiga) have been published in a number of journals and anthologies. He aspires to publish a book of poetry one day, when he has enough suitable material. David is a member of The British Haiku Society and Haiku Ireland.
Today is Veterans Day in the United States. Thank you to all the Veterans, Current Military Personnel, Law Enforcement Officials and their Families for all the sacrifices they have made or are making to promote freedom and protect people around the world. This is a day to honor you and your partners all over the world that share in a vision for peace. May God protect each and every one of you.
Our Nation’s Heroes
Bless our nation’s veterans,
protectors of this land.
Despite how hard the mission,
side by side they took a stand.
They fought with faith and honor,
hearts filled with country pride.
Defenders of our freedom,
some were wounded, others died.
Bless these loyal heroes,
souls one in righting wrong.
With gratitude, we laud them
for they kept our nation strong.
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 Ocean and MeI love the Ocean
the sound of waves
thrashing the shore
the crunch of wet sand
under bare feet
the smell of seaweed
and baked on suntan oil
the taste of salt water
up my nose
I also love the Smokies
but my heart belongs
to the sea
In his younger years, Tom Davis served as a Special Force Combat Diver. It seems to him that he spent more time on, in, and under the water than as a landlubber. This and other adventures he has written about in his memoir, The Most Fun I Ever Had With My Clothes On: A March From Private to Colonel. http://www.oldmp.com/davismemoirs
Frosted Panes
When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again;
In that old house, there by the sea, where you wove that tapestry,
With all the glorious memories, of your life upon the sea.
With weathered palm, so deeply etched, with every season past,
You rubbed a porthole in the center, of the frosted glass,
Where outside, in splendour lie, a winter-wonderland,
As halos rose above your head, from a pipe bowl in your hand.
And there upon a rocking chair, as smoke rings filled the air,
We rocked across a sea of dreams, wind tangled in our hair;
To lands I’d never been before, we stepped upon those shores,
And through your eyes I saw each one, and still I wanted more.
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green,
As the world outside, held its breath, in a sea of snowy cream;
And when the chill of winter melted, from the windowpane,
The whistling kettle, on the stove, brought us home again.
You held my hand and looked at me, with that twinkle in your eyes,
And told me you would be my Captain, 'til the day I died.
So, when winter paints those frosty ferns, on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl, up on your lap again.
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.
Hey Hank, Did You Just -
hi-jack my haiku?
Hah! You hi-jacked the wrong ku
You stole a senryu
I hide my haikus
safe and sound beneath silly...
senryus such as this
Hark and heed this Hank!
Stealing somebody’s senryu
is scandalous BUT
heisting haikus or
holding a haiku hostage
Have you no heart, Hank?
Tim Ryerson is a published poet from Ponchatoula, Louisiana who retired from the printing business in 2011. He began writing in the 80’s but did not take it seriously until 2001 after the untimely death of his then 21 year old son. He does not have a ‘signature style’ but prefers writing different forms of poetry. Many of his poems use southern slang and Cajun dialect. He also enjoys writing humorous poems, especially limericks and senryu and was among the winners in the latest Humor Press writing contest with his entry “Emergency Rooms Just KILL me.”
In my memories
Edinburgh in mist
Raindrops like dew
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.
Winter Wonderland
Winter makes its grand debut
as it obeys the good Lord's cue.
old man sun sneaks a peek
behind clouds with fuchsia streaks.
hearth and home are a retreat
from blustery winds, snow and sleet...
cozy blankets keep us snug
like a fuzzy big bear rug.
while children skate on frozen ponds
shivering moms and dads look on.
riding sleds down icy hills,
invigorated by the thrills...
it's a picture postcard sight,
a winter wonderland delight!
Christine Tate lives in New Jersey. She is the mother of three married sons and has eight grandchildren. She started writing inspirational poetry in 1994, and is blessed to encourage others and honor the Lord. She was widowed in 2007 and met her new husband Artie, a widower, in the nursing facility where their late mothers resided. They've been happily married for 2 1/2 years. Since neither of them ever expected to marry again, they consider it a "divine appt."
Adieu to green sheet,
Twilight lends its orange charm,
Crispy brown runway,
Yellow beguiles all around,
Reddish hue across the blue !
Passion for poetry can turn anyone crazy, Dr. Upma A. Sharma has proved this so well. She finds time from her busy schedule to satiate her appetite for words, words that rhyme with her heart. She feels that nothing in this world happens without a reason and so is poetry. This indeed is a purposeful expression of emotions and thoughts that are well oxygenated before putting them into circulation, and positive words certainly are a way to serenity.
If Walls Could Talk
The moonlight creeps in like a thief
through an arched Gothic window,
casting dark, long shadows
upon cold sandstone walls.
There's an eerie silence
that whispers to the imagination,
echoing through empty halls.
Spider webs furnish the rooms
and hang precariously from old oak beams,
a huge fireplace now unused
with burned out embers in the grate.
The chandeliers burn no more.
Mice scurry on cold granite floors.
If walls could talk and reveal the history
of happy and sad times
that remain now a mystery.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.
sun behind clouds
a stranger not yet open
to kindness
_______________
Father's Day
I sign the card and
give it to myself
_______________
popsicle stick
the past still tastes
purple
_______________
apple tree
I give it a shake
and forgive myself
_______________
Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku. He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.
Revelations of Sight and Soul
Sun reflects off virgin clouds
that scud over autumn-hued mountaintops.
Cool nights, warm days, have painted
the trees with muted shades of red,
yellow, orange, brown—a masterpiece
only possible at a Master’s hand.
Far from city lights, the glories of nature
abound, soothing the heart and soul
of a transient drifter, blocking out doomsday
newscasts of a war-ravaged nation.
Back to nature, the simpler life,
though even this is tainted by life-long
experiences in a world of chaos,
the search for a calm existence where artificial
supplementation gives false courage and hope.
The life, death and resurrection of the seasons
provide a blueprint, a promise ages-old
to those with the vision to read its message.
Jean, at 80, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at jcalkins01@charter.net.
Fata Morgana
wandering in unassailable jungles of sand grains
deeply hidden between highest hills and long valleys
and endless colorless shadeless plains
wearing ubiquitous sandy clothes and gloves
tired unyielding legs dragging forth riveted feet
repeatedly chained and deeply bogged down
amidst an immense impenetrable dried fleet
of days gone by and still alive and cherished dreams
the universe of sand moves in its own unimaginable endless mass
for who feels the loneliness of intimate worlds of a small hourglass
Dutch poetess Elly Wouterse is oftentimes focused observing the world surrounding her. While watching, noticing, listening, thinking, dreaming and - or fantasizing she often finds the inspiration resulting in Poetical Visuals published on her own website - http://www.ellywouterse.com/ and in her first publication, Between Moonset and Sunrise. http://www.ellywouterse.com/special-edition.html
midnight thunder
the buffalo spirits
come to earth
_______________
heat waves
the sweet aroma
of quiet illusion
_______________
winter evening
snowflakes fall
on kitten whiskers
_______________
ripples
my son skips
his first stone
_______________
sunset
the sea oats wave goodbye
_______________
Barbara Tate is a member of the Haiku Society of America, Gulf Coast Writers Association and the United Haiku and Tanka Society. This year her work has appeared in Storyteller Magazine, Magnolia Quarterly, Frogpond, Cattails, Modern Haiku, Contemporary Haiku Online, Poet's Art and Brass Bell, among others. She lives in Winchester, TN.
Rock, Paper and Scissors
The scissors are beaten by the rock
Man made steel has been left in shock
Now the rock has been beat
By a flimsy light sheet
The winning paper is where our words talk
James Andrew Fraser resides in Inverness, the Capital of the Highlands, Bonnie Scotland. He is married with four lovely children. Andrew, Steven, Rebekah and Liam. James has been writing poetry for about four years. He is a member of Poetry Soup where many poets have allowed his work to prosper, especially Carolyn Devonshire who has guided and inspired him. His hobbies apart from poetry are music, art and football. You can read more of his poetry at his website www.thehighlanderspoems.com
My Grandfather Clock
Its sonorous tone has struck the hours for well over a hundred years,
But time hath surely taken its toll on its weary wheels and gears.
'Tis built of sturdy oak by craftsmen who took pride in their guild.
My old friend stands nigh seven feet tall and leaves my life fulfilled.
To keep fit he needs a tune-up now and then as all we old guys do.
And with a generous squirt of oil here and there he runs just like new.
His beaming face shines and his rhythmic tick-tock tells me all is well.
He's a dear and treasured companion for all who in this home do dwell.
Oh! If only he could talk of the many things he's witnessed during his life.
Birth, death, sad and happy times, the struggles of foolish man in strife.
Old Grandpa has been quite the world traveler since his birth in Bavaria.
He's been to Japan and all over America - he's surely covered lots of area!
How comforting it is to hear his soothing chimes in the still of the night,
Knowing that he is keeping time for me and that everything is alright.
With each pendulum swing he reminds me that my time on earth is measured,
Time I daren't squander - time with friends and family that must be treasured.
Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.
when the sun
sets over far hills
I say farewell ...
longing for the
swallow's flight
_______________
his shirt hanging loose
he turns his hazel eyes
on mine
this sweetness
through my veins
paper wasp 19 (4) summer 2013
_______________
this winter morn
the magnolia wears
a bodice of buds...
my demure mother
as a debutante
cattails, September, 2014
_______________
Anne Curran is a Japanese verse forms poet from Hamilton, New Zealand. Anne has been writing poetry for about ten years with the encouragement of friends and family. She draws inspiration from the world around her. She has been fortunate to enjoy the wisdom of some fine editors and fellow poets.
Daybreak:
Observed from an Airline Window
"The sky shone gaunt gold
on the lip of the storm before
the" anvil shaped clouds advanced
upon the burning margins of the world.
Like a dream the thunder rolled away
leaving cotton candy swirls before a
spreading dawn.
Gentle, white horse clouds appeared
pulling pastel chariots
bearing angels –rainbows,
tinted on their snowy wings.
Down they plunged, gilt-edged
into a pit of pure white, popcorn clouds.
Seeing the earth as God might
I observe in wonder
before the breakfast service,
delicate washes of pale lavender
mist into daylight.
Suzanne Delaney is a retired Registered Nurse. A resident of Hawaii, USA she was born in Tasmania. She now has time to pursue her passion for writing poetry, creating collages and for traveling.
José Mujica
I am inspired by Uruguay`s
servant leader
whose humility would make
some church folks
and national presidents
look like the worst
felonious worshipers
of wealth and clout.
In the entire world,
I am inspired
by his disarming selflessness.
What a rare national father!
Ndaba Sibanda is a Zimbabwean-born writer. His poems, essays and short stories have been published in Africa and the USA. Ndaba currently lives and teaches in Saudi Arabia. Of his career, he says, "writing is my life, and my second wife".
What is Poetry?
poetry,
the lines i write,
will be written in books,
covered by newspapers and fairy dust.
poetry,
the songs i hum to,
and the songs i yearn for,
will be the melody on a palm of a little kid.
writing is for dreamers,
and dreaming is what i do best.
about rainbows, shiny shoes, and dark lit cafes,
the boy in the band who smiles so bright,
you can see his molars,
from window washer on the top of the chrysler building.
Sara R. Vogler is a published poet and writer, originally from Krakow, Poland. Currently living in Washington, DC, her work has ranged from poetry to critical essays. Recently, she has collaborated with her father on a three-piece book featuring work to honor their past. Vogler finds comfort in knowing that her words will someday make a lasting impression on someone's life.
Nature’s Confessional, A True Sonnet
I find myself in awe the old Oak tree
Which seems to stand there questioning to me
I hear my voice out loud ‘tis I to speak
Though some would say its volume far too weak
Empathy for plight of tree flows quite free
Without regret hacked down too greedily
Once held within its roots secrets so true
Years of Sundays bearing the finite clue
Enduring torture - progress shifts the blame
Wild bear and deer displaced, oh, what a shame!
Our God and Father blessed us - grand the gift
To teach us unity and to uplift
Mighty Oak, great granddaddy of them all
Nature’s confessional, buried in the fall
Sheri is an artist, song writer and poet. She is also a graphic and digital book illustrator. A citizen of the United States she enjoys golf and music and quiet evenings at home with her much cherished family. Her website is www.poetryandbeyond.net
Snowflakes
Mesmerizing flutters and flourishes
gracefully blow on the wind
drifting, creeping and crawling up and down my back door
I see you hit the pane
slide a little to the left and kiss another
slipping together as your mass melds - swaying as one
As if on dancing on ice
Together you perform
Quick-stepping motion
As the crowd thickens
or winds abate
Tired from your escapade together you settle
On the purest white bed
Where tomorrows warmth will warm your juices
Melting you and allowing you to slip away
almost unnoticed you make your exit
Anna-Marie Docherty lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK and is often inspired by nature and the world around her. Having been writing poetry now for 4 - 5 years, her works have developed in structure and form as well as using free verse in her writing as she walks this endless art form and creativity in her thirst to further learn. Letting the pen and the muse dictate topic and form both humour, religion, nature or the serious subject might be touched upon therefore keeping the writing fresh and easy to read by those who follow. Writing both as given name above and pen name anaisnais through the net, examples of poems can be found both in Snippets, an anthology of short verse by various international poets, compiled by Karen O'Leary and Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson; also Pink Panther magazine, an anthology written by several poets and artists on feminist issues in our environment and various poems on the internet for taster.
It Is Raining
it is raining
and a little boy is singing
he is singing in the rain
and I don't know why
it is raining
and frogs are singing
they are singing in the rain
and I don' know why
it is raining
and I am going home
I am not singing in the rain
and I don't know why
Suchoon Mo is a Korean War veteran and a retired academic living in the semiarid part of Colorado.
The Hint Of You
The stillness of the leaves became a shadow,
I waited for the earth to sing its song
And felt the summer heat begin its fading
As hints of autumn moved the day along.
I searched for words that could express my feelings
As time turned into memory once more
But blankness touched the book I’d hoped to write in
And silence seemed to block the artist’s door.
I reached into my dreams and saw you dancing
Through a rain swept forest just at dawn
And felt my spirit join you on your journey.
The hint of you stays with me though you’re gone.
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.
My Strength
There is a calling
to the inner depths of me
when I look at the
majesty of Your mountains.
Quiet and serene, they still me
as I am reminded once again, of You.
You who spoke
these mountains into existence
and are my Strength.
AND
The Strength of those who
safely trust in, lean into
and rely upon and
confide in
YOU.
Douglas L. Ace is a freelance writer from Stroudsburg, PA. His poetry can be found
on such sites as Poetry Soup and Triond. He released his first book of poems in 2009, titled Reflections On The Way, published by Publish America. Douglas continues to write poetry and short stories which are entered in his journals.
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN OCTOBER
Colleen Keller Breuning--United States
Lavana Kray--Romania
Ramesh Anand --India
Joyce M. Johnson (SMILE)--United States
Frances Simwinga--Malawi
Jan Allison--United Kingdom
Donna Bowring--United States
Robert A. Hall--United States
Joan McNerney--United States
Ali Znaidi--Tunisia
Darrell Lindsey--United States
Peggy Heinrich--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, Ireland, Israel, Malawi, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, Romania, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Tunisia, 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 December column by November 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Stacy Savage released a new chapbook anthology called Mother Nature’s Trail. The proceeds benefit Wolf Creek Habitat. More information on the book is available at https://www.facebook.com/poetrycontestsforacause.
Tom Davis and Old Mountain Press offers wide variety of eBooks at http://www.oldmp.com/e-book I Wonder Why a Poetry and Prose Anthology Free at Kindle Store Nov 5, 8, & 15. url http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00LT94MSC
Peter Dome released his first book of poetry called Love, Life and Inspiration, a collection of poems written from the heart. It is suitable for everyone with a wide range of topics including, nature, wisdom and spirituality. Peter hopes his book will bring a lot of pleasure to others. It is available at Lulu.com.
Maureen Sudlow has a poetry book Antipodes coming up for release in early December. More information will be available on her website www.kiwis-soar.com
Maralee Gerke has published a new book of poetry called A New Lexicon. If you are interested please ask for more information at mgerke@crestviewcable.com
Jack Horne announces the release of his short story collection, Some Dark Tales. This e-book is currently available from Amazon.co.uk, price £1.81, and Amazon.com, price $2.99
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
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
ayaz daryl nielsen's print publication bear creek haiku is always open for postal submissions, mail poetry to bear creek haiku, po box 3787, boulder, co, 80307, USA, 11 lines and less, include SASE. Can be contacted at darylayaz@me.com, blog site is bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com.
Tom Davis, publisher of Old Mountain Press, invites all to review his eBook site (Kindle and NOOK) where numerous Old Mountain Press Anthologies of poetry and prose are listed see: Self-publish an electronic book e-book with Old Mountain Press
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
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.
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.
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