Saturday, January 31, 2015


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  Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable.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 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  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.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Twilight Splendor/Milestone Thoughts--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Twilight Splendor

Autumn’s colorful hues
    have come and gone.

Silver strands replace
    youth’s golden tresses.
Gentle strength flows
    through her wrinkled hands.
Though bones ache,
    a smile lights her face.
Her fragile body encases
    a warm, generous heart.
When she eases into a room,
    others pause in awe.

In the middle of winter,
    her faith flows on.


January 15 marked two years of Whispers!  Two days ago, we passed the 90,000 view milestone.  This is a tribute to all the talented contributors who share their words for our online journal.  It has been such a pleasure working not only with gifted writers but with kind, caring people too.  Thank you so much for making Whispers possible.  Wishing all of you the best wherever your writing journeys lead.  Thank you, also, to our readers and those that leave comments.  I appreciate your support and encouragement.


Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor


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, 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.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Memory’s Loss--By Ralph Stott--England

Memory’s Loss (cascade)

Where each memory, is but a leaf,
Uncertainty masks, that of belief.
The day they all fall and pile up high;
Revealed is a tree, stretched to the sky.

In the dappled-shade of summer’s shine,
You glimpse the return, of latent time.
Under canopies, you stand beneath,
Where each memory is but a leaf.

In each silent leaf, there forms and sways,
Many moments from, each long-lost day.
Happiness couples, the briefest grief,
Uncertainty masks that of belief.

Each recollection, will come to fade,
These random thoughts, on a journey made.
Many are shared and some will defy,
The day they all fall, and pile up high.

And departing there, you leave behind,
All that you have found, for what you’ll find.
Beside the ground where memory lies,
Revealed is a tree, stretched to the sky.

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.

Lore-A twisted tale--By Jane Richer--Canada

Lore-A twisted tale

I beheld an enchanting, Elven-maiden fair,
skipping dew-covered stones without a care.
Her mantle moss-green and etched with gold
as I inched in closer, my actions bold.

Her feet were clad in dainty boots of velvet-grey.
silver clasped and laced in spider-silk this comely fae.
She laughed which brought on my immediate grin
and I marveled at the pleasant tingling upon my skin.

'Come closer!', her voice tinkling like rippling water,
'Fear not young one, this woodland daughter!'
I arose, her voice compelling me at her bid,
Compared to her radiance; I was but a gangly kid.

Her voice stroked my ego as I listened in awe to her words,
'You are destined for greatness!', trembling at what I heard.
'Great men shall sit with you at a table in the round,
at your side a powerful sword; upon your head a royal crown!'

I jumped as a voice bellowed, ' Help me put my armor on!'
Fully awake, I wept for my beautiful maiden had gone.
Alas a wondrous dream; had allowed my imagination to take wing,
for never could a common and lowly squire; become a mighty king!

Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.

The Butterfly Flutters By--By Joe Flach--United States

The Butterfly Flutters By

Just when the weight on my shoulders feels heaviest;
Just when my world of problems is making me cry;
Just when the crazies around me are at their craziest …
… the butterfly flutters by.

Just when I reach the end of the rope I hang onto;
Just when I am ready to ask the Good Lord, “Why?”;
Just when my head is about to split in two …
… the butterfly flutters by.

And suddenly, the weight is less heavy;
No tears do I need to cry;
The crazies regain their sanity …
… and the butterfly winks an eye.

The rope is my salvation;
The Good Lord gives His reply;
My head is in one piece again …
... sing praise to the butterfly.

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.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Through a Hole in a Wall--By Russell Sivey--United States

Through a Hole in a Wall

Through a hole in a wall I see beyond
Into a world of white, snow enhanced
Solid ice, slippery it runs on
And I hold onto dreams of a child
I loved days gone by, when life was simpler
When the Earth didn’t seem to battle us
Where I could go skiing with joy
And not see fear in my eyes of storm’s rage
Blizzard warnings that come across
When I’m looking through the hole in the wall
The singular wall of solid ice,
Ice skyscraper stands firm and tall

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.

“God is Never Too Busy.”--By Helen Dowd--Canada

“God is Never Too Busy.”

Luke 11:9, 10

God's never too busy to answer our prayer,
No matter how small it may be.
He's willing and able our burdens to bear;
All our cares laid on Him sets us free.

Luke chapter eleven, verse nine and verse ten
Says, "Ask, and most surely you'll find.
Just knock, and the door will be opened right then.
If you seek Him you'll find peace of mind."

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.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Bad Bad Boys--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Bad Bad Boys

Looking back pensively through the annals of time,
there comes vividly a memory to my aging mind
of listening intently to stories on our old radio;
a must, aired weekly, called……….”The Shadow.”

My two younger siblings listened fixated too.
Don older, often teased, “The Shadow knew!”
He, Mama and Dad were not home, we thought.
Hanging on each word, that story we bought.

Not expecting it, suddenly the front door rattled.
When no one came in, we were all quite startled.
We became unglued at the back hall loud noise,
Convinced our fate was sealed by bad bad boys.

Running behind the couch, my little brother hid.
My little sister screamed and cried, “We’re all dead!”
I buried my panicky face in the sofa bed’s corner.
Daddy in the bedroom, yelled “What’s the matter?”

The front door locked, Don had come home unaware,
ran to the back door, stumbling in the hall on a chair.
Abject relief brought with it a giggly nervous laugh.
We never listened to …”The Shadow”… after that.

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.

My Walk With Him--By Colan Hiatt--United States

My Walk With Him

As I think of the years before
Christ came into my life
Reflecting back, it seems absurd
How did I deal with grief and strife

But then I recall that blessed day
When I heeded, - "come unto Me"
Life has never been the same
Since from bondage, He set me free

In my daily walk with Him
I have stumbled along the way
But He has been my sword and shield
A beacon light, He does portray

As turmoil rages on every side
And human efforts are rendered nil
His Word and promises, reign supreme
What He has declared, He will fulfill

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.

Monday, January 26, 2015

A Winter Rose - A Sonnet--By Elaine George--Canada

A Winter Rose - A Sonnet

I walk through the glistening virgin snow
That covers the sorrow of autumn’s death
Where I find on a bush a frozen rose 
Its beauty held ageless in winter’s breath

How I long to touch those petals again
Those moist velvet lips that promise such bliss
Opened in passion whispering my name
As I drift in dreams of a breathless kiss

Oh! To pluck this rose from the winter snow
And hold it closely to my aching heart
And free it from that ice so bitter cold
That now my love keeps you and me apart

But if I were to pluck this winter rose
Would all its petals fall upon the snow?

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.

Values--By Lanette Kissel--United States


We can have the blessings of living
in a land of milk and honey,
that have nothing to do with
the accumulation of money.

There are values that cannot
be measured in a dollar amount.
Love of God and country, home and family,
are the values that count.

If we find that heavenly values
with our earthly ones collide…
Remember that what we really need
our Father in Heaven will provide.

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.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Africa--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi


It is the blackmail of your beauty
And your arrow-like gaze as you stand
In the warmth of my arms
That vanquish my manliness.

Africa, my Africa, I sing
Of your indigenous ornateness,
The African symmetry of your figure
And the fragile tenderness
That enveloped you.

I do not need a banjo or a drum
To sing a song. You are my song:
Those shimmering eyes are a song,
Your breath is my music,
Your heartbeat is a drum
And your mouth is a horn of music.

You are a light
That stands out in light;
Music in every song;
And a moon in all seasons.

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 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.

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell--By Kathryn McLoughlin Collins--United States

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell

The alarm's on the bed so I won't fall.
Really I'm able to get to the bathroom.
The Dr. told me it's okay.
Says the nurse "it's not in your chart."

I think: "God, please get me out of here", but if I get
up, the bells with sound and an RN herd
will race down the hall scolding me all the way
like I was a little girl.

Had their ways, I'd be straight-jacketed,
(safe from harm, other than psychological),
and the nurses could take off their clogs
and stay at their station and chat.

I think I'll wet the bed and buzz someone
Problem solved.

Born in 1945, Kathryn Collins is a native New Yorker now living in Connecticut whose works have been described as “a gentle sort of poetry” by the editor of her first book No Need for Breadcrumbs, published by BeWrite Books, 2004. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, she developed a great love of poetry at an early age and has been writing for 20 years.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Random Reminders--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Random Reminders

Live like there’ll be no tomorrow.
Pray like your prayer’s being heard. (it is!)
Sing like there’s no one around you.
Promise, then stand by your word.

Work like your master is watching. (God is!)
Play every once in a while.
Notice the people around you.
Trust with the faith of a child.

Hug with a reckless abandon.
Smile all the way to your eyes.
Love, even when you’re not loved in return.
Ask God, and He’ll make you wise.

Rest when your body is weary.
Be satisfied with enough.
Look at the stars in the clear winter sky,
While holding someone that you love.

And if you forget all the rest;
Remember, in God you are blessed!

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

Friday, January 23, 2015

devotion--By David J. Kelly--Ireland


Each Monday he climbs the same unforgiving hill,
parang* in hand. Each time it takes a little longer.

The tropical heat, the monsoon rain, the broken road,
stifle momentum, challenge resolve,
but his small steps do not falter.

He narrates his progress in an old language
the children do not understand;
they think him mad ... or senile.

Half a mile beyond the hill’s crest, still sweating, but
breathing more steadily, he pauses by a narrow path.

He lifts the parang and meticulously
clears a few new weeds from the verges.

Stooping in front of the home-made tomb
he whispers, “The way between us
is clear again.”

* A parang is a large knife, similar to a machete, traditionally used by farmers in Indonesia and Malaysia.

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.

Vagabond Clouds--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

Vagabond Clouds

Oh! Fleecy vagabond clouds scudding o'er this turbulent earth.
The things you must witness drifting about its expansive girth!
Arrayed in the heavens by that Benevolent One Immortal,
Such peace and beauty you bestow upon this restless mortal!

For the fleet moment you're in view, you capture my imagination,
As I marvel at the dynamics of your ever-changing formation!
I see majestic ships full o'sail racing before a mighty gale,
Never minding another cottony cloud depicting a languid whale!

Another cloud appears to be a baby angel playing with its toes.
There's a woolly one portraying some little lambs in repose.
Rising o'er the horizon is a cloud imitating a cat a-creeping,
Chasing another cloud on which an innocent mouse is sleeping!

You must dance with glee playing hide and seek 'mongst mountain tors,
And do you weep mournful tears passing o'er lands scarred by wars?
With the help of The Master Artist's brush when your day is done,
Such magnificent robes adorn you in the rays of the setting sun!

As I lie upon this grassy knoll watching you pass in review,
How I love to share my dreams and aspirations with you.
As about this troubled globe you make your eternal bourn,
May you be a calming symbol to a world so pillaged and torn.

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.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

i rise--By Sara R. Vogler--United States

i rise

i rise,
above the noise,
that surrounds the rooms of my mind.
i rise,
above the people,
who try to take down my good nature.
i rise,
and i must continue to forge forward.
like the notecards ready to be sent,
like the rain that hits roof on a cloudy night,
like the sun that makes me sweat.

i rise,
above everything.
i stand tall.

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.

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls

Leaves don't last long when they are golden, neither I say do we
But unlike leaves that change together, our time for change does vary you see.
We all know that we have a soul, that special self felt deep inside
That no matter how old we be still feels young and starry eyed

For like leaves born green we have to learn to grow and face a storm
So through life we must develop same with love till we transform
To have a soul gold with love, for when it's gold it's full of light
Light enough so that we rise to take up God's invite!

To join Him in His home above the one that we call Heaven
And though it may take some years, some can be ready by seven.
For unlike leaves our time's not set, some are gold at body life
Yet for most of us it takes time through lots of struggle and strife.

Our season for change varies in time, with some being gold when young
While for others it can take time with many a long year being sprung
Yes! For unlike leaves no-one knows just when our soul will be
Golden, light, full of love so that we rise to eternity!

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.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

A Student’s Lament--By Tom Davis--United States

A Student’s Lament

I’ve always liked Dickinson’s
“Success Is Counted Sweetest”
I’d think about those things
For which I’d the greatest need
And how marvelous it would be
If I could just succeed.

Then my English teacher assigned
This poem for us to read
Find the meter and alliteration,
Note the similes and personification,
Inversion to look for, assonance to find
Consonance, metaphors, and scheme of rhyme.
Tell the mood, explain the theme.
And then she asked, “What does this mean?”

We finally finished
And I no longer dared
To achieve success;
But what was worse,
I didn’t even care.

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.

Empty Nest--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

Empty Nest

A mind
Lonely -
Framed painted picture
Swirl of lost colors
Painted blends become single hue
Design captured from its own grey
Tears moist brush
Brings movement
One completes cycle empty nest
Searches for light on a new path
Visions peek through cracks of life
Maps a direction to take
Search is -

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 or 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 -

Tuesday, January 20, 2015


Brian Strand, an accomplished writer, generously offered to be the activity editor for another wonderful opportunity.  He invited writers to explore his PS (perfect six) form.  The criteria for the form follows--

The PS (perfect six) an Epigram form--a maxim, a pithy precept, pungent proverb or witty words in three lines, six syllables 1:2:3 (or 3:2:1)with an integral title. It can be on any theme.

I would like to thank Brian for selecting these poems for publication and all the contributors that participated in this activity.  It is a growing experience to try new things and a pleasure to see so many wonderful poems below.  I hope you enjoy them.

                                            --Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor

Voice of Freedom            Pencil Politics
By Mary Couch                By Ralph Stott

Pen's                               Now!
Power                             Sharpen
Defeats sword                 Your aim! Draw!
____________                  ____________

Coward Moon                 Old Wives Tale       
Anne Curran             By Barbara Tate

a                                     true
full moon                        or not
shines yellow                 I don’t ask
____________                  ____________

Indelible Love                Frost
By Ralph Stott                By Gert Knop

Penned                          a
For a                              red nose-
Road-side shrine.           no reindeer
____________                 ____________

Odorous                         Conversation
By Joan McNerney         By Shloka Shankar

she                                 the
sure knows                     lies i
her onions                      tell myself
____________                 ____________

Creative Community      Poetic License
By Karen O’Leary          By Joan McNerney

our                                 test
Whispers                        drive through
family                            outer space
____________                 ____________

Found                            True Love
By ayaz daryl neilsen    By Beth Winchcombe

tears                              Love--
and cheers                    placing
puppy’s home               others first
____________                 ____________

Modern Art                     A Bold Speaker
By Brian Strand             By Sara Kendrick

What                              The
YOU..will                        Linguist
make of it !                    Stuttered through
____________                 ____________

Battery-Driven?              The Commitment
By Jack Horne                By Peggy French

hen                                 Rain
mobile -                          or shine
coq au vin                      You and me
____________                 ____________

Trinity                            Blowing in the Wind
By Ralph Stott               By Elizabeth Howard

Seek                              Cock
And you                         on the
Will                 weathervane
____________                 ____________

Dressing Up                   Stay Optimistic
By Joan McNerney        By Beth Winchcombe

Girls                               Hope
wobbling                       plus faith
in high heels                 propels me
____________                 ____________

K-9 K-NICE                      Rainy Season
By James Ramusson      By Anne Curran

dogs                                rain
are the                            again-
nicest folks                      false summer
____________                  ____________

Monty’s Python               Mother’s Instinct
By Brian Strand              By
Anne Curran 

As                                   some
sick as                            mother
a parrot                          wipes her tear

Aduro--By Joe Maverick--England


Title less yet, the days to come; the times gone… Memories at best half-remembered
While amidst the fleeting is now! A time of lost opportunity, or the place of renewal..?
Ours to discover, ours to hold, not grasping of avarice led, self-serving design cold.
So as days quicken, as the hour flies, though mid-winter be here
And deep snow lies, can we kindle? Let us host here generosity bright.
From where land ends, to the highland fells sound the trumpet, ring the bells.
Though the darkness does match the lowering skies, let there be light.. 'light..'
Light that brightens mind and eyes, bring in to fire the Scots cone & fir
Let burn logs of apple, elm, maple; oak-burr, strike the bow to fiddle string
As shoes heels click, and echoes out ring, form the line, and dance the jig,
Baste the tatties and turn the pig, gather the family welcome to all, spread the feast
In house and hall, let sadness cease & may joy be strong to greet the New Year in
happy song.

Note--Aduro is a Latin word means alight or to set alight or kindle a fire.

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.

Winter's View--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

Winter's View

More than not it’s often a frown
instead of a smile when my time comes.
I’m pure, sociable and oh so beautiful;
just as important to the Earth
as my other siblings. But, alas, not everyone
loves a crisp chill in the air, or the shiver
of a stiff Northern wind. When it comes
to the fresh blanket of snow that hugs
the ground and kisses the trees,
there is natural awe to behold. My season
is filled with many complaints and threats
to move in with my brother Summer; to a place
where he shines all year long. Nonetheless,
Mother Nature still calls upon me year after year,
in spite of who does not want me around,
and when it’s time for me to leave, she always
tells me, “Thank you for your season,”
to which I humbly reply, “My Pleasure.”

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:

Monday, January 19, 2015

The Haunting Sea--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia

The Haunting Sea

I love the allure of the ocean
It heals my mind heart and soul
Drowning my thoughts with it sound
Imposing a rhythm within

Feeling the breeze embrace my body
Whilst casting a spell sending shivers
Bringing back the spirit that knows ~
The love that evolves inside of me

Voices from the sea speak to my soul
Quieting my thoughts I hear angels sing
Uniting all spirits giving birth to wisdom
I hear cries from the ocean beneath.

Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.

Aging--By Elizabeth Kral--United States


golden hairs turn white
winter casts its dark net
winds mourn my defeat

a scarecrow wears my clothes
lovely pale-faced mannequin

dancing alone
in my best silk dress
decayed under suns

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.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Where--By Tim Ryerson--United States


Lost out in space
Somewhere God has hurled
A less evil place
A far fairer world

Where one circumstance
I'm allowed to defy
Where I'm granted one chance
To just say goodbye

Where I rip through that wreck
To the seat where you bled
Where I cradle your neck
And hold up your head

Where I brush off the mud
And soothe your last fear
Where I clean off the blood
And wipe your last tear

Where I lay you to rest
And stroke shattered bones
Where you die on my chest
Instead of alone

* In memory of Daniel Lee Collins Ryerson, Tim’s son

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.”

The Dead Line--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

The Dead Line

The fallen angel's
made a career of evil
the father of sin
this black/red coated devil

He minds over death's valley
With his hot road to Hell
and with determined temptation
will lure you with his spell

He'll sit by your shoulder
and by ill thought word or deed
your conscience will torture
and your pained soul shall bleed

This masterful serpent
with fire of unknown origin
whose pit of raging flames
is the prize that you'll win

So beware of the tongue
and do what is right
stay away from the darkness
and look only to the light

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.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Impermanence--By Patricia Nolan--United States


they loved each other once
now he’s distant, controlling
what did she do wrong?

he takes her car keys,
her clothes, her phone, he yells
she’s a caged dog

no money, no job
no place to go – she’s a captive
he says she’s insane

violence escalates
stripped of her identity
she’s unraveling

battered woman
fingerprints on her neck
   her survival badge

his power destroyed
she lives softly in balance
and harmony and peace

Patricia Nolan is a member of Poetry West in Colorado Springs and the Haiku Society of America. She paints sumi-e (Japanese ink painting), also works in oil, pastel, and acrylic and writes poems in several Asian forms, as well as other poetry, essays, and outdoor articles. Western rivers, mountains, and trails provide most of her inspiration.

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!--By A. Michele Leslie--United States

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!

I thank you, God, for snow, covering the midwest ground like a racing white steed;
for evergreens, bending in the wind, like a band of green worshipers.
I thank you that winter gives way to a swaying Spring maiden
beneath the sun's all-cleansing rays; I thank you for
small children, darting across the fields, for the barking dog,
for the glittering plate I drop my offering in; for Sunday stories
told by holy priests, and children tugging at their mother's coat
to go and dine. I thank you for a heart that loves each season and
I thank you for candles seizing light and windows shining rain,
for smoke arising on an altar from incense to your name,
for song whose melody like dancing feet trots on to merry
climbing of a mountain in fresh air where monks abound
and for the yogi sitting at its foot, his head, a lotus-crown.
For these, for all, for more, my offering of thanks arises
before the gift that you have given:  my life
of small and quaint surprises!

A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Sauk Rapids, Minnesota with her husband, David, and two cats.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Haiku/Senryu--By Shloka Shankar--India

alphabet soup
I mentally run
spell check

the myths i believe in silver lining

laundry day...
the stains of memory
still intact

a little too warm
for winter

all the things
I'm supposed to forget

Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer residing in India. Her work appears in over two dozen international anthologies including publications by Paragram, Silver Birch Press, Minor Arcana Press, Harbinger Asylum, Kind of a Hurricane Press and Writing Knights Press among others. Her poems, erasures, haiku & tanka have appeared in numerous print and online journals. She is also the editor of the literary and arts journal, Sonic Boom.

The Sea--By John Polselli--United States

The Sea

The sea
vast as a mother’s love
The sea
stern as an iron glove
Each wave
that is met with sand
reaching out to man

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.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Poet of the Month--Michael Todd

Round and Round 

By Michael Todd

Round and round and round it goes.
See the motion of the falling snow.
Floats in the sphere, no place to go,
How fascinating, this snow globe.

A picture in her mind appears,
A postcard from her dad, from the lines.
Some days blurry, some days clear,
A memory frozen somewhere in her mind.

Her life in this retirement home,
She spends her time in wait.
Even in a crowd, she's alone,
Not aware of either's fate.

It was the war to end all wars.
Omaha Beach, where he arrived,
Campaign in Europe for his tour.
He never left that beach alive.

His effects sent home to the states,
He stayed behind, was buried there.
Early on, strange twist of fate;
He found that postcard lying near.

From the body of an enemy, slain,
He picked it up, this souvenir,
Bartholdi's legacy, intact, plain.
"If I make it out, I'll take the tour."

A snow globe has a porcelain base.
Filled with water, structure inside,
Turn and shake, snow flakes chase.
Left still, this image will subside.

In a chair, her final sleep, sound;
Behind a glass of water, filled to brim,
The postcard was her final vision,
Save for the one she had of him.

From the editor--It is an honor to announce that Michael Todd is January’s Poet of the Month.  A talented writer, Michael’s poems are enjoyed by Whispers’ readers.  He is an uplifting voice in our poetry community, leaving thoughtful comments that contributors appreciate.  He has actively promoted our online journal leading to the publication of new writers at Whispers. He has also collaborated with another writer for a wonderful poem that was featured at our online journal. It is a pleasure to present him with this award.

Thoughts on “Round and Round ”--From the initial stanza on, Michael builds us picture of loss, loneliness, and survival.  This powerful poem takes the reader on a journey, one that allows the reader to travel along.  The sadness of the last stage of life left me wishing someone was around to love her.  This is an impressive piece, one that shows the level of Michael’s talent.

Congratulations and thank you Michael!  I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.


Karen O’Leary, Editor

Arm's Length--By Lois Greene Stone--United States

Arm's Length

Singing, whisper quiet,
I serenaded passing
street lights. Our
auto's gentle rocking was
an accompanist.
Though my tune continued
when you suddenly swerved,
your arm automatically
reached out to
protect me.

Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & soft cover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.

A poem but Ill-fated-By Pijush Kanti Deb--India

A poem but Ill-fated

A poem,
maybe, a careful embellishment
with the illumination
of the luminous hearts,
an immortal image
drawn with the ink of nectar
borrowed from the Heaven,
painted with more than seven colors
collected from
both the rain-bow and the dream-bow
an offering from the devotees
to the earthly Gods
live and die
only in the literary world
yet, the poem is always ill-fated
to be loved and praised
only by a few
differently made hearts and tongues.

Pijush Kanti Deb is a new Indian poet with more than 210 published or accepted poems in national and international magazines and journals like Down in the dirt, Tajmahal Review, Pennine Ink, Hollow Publishing, CreativicaMagazine, Muse India, Teeth Dream Magazine, Hermes Poetry Journal, Madusa’s Kitchen and Grey Borders. At present, he is working as an Associate Professor in Economics.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Waiting for Snow--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

Waiting for Snow

Birdsong etches the thin air above spiky trees.
Rusty ivy armors the tree trunks.

Vines bind the branches,
but brown oak leaves droop like flags in defeat.

The tallest tree stands stark against a metallic blue sky.
Small clouds rise like sandbags against the cold.

As the wind rushes down the street like a siren,
the lone walker shivers. Her dog wears two sweaters.

Troops of birds swoop from tree to tree to tree,
fighting for the fries that teenagers drop.

She promises to scatter seeds and breadcrumbs
once snow calms this winter scene.

Marianne Szlyk recently published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, at Kind of a Hurricane Press: Her poem "Walking Past Mt. Calvary Cemetery in Winter" has been nominated for the 2014 Best of the Net. Individual poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, bird's thumb, Whispers, The Flutter Journal, Of/with, Walking is Still Honest, and Literature Today as well as Kind of a Hurricane's anthologies, most recently Switch (the Difference). In addition, her collaboration with Joan McNerney was published in Whispers. She also edits a poetry blog-zine at

Sing a Song of Prayer--By David Fox--United States

Sing a Song of Prayer

Sing a song of prayer
In your life, when there's strife
God provides love and care

Sing a song of praise
To our Lord, who provides the sword
So we can live many happy days

Sing a song of love
He watches over us, without any fuss
From His castle in Heaven above

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 for more information.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Ndaba Acrostic--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia

The Ndaba Acrostic

News in English, nice sounds in your language!
Dancing with words on a dizzy floor of literature,
Adding an arty dimension to the voice of reason,
Brought to the floor to breathe life into words,
Anxious and addicted to how words really dance

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".

Baby and Great Granny--By Christine Tate--United States

Baby and Great Granny

When baby and great granny's eyes met
there was an instant connection,
a heartwarming display
of love and affection.

Great granny held baby tight
and she began to grin,
Oh to see her lovely smile
where a frown had been!

Baby kept staring at her
and she returned the stare...
their eyes said it all,
what a moment to share!

Tho baby and great granny
are many years apart,
there aren't any gaps in
the matters of the heart.

God sent down from heaven
a precious gift that day
between baby and great granny
in His own special way!

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."

Monday, January 12, 2015

Haiku--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

first freeze
a frayed spider's orb
dangles from a post

Do Not Disturb . . .
he covers his head
with his bear blanket

fresh linen--
that boy
and his muddy feet!

pale dawn
just as the twins fall asleep
the alarm rings

the morning train
chugging up the mountain
toward the day moon

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.

Happiness--By Peter Duggan--Australia


When sunrise comes, it makes me smile
A mystic silence greets me when
The birds they sing in grandest style
I am the happiest of men
When I do spot a fairy wren

When morning comes, it gives me joy
As darkness fades, and sun shines bright
This feeling, nothing could destroy
The dawn, it gives me such delight
As magpies sing in pure delight

I love to walk down to the lake
To watch the ducks swim lazily
Sometimes a mist is in the air
As sun shines through so hazily
As parrots scream from yonder tree

Some folk might say that I’m insane
Because I’m filled with happiness
From smiling, me I can’t refrain
I love to feel life’s sweet caress
The God of love, my soul does bless

Peter Duggan was born in Peckham, London, in 1943. He lived there until the age of sixty seven, when he met his Australian wife and immigrated to Western Australia. He has three children and seven grandchildren.  Peter describes himself as very happy

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Merge--By Cristine A. Gruber--United States


There’s comfort in the key moments of each day:

The wind rattling the windows,
the alarm beginning to sound,
the location of one’s clothes,
the placement of one’s boots,
the constancy of one’s meals,
the creak of a closet door,
and the presence of life’s
most precious memories
being touched by the current of time.

There’s relief in routine,
safety in consistency,
sufficiency in the familiar,
warmth in knowing what to expect.

And peace in knowing
that certain things will never change,
serenity in accepting the things that do.

The past, forever
touching the present,
prepares us for the future.

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 More of Cristine's work can be found at

2015: Year of the Sheep--By Jack Horne--England

2015: Year of the Sheep

The horse in its stable to sleep,
We come to the year of the sheep:
It starts as a lamb
And grows to a ram -
Perhaps balls of wool will be cheap…

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Haiku--By Robert Epstein--United States

English ivy
I so want to be
a world citizen

after retirement
so much more red
in his wardrobe

leaning again
the ballerina
on the wall

March morning
what the mountains do
with mist

New Year's nap
awakening to
the stuffed tabby's stare

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.  His most current anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, was released in 2014.

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States and Leokadia Durmaj--Australia

I Couldn’t Find You

By Robert Hewett Sr. and Leokadia Durmaj

I can feel the thunder and driving rain
Trying hard to shatter my window pane.
I can hear my heart pounding in my ear
Knotting my stomach and causing me to tear.
The deep shadows of my mind engulf me,
The lonely wind drowns my heart like the sea.
The fading train whistle in the dark night
Echoes the Whippoorwill call with all his might.
But I couldn’t find you
No, I couldn’t find you.

I stand mesmerized by the bedroom window,
Watching the crushing waves upon the shore.
The sea is dark as coal, so unforgiving!
Trees are swaying driven by howling winds
Seeing branches and leaves being ripped apart
Mercilessly, the violent storm surrounds us
Tearing apart Natures beautiful view
Silent prayers for mercy and strength to prevail
My thoughts turn to you my dear, where are you?
Must find you, could you be sleeping through the storm?

Close at Heart--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom

Close at Heart

Although we may live worlds apart
Love for true friends
Transcends through spirit goodwill
And love from heart
Two separate worlds and lives we may not understand
Brought together by fate of hand
Minds attuned waves of love
Travel upon the wings of pure white doves
Setting each other free
And gently guiding each other
To be who we want to be.

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.

Friday, January 9, 2015

saying good-by...By David Austin--United States

saying good-by
on a jet plane
the straight crowded aisle
my luggage overhead
the heavy door standing open
she's gone

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.

White Chrysanthemums in Bangkok--By Isha Wagner--New Zealand

White Chrysanthemums  in Bangkok

Blooms cascading from clay pot
On the low chipped table
Gleaming whiteness shines in the
Bright glowing light of day
Each flower a crush of petals
Transmitting the god's message
Of beauty to clear the head
To forget the aching mind
To forget the silent ones
To forget sins of omission

To remember clouds of love
Streaming upon reflection
From the white mirage.

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.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Though Leaves May Die--By Marcus Omer--United States

Though Leaves May Die

When leaves were green and love was new,
our passion flowed with zest.
We yielded in true love debut,
a hunger marked our quest.

We filled the cup in youthful reign,
believed our prime was life's champagne.

When leaves were green and love was new,
to licit nights belong.
We lingered where the warm breeze blew,
believed no right, no wrong.

Those fickle days flew quickly by;
their fleeing made the night-wind sigh.

When leaves were green and love was new,
the depth we did not know.
Capricious days we bid adieu,
they fade with afterglow.

Though leaves may die, we drink again,
these golden years be our refrain.

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.

Tanka--By Anne Curran--New Zealand

while dusting
I find her ruby brooch
beneath the potted plant
what does she remember
dreaming in her armchair?

(published presence 2013)

always said, ‘travel light’
leaving space
for love, laughter
and new destinations

(published kernels online, April 2014)

magnolia tree:
the full-bodied
white blossoms ...
amongst the confetti
this first kiss

(published a fine line 2012)

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.

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Solstice Flowers--By Michael G. Smith--United States

Solstice Flowers

Suntali asks, why do rose petals have
such a precarious hold on the bloom?
I say, it is simpler to love the things
of this world when we nurture a loose grip.
Look, today the juniper titmice fledged
and quietly the Sun begins turning south.
She points to the one-day halo of blooms
sprung by the potted Mammillaria,
petals shining pink, bright yellow anthers
screaming to be touched by a bee or wind,
that during the night will become a clique
of gray, withered stalks. She says, but they die
too soon. And I think, too, of the blessed
joy watching a child’s innocence grow.

Michael G. Smith is a semi-retired chemist whose poetry has been published in many literary journals and anthologies. Recently he has been writing sonnets about his relationship with his adopted Nepali niece, Suntali, whom he helped fetch from Kathmandu with her mother, Patricia. His book No Small Things (Tres Chicas Books) was published in 2014. Visit his sites at and

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Joan McNerney and Marianne Szlyk--United States

Twelve steps to spring

By Joan McNerney and Marianne Szlyk

bramble on snow
soft bird song

scentless dogwood, azalea, and rose
bring color to our pastel neighborhood

toddlers stomping
over puddles

open your windows
to lilacs in warm rain

hearing our creek as
it races downstream

Saturday morning’s lawn mowers
hum and buzz over grass and buttercups

noontime perfumed
berries, new grass

cherry blossoms surf the wind
from branches to uncut grass

winds gently kiss
our foreheads

past dinnertime, teenagers parade in sunlight
while children on scooters race after them

shy blue evening
black trees against sky

listening to baseball over the ceiling fan
old lovers on their porch share ice cream

Frozen In Time (for Donna)--By Michael Todd--United States

Frozen In Time (for Donna)

Nostalgic thoughts and remembrances, frozen in time...
A large get together, neighborhood gathers for croquet,
Or, for one or two, find that special tree to climb.
Cares of the world, a world away, was a time to play.

Late of the day, we would listen for the bell to toll.
Eskimo Pies, Bullets, Shivers, one or more if you please.
Frozen treats awaited, as the Merry Mobile would roll.
Push Ups, Dreamsicles, Twin Pops, provide the freeze.

No cares in the world, nothing could rain on our parade.
We held the Buried Treasure in our hands, on a stick.
One dime at a time, and we were off to find out shade.
Lest you want it to melt, better off to eat it quick.

I am grateful for what brought this back to my recall.
It allows me to reflect on times past, in subtle mime.
I hope this allows the same for others, time to stall,
And gather in your youthful memories, frozen in time.

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...

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Glimmers of Light--By Sandra Stefanowich--Canada

Glimmers of Light

Outside the streets burst into fire
the smoke took my breath away
fences had become barbed wire
forgiveness; someone had to pay

as good souls perished in the heat
roads buckled, breaking in sadness
heartbreak trailed beneath my feet
hatred gripped the world in madness

then a glimmer of light from above
I turned and saw the face of hope
a child reached out in tears of love
trying to find his own way to cope

through my falling tears I prayed
that there has to be a better way
can't we mend our hearts so frayed
to find love again in the light of day

there will be a better day this I know
until then I'll keep reaching out in love
show me the path of peace to follow
glimmers of light I see high up above

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.

As Seasons Dance--By Suzanne Delaney--United States

As Seasons Dance

Wing footed winter’s dance is of grey skies,
bare branch silhouettes in silver gowns
dormant magic within icy poses
brilliant halls bedecked with frost flowers

Into the Grand Ballrooms of springtime
The sweep of pastel ball gowns all awhirl
Fresh pirouettes agleam with sparkling dewdrops
To bring alive the dreaming garden songs

Until the partners change at summer’s start
Now gowns sway green as -green as willow boughs
And all the maiden’s heads are strewn with flowers
While love renewed replaces all past cares

Then as the leaves turn slowly- red to brown
All regal shades of velvet now adorn
The dancers bow the way of beauty flown
Their hearts have pledged a promise to return

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.

Monday, January 5, 2015

Haiku--By Barbara Tate--United States

hunter's moon
in the noon of night
--deer crossing

autumn flowers
in silent communion

sunset walk
I trace the rainbow's end

distant drums
I hear the summons
to the ghost dance

winter evening
by firelight
grandma beads my moccasins

Being of Native American descent, Barbara Tate's work often reflects her Lakota heritage. She is a member of the Haiku Society of America, Gulf Coast Writers Assoc., and the United Haiku and Tanka Society. Her work has appeared in Storyteller Magazine, Magnolia Quarterly, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, bear creek haiku, Poet's Art and Brass Bell, among others. She lives in Winchester, TN.

Winter Image--By Gert W. Knop--Germany

Winter Image

imbedded in thoughts,
passed time
melts away in the current
of presence
like snow flurry

Short days
pass with songs of blackbirds
like pipe dreams.
Buried fir-tree green
under white
dark water of the Mandau

Lonely sun rays
flying over glittering ice.
Through small clouds' haze
light breaks through.
Houses and sky
in distant fog

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.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

You Won’t be Lonely Long--By Jean Calkins--United States

You Won’t be Lonely Long

Only one snowflake? That can’t be.
How can a snowman be built?
We must have drifts, and white all around,
thick like a downy quilt.

Oh, don’t let me put you down, snowflake;
you are a gorgeous sight.
Falling from dreary skies of gray,
drifting into the night.

You twist and turn in the crackling breeze,
frigid enough to break
into a glittering silver dust;
there can be no mistake,

for miracles drift from a stormy sky
and more cannot help but trail
behind you, descending from heavenly home,
precursor of winter’s gale.

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

A Pebble On The Mountain--By Pam Murray--Canada

A Pebble On The Mountain

Thirty years have laid my surface bare,
Padded shape and painted silver hair.
They’ve leant my mind a different point of view
And blinded eyes that once looked up to you.

Thirty years laid waste the dreams of youth
Controlling my achievements with the truth.
And thirty years have opened up my eyes
I see how far I am from being wise.

Thirty years once seemed so far away
But now it seems I started yesterday
Along a road that traveled much too fast,
A blur of motion as it spiraled past.

Thirty years is just a knot in time;
A pebble on this mountain that I climb.

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.

Saturday, January 3, 2015

Carpe Diem--By Andrea Dietrich--United States

Carpe Diem

When sun is shining
I love to reach out my arms
and grab its brilliance.
If I can do nothing more,
at least I have seized the day.

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.

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne--England

Two Thousand and Fifteen

By Beth Winchcombe and Jack Horne

It's easy making New Year resolutions.
Keeping them is a challenge!

I'll go on that diet this new year,
but it'll have to start tomorrow...

New Year, new beginnings.
Make the most of new opportunities!

And if opportunity doesn't knock,
I’ll keep listening for it to ring the bell...

One wish I pray for,
Lord grant me HEALTH, not wealth!

Although, being healthy and wealthy
would sure be welcome...

May our friendship continue to flourish.
Liken marriage vows, ' till death do us part'

May our friendship continue,
and last longer than my marriage...

Unconditional love I bestow on you.
Faith and hope will see us through!

I hope for love,
and I’ll be faithful when I’ve found it…

Music is a great healer.
Let us sing our way through life!

I’ll enjoy life’s party -
even though I can’t dance…

Reach out and touch technology...
...propel the way forward!

I look forward to the future
and discovering what each day brings..

Happy 2015!

Haiku--By ayaz daryl nielsen--United States

grandparent's laughing
of lutefisk

birdsong across
the meadow flowers
I know you’re near

    a nail hammered
    a board cut

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! (translates as joie de vivre)

Friday, January 2, 2015

Carving--By d. n. simmers--Canada


“ Great carving does no cutting.”
           Attributed to Lao Tzu

Take a stone. Throw it away.
A chunk of weathered root. Burn it.
Or look what is inside. Both.
Little shots of light and dark that could be
a shadow of a face.
Smiling or sad.
A large wolf hiding there.
Looking over a meadow for changes.
Linked. Lines of brown and cream.
Light flowing down and through a piece.
As if it was telling its own story for eyes.
There. Sad year of storms that took the tree.
The rock creaking and cracking with the frost.
Root torn from its mother. Rock split
from its sisters. Down.
Driven out to the sea with a river swollen.
Driven back by further storms. Life.
Washed up with crabs. With all the birds
Watching . To pick it up and drop it.
Somewhere inland.

d. n. simmers is an on line editor with Fine Lines. He is in will be in Poetry Salzburg Review, The Storyteller, Iconoclast, Plainsongs, California Quarterly, Poets Touchstone, Bluestem, and  Nomad's Choir. He is on line in, red river review, new american digital, storyacious, and word press. He is in an newly launched anthology Royal City Poets ( 4) and was in Van Gogh's Ear, Paris France.

Soft Raindrops, A Villanelle--By Sheri Stanley--United States

Soft Raindrops, A Villanelle

Soft raindrops play staccato on my heart
A dance designed to stir and hypnotize
Deep mesmerizing blends right from the start.

Purely enticing blends when we're apart
Tricking the mind to yearn and agonize
Soft raindrops play staccato on the heart.

Sweet lullaby in abstract tears of art
Haunting the heart as if to patronize
Deep mesmerizing blends right from the start.

Brings a haunting pain to every part
That echoes deep and never really dies
Soft raindrops play staccato on the heart.

Deep ling'ring rain entices ev'ry part
Ignites a fire of dreams and finite highs
Soft raindrops play staccato on the heart
Deep mesmerizing blends right from the start.

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

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Yearning for Spring--By Elly Wouterse--Netherlands

Yearning for Spring

nature sings softly her lively recital
everything is glorious and looks vital
the swans exhibit courtship behavior
their dances visual pieces for their spring-paviour

thrushes chitter their earliest symphony
birdseed germinates and outspreads spring widely
two newts show a beautiful mating dance
strawberry plants use their early spring chance

a show of new born green just above the ground
alders’ pollen causing sneezing peoples' sound
few snowdrops, celandine, white dead nettle
and hazel trees show leaves and huge mettle

appetite dictates this walk with our dog
a craved annual entry in our blog
at length awaited while walking and watching
dozens of reasons for thinking and talking

the artificial Christmas tree recently packed
the baubles and the glass peak safely wrapped
a large cup of hot chocolate a good mate
served forthwith stale Christmas cookies on a plate

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 - and in her first publication, Between Moonset and Sunrise.

Haiku--By Kelley White--United States

mail box
with a whale tail flag
jaws snapped shut on Junk mail

March 21st
first robin
first worm

Memorial Day
a string of geese fly
over the monument

Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her most recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.



            Angelee Deodhar--India
            Anna Donovan--United States 

            Robert Henry Poulin--United States                   
            Peggy Dugan French--United States
            Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo--Philippines
            John Swain--United States
            Arvinder Kaur--India
            Paresh Tiwari--India

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 for guidelines. Thank you.

Note--Ads due for February column by January 25


Celine Rose Mariotti has a new mystery/detective book called Minister’s Shoes in which Rev. Castle helps Sada Sampson find her husband and he also proves that Trevor is innocent of killing Cartwright. The story involves casino deals, infidelity, gambling and some big town gossips who are knee deep in the casino deals.  Price of book is: $11.00. If you live in CT, sales tax is 6.35 so price would be $11.70.  Postage is $2.70.  You can order from Amazon or you can order from me:

Tom Davis, Old Mountain Press editor, offers a free Kindle book: They That Go Down to the Sea A poetry and Prose Anthology for download on January 15 and 25. The book's theme is anything about oceans, lakes, rivers and the people, places, activities and things that celebrate this beautiful part of our country.

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

Maureen Sudlow has a poetry book, Antipodes, was released in early December. More information is available on her website

Maralee Gerke has published a new book of poetry called A New Lexicon. If you are interested please ask for more information at

Sheri Stanley has opened a new web site and invites you to visit at: 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:

Lisa DeVinney has a website for her devotional poetry called Lifting My Eyes, at

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 (Search Whispers under Karen O'Leary) or contact Karen at

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  The website provides sample pages of the book for interested readers.


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

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  Stamps or cash donations would be appreciated to help with mailing costs.

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, blog site is

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

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.

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  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.