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 Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are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.
Painting pictures with words. Opening a part of the soul. Emotion flowing with the lines. Tapestry skillfully woven. Reflecting thoughts artfully. Yearning to make a difference. --Karen O'Leary--Whispers' Editor
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Editor's Thoughts/Mosaic--Karen O'Leary--United States
Dear Writing Friends,
This has been an exciting month for Whispers, with over 6500 and a new one day high of over 650 views. This is a tribute to the talented writers contributing their gift of words. We have eight new poets in February. Thank you to everyone that has promoted our online journal in any way. It's a joy for me to see everyone getting comments.
We had a wonderful response to this month's activity. Thank you, Brian Strand, for sharing your poetry form and for being this month's Activity Editor. I would like to invite anyone that has an idea for a future activity to contact me. Trying new things helps us grow as writers.
If you have not submitted yet or haven't shared a poem in awhile, I will be posting the Submission Guidelines later today. Thank you to those that share poetry on a regular basis. You are the backbone of our online journal/poetry community. Whispers feels like a family to me. It is a joy to work with so many talented people.
Warm regards,
Karen
_______________________________
Mosaic
poet's
pebbles arranged
in intricate patterns--
each unique hue contributing
its piece
_______________________________
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.
This has been an exciting month for Whispers, with over 6500 and a new one day high of over 650 views. This is a tribute to the talented writers contributing their gift of words. We have eight new poets in February. Thank you to everyone that has promoted our online journal in any way. It's a joy for me to see everyone getting comments.
We had a wonderful response to this month's activity. Thank you, Brian Strand, for sharing your poetry form and for being this month's Activity Editor. I would like to invite anyone that has an idea for a future activity to contact me. Trying new things helps us grow as writers.
If you have not submitted yet or haven't shared a poem in awhile, I will be posting the Submission Guidelines later today. Thank you to those that share poetry on a regular basis. You are the backbone of our online journal/poetry community. Whispers feels like a family to me. It is a joy to work with so many talented people.
Warm regards,
Karen
_______________________________
Mosaic
poet's
pebbles arranged
in intricate patterns--
each unique hue contributing
its piece
_______________________________
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.
Haiku--By Ron C. Moss--Australia
mountain tarn
white tea-tree blossom
on the wallaby bones
_______________
dry billabong
the colours of moonlight
in the flame trees
_______________
dog star . . .
a hammering goes on
in the darkness
_______________
old friends
mountain peaks reappear
in the fog
_______________
Sunday prayers
a pot of red geraniums
in the light
_______________
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
white tea-tree blossom
on the wallaby bones
_______________
dry billabong
the colours of moonlight
in the flame trees
_______________
dog star . . .
a hammering goes on
in the darkness
_______________
old friends
mountain peaks reappear
in the fog
_______________
Sunday prayers
a pot of red geraniums
in the light
_______________
Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books. Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com
Friday, February 27, 2015
Time--David Coon--United States
Time
Time's turbulent thrust
torments the tempest
that throttles thoughts
throughout transient
transformations.
Time's travesties travel through thickets
threading tapestries to tomorrow.
David (Dave) Coon has been sharing has poems on various social sites since 1997 and has always gone by the name of Nissmech.
Time's turbulent thrust
torments the tempest
that throttles thoughts
throughout transient
transformations.
Time's travesties travel through thickets
threading tapestries to tomorrow.
David (Dave) Coon has been sharing has poems on various social sites since 1997 and has always gone by the name of Nissmech.
The Love Letter--By Keith O. J. Hunt--Canada
The Love Letter
My dear, I shall meet thee in the summer of thy heart,
where we once walked head to each
elegant upon the world....
And had not a care but for little winds of love
winking there in the dreams of trees,
laying upon me to so delicately, tickle with your autumn hair,
always so soap-scented you
Touch me where I had not known
the ease of such wonder in your eyes,
splendor only for a great king ----
but I a hopeless romantic muse,
with little empty pockets blessed with thy precious petal,
am richer than any lord!
I shall wait for thee in our golden glade,
the heart which flows the waterfall....
by the dawn of your sweet embrace,
in the summer of thy heart,
I shall wait....
Keith O. J. Hunt is a Classic-Romantic poet who generally prefers the older styles which he finds the greatest way to express his thoughts. He loves people, nature, spirituality and all things beautiful. Keith lives in Ottawa, Canada and has been writing poetry for 15 yrs.
My dear, I shall meet thee in the summer of thy heart,
where we once walked head to each
elegant upon the world....
And had not a care but for little winds of love
winking there in the dreams of trees,
laying upon me to so delicately, tickle with your autumn hair,
always so soap-scented you
Touch me where I had not known
the ease of such wonder in your eyes,
splendor only for a great king ----
but I a hopeless romantic muse,
with little empty pockets blessed with thy precious petal,
am richer than any lord!
I shall wait for thee in our golden glade,
the heart which flows the waterfall....
by the dawn of your sweet embrace,
in the summer of thy heart,
I shall wait....
Keith O. J. Hunt is a Classic-Romantic poet who generally prefers the older styles which he finds the greatest way to express his thoughts. He loves people, nature, spirituality and all things beautiful. Keith lives in Ottawa, Canada and has been writing poetry for 15 yrs.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Creature In The Night--By Kelly Deschler--United States
Creature In The Night
Where cold stars exist in the dark,
serene winds whisper to trees
and scarce human ears can listen,
lone songs wail in the distance
in frozen moon's silver spotlight,
a mark left where paws had paused.
Kelly Deschler lives in Big Falls, Wisconsin. Her poem, “Creature In The Night“, was inspired by actual events that took place this winter when she discovered that a wolf had wandered near her home.
Where cold stars exist in the dark,
serene winds whisper to trees
and scarce human ears can listen,
lone songs wail in the distance
in frozen moon's silver spotlight,
a mark left where paws had paused.
Kelly Deschler lives in Big Falls, Wisconsin. Her poem, “Creature In The Night“, was inspired by actual events that took place this winter when she discovered that a wolf had wandered near her home.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Michael Todd and Nicole Neal--United States
Remember (Mimi's Song)
By Michael Todd and Nicole Neal
I think I'd like to look back, but not sure how far I need to go.
To a place in time, you were just mine, that's all I needed to know.
What got in the way, perfect plans we made, just to roll with the flow.
For a time, you were the light of my life. Didn't we bask in the glow?
Remember a time, our greatest obstacle was being too young, some said?
Maybe, they knew then what we could not see, facing a long road ahead.
I only saw pride and passion as what mattered in those days, instead
You were the means to a perfect end, maybe my sense of reason fled.
Remembering, as if yesterday, moments of being more than just anything.
We had so much to overcome. The goal stayed clear, always to that you cling.
Should it matter that we went as far as we did, a stone's throw away from eternity.
Yet for all that we put into this, it was harder than it ever had to be.
I never asked you why this ended. It almost seemed of little concern.
Maybe we were meant for more than what we had, lessons still yet to learn.
Could we not have stayed in this long forgotten dream, a queen to a king?
As your smile faded, I was left to watch you fly away, like a bird on the wing.
We couldn't prove them wrong, just once. That would have been too hard.
Instead, we folded at the bend, at last chance to hold all the cards.
I am no longer sure it was the right thing to do, letting you go that way.
You were left with no choice but to walk out of my life, nothing left to say.
No more perfect life to live, even as such. Without you, I'll move on.
To pretend you were never there, makes remembering harder. When you're gone.
By Michael Todd and Nicole Neal
I think I'd like to look back, but not sure how far I need to go.
To a place in time, you were just mine, that's all I needed to know.
What got in the way, perfect plans we made, just to roll with the flow.
For a time, you were the light of my life. Didn't we bask in the glow?
Remember a time, our greatest obstacle was being too young, some said?
Maybe, they knew then what we could not see, facing a long road ahead.
I only saw pride and passion as what mattered in those days, instead
You were the means to a perfect end, maybe my sense of reason fled.
Remembering, as if yesterday, moments of being more than just anything.
We had so much to overcome. The goal stayed clear, always to that you cling.
Should it matter that we went as far as we did, a stone's throw away from eternity.
Yet for all that we put into this, it was harder than it ever had to be.
I never asked you why this ended. It almost seemed of little concern.
Maybe we were meant for more than what we had, lessons still yet to learn.
Could we not have stayed in this long forgotten dream, a queen to a king?
As your smile faded, I was left to watch you fly away, like a bird on the wing.
We couldn't prove them wrong, just once. That would have been too hard.
Instead, we folded at the bend, at last chance to hold all the cards.
I am no longer sure it was the right thing to do, letting you go that way.
You were left with no choice but to walk out of my life, nothing left to say.
No more perfect life to live, even as such. Without you, I'll move on.
To pretend you were never there, makes remembering harder. When you're gone.
Gone--By Linda Hurdwell--England
Gone
Footsteps trample through my heart
Grief runs along my veins
It seemed to end before the start
Death pulled the life line reins.
So much to say, so much to do
But little time was left
Death really didn’t have a clue
When he left me so bereft.
But he’s let a flutter touch my soul
Memories timidly show
Finally I creep toward a goal
Allowing hope to flow.
My loved one is now next door
In the shadows of the past
I wonder what is now in store?
As I let him go at last.
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
Footsteps trample through my heart
Grief runs along my veins
It seemed to end before the start
Death pulled the life line reins.
So much to say, so much to do
But little time was left
Death really didn’t have a clue
When he left me so bereft.
But he’s let a flutter touch my soul
Memories timidly show
Finally I creep toward a goal
Allowing hope to flow.
My loved one is now next door
In the shadows of the past
I wonder what is now in store?
As I let him go at last.
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Haiku--By Maralee Gerke--United States
winter soil
welcomes rain-
I imagine daffodils
_______________
miniature hearts
in the snow-
my valentine from a mule deer
_______________
snow melt
on patterned linoleum
my stocking feet
_______________
winter evening-
my stone lantern
turbaned in snow
_______________
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems “Refuge”, was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
welcomes rain-
I imagine daffodils
_______________
miniature hearts
in the snow-
my valentine from a mule deer
_______________
snow melt
on patterned linoleum
my stocking feet
_______________
winter evening-
my stone lantern
turbaned in snow
_______________
Maralee Gerke lives and writes in Madras, Oregon. She is and avid reader and gardener. She describes herself as a work in progress. Her poems have been published in Calyx, Exit Thirteen, Moonset, Bathtub Gin, Anthology, Nerve Cowboy, Avocet, and Tigers Eye. She has published two books of poems and has had poetry and prose accepted in several anthologies. Her work can be seen online at Shadow Poetry, Long Story Short, and Moontown Café. She recently recorded 4 poems for the Oregon Poetic Voices Project. They can be heard at oregonpoeticvoices.org One of her poems “Refuge”, was recently selected to be printed as a limited edition broadside by the Penland School of Crafts.
Take Time To:--By Annie Jenkin--England
Take Time To:
Watch a fly jump about on a floor,
Watch the ants industriously explore,
Watch a loose feather gently descend,
Watch how a breeze makes tall grasses bend,
Watch how the colour of flowers merge and blend,
Hear a honey bee searching for pollen,
Hear the sea gulls’ cry and commotion,
Hear a train leave the station,
Hear the water flow down a drain,
Hear a raindrop on a window pane.
Savour the taste of apple or pear,
Savour the smell of shampoo in hair,
Savour the rare sense of life being fair,
Savour the feeling of being able to care,
Savour the moment of a shared pleasure.
Feel the heat of the afternoon sun
Feel the satisfaction of a job well done,
Feel the sadness of those who are absent.
Feel the delight of giving a present,
Feel the warmth of a hand held tight.
Annie Jenkin lives in Plymouth, England. Having not written poetry for many years, Annie has returned to poetry writing with enthusiasm. Her writing explores several subject areas that are insightful, humorous but can also be sensitive.
Watch a fly jump about on a floor,
Watch the ants industriously explore,
Watch a loose feather gently descend,
Watch how a breeze makes tall grasses bend,
Watch how the colour of flowers merge and blend,
Hear a honey bee searching for pollen,
Hear the sea gulls’ cry and commotion,
Hear a train leave the station,
Hear the water flow down a drain,
Hear a raindrop on a window pane.
Savour the taste of apple or pear,
Savour the smell of shampoo in hair,
Savour the rare sense of life being fair,
Savour the feeling of being able to care,
Savour the moment of a shared pleasure.
Feel the heat of the afternoon sun
Feel the satisfaction of a job well done,
Feel the sadness of those who are absent.
Feel the delight of giving a present,
Feel the warmth of a hand held tight.
Annie Jenkin lives in Plymouth, England. Having not written poetry for many years, Annie has returned to poetry writing with enthusiasm. Her writing explores several subject areas that are insightful, humorous but can also be sensitive.
A Day When Winter Said Goodbye--By Rick Parise--United States
A Day When Winter Said Goodbye
In the midst of morn she quietly rose
to greet the dawn of silent repose
She searched beyond the frozen hills
and through the bough's of crystal frills
She danced in dream as clouds rolled by
in hopes the sun would pierce the sky
As moments passed nil of light
the wind kicked up with all it's might
In tumbling turmoil the west winds raged
in fluttering beauty to turn the page
Within a breath a single sigh
the Winter wrath had waved goodbye
As sunlight burned of velvet white
upon her face a shaft of light...
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
In the midst of morn she quietly rose
to greet the dawn of silent repose
She searched beyond the frozen hills
and through the bough's of crystal frills
She danced in dream as clouds rolled by
in hopes the sun would pierce the sky
As moments passed nil of light
the wind kicked up with all it's might
In tumbling turmoil the west winds raged
in fluttering beauty to turn the page
Within a breath a single sigh
the Winter wrath had waved goodbye
As sunlight burned of velvet white
upon her face a shaft of light...
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
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Elly Wouterse--Netherlands and Victoria Anderson Throop--Alaska, United States
Triptych of an Iceberg*
Birth of an iceberg
By Elly Wouterse and Victoria Anderson Throop
frost kissed mountain
vanished in molecules
immortalized
memories settle birthing
an iceberg
crystal clear
fragile hearts
broken blue
married to sea green
forever severed
from a glacial safety
mighty jagged crack
embedded
in the groin of the sea
shaking ships on the horizon of its wake
nature's power
captures
all consuming peak of joy
off and away
icebound
unreachable
in the highest moment of bliss
beauty yearns
for the sky inhales the blue rips free
with a shattering cry of joy
breaks into thousand pieces
bobbing ....
sedately.... out to sea....
*The rest of this Triptych will be published in March at Whispers.
Birth of an iceberg
By Elly Wouterse and Victoria Anderson Throop
frost kissed mountain
vanished in molecules
immortalized
memories settle birthing
an iceberg
crystal clear
fragile hearts
broken blue
married to sea green
forever severed
from a glacial safety
mighty jagged crack
embedded
in the groin of the sea
shaking ships on the horizon of its wake
nature's power
captures
all consuming peak of joy
off and away
icebound
unreachable
in the highest moment of bliss
beauty yearns
for the sky inhales the blue rips free
with a shattering cry of joy
breaks into thousand pieces
bobbing ....
sedately.... out to sea....
*The rest of this Triptych will be published in March at Whispers.
The Crying Candle--By Jan Allison--United Kingdom
The Crying Candle
I called my son... he said you were fading
The candle seemed to call my name
I watched its brightly flickering flame
The light from it shone bright in the dark
I was hypnotised by its golden glow
The wax melted slowly, so slowly
Like creamy liquid tears running down the sides
Drip, drip, drip, a silent puddle formed
Slowly, oh so gradually over time the wick decreased
Almost like your life was ebbing away
Getting smaller and weaker every second
The candle flame started to dim
Flickering, dancing, flickering, dancing
Fighting to stay alive with every ounce of its strengthen
Finally it flickers for the final time
It gave its final breath
Leaving a wisp of smoke
I imagined it was your spirit rising through the air
Ascending towards heaven
Jan Allison is a relative newcomer to poetry. She didn’t start writing poetry until her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent surgery at the end of 2013. She wrote her first poem ‘Splendid Isolation’ whilst he was in hospital. Since then has discovered a love of poetry and has written over 500 poems. Jan also wrote collaboratively with her writing partner Darren Watson under the name Jadazzle United.
I called my son... he said you were fading
The candle seemed to call my name
I watched its brightly flickering flame
The light from it shone bright in the dark
I was hypnotised by its golden glow
The wax melted slowly, so slowly
Like creamy liquid tears running down the sides
Drip, drip, drip, a silent puddle formed
Slowly, oh so gradually over time the wick decreased
Almost like your life was ebbing away
Getting smaller and weaker every second
The candle flame started to dim
Flickering, dancing, flickering, dancing
Fighting to stay alive with every ounce of its strengthen
Finally it flickers for the final time
It gave its final breath
Leaving a wisp of smoke
I imagined it was your spirit rising through the air
Ascending towards heaven
Jan Allison is a relative newcomer to poetry. She didn’t start writing poetry until her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent surgery at the end of 2013. She wrote her first poem ‘Splendid Isolation’ whilst he was in hospital. Since then has discovered a love of poetry and has written over 500 poems. Jan also wrote collaboratively with her writing partner Darren Watson under the name Jadazzle United.
Dreams, Thoughts and Moments--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States
Dreams, Thoughts and Moments
Every fanciful dream I dream at night
has you safe in my arms holding me tight.
Every little thought I think each day
has your beautiful eyes looking my way.
Each little moment of my daily life,
I have happy thoughts of you as my wife.
My every heartbeat is for your love.
I sing with the raindrops sent from above.
But, alas, such deep love can never be;
that love would be strong as an oak tree.
Even roses don’t last, not even for me.
Dreams are just wishful thinking.
Some dreams just leave my heart sinking.
Thoughts are gone as quick as blinking.
Moments never stay around very long
So love of my life I will sing you a song.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
Every fanciful dream I dream at night
has you safe in my arms holding me tight.
Every little thought I think each day
has your beautiful eyes looking my way.
Each little moment of my daily life,
I have happy thoughts of you as my wife.
My every heartbeat is for your love.
I sing with the raindrops sent from above.
But, alas, such deep love can never be;
that love would be strong as an oak tree.
Even roses don’t last, not even for me.
Dreams are just wishful thinking.
Some dreams just leave my heart sinking.
Thoughts are gone as quick as blinking.
Moments never stay around very long
So love of my life I will sing you a song.
Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"
Monday, February 23, 2015
Empty Chambers--By Robert A. Dufresne--United States
Empty Chambers
Hello?
…Here it is!
It’s so cold in here.
But the walls are still soft;
…and the ceiling is higher than I remember.
It feels so still and morose.
Even my thoughts echo within.
I have not dropped in on this empty abode for a while.
There seems never to be enough time…. Too busy.
Look here.. and there. What a mess !
Never did clean it up after she left.
No wonder I never visit here .
Wonder where she went
after leaving this empty, cavernous
heart of mine…
It‘s so cold in here….
I’d better go now….
Lots to do..
Goodbye.
Robert A. Dufresne was born in Vermont and raised on a dairy farm. After four years in the Navy and trying his hand at a couple of trades, he settled in as a self employed remodeling carpenter for 31 years. He and his wife moved to Florida in 1998, where he continued his career. He began writing poetry in 2009 .
Hello?
…Here it is!
It’s so cold in here.
But the walls are still soft;
…and the ceiling is higher than I remember.
It feels so still and morose.
Even my thoughts echo within.
I have not dropped in on this empty abode for a while.
There seems never to be enough time…. Too busy.
Look here.. and there. What a mess !
Never did clean it up after she left.
No wonder I never visit here .
Wonder where she went
after leaving this empty, cavernous
heart of mine…
It‘s so cold in here….
I’d better go now….
Lots to do..
Goodbye.
Robert A. Dufresne was born in Vermont and raised on a dairy farm. After four years in the Navy and trying his hand at a couple of trades, he settled in as a self employed remodeling carpenter for 31 years. He and his wife moved to Florida in 1998, where he continued his career. He began writing poetry in 2009 .
WHISPERS’ SPECIAL ACTIVITY--FORM-SEPTIMAL
Brian Strand, an accomplished writer, generously offered to be the activity editor for another wonderful opportunity for writers. He invited poets to explore his Septimal form. The criteria for the form follows--
The Septimal is a three line poem in seven syllables 3:3:1 (or 1:3:3) with an integral title on the theme. Irony, parody and humor are often underlying features.
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
Father’s Cane by Robert Poulin
in my hand
I feel his
grip
__________________
Imp Poetry by Ralph Stott
The
devil’s in
the detail
__________________
Blue Planet by Rick Parise
Perfect sphere-
imperfect
world
__________________
The Night was so Cold by Sara Kendrick
The hound dog
curled by the
fire
__________________
Another Last Chance by Barbara Tate
hunter's moon
the lone wolf
stalks
__________________
Come Closer by Brian Strand
was Seurat
making a
point
__________________
Cheaper by the Dozen by Charlene McCutcheon
Parenthood
planning for
twelve
__________________
Glitter Heels by Peggy Dugan French
how i miss
the click and
clack
__________________
Emergency by Beth Winchcombe
nines
dial for an
ambulance
__________________
Ferlemanism by Rebecca Ferleman
Hubby and
two twin kids
dog
__________________
Rush Hour by Rick Parise
Racing thoughts-
stalled traffic
crawls
__________________
Sightseeing Trip by Elizabeth Howard
Old Smoky
covered in
fog
__________________
Long Term by Jim Teeters
Want
to keep you
forever
__________________
Painted Ladies by Karen O’Leary
Historic
homes with quaint
charm
__________________
Cake by Joe Maverick
Eggs breaking
white and gold..
make..
__________________
Young McDonald by Ralph Stott
One
day he will
own a farm
__________________
Weed Flowers by Robert Poulin
they don't know
no one loves
them
__________________
Two Golden Rings by Barbara Tate
honeymoon
midnight rain
stops
__________________
Iceberg by Rick Parise
Sinking boat-
killer shark
smiles
__________________
Their Twitter Account by Ralph Stott
They
soon made a
# of it
__________________
Conceptual Art by Brian Strand
Ideas
beyond my
ken
__________________
The Septimal is a three line poem in seven syllables 3:3:1 (or 1:3:3) with an integral title on the theme. Irony, parody and humor are often underlying features.
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
Father’s Cane by Robert Poulin
in my hand
I feel his
grip
__________________
Imp Poetry by Ralph Stott
The
devil’s in
the detail
__________________
Blue Planet by Rick Parise
Perfect sphere-
imperfect
world
__________________
The Night was so Cold by Sara Kendrick
The hound dog
curled by the
fire
__________________
Another Last Chance by Barbara Tate
hunter's moon
the lone wolf
stalks
__________________
Come Closer by Brian Strand
was Seurat
making a
point
__________________
Cheaper by the Dozen by Charlene McCutcheon
Parenthood
planning for
twelve
__________________
Glitter Heels by Peggy Dugan French
how i miss
the click and
clack
__________________
Emergency by Beth Winchcombe
nines
dial for an
ambulance
__________________
Ferlemanism by Rebecca Ferleman
Hubby and
two twin kids
dog
__________________
Rush Hour by Rick Parise
Racing thoughts-
stalled traffic
crawls
__________________
Sightseeing Trip by Elizabeth Howard
Old Smoky
covered in
fog
__________________
Long Term by Jim Teeters
Want
to keep you
forever
__________________
Painted Ladies by Karen O’Leary
Historic
homes with quaint
charm
__________________
Cake by Joe Maverick
Eggs breaking
white and gold..
make..
__________________
Young McDonald by Ralph Stott
One
day he will
own a farm
__________________
Weed Flowers by Robert Poulin
they don't know
no one loves
them
__________________
Two Golden Rings by Barbara Tate
honeymoon
midnight rain
stops
__________________
Iceberg by Rick Parise
Sinking boat-
killer shark
smiles
__________________
Their Twitter Account by Ralph Stott
They
soon made a
# of it
__________________
Conceptual Art by Brian Strand
Ideas
beyond my
ken
__________________
A Sparkling Pathway--By Ali Znaidi--Tunisia
A Sparkling Pathway
Seen at a distance,
this pathway seems full
of sparkling gravel.
Last night, I dreamt
that I was gleaning
sparkles from that
very long pathway.
Ali Znaidi (b. 1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia, where he teaches English. His work has appeared in various magazines and journals worldwide. He authored four poetry chapbooks including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and Taste of the Edge (Kind of A Hurricane Press, 2014). Links to his published and forthcoming works can be found at aliznaidi.blogspot.com
Seen at a distance,
this pathway seems full
of sparkling gravel.
Last night, I dreamt
that I was gleaning
sparkles from that
very long pathway.
Ali Znaidi (b. 1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia, where he teaches English. His work has appeared in various magazines and journals worldwide. He authored four poetry chapbooks including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and Taste of the Edge (Kind of A Hurricane Press, 2014). Links to his published and forthcoming works can be found at aliznaidi.blogspot.com
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Haibun for Papa--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States
Haibun for Papa
Unable to remember what happened yesterday, recall a name, date or telephone number, he will tell again and again every embarrassing detail of an event that happened twenty years ago.
stories about mommy
when she was young
grand girls laugh
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
Unable to remember what happened yesterday, recall a name, date or telephone number, he will tell again and again every embarrassing detail of an event that happened twenty years ago.
stories about mommy
when she was young
grand girls laugh
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
Deep Inside--By Shirley Smothers--United States
Deep Inside
When I learned of my pregnancy
I burst with pride,
But then there was a pain
Deep inside.
The doctor informed me
The pregnancy had ended;
I felt my heart
Could never be mended.
The passage of time
has helped the pain subside,
But time to time, I shed a tear
Deep inside.
This child lives
in my heart,
I must confide,
Down deep inside.
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
When I learned of my pregnancy
I burst with pride,
But then there was a pain
Deep inside.
The doctor informed me
The pregnancy had ended;
I felt my heart
Could never be mended.
The passage of time
has helped the pain subside,
But time to time, I shed a tear
Deep inside.
This child lives
in my heart,
I must confide,
Down deep inside.
Shirley Smothers is a poet. A few of her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Poets Art, and The Poetry Explosion Newsletter.
Friday, February 20, 2015
The Lonely Spirit--By Terry O’Leary--France
The Lonely Spirit
Midst sweet perfume
of youthful bloom,
the lonely spirit wars
and often cries
and sometimes dies
in quest of her amour.
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
Midst sweet perfume
of youthful bloom,
the lonely spirit wars
and often cries
and sometimes dies
in quest of her amour.
Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity...".
The Gift of Love--By Suzanne Clement--United States
The Gift of Love
O Lord, I ask I may not be
A stumbling block to those I see
As I live out my earthly life
In daylight hours or hours of night
And not be rude when I converse
By using fresh or hateful words
Or words that hurt or criticize
Or that will cause people to cry
Or do deeds that are bad to do
For that will not bring joy to you
But speak and act in ways of good
Since that is the way I should
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
O Lord, I ask I may not be
A stumbling block to those I see
As I live out my earthly life
In daylight hours or hours of night
And not be rude when I converse
By using fresh or hateful words
Or words that hurt or criticize
Or that will cause people to cry
Or do deeds that are bad to do
For that will not bring joy to you
But speak and act in ways of good
Since that is the way I should
Suzanne Clement is a writer from Dover, New Hampshire.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Old Rag Sonnet--By Robert A. Hall--United States
Old Rag Sonnet
A denim shirt that you have cast aside,
I know that I am frayed around the cuff,
A button gone, and I am worn enough
To make the mending hopeless, though you tried.
If I were jewelry or a fancy gown--
But faithful service never was the thing
Could make a shirt into a diamond ring,
So carelessly you smile, and put me down.
But you might put me in some corner drawer,
The sentimental way you'd save a friend,
For you might find some use for me again--
Wear me around the house, or mop the floor.
And I'd be handy wiping up the rain
That streaks like tears across your window pane.
___________________
Published in Share the Cup: Poetry of Love and Life by Robert A. Hall. Available on Amazon. Royalties go to the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation
___________________
Robert A. Hall, a Marine Vietnam Veteran, served 5 terms in the Massachusetts State Senate. He was an Association Executive from 1982 to 2013, retiring due to pulmonary fibrosis for a lung transplant 12/23/13. His 11 books, including two of poetry, Old Jarhead Poems and Share the Cup are here: http://tinyurl.com/n79esoh. Royalties go to charity. He does the Old Jarhead blog.
A denim shirt that you have cast aside,
I know that I am frayed around the cuff,
A button gone, and I am worn enough
To make the mending hopeless, though you tried.
If I were jewelry or a fancy gown--
But faithful service never was the thing
Could make a shirt into a diamond ring,
So carelessly you smile, and put me down.
But you might put me in some corner drawer,
The sentimental way you'd save a friend,
For you might find some use for me again--
Wear me around the house, or mop the floor.
And I'd be handy wiping up the rain
That streaks like tears across your window pane.
___________________
Published in Share the Cup: Poetry of Love and Life by Robert A. Hall. Available on Amazon. Royalties go to the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation
___________________
Robert A. Hall, a Marine Vietnam Veteran, served 5 terms in the Massachusetts State Senate. He was an Association Executive from 1982 to 2013, retiring due to pulmonary fibrosis for a lung transplant 12/23/13. His 11 books, including two of poetry, Old Jarhead Poems and Share the Cup are here: http://tinyurl.com/n79esoh. Royalties go to charity. He does the Old Jarhead blog.
Stargazer--By James Andrew Fraser--Scotland
Stargazer
Amidst greenery
Such beauty abounds in bloom
Reaching to the sky
This Oriental Lily
Shows gorgeous colouration
James Andrew Fraser resides in Inverness, the Capital of the Highlands, Bonnie Scotland.
His hobbies apart from poetry are music, art and football.
Amidst greenery
Such beauty abounds in bloom
Reaching to the sky
This Oriental Lily
Shows gorgeous colouration
James Andrew Fraser resides in Inverness, the Capital of the Highlands, Bonnie Scotland.
His hobbies apart from poetry are music, art and football.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
The Bluebird Flew Away--By Gerald Heyder--United States
The Bluebird Flew Away
Gone is lilac scented breeze
along with summer’s glow,
no symphony of autumn leaves
just silent winter snow.
Gone is hearty party joke
replaced by tears of pain;
a heavy wooden oxen yoke
in lieu of locket chain.
Gone is the photo of day
through negative of the night,
darkness of distant stars
due to pale moonlight.
Gone are the yesterdays
with tomorrows yet to be,
behind diaphanous veil
they slip into eternity.
Lost are youthful dreams
through innocence that went astray;
gone is nature’s sweetest song--
the bluebird flew away.
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
Gone is lilac scented breeze
along with summer’s glow,
no symphony of autumn leaves
just silent winter snow.
Gone is hearty party joke
replaced by tears of pain;
a heavy wooden oxen yoke
in lieu of locket chain.
Gone is the photo of day
through negative of the night,
darkness of distant stars
due to pale moonlight.
Gone are the yesterdays
with tomorrows yet to be,
behind diaphanous veil
they slip into eternity.
Lost are youthful dreams
through innocence that went astray;
gone is nature’s sweetest song--
the bluebird flew away.
Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
I Do Not Know You--By Jim Teeters--United States
I Do Not Know You
I do not know you
Slum of Santiago, Chile
I see your sweltering roofs
of corrugated metal
as we speed by in our
air conditioned airport shuttle
I do not see your dwellers
who I imagine go off to
richer streets to beg, perform, or sell
Perhaps the juggler of three limes
blocking the traffic lane, who hopes
for an appreciative payment
is from you
or maybe the man
soliciting to wash windshields
in the busy intersection is too
I only can guess for I am now flying
over the snowcapped Andes
cup of wine on my tray table
Jim Teeters has published poetry in several anthologies. He conducts poetry workshops for children and adults and is active in poetry readings in the Seattle area through the Striped Water Poets. He is the author of six poetry collections and the book, Teach with Style, (ASTD Press July 2013). Jim is a retired social worker living in Kent, Washington.
I do not know you
Slum of Santiago, Chile
I see your sweltering roofs
of corrugated metal
as we speed by in our
air conditioned airport shuttle
I do not see your dwellers
who I imagine go off to
richer streets to beg, perform, or sell
Perhaps the juggler of three limes
blocking the traffic lane, who hopes
for an appreciative payment
is from you
or maybe the man
soliciting to wash windshields
in the busy intersection is too
I only can guess for I am now flying
over the snowcapped Andes
cup of wine on my tray table
Jim Teeters has published poetry in several anthologies. He conducts poetry workshops for children and adults and is active in poetry readings in the Seattle area through the Striped Water Poets. He is the author of six poetry collections and the book, Teach with Style, (ASTD Press July 2013). Jim is a retired social worker living in Kent, Washington.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
a water paradox--By Frances Simwinga--Malawi
a water paradox
Time and again I like to sip
a little of you, feel you drip down
my throat, leaving a stain on my lip,
that way my life you humbly sustain.
You are seen by many as simple
and in sync with life when fairly ample,
but the blight you possess when in excess,
or when you are scarce scant and erratic,
has unveiled the animosity in you.
You have hailed down untold grief
on my kids, my wife and my life;
my garden wilting at your absence,
or being swept away at your abundance,
sparing no elite, no destitute,
yet time and again I still need you closer.
Frances Simwinga is a budding poet. He has discovered healing in poetry. He happens to be biased towards slam poetry but greatly enjoys the written word too. This poem was inspired by the floods that have caused havoc to human life recently in the southern parts of the Malawi.
Time and again I like to sip
a little of you, feel you drip down
my throat, leaving a stain on my lip,
that way my life you humbly sustain.
You are seen by many as simple
and in sync with life when fairly ample,
but the blight you possess when in excess,
or when you are scarce scant and erratic,
has unveiled the animosity in you.
You have hailed down untold grief
on my kids, my wife and my life;
my garden wilting at your absence,
or being swept away at your abundance,
sparing no elite, no destitute,
yet time and again I still need you closer.
Frances Simwinga is a budding poet. He has discovered healing in poetry. He happens to be biased towards slam poetry but greatly enjoys the written word too. This poem was inspired by the floods that have caused havoc to human life recently in the southern parts of the Malawi.
In Memoriam--By Ronald Grognet--United States
In Memoriam
friend’s untimely death—
a perfect winter storm
sudden lethal stroke--
survivors speechless
hospice was set up---
I thought they would stay longer
her haunting fragrance lingers---
even-though she's gone
the eerie quiet---
of a cold misty morning
alone
Ronald Grognet is a retired Clinical Psychologist who practiced private individual and family therapy for thirty-five years. He lived and worked in Washington D.C., and Sarasota, FL before retiring in New Orleans to be close to his grandsons. Besides his volunteer time spent on disaster assignments for the Red Cross, he fills his time devoted to haiku poetry. His interest in poetry came as a gift in retirement. Reading an article about haiku filled with many examples, he recognized its similarity to the reflective stance of the meditation he practiced for many years. He has vigorously pursued its study for the last two years, personally experiencing its healing and enlightening qualities.
friend’s untimely death—
a perfect winter storm
sudden lethal stroke--
survivors speechless
hospice was set up---
I thought they would stay longer
her haunting fragrance lingers---
even-though she's gone
the eerie quiet---
of a cold misty morning
alone
Ronald Grognet is a retired Clinical Psychologist who practiced private individual and family therapy for thirty-five years. He lived and worked in Washington D.C., and Sarasota, FL before retiring in New Orleans to be close to his grandsons. Besides his volunteer time spent on disaster assignments for the Red Cross, he fills his time devoted to haiku poetry. His interest in poetry came as a gift in retirement. Reading an article about haiku filled with many examples, he recognized its similarity to the reflective stance of the meditation he practiced for many years. He has vigorously pursued its study for the last two years, personally experiencing its healing and enlightening qualities.
Monday, February 16, 2015
Oh, Chocolate!--By Marlene Million--United States
Oh, Chocolate!
Thick and creamy ooey gooey
drippy drops dollops of rich
dark satin dabble it hot slurp it
lick it lap it sip it lovingly
chips and chunks bars nonpareils
swirl it twirl it fudgy syrupy sprinkled
double-filled slivers and shaves
how we rave
convicted addicted to the thick
twice-dipped ripples of delight
soothing balm to the palate
pudding truffles savor the flavor
covered over cherries
sundaes malts Cafe Mocha
mmmmmmmmm
cocoa beans are happy indeed!
Marlene Million is a retired insurance secretary from her husband's business and grandmother of four. She has published two chapbooks and belongs to several writers’ groups. She had a poem on display at Indianapolis Arts Garden the month of February, 2013 and has been published in a variety of venues.
Thick and creamy ooey gooey
drippy drops dollops of rich
dark satin dabble it hot slurp it
lick it lap it sip it lovingly
chips and chunks bars nonpareils
swirl it twirl it fudgy syrupy sprinkled
double-filled slivers and shaves
how we rave
convicted addicted to the thick
twice-dipped ripples of delight
soothing balm to the palate
pudding truffles savor the flavor
covered over cherries
sundaes malts Cafe Mocha
mmmmmmmmm
cocoa beans are happy indeed!
Marlene Million is a retired insurance secretary from her husband's business and grandmother of four. She has published two chapbooks and belongs to several writers’ groups. She had a poem on display at Indianapolis Arts Garden the month of February, 2013 and has been published in a variety of venues.
Reflections of Love--By Yvonne Sparkes--England
Reflections of Love
Love is many different things,
To each of us, it brings,
Sometimes a joy, sometimes despair
Or stronger passions living there.
It can reveal itself with sighs,
Or a deluge from on high
Contradicting in it’s phase,
With turbulent, unsettling days.
The emotions that we often feel,
Seem so very, very real,
Just to find the object meets,
Our own sweet sorrow and defeat.
What is love? I’ll never find,
Answers to questions in my mind,
Truth and loyalty are rare,
And seemed beyond my knowing there.
But, those who gleam to find the best,
Who dwell with love that’s passed the test,
Are blessed to know a precious gift,
To dwell content where `er they live.
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
Love is many different things,
To each of us, it brings,
Sometimes a joy, sometimes despair
Or stronger passions living there.
It can reveal itself with sighs,
Or a deluge from on high
Contradicting in it’s phase,
With turbulent, unsettling days.
The emotions that we often feel,
Seem so very, very real,
Just to find the object meets,
Our own sweet sorrow and defeat.
What is love? I’ll never find,
Answers to questions in my mind,
Truth and loyalty are rare,
And seemed beyond my knowing there.
But, those who gleam to find the best,
Who dwell with love that’s passed the test,
Are blessed to know a precious gift,
To dwell content where `er they live.
Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes, immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents. She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons. She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images. A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain. She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
ode to alliteration--By jani johe webster--(In Memory-May 2013)--United States
jani johe shared her unique style and insight which left readers in awe. But more importantly, she was a bright light in the writing community, always ready to support others in their journeys. I am glad to have been able to call her my friend. Her words live on in various publications, continuing to be a gift to the world. --Sincerely, Karen O’Leary--Editor
ode to alliteration
beacons of books
windows of words
days of dreams
hours of hope
pillars of peace
stories in stars
magic in moonlight
freedom of fiction
winding wonders
along pathways of poetry
circling our souls
This poem was recently published in Where the Poems Dance, a collection of her poetry and photography by Suzanne Webb. It includes an introduction by her daughter, Nila Webster, and reflection questions about the poems to stimulate the imagination of the reader.
ode to alliteration
beacons of books
windows of words
days of dreams
hours of hope
pillars of peace
stories in stars
magic in moonlight
freedom of fiction
winding wonders
along pathways of poetry
circling our souls
This poem was recently published in Where the Poems Dance, a collection of her poetry and photography by Suzanne Webb. It includes an introduction by her daughter, Nila Webster, and reflection questions about the poems to stimulate the imagination of the reader.
Poet of the Month--Christine Tate
Autumn on the Coast
By Christine Tate
The autumn moon plays peek a boo
behind ominous clouds,
casting ghostly shadows
on charming coastal towns.
Its orange hue shines
on landscapes down below,
where you can see candles
in many windows glow!
Along narrow streets and alleys
leaves swirl and spin,
while lingering towns folk scurry
seeking shelter from the wind.
You can hear the roar
of the ocean down the block,
as thundering waves crash
on slippery, clustered rocks.
Rows and rows of pumpkins
scattered in the fields,
dry corn husks sit idle
after harvest's yield.
Pick some juicy apples,
buy cider at a stand,
or stroll along the shore
with a loved one hand in hand.
Autumn warms the heart,
a delightful time to be
in a coastal village
with friends and family!
From the editor--It is an pleasure to announce that Christine Tate is February’s Poet of the Month. She is a talented writer that has been published in print and online. Readers at Whispers relate to her heartfelt poetry. Christine is an uplifting voice at our online journal, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate. Her encouragement is a gift that makes a difference. It is a pleasure to present Christine with this honor!
_______________
Thoughts on “Autumn on the Coast ”--The opening line’s personification sets the tone for this creative poem. The playful style gives the reader an enjoyable experience that is sure to have you smiling. Christine’s skillful use of multi-sense imagery allows one to feel what she has to convey. Her poem makes me want to sit back with a mug of cider and enjoy time with family and friends too.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Christine! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
By Christine Tate
The autumn moon plays peek a boo
behind ominous clouds,
casting ghostly shadows
on charming coastal towns.
Its orange hue shines
on landscapes down below,
where you can see candles
in many windows glow!
Along narrow streets and alleys
leaves swirl and spin,
while lingering towns folk scurry
seeking shelter from the wind.
You can hear the roar
of the ocean down the block,
as thundering waves crash
on slippery, clustered rocks.
Rows and rows of pumpkins
scattered in the fields,
dry corn husks sit idle
after harvest's yield.
Pick some juicy apples,
buy cider at a stand,
or stroll along the shore
with a loved one hand in hand.
Autumn warms the heart,
a delightful time to be
in a coastal village
with friends and family!
From the editor--It is an pleasure to announce that Christine Tate is February’s Poet of the Month. She is a talented writer that has been published in print and online. Readers at Whispers relate to her heartfelt poetry. Christine is an uplifting voice at our online journal, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate. Her encouragement is a gift that makes a difference. It is a pleasure to present Christine with this honor!
_______________
Thoughts on “Autumn on the Coast ”--The opening line’s personification sets the tone for this creative poem. The playful style gives the reader an enjoyable experience that is sure to have you smiling. Christine’s skillful use of multi-sense imagery allows one to feel what she has to convey. Her poem makes me want to sit back with a mug of cider and enjoy time with family and friends too.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Christine! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
Haiku--By Robert P. Hansen--United States
lotus position
rhythmic breathing exercise
searching for nothing
____________
spring thaw
ice jam breaking
recycled tears
____________
rays of sunlight
capturing dust motes
antihistamine
____________
tiny stream of smoke
rising up from the bushes
a broken promise
___________
Robert P. Hansen teaches philosophy courses at a community college. In addition to poetry, he also writes genre fiction. His recent eBook publications include a free Story Sampler (14 stories from his collections), The Golden Key (Book 3 of his Angus the Mage fantasy series), and 2014: A Year of Poetry. For more information on his writing and where to find what he has published, visit his blog at: http://rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com/.
rhythmic breathing exercise
searching for nothing
____________
spring thaw
ice jam breaking
recycled tears
____________
rays of sunlight
capturing dust motes
antihistamine
____________
tiny stream of smoke
rising up from the bushes
a broken promise
___________
Robert P. Hansen teaches philosophy courses at a community college. In addition to poetry, he also writes genre fiction. His recent eBook publications include a free Story Sampler (14 stories from his collections), The Golden Key (Book 3 of his Angus the Mage fantasy series), and 2014: A Year of Poetry. For more information on his writing and where to find what he has published, visit his blog at: http://rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com/.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Sea Daffodils--By Paul Callus--Malta
Sea Daffodils
On the island of Comino*
Naked rocks are burning hot,
Without mercy, sun at midday
Robs the shade from every spot.
It’s a bare, desolate area,
Here the snakes are free to crawl,
Lazy lizards meditating
Where the gnarled wild bushes sprawl.
I trudge on towards the inlet
Drawn by water cyan blue;
It’s deserted and inviting
For it’s known only to few.
I arrive and there to greet me
On dry sand a wondrous sight
I behold sensual, alluring
Virgin flowers dressed in white.
----------------------------------------------
*Comino is one of the islands that
form the Maltese Archipelago
Paul Callus is a Maltese author who writes both in Maltese and English. He has contributed to several anthologies. Apart from poetry he writes lyrics for songs and has published two books, one a story book aimed at children (related to his experience as a teacher) and a historical book based on research.
On the island of Comino*
Naked rocks are burning hot,
Without mercy, sun at midday
Robs the shade from every spot.
It’s a bare, desolate area,
Here the snakes are free to crawl,
Lazy lizards meditating
Where the gnarled wild bushes sprawl.
I trudge on towards the inlet
Drawn by water cyan blue;
It’s deserted and inviting
For it’s known only to few.
I arrive and there to greet me
On dry sand a wondrous sight
I behold sensual, alluring
Virgin flowers dressed in white.
----------------------------------------------
*Comino is one of the islands that
form the Maltese Archipelago
Paul Callus is a Maltese author who writes both in Maltese and English. He has contributed to several anthologies. Apart from poetry he writes lyrics for songs and has published two books, one a story book aimed at children (related to his experience as a teacher) and a historical book based on research.
Two Lovers-By James Rasmusson--United States
Two Lovers
cheek against cheek
arm over arm
fingers, lips, eyes and hearts meet
as two lovers
born into life's labyrinth
find peace in a friendly niche
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
cheek against cheek
arm over arm
fingers, lips, eyes and hearts meet
as two lovers
born into life's labyrinth
find peace in a friendly niche
James began writing in the 1960’s and immediately showed a love for seasonal, humorous, and philosophical poetry. In the late 70’s, he became an ardent photographer and soon found that the two artistic mediums cross pollinated each other. West Michigan is an art Mecca with over 100 galleries and art camps with Jim residing in the lovely coastal town of Holland, Michigan. A practitioner of Surat Shabd Yoga since 1972, his art is an expression of his lifetime love affair with nature and his quest for truth. James is the winner of many awards in both photography and poetry including the 2005 Shadow Poetry 5th biannual chapbook competition. The artist says he likes to underscore the abstract and tease the mind and be ever alert for juxtapositions that express irony, absurdity, and poignancy, desiring for people to feel both tension and resolution in his compositions.
Friday, February 13, 2015
In an empty house--By Paresh Tiwari--India
In an empty house
The bed unmade in the tenor
of our last quarrel.
My guilt shattered against the brick wall.
Like the shards of a fun house mirror,
the faces bloated, sucked, thin,
fat, tall, short, crazy, delirious, demented.
I wonder which was the real me?
the dog yet un-fed, the pillow un-slept,
the taste of your skin undone.
From the moonlight and orchids,
evening mist and morning dew,
or my fingers that caressed your song
From the wings of the last free lark,
the howl of the first wild wolf,
or the flicker of an old oil lamp
Could I ever distil your absence,
your presence and all that’s lost
between the two of us…
Paresh Tiwari is an often-published poet, writer and illustrator currently residing in Mumbai, India. He took to haiku and its associated forms in 2012 and is currently dabbling with longer forms of writing. His haiku, haibun, tanka, haiga and other poems appear frequently in noteworthy journals and anthologies across the world. An Inch of Sky, Paresh Tiwari’s collected haiku and haibun, has been published by 20 Notebooks Press. The book is now available online at http://goo.gl/MsSCaK
The bed unmade in the tenor
of our last quarrel.
My guilt shattered against the brick wall.
Like the shards of a fun house mirror,
the faces bloated, sucked, thin,
fat, tall, short, crazy, delirious, demented.
I wonder which was the real me?
the dog yet un-fed, the pillow un-slept,
the taste of your skin undone.
From the moonlight and orchids,
evening mist and morning dew,
or my fingers that caressed your song
From the wings of the last free lark,
the howl of the first wild wolf,
or the flicker of an old oil lamp
Could I ever distil your absence,
your presence and all that’s lost
between the two of us…
Paresh Tiwari is an often-published poet, writer and illustrator currently residing in Mumbai, India. He took to haiku and its associated forms in 2012 and is currently dabbling with longer forms of writing. His haiku, haibun, tanka, haiga and other poems appear frequently in noteworthy journals and anthologies across the world. An Inch of Sky, Paresh Tiwari’s collected haiku and haibun, has been published by 20 Notebooks Press. The book is now available online at http://goo.gl/MsSCaK
The Red Dachshund Pup--By Sara Kendrick--United States
The Red Dachshund Pup
As a pup she sailed through the air
Jumping from chair to chair
An eagle's elegant poise void
Just a thud 'pon the air
Those short legs carried her swiftly
As her chest drug the ground
Most all small furry creatures drew
A bristle and grrrr sound
Her red coat matched her fiery growl
As enemies she faced
Until that brave cat stood her ground
And a red dachshund chased
The moral of this story is
Don't get all bristled up
You might meet your match dear friend
In a small dachshund pup
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
As a pup she sailed through the air
Jumping from chair to chair
An eagle's elegant poise void
Just a thud 'pon the air
Those short legs carried her swiftly
As her chest drug the ground
Most all small furry creatures drew
A bristle and grrrr sound
Her red coat matched her fiery growl
As enemies she faced
Until that brave cat stood her ground
And a red dachshund chased
The moral of this story is
Don't get all bristled up
You might meet your match dear friend
In a small dachshund pup
Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college. She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
An Abiding Place--By Pat Durmon--United States
An Abiding Place
on this Sabbath Day
I search for love lavished
within walls where stained glass
reigns high, and there
I listen hard
for broken bread
and poured-out wine
while
a white-haired old man
faces a sermon
and droops his head
as if inviting a bright light
to take him over
like wafting gardenias
make sure nothing else
exists
Pat Durmon is the author of Blind Curves (2007) and Lights and Shadows in a Nursing Home, (2013.) Poems have been published by Rattle, Main Street Rag, Poetry East, Cyclamens and Blades, Between the Lines, Lucidity and other journals. She is retired from mental health counseling and leads a group called Searching for Light. Ms. Durmon lives in the Ozark Mountains.
on this Sabbath Day
I search for love lavished
within walls where stained glass
reigns high, and there
I listen hard
for broken bread
and poured-out wine
while
a white-haired old man
faces a sermon
and droops his head
as if inviting a bright light
to take him over
like wafting gardenias
make sure nothing else
exists
Pat Durmon is the author of Blind Curves (2007) and Lights and Shadows in a Nursing Home, (2013.) Poems have been published by Rattle, Main Street Rag, Poetry East, Cyclamens and Blades, Between the Lines, Lucidity and other journals. She is retired from mental health counseling and leads a group called Searching for Light. Ms. Durmon lives in the Ozark Mountains.
Restless Heart--By George Ellison--England
Restless Heart
The open road it softly calls, to my restless wandering heart
I feel the need to make footfall; my itchy feet keen to depart
To happily wander hills and dales; as a spring comes into my stride
To clear my head and cure my ails, under sunshine and clear blue skies
Not knowing where I’ll be at night, but always knowing I’ll arrive
Onward I travel so I might, keep me and my spirit alive
I love the feel of wind and rain, as it runs off right through my hair
I’ll travel on through life’s refrain, a happy wanderer without a care
The seasons they will come and go; my footsteps they will take me far
I’ll return when my feet say so; though my exploits they will not mar
Wandering soul restless thou art; I make my way to who knows where
The open road soft pulls at my heart, as I wander from here to there
Being hemmed in is not for me; I love seeing all that I can
So feet take me to where I see; of the outdoors, I’m a huge fan
One day I will trek my way home; I’ll have seen all there is to know
Only then full circle I’ll have come; my happy heart will then let go!
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
The open road it softly calls, to my restless wandering heart
I feel the need to make footfall; my itchy feet keen to depart
To happily wander hills and dales; as a spring comes into my stride
To clear my head and cure my ails, under sunshine and clear blue skies
Not knowing where I’ll be at night, but always knowing I’ll arrive
Onward I travel so I might, keep me and my spirit alive
I love the feel of wind and rain, as it runs off right through my hair
I’ll travel on through life’s refrain, a happy wanderer without a care
The seasons they will come and go; my footsteps they will take me far
I’ll return when my feet say so; though my exploits they will not mar
Wandering soul restless thou art; I make my way to who knows where
The open road soft pulls at my heart, as I wander from here to there
Being hemmed in is not for me; I love seeing all that I can
So feet take me to where I see; of the outdoors, I’m a huge fan
One day I will trek my way home; I’ll have seen all there is to know
Only then full circle I’ll have come; my happy heart will then let go!
George L. Ellison is a writer of poetry and short stories. He as published two books called Poetic Reminiscences and Weaving Words. George lives with his wife and dogs in Chester-Le-Street, County Durham in England. He is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance. He is currently working on his new project as well as learning to play the saxophone at the Sage Gateshead!
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Haiku--By Peggy Dugan French--United States
curious cow
stares me down
love at first sight
_______________
top of the silo
quiet miles
stretch before me
_______________
old john deere
city kids
ride again and again
_______________
mother’s day
cold toast
served with love
_______________
after the bell
swings
silently swing
_______________
Peggy Dugan French is a California girl with Minnesota roots. She has enjoyed being the editor of Shemom since 1997. She has worn many hats over the years, but being a Mom has been one of her greatest adventures; she’s had the pleasure of sharing that journey with her best friend.
stares me down
love at first sight
_______________
top of the silo
quiet miles
stretch before me
_______________
old john deere
city kids
ride again and again
_______________
mother’s day
cold toast
served with love
_______________
after the bell
swings
silently swing
_______________
Peggy Dugan French is a California girl with Minnesota roots. She has enjoyed being the editor of Shemom since 1997. She has worn many hats over the years, but being a Mom has been one of her greatest adventures; she’s had the pleasure of sharing that journey with her best friend.
Winter Morn--By Mary A. Couch--United States
Winter Morn
White
snowflakes,
lace upon ground
swirl round oaks, dance ballet
of winter’s song with frosty wind
to mourning dove’s wing beat,
horizon’s dawn
dispels
dark
Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.
White
snowflakes,
lace upon ground
swirl round oaks, dance ballet
of winter’s song with frosty wind
to mourning dove’s wing beat,
horizon’s dawn
dispels
dark
Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Haiku--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India
first light ...
yet wrapped in moonlight
a purple crocus
_______________
ancestral home ...
covered under the frost
my childhood memories
_______________
Christmas eve ...
in every toast of wine
a new wish
_______________
December morning ...
my shovel finds its way
through the snow
_______________
mountain walk ...
step by step closer
to the stars
_______________
Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.
yet wrapped in moonlight
a purple crocus
_______________
ancestral home ...
covered under the frost
my childhood memories
_______________
Christmas eve ...
in every toast of wine
a new wish
_______________
December morning ...
my shovel finds its way
through the snow
_______________
mountain walk ...
step by step closer
to the stars
_______________
Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.
Moral Lesson--By Erich J. Goller--United States
Moral Lesson
A Mother was preparing pancakes for her
son Kevin 5 and Ryan 3 years old.
The boys began to argue over who would
get the first pancake.
Their Mother saw the opportunity for a
moral lesson.
“ If Jesus were sitting here, He would say,
let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait”
Kevin turned to his younger brother and said,
Ryan, you be Jesus!”
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor, in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
A Mother was preparing pancakes for her
son Kevin 5 and Ryan 3 years old.
The boys began to argue over who would
get the first pancake.
Their Mother saw the opportunity for a
moral lesson.
“ If Jesus were sitting here, He would say,
let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait”
Kevin turned to his younger brother and said,
Ryan, you be Jesus!”
Erich J. Goller was born in Vienna, Austria. A close world war two survivor, in 1955, he immigrated to California, where he made his living as a mechanic and as an actor. He been married for 56 years, has one daughter and one son. He is a published author of seven books. He now resides In Nashville, Tennessee, still loves to write, also enjoys doing art work. His web site, www.poetvienna.com
Monday, February 9, 2015
Valley Floor--By Phyllis Babcock--Canada
Valley Floor
Wild flower blossoms paint the valley floor
Looking like a quilted tapestry
Silent water sits in stagnant ponds
Bull rushes gather standing like guards
Surrounding the waters edge
A lone loon calls a haunted melody
Bull frogs croak while crickets noisily chirp
The pond becomes a gathering place
Crows join in squawking harmony
Clinging to bended willow trees
Coyotes join in with lowly howls
A peaceful valley became a musical fanfare.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
Wild flower blossoms paint the valley floor
Looking like a quilted tapestry
Silent water sits in stagnant ponds
Bull rushes gather standing like guards
Surrounding the waters edge
A lone loon calls a haunted melody
Bull frogs croak while crickets noisily chirp
The pond becomes a gathering place
Crows join in squawking harmony
Clinging to bended willow trees
Coyotes join in with lowly howls
A peaceful valley became a musical fanfare.
Phyllis Babcock was born in Saskatchewan, Canada in 1951 and currently resides in Regina with her husband. She has been blessed with two wonderful sons and daughter-in-laws. She has two grandsons and two granddaughters. She started writing poetry in 2004 and joined Poetry Soup site in 2006. She has been published in two anthologies, On Butterfly Wings and Snippets. Her work has also appeared on Poetry.com and in a local seniors’ newspaper. She feels writing has been a wonderful journey, meeting many new poets and writers along the way.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Miriam Sagan and Michael G. Smith--United States
Haiku From the Realm of Disability
By Miriam Sagan and Michael G. Smith
Manhattan canyons –
mini dress and sneakers
I can run in
one flip-flop, feet in the clouds
maybe I'm still asleep, red monolith
stars silent
a daily nap
peps me up
By Miriam Sagan and Michael G. Smith
Manhattan canyons –
mini dress and sneakers
I can run in
one flip-flop, feet in the clouds
maybe I'm still asleep, red monolith
stars silent
a daily nap
peps me up
My Old Guitar Teacher--By Celine Rose Mariotti--United States
My Old Guitar Teacher
His name was Bruce,
He was the best guitar teacher anyone could have,
My first lesson, when I was nine,
He asked my Dad, if I
Ever had a lesson before,
My Dad, said no I hadn’t
Bruce said I was a natural,
He taught me well, how to play,
He even gave me some of his song books to keep,
He was a real nice man,
I learned to play,
Acoustic, electric, classical and bass guitar,
I was so good that I taught guitar too,
I still play, and when I do,
I think of “Bruce”,
My old guitar teacher,
Who must be playing
His guitar in Heaven now.
Celine Rose Mariotti is an accomplished writer whose work has appeared in magazines all over the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Australia and India. Some of those magazines include: Green’s Magazine, Poet’s Review, Poet’s Art, Tombigbee, Hindu Young World, Magnolia Quarterly, Lone Stars Magazine, Pablo Lennis, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Pink Chameleon and many more. She has had six books published. She plays the guitar and banjo; has her own home business and lives with her family in Shelton,CT.
His name was Bruce,
He was the best guitar teacher anyone could have,
My first lesson, when I was nine,
He asked my Dad, if I
Ever had a lesson before,
My Dad, said no I hadn’t
Bruce said I was a natural,
He taught me well, how to play,
He even gave me some of his song books to keep,
He was a real nice man,
I learned to play,
Acoustic, electric, classical and bass guitar,
I was so good that I taught guitar too,
I still play, and when I do,
I think of “Bruce”,
My old guitar teacher,
Who must be playing
His guitar in Heaven now.
Celine Rose Mariotti is an accomplished writer whose work has appeared in magazines all over the USA, Canada, England, Scotland, Australia and India. Some of those magazines include: Green’s Magazine, Poet’s Review, Poet’s Art, Tombigbee, Hindu Young World, Magnolia Quarterly, Lone Stars Magazine, Pablo Lennis, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Pink Chameleon and many more. She has had six books published. She plays the guitar and banjo; has her own home business and lives with her family in Shelton,CT.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
February Fever--By Joyce I. Johnson--United States
February Fever
You have loved me through the worries.
You've stood by me through the pain.
I have found you there still waiting
When the world was bright again.
In the battle of the poets,
Closeted within their dens,
Words their only ammunition
Shooting from their ink filled pens,
Seeking phrase, uniquely pretty
And an unused metaphor,
They have not the time to help me
Woo the one whom I adore.
Without muse or bard assistance
Am I equal to the game?
In trite words of deep devotion
Will the message be the same?
I can't say it grandiosely
As I show this love of mine.
The old hackneyed words must do then.
Will you be my Valentine?
Joyce I. Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 96th birthday in July of 2014.
You have loved me through the worries.
You've stood by me through the pain.
I have found you there still waiting
When the world was bright again.
In the battle of the poets,
Closeted within their dens,
Words their only ammunition
Shooting from their ink filled pens,
Seeking phrase, uniquely pretty
And an unused metaphor,
They have not the time to help me
Woo the one whom I adore.
Without muse or bard assistance
Am I equal to the game?
In trite words of deep devotion
Will the message be the same?
I can't say it grandiosely
As I show this love of mine.
The old hackneyed words must do then.
Will you be my Valentine?
Joyce I. Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce celebrated her 96th birthday in July of 2014.
Something Borrowed--By Brian Strand--England
Something Borrowed
Enough of ennui, I may, I might
the mind is an enchanting thing, senses
do not deceive. Days of prismatic colour
apparitions of splendour, things are what
they seem, a mosaic, a prosaic voracity
and verity.
What are years then? Efforts of affectation,
dispositions by angels? No, the past is the
present, a chameleon face of discontent.
O calamity, no swan so fine as the merits of
heredity, let the critics dream in their preciosity
for charity overcomes envy where light is speech.
A phrasis inspired by the titles of Marianne Moore Poems
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
Enough of ennui, I may, I might
the mind is an enchanting thing, senses
do not deceive. Days of prismatic colour
apparitions of splendour, things are what
they seem, a mosaic, a prosaic voracity
and verity.
What are years then? Efforts of affectation,
dispositions by angels? No, the past is the
present, a chameleon face of discontent.
O calamity, no swan so fine as the merits of
heredity, let the critics dream in their preciosity
for charity overcomes envy where light is speech.
A phrasis inspired by the titles of Marianne Moore Poems
Brian Strand has created short poetic forms including 'broken monoku' (a haiku variation) and 'footle' (a trochaic monometer with witty, topical, etc themes) and Captioned Cartoon, an Ekphrasis combining his art and poetic interests. He has published a seven kindle ebook series Poetic forms; A Strand of Verse; My Choice Strand Verse; A Strand Guide; Christianity Explained; A Strand critique; and Captioned Cartoon Ekphrasis. Brian has written nearly 200 Amazon reviews and is a Wiki poetry and art editor.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Haiku--By Gerald A. McBreen--United States
in the empty bed
the smell of you lingers
I hug your pillow
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
the smell of you lingers
I hug your pillow
Gerald A. McBreen found poetry after he retired from the US Postal Service. He discovered he had a flair for romance. He has been publishing for ten years with True Romance and their related magazines. He is the coordinator for Striped Water Poets. They sponsor an “open mic” every first Wednesday of the month. They also post 'Poems on Posters' around the area. In 2009 Pacific, Washington celebrated its 100th anniversary, and he was appointed Poet Laureate. (2009 - 2013)
I'm Not Your Magic Johnson--By Chen-ou Liu--Canada
I'm Not Your Magic Johnson (tanka prose)
like dark clouds
these words hovering
in my mind:
Did you ever love me?
I love that you loved me
The low rumble of distant thunder. On the way home, I walk with a heavy step, my legs aching. I am dragged down by this inescapable fact that tomorrow is Monday and it will be hard to get up.
________________
Chen-ou Liu is the author of four books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize Winner of the 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest). His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards. To read more of his poems, please go to Poetry in the Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/
like dark clouds
these words hovering
in my mind:
Did you ever love me?
I love that you loved me
The low rumble of distant thunder. On the way home, I walk with a heavy step, my legs aching. I am dragged down by this inescapable fact that tomorrow is Monday and it will be hard to get up.
________________
Chen-ou Liu is the author of four books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize Winner of the 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest). His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards. To read more of his poems, please go to Poetry in the Moment, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/
Friday, February 6, 2015
Winter Watch--By Joan McNerney--United States
Winter Watch
Tangled…one ragged
leaf clings to the bough.
Stopping to see the
shape of a snowflake.
Winter storm warning…
headlights beam at noon.
Came home just in time
for the first dizzy dance
of artic flurries.
More amazing than
redwood forests...
your ice blue eyes.
Simmering soup fills my
kitchen with aromas.
All day my windows
chatter like nervous teeth.
Crystals spin together in
joyful pirouette…a cool ballet.
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Camel Saloon, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, and included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane and Poppy Road Anthologies.
Tangled…one ragged
leaf clings to the bough.
Stopping to see the
shape of a snowflake.
Winter storm warning…
headlights beam at noon.
Came home just in time
for the first dizzy dance
of artic flurries.
More amazing than
redwood forests...
your ice blue eyes.
Simmering soup fills my
kitchen with aromas.
All day my windows
chatter like nervous teeth.
Crystals spin together in
joyful pirouette…a cool ballet.
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Camel Saloon, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, and included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane and Poppy Road Anthologies.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Peggy Dugan French and ayaz daryl nielsen--United States
afternoon enchantment
By Peggy Dugan French and ayaz daryl nielsen
the blue sailed on forever
honeysuckle zephyr
whispered through the pines
and the cherry blossoms
elegantly graced the fading afternoon
whippoorwills called to their mates
their song drifting through the forest
after all, a grateful sense of the genuine
By Peggy Dugan French and ayaz daryl nielsen
the blue sailed on forever
honeysuckle zephyr
whispered through the pines
and the cherry blossoms
elegantly graced the fading afternoon
whippoorwills called to their mates
their song drifting through the forest
after all, a grateful sense of the genuine
Idyll-By Alan McAlpine Douglas--United Kingdom
Idyll
Mingled by moon-driven tides,
beautiful cumulus rises grandly
over waves of grain-raising fields;
dwellers, in small-farm worlds, are pleased.
Alan McAlpine Douglas , father to 5 and grandfather to 3, has been writing poetry since 1993. His idiosyncratic voice has produced thousands of poems in this time, and he finds it quite hard to stay serious, even when he means to. He also enjoys writing spoofs, using well-known poems or songs like Clementine or In the Ghetto as his models.
Mingled by moon-driven tides,
beautiful cumulus rises grandly
over waves of grain-raising fields;
dwellers, in small-farm worlds, are pleased.
Alan McAlpine Douglas , father to 5 and grandfather to 3, has been writing poetry since 1993. His idiosyncratic voice has produced thousands of poems in this time, and he finds it quite hard to stay serious, even when he means to. He also enjoys writing spoofs, using well-known poems or songs like Clementine or In the Ghetto as his models.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
Walk With Winter--By Colleen Keller Breuning--United States
Walk With Winter
Here in the wake of gentle morning hush,
shimmering sun rises in its scarlet blush,
whispering namaste in the bitter breeze
amidst the crow and blue jay’s fervent pleas.
Here in the woods, you are never alone;
nature comes alive in its welcoming home.
Squirrels bury nuts under the towering oak,
white-tails bolt as distant shots provoke.
Here the forest yields its stark winter scene,
all barren branches save for tiny evergreens.
These solitary pine trees, if they grow at all,
shall grow ever strong, ever free, ever tall.
Here is where I long to sleep, in pale moonlight
beneath snowy blanket on long December nights.
Walk with winter, let broken hearts become whole,
with peace and serenity to ease your weary soul.
Colleen Keller Breuning is a poet and photographer who was born and raised in Maryland. She currently resides in Purcellville, Virginia. Her poetry, short stories and photography have been published in a variety of print and online magazines during the past decade. Her first poetry book, Shadows of My Father, was a tribute to her father and published in 2011. She is currently working on her second book of poetry, along with assorted photography projects. She participates in several online writing groups. In addition to poetry and photography, she loves nature, music, cats and wine (not necessarily in that order).
Here in the wake of gentle morning hush,
shimmering sun rises in its scarlet blush,
whispering namaste in the bitter breeze
amidst the crow and blue jay’s fervent pleas.
Here in the woods, you are never alone;
nature comes alive in its welcoming home.
Squirrels bury nuts under the towering oak,
white-tails bolt as distant shots provoke.
Here the forest yields its stark winter scene,
all barren branches save for tiny evergreens.
These solitary pine trees, if they grow at all,
shall grow ever strong, ever free, ever tall.
Here is where I long to sleep, in pale moonlight
beneath snowy blanket on long December nights.
Walk with winter, let broken hearts become whole,
with peace and serenity to ease your weary soul.
Colleen Keller Breuning is a poet and photographer who was born and raised in Maryland. She currently resides in Purcellville, Virginia. Her poetry, short stories and photography have been published in a variety of print and online magazines during the past decade. Her first poetry book, Shadows of My Father, was a tribute to her father and published in 2011. She is currently working on her second book of poetry, along with assorted photography projects. She participates in several online writing groups. In addition to poetry and photography, she loves nature, music, cats and wine (not necessarily in that order).
The rain lake...By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal
The rain lake
That will disappear in May
Is silvery today
The rain lake
Looks golden today
Gone in May
The rain lake
Has droplets of dreams
Never fades in May.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
That will disappear in May
Is silvery today
The rain lake
Looks golden today
Gone in May
The rain lake
Has droplets of dreams
Never fades in May.
Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Starbright--By Connie Marcum Wong--United States
Starbright
Stars are brighter tonight, twinkling
In the darkness of a new moon.
Orion's belt enchants my impassioned heart,
As my thoughts of you soar
In a dimension devoid of Time's constraints.
Let me feel the warmth of your strong arms
wrapped 'round me as we breathe in
The scent of night blooming jasmine.
You are my summer nights—
In my dreams of us on cool cotton sheets
While Bach serenades us
In rainbows of ribbons~
In a symphony of sounds~
Your skin glistens,
And I am lost in love.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
Stars are brighter tonight, twinkling
In the darkness of a new moon.
Orion's belt enchants my impassioned heart,
As my thoughts of you soar
In a dimension devoid of Time's constraints.
Let me feel the warmth of your strong arms
wrapped 'round me as we breathe in
The scent of night blooming jasmine.
You are my summer nights—
In my dreams of us on cool cotton sheets
While Bach serenades us
In rainbows of ribbons~
In a symphony of sounds~
Your skin glistens,
And I am lost in love.
Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.
Dreams are Magical--By Beth Winchcombe--England
Dreams are Magical
Cottages, log fires -
old oak beams!
Are they a possibility -
a reality -
or like so many things -
just dreams!
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils. She lives in Derbyshire, England.
Cottages, log fires -
old oak beams!
Are they a possibility -
a reality -
or like so many things -
just dreams!
Beth Winchcombe is now a retired housewife and enjoys writing poetry, also painting in oils. She lives in Derbyshire, England.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Hollow Bay Fog--By John Swain--United States
Hollow Bay Fog
Eagle trees appear at dawn
as shadows crack the porcelain fog
between the winter lakes.
Majesty is fragile
as the sliver moon remains a whisper
to guide in the morning sky.
I waded through the stake beds
in the hollow bay
while sunrise rippled the blue layers
of endless air and water.
Coyotes sing on another shore
in a distant bliss
leaving their sound like a wild mask
I wear for my renaming.
And then the merciful quiet
after the wailing for all we are,
this place of loving is restless,
I salve my feet with pine.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky, USA. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky.
Eagle trees appear at dawn
as shadows crack the porcelain fog
between the winter lakes.
Majesty is fragile
as the sliver moon remains a whisper
to guide in the morning sky.
I waded through the stake beds
in the hollow bay
while sunrise rippled the blue layers
of endless air and water.
Coyotes sing on another shore
in a distant bliss
leaving their sound like a wild mask
I wear for my renaming.
And then the merciful quiet
after the wailing for all we are,
this place of loving is restless,
I salve my feet with pine.
John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky, USA. Red Paint Hill published his first collection, Ring the Sycamore Sky.
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States and Leokadia Durmaj--Australia
Come Fly With Me
By Robert Hewett Sr. and Leokadia Durmaj
All around the galaxy we could fly
Higher than any cloud in the sky
I could be one you could too
Making our lives a dream come true.
I want to see that dream in your eyes
I want you to see my love in my eyes
I am your Prince Charming coming on strong.
Hitch a ride with me on my steed and fly.
I am the one with you in tow
You are one who will never let go.
The universe is ours my love,
Let us jump on the clouds and fly,
As long as I am with you my dear ~
There will always be stars in my eyes.
For the dream is real I know,
Love is the greatest gift of all.
Prince Charming, you are indeed,
For I know your love to be true,
It was born in heaven above,
When the Angels came to view.
By Robert Hewett Sr. and Leokadia Durmaj
All around the galaxy we could fly
Higher than any cloud in the sky
I could be one you could too
Making our lives a dream come true.
I want to see that dream in your eyes
I want you to see my love in my eyes
I am your Prince Charming coming on strong.
Hitch a ride with me on my steed and fly.
I am the one with you in tow
You are one who will never let go.
The universe is ours my love,
Let us jump on the clouds and fly,
As long as I am with you my dear ~
There will always be stars in my eyes.
For the dream is real I know,
Love is the greatest gift of all.
Prince Charming, you are indeed,
For I know your love to be true,
It was born in heaven above,
When the Angels came to view.
Haiku/Senryu--By Robert Henry Poulin--United States
Oh, window tree branch
bending to my bedroom light
all these years with love
_______________
the way a curved branch
seeks to find the light in dark
bottom forest floor
_______________
morning glory first
to open to the sunlight
first one to let go
_______________
in her heart
his words of love
when we both let go
_______________
I would yank them out
all these weeds in my garden
but OH! what flowers!
_______________
Robert Henry Poulin has been writing the small genre: haiku/senryu/tanka/Korean Sijo for 15 years winning Modern Haiku Best of Issue Senryu, awards in Tanka and Sijo and published two books of haiku: The Last Leaf Decides and Haiku Art Book. He is Vice President of Colt Press, Helping New Authors Stand Tall. He has been published, his more than two thousand poems, in USA and Internationally, winning awards in Japan and world wide. Poet Poulin resides in South Florida, USA.
bending to my bedroom light
all these years with love
_______________
the way a curved branch
seeks to find the light in dark
bottom forest floor
_______________
morning glory first
to open to the sunlight
first one to let go
_______________
in her heart
his words of love
when we both let go
_______________
I would yank them out
all these weeds in my garden
but OH! what flowers!
_______________
Robert Henry Poulin has been writing the small genre: haiku/senryu/tanka/Korean Sijo for 15 years winning Modern Haiku Best of Issue Senryu, awards in Tanka and Sijo and published two books of haiku: The Last Leaf Decides and Haiku Art Book. He is Vice President of Colt Press, Helping New Authors Stand Tall. He has been published, his more than two thousand poems, in USA and Internationally, winning awards in Japan and world wide. Poet Poulin resides in South Florida, USA.
Monday, February 2, 2015
My Swallow--By David Williams--England
My Swallow
I held you as a fledgling, all scrawny and weak
Your mouth wide open gaping for food
Skinny little legs and your head covered in down
Then nurturing you through your early days
To watch you learn how to dip and dive, to
Protect yourself from life’s big cats
Eventually you spread your wings and
Fled the nest to fly gracefully to pastures new…
David Williams was born in England and has resided there all of his life. He started writing poetry at the tender age of 14. He was encouraged to enter a local school poetry contest and went on to win it. In later life, he joined many local poetry groups and writers circles, eventually becoming chairman. He has had 9 poetry books published and is collating material for two more books which will hopefully be out later this year. He holds workshops to help and encourage writers to understand the many different forms of poetry. He has won many contests and is also a recognised poetry judge.
I held you as a fledgling, all scrawny and weak
Your mouth wide open gaping for food
Skinny little legs and your head covered in down
Then nurturing you through your early days
To watch you learn how to dip and dive, to
Protect yourself from life’s big cats
Eventually you spread your wings and
Fled the nest to fly gracefully to pastures new…
David Williams was born in England and has resided there all of his life. He started writing poetry at the tender age of 14. He was encouraged to enter a local school poetry contest and went on to win it. In later life, he joined many local poetry groups and writers circles, eventually becoming chairman. He has had 9 poetry books published and is collating material for two more books which will hopefully be out later this year. He holds workshops to help and encourage writers to understand the many different forms of poetry. He has won many contests and is also a recognised poetry judge.
Nature’s Reflections--By John W. (Bill) Williams--United States
Nature’s Reflections
Simple things are miracles.
I hold them up to a mirror
in praise;
with each reflection
I see the face of Nature…
simple things created
by the Master’s hand:
like sunshine at the beginning
of a new day,
daffodils in spring,
and rainbows after a sudden rain.
Simple things are easy to find:
I see them in the meadows of wildflowers;
I hear them in melodies of birds…
when I reach out to Nature’s Miracles,
it matters not the season.
I always find perfect and simple gifts…
silent reflections waiting to be discovered.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
Simple things are miracles.
I hold them up to a mirror
in praise;
with each reflection
I see the face of Nature…
simple things created
by the Master’s hand:
like sunshine at the beginning
of a new day,
daffodils in spring,
and rainbows after a sudden rain.
Simple things are easy to find:
I see them in the meadows of wildflowers;
I hear them in melodies of birds…
when I reach out to Nature’s Miracles,
it matters not the season.
I always find perfect and simple gifts…
silent reflections waiting to be discovered.
John W. (Bill) Williams is a retired language arts and children’s literature educator. He lives in Martin, GA, where he stays busy with his art and poetry. He has been published in a variety of venues.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Haibun: Ephemera--By Angelee Deodhar--India
Haibun: Ephemera
One week after our son leaves for his training program my husband and I wander an empty house with the two dogs constantly underfoot. They sense something missing, are lost too, searching for one who used to play with them. The oppressive humidity makes it worse...even the birds are still.
deep autumn
the silence between drops
lengthens
frogpond 2005 Vol. XXVIII No 1 page 45
Angelee Deodhar, an eye surgeon by profession is a haiku poet, translator, and artist. She lives and works in Chandigarh, India. Her haiku/haibun/haiga have been published internationally in various books and journals, and her work can be viewed on many websites. To promote haiku in India, she has translated six books of haiku from English to Hindi, which she distributed for free. These bilingual books include: If Someone Asks: Masaoka Shiki's Life and Haiku (2005),Classic Haiku: A Master's Selection, edited by Miura Yuzuru (2006), Ogura Hyakunin Isshu: 100 Poems by 100 Poets (2007), Children’s Haiku from Around the World–A Haiku Primer (2007), Indian Haiku (2008), and The Distant Mountain: The Life and Haiku of Kobayashi Issa (2009).
One week after our son leaves for his training program my husband and I wander an empty house with the two dogs constantly underfoot. They sense something missing, are lost too, searching for one who used to play with them. The oppressive humidity makes it worse...even the birds are still.
deep autumn
the silence between drops
lengthens
frogpond 2005 Vol. XXVIII No 1 page 45
Angelee Deodhar, an eye surgeon by profession is a haiku poet, translator, and artist. She lives and works in Chandigarh, India. Her haiku/haibun/haiga have been published internationally in various books and journals, and her work can be viewed on many websites. To promote haiku in India, she has translated six books of haiku from English to Hindi, which she distributed for free. These bilingual books include: If Someone Asks: Masaoka Shiki's Life and Haiku (2005),Classic Haiku: A Master's Selection, edited by Miura Yuzuru (2006), Ogura Hyakunin Isshu: 100 Poems by 100 Poets (2007), Children’s Haiku from Around the World–A Haiku Primer (2007), Indian Haiku (2008), and The Distant Mountain: The Life and Haiku of Kobayashi Issa (2009).
I Wonder--By Eleanor Michael--United States
I Wonder
If I’m a poet
why can’t I write
endless rhyme,
stretch a thought
into innumerable
lines. Or tell
you how the earth
moves underfoot --
though I try --
when confronted
by your wondrous
eyes…
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
If I’m a poet
why can’t I write
endless rhyme,
stretch a thought
into innumerable
lines. Or tell
you how the earth
moves underfoot --
though I try --
when confronted
by your wondrous
eyes…
Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.
FEBRUARY ANNOUNCEMENTS/PUBLICATION OPPORTUNITIES
NEW CONTRIBUTORS IN JANUARY
Kelley White--United States
d. n. simmers--Canada
Michael G. Smith--United States
Peter Duggan--Australia
Pijush Kanti Deb--India
Lois Greene Stone--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 March column by February 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Marianne Szlyk has released a new chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia Looking Up at Trees at Heaven, through Kind of a Hurricane Press' Barometric Pressures Authors Series. You may download the chapbook for free at this site: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html Thank you.
John Swain released his first collection of poetry, Ring the Sycamore Sky. Ordering information and reviews are available from Red Paint Hill Publishing at http://redpainthill.com/ring-the-sycamore-sky.php
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: celinem@aol.com
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, was released in early December. More information 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
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
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.
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. Visit Old Mountain Press' eBook site at http://www.oldmp.com/e-book
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.
Ads are placed by the underlined names. Whispers has not verified the accuracy of all the information.
Kelley White--United States
d. n. simmers--Canada
Michael G. Smith--United States
Peter Duggan--Australia
Pijush Kanti Deb--India
Lois Greene Stone--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 March column by February 25
ANNOUNCEMENTS
Marianne Szlyk has released a new chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia Looking Up at Trees at Heaven, through Kind of a Hurricane Press' Barometric Pressures Authors Series. You may download the chapbook for free at this site: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html Thank you.
John Swain released his first collection of poetry, Ring the Sycamore Sky. Ordering information and reviews are available from Red Paint Hill Publishing at http://redpainthill.com/ring-the-sycamore-sky.php
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: celinem@aol.com
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, was released in early December. More information 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
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
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.
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. Visit Old Mountain Press' eBook site at http://www.oldmp.com/e-book
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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