Monday, February 29, 2016

Editor's Thoughts/Magic Dances On--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Contributors,

I would like to devote this column to you.  I am so proud of all of you.  We are a community built of individuals, each one like a piece of a mosaic—unique in style and voice—which no one else can replace.  You are touching the lives of others in ways you probably wouldn’t even imagine.

The level of poetry I’ve been receiving often has me sitting back in my chair in awe.  It is an honor and a joy to share your gifts with our international readers, some so inspired by your words that they become a part of journey by sharing their own poetry.  That is a tribute to you!

When I opened Whispers in 2013, I wanted to create an online journal that connected writers from different circles in a positive environment, one that offered the same opportunities to beginners and award winners.  I never dreamed that our circle would widen to the scope of today.  Thank you for the encouragement and support you give me and other contributors.

We share joys, challenges, hardships and dreams.  You have lifted up our readers with inspiration and hope.  Sometimes, you make them laugh which brightens their days.  Sometimes, the difficulties you share comforts them as they realize that they are not alone in what they are facing, and that they can move beyond the hardship and pain to a season of new beginnings.

As we lift up others, we are lifted up, too. I hope you continue to let your words shine, not only at Whispers but wherever you go.  I’m a bit at a loss for words to convey how grateful I am.  Please accept my heartfelt THANK YOU!

With that I will leave you with this poem—

Magic Dances On

Words whisper
in the misty
forest of ideas.

Future poems flit
like butterflies,
often tumbling
without reason.

These wildflowers
are gladly gathered
by the artist
to map a trail.

Starlight brightens
the journey.

In a serene den
by the fireplace,
her pen flows freely.

An increasing resume
gives the poet courage
to share her song.

Blessings and best wishes,

Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor

Sunday, February 28, 2016

Before the Mask Comes Off--By Shloka Shankar--India

Before the Mask Comes Off

I want to be pretentious about
being a poet and an artist.

Remember the plots of novels
I’ve supposedly read.

Watch TV shows with someone
who gets the joke without explanation.

Be a literary snob.
Learn to critique.

Maybe wax eloquent by drawing
parallels and allusions,

or dropping a theory or two
into the mix

and feel satisfied about never
fully comprehending anything.

Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer from Bangalore, India. She loves experimenting with all forms of the written word, and has found her niche in Japanese short-forms such as haiku, tanka, and haibun, as well as found/remixed poetry. She is also the founding editor of the literary & arts journal, Sonic Boom. You can read more of her work here

like a bird--By Ann Marie Mazzarella--United States

like a bird

like a wild bird under the moon
my heart beats whenever you're near

like a baby bird learning to fly
my wings have grown to freedom

like a blue bird singing under the sun
my soul is filled and whistles each tune

like two love birds within a tree
our souls are touched forevermore

pick any bird along the sky
knowing you I eternally glide

Ann Marie Mazzarella is a poet who resides in Pawtucket, Rhode Island.  She began to write in 2000 while working in shelters for abused women and children.  She would leave inspirational messages for encouragement.  Since 2005, Ann Marie has been associated with several international poetry sites where she has posted her entries and reviewed the works of others and has created several new poetry forms.

Saturday, February 27, 2016

Haiku--By Peggy Dugan French--United States

trail by the river
the stories 
you must know

sunlight dancing
on river rocks
forest masterpiece

nimble current
rushing to the sea
forest symphony

night sky glittering
through the pines
river song suite

deep in the night
rolling river
in my dreams

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.

Life in Slow Motion--By Lenora Rain-Lee Good--United States

Life in Slow Motion

He gets out of bed, shuffles to the kitchen,
pours his coffee, his milk, stands in the door
deciding whether to sit at the table or
shuffle to the sofa.

Conversations odd. He begins
mid-sentence, pauses, his mind
goes over what he was saying, what he might say,
does he really deserve a bowl of ice cream?

Pain does weird things; it pulls us,
bends us, requires us to always acknowledge it,
take meds to placate it,
take meds to dull it, to dull us.

The fractured sternum heals, that pain lessens
as he holds the pillow close to cough.
The arthritis in his neck continues to grow; slow,
deliberate, excruciating pain.

More pain--slower movements,
more pills, more patches, more moans. Thoughts
slide on quiet clouds of Morpheus,
life in slow motion isn't life at all.

Lenora Rain-Lee Good lives and writes in Kennewick, Washington and shares her abode with her cat, Tashiko Akuma Pestini. She has sold four novels, numerous short stories, a few radio dramas, and her poems have appeared in various venues including Anthology on Motherhood and In Transit: Poetry of People on the Move.

Friday, February 26, 2016

In an Old Cathedral--By Terry O’Leary--France

In an Old Cathedral

She knelt upon a plank of oaken, sable cloak, her mourning guise,
and sensed the breath of distant sighs,
pale shades of bane behind blue eyes…

While clasping close a cross-like token (holding hope for those in need)
she prayed her Lord "please intercede,
my woe be washed; my soul be freed"…

Archangels, in the skies evoken, candles flickered, shadows shivered
through the panes, the moonlight quivered…
summoned forth, the wish delivered…  

Forgotten words he once had spoken (echoed dim beneath the dome)
swept sweetness of the honeycomb
o'er distant realms they used to roam…

At midnight's knell, in dreams awoken, memories of love unchained…
Though loneliness of grief remained,
she still held hope… hope hadn't waned…

And when the dawn had early broken, by the font, in peace she lay…
As sudden as a sunrise ray
the light of life had slipped away…

Terry O’Leary defines himself as "A physicist lacking gravity..."

Change Brings Change--By Constance Escobar--United States

Change Brings Change

“Time brings about a change”
the people used to say and it
sounded real strange.

But, sometimes it’s cutting chains
that brings about the change.

Changing habits, changing minds,
sometimes we need only to be kind.

Change brings about change to our lives, I say.
Try it and see if you can unlock mysteries, if you may.

Constance Escobar is a writer of everything and anything that strikes her fancy. From wedding books to historical fiction and from Poetry to Romance. She writes as she is inspired and has work published in the Ink Slingers' Anthology 2014 & 2015.

Open Circle Poem: In a Café of Senses, Santa Fe--By Michael G. Smith--United States

Open Circle Poem: In a Café of Senses, Santa Fe

A woman smelling of my deceased
godmother’s street-level apartment
walks past me, her scent the one
I needed this moment stretched
between snippets of people talking
about issues I want to hear of and those
I don’t and which scone or croissant
I might want waiting in the glass cases.
Sinatra crooning from the speakers
above me, a taste of old world
marinara (Aunt Phile called it gravy)
mingling with effusions from mothballs
buried in her coat closet hovers
tantalizingly close, the line of coffee
lovers, each swiping smartphones,
snaking out the propped-open door
pushing my beliefs towards touching
how safe distance has become.

Michael G. Smith's poems have been published in many literary journals. This poem is from the series Open Circle Poems. No Small Things was published by Tres Chicas Books in 2014. The Dippers Do Their Part, a collaboration with visual artist Laura Young of haibun and katagami from their Shotpouch Cabin residency, was published by Miriam’s Well in 2015.

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Ken Allan Dronsfield and Blanca Alicia Garza--United States

A Whispered Hush

By Ken Allan Dronsfield and Blanca Alicia Garza

Lavender hues with reds and blues;
Secrets coveted by a whispered hush.
She sneaks away now, given the cue;
The sky exploding in a flurried rush.

For the sun keeps her secrets
tucked away within the night.
But the twilight holds her promise...
until the breaking dawn's first light.

And now the Moon rises above
illuminating the early evening sky
a shooting star catches my gaze
my heart beats on, a silent sigh.

I'll always cherish the memories
of the beauty found just before dusk.
Singing a sunset faerie serenade,
gently revealing the Whispered Hush.

Haiku--By Ali Znaidi--Tunisia

fleecy clouds
around the moon…
her face cream

spring moon…
cocoons spit out

moonless night…
the faint shadows
of a blue chicory

spring gentle rain…
jiving butterflies weave
through the rainbow

still dark…
glimpses of sky in
the kokako’s blue wattles

Ali Znaidi (b.1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He is the author of several chapbooks, including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), Taste of the Edge (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014), and Mathemaku x5 (Spacecraft Press, 2015). For more details, you can visit his blog at – and follow him on Twitter @AliZnaidi

Dorothea​--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States


Her voice was musical and alive,
each sentence ended with a smile.

Her laugh contagious, I grin at the memory
and chuckle at the thought.

No birthday, anniversary or holiday forgotten,
always a visit, card or telephone call.

Surrounded by family at her insistence
on any and every occasion.

She made sure you ate seconds
and carried the leftovers home.

After all meals, at anyone’s house,
she helped clean and put everything away.

She never came to any home without a gift
or let anyone leave her home empty handed.

Her voice was musical and alive.

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

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Poetry Moments--By Niranjan Navalgund--India

empty tea pot
I see what is

ambling moon
the clock ticking

Niranjan Navalgund is a chess lover from India. Reading and writing are his leisure time activities. He is fond of Zen Stories and the cute creature - Panda. He blogs at 

Can’t Have a Day Without Music--By Celine Rose Mariotti--United States

Can’t Have a Day Without Music

Can’t have a day without music
In my life,
I have to hear the sounds of Paul Anka, Johnny Matthis,
Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Rod Stewart, and others,
I have to hear the sounds of Il Divo singing Italian music,
I have to hear the sounds of Johnny Cash singing country music,
I have to play my guitar or my banjo,
Just sit and play and relax,
Music is the best therapy in the world,
Music is the gift of love,
It is our hearts beating to the sounds of melodies,
Music is our connection with the rest of humanity,
Music is my life,
So I can’t have a day without music.

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.

Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Haiku--By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan--India

the wind's whistle
through naked branches
... rush hour

summer sunset
...all I want is a taxi
to take me home

faraway church...
how long this shivering gaze
in the darkness

... a brief standstill
at rush hour

autumn dusk
that smile slowly sets
on her face

Raamesh Gowri Raghavan moonlights as an award-winning copywriter by day and daylights as an award-wanting poet by night. He thinks he is funny, but his friends vehemently disagree.

Human Granules--By Mary A. Couch--United States

Human Granules
The sands trickle
through the
of time.
then pass
beyond into
the night’s abyss.

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.

Paper Trainer’s Lament--By Alice Couch--United States

Paper Trainer’s Lament

My pup is a big photo hound,
so numerous pictures abound.
She’s sweet and petite
will sit at my feet
then potty where no papers are found.

Alice Couch is a retired nurse’s aide who spends her days playing with her dogs, Nibby and Squeakie, while writing poetry for her three children, four grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, and four great great-grandchildren.  One of her stories published in Living with Children. She studied yoga and Buddhism and has a gift for blending the rational approach of the Western mind with the deep spiritual wisdom of the east in her poetry. She was named Noblesville’s Senior Poet Laureate in 2012.

Monday, February 22, 2016

the bread-crumb trail--By Jeanette Nel le Roux--South Africa

the bread-crumb trail

as the world was waltzing by
on schmaltzy tunes of days gone by
a bloodless calm overwhelmed me
as I followed the bread-crumb trail
and found a fallen angel -
its wings were ripped off

at first, I fed fear into my heart -
unheralded was the return
of a bloodless anger of defeat
against relentless demons -
only to realize, this is where
I have died before

Jeanette Nel le Roux lives in the tranquil town of Mossel Bay on the beautiful Garden Route in South Africa since 1990.  She is a real estate agent since 1976, divorced in 2007, has 3 daughters and a son.  Jeanette's home language is Afrikaans, but she writes in both English and Afrikaans.  She has a poetry group on Facebook called "Jeanette Nel le Roux Poetry". Jeanette seriously started writing poetry when her soulmate died in 2009.  She is published in several poetry books, together with other poets, but she will publish one of her own in the near future.

Not Faith--By Jim Teeters--United States

Not Faith

I swim the ocean
of collected dreams

Breathe and move
to stay afloat
not content with faith

Faith has too much intention
telling God what to do

Love calls out
tells me to open my eyes
feel warmth of sun
on my chest

Let go, let go love says
so I float in this
wet kiss embraced
by emerald ocean bliss
wildly wandering

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.

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Textures--By Judy Moskowitz--United States


A creation of mankind
Character lines appear
In its fabric wearing thin
A polyester blend of strong will
And sin
Wearing frayed edges
Ripped seams
One needs to see dignity
Through the eye in the needle
As it mends cloth
Into a cashmere dream

Judy Moskowitz is a professional jazz pianist originally from N.Y.C. now residing in Florida.  She started writing poetry three years ago and has recently been published.   Her poems will be in an anthology book by Michael Lee Johnson.   She has also been published by Thepoetrycommunity and Indiana Voice Journal for the May edition. Music is in her veins alongside poetry.

Haiku--By John McDonald--Scotland

leafless apple tree -
baubles hang
red and green

in high branches:
a bad-loser's
football boots

birthday -
the old man counts:
another card less

a quilt of leaves
trout sleep

head over heels
on the icy pavement –
decorated black and blue

John McDonald is a retired stone-mason who came to haiku in the mid-nineties. He fell in love with the genre immediately. Being a writer in the Scots language this genre fitted so well with Scots: a language steeped in rural life and having a natural succinctness to it. John has his own blog in Scots, with English versions:  He enjoys being involved in translations, working with the very fine Irish poet Gabriel Rosenstock on various ventures, the most recent being translations into Irish and Scots of the great haiku poet Buson: Moon over Tagoto and has appeared in many anthologies.

Saturday, February 20, 2016

Whispers' February Activity--The Form--Cinkqu

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

It is a pleasure to share with you this month’s activity column in a form called Cinqku.  These activities are a chance for our growing community to try something different.  It is not the goal to present perfect poetry but to enjoy each writer’s thoughts.  Fourteen writers have come together to share their poems for your reading pleasure.  Congratulations and thank you to all of them!

If you missed the deadline, I have the directions after the last poem. Feel free to share your poems in the comments section.  As we journey together, I hope you enjoy sharing and encouraging others.  Writing is a gift.


Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor

shopping but 
nothing for you;
I light a church candle
and weep

By Jack Horne

One more
grey morning
unfurling its
endlessly boring chores

By Joan McNerney

the stubble
carrion crows-
the game-keeper heads home
for tea

By Brian Strand

Old dog
doesn’t ask for
much: a walk, warm
bed, chance to steal food from
Old cat.

By Kelley J. White

the mist rise
above the ground –
the floating trees now drop

By Paul Callus

maple tree
decayed throughout
poised on a branch a bird

By Ralph Stott

why not
let bygones
be bygones now
life is too short to hold

By Charlene McCutcheon

the sea
buried him
with one big swoosh…
his sea chest rests, still shut,
at home

By Karen O’Leary

fire burns
houses, bodies
what remain are souls, hearts,
drunk minds

By Ananya Dhawan

the valley
scent of roses-
how shall I not follow
his steps?

By Archana Kapoor Nagpal

the phone wires
become a staff
the black notes of starlings

By Mary Jo Balistreri

my dog
alerts me
her frenzied bark . . . 
hunkered beside the barn

Elizabeth Howard

in your arms
is happiness
and my hand in yours is

By Melanie Antanesian

of footprints
through the snow, leading me

By Robert P. Hansen

The Cinqku, a close analogue to both the Japanese haiku and the American Cinquain created by Adelaide Crapsey, was invented by Denis Garrison. Cinqku follows a strict 17 syllable count arranged in five present tense successive lines of 2-3-4-6-2 syllables written in haiku style with free diction and syntax and no metrical requirement. A prominent feature of Cinqku is the effective use of the line break and turn. Typically the first three lines represent the objective, proposition, or the question; then the last two lines are the “aha” moment or the “turn” in the poem. The turn is similar to the use of kireji in haiku or cinquain.

Untethered by Time--By Mary Jo Balistreri--United States

Untethered by Time

alley dark branches rain scented cherry blossoms

The first time I heard My Sweet Lady by John Denver I was living in Mt. Laurel, New Jersey and dating the man I hoped to marry. Complications separated us. He left. It was over a month when miraculously, it now seems, he returned with an album under his arm—Poems, Prayers and Promises. Our record player was on the floor of the family room, and he had me lie down next to it, and close my eyes. Lady, are you crying, do the tears belong to me? Did you think our time together was all gone?

While John Denver sang, my love’s fingertips brushed my face, a touch so soft it seemed I could be imagining it. Over and over his fingertips caressed my face, perhaps they hovered above my face like an unknown wind.

of the sea…

Mary Jo Balistreri has two books of poetry published by Bellowing Ark Press and a chapbook by Tiger's Eye Press. She has more recently been enjoying learning and writing haiku type poems. She finds it helps her see differently and experience life in a new way. For more information, please visit her at  

The King--By Marlene Million--United States

The King

At the door, a Lion stood, looking at me.
Puzzled, I wondered why he was there?
The two of us stared at one another.
I needed to move, get out of his way.

He progressed towards me; I was tense.
When he yawned, I saw his large, lion molars!
Was he tired from running long hunt
for nightly prey, stopping here to rest?

Mane of gold encircled his head,
a symbol of royalty, stateliness.
Wisdom emanated from his presence.
He stalked closer with powerful paws.

Abiding before me, he rubbed his head
against my folded arms.  His greeting
of gentleness was a soft touch of the Lamb.
The alarm jolted me from my dream.

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.

Friday, February 19, 2016

Tanka--By Chen-ou Liu--Canada

the first night
after my landing paper
is date-stamped
my tongue trips
on my own name

new immigrant
to this snow-covered land...
lost in sleep
I awake at three
under another moon

week-long sunlight
melting snowbanks between me
and my neighbors ...
we barricade ourselves
behind different languages

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,

Old Time Valentines--By David Austin--United States

Old Time Valentines

i gave you my heart
but you lost it somewhere
those dear      wrinkled hands
losing stitch
in old lace and red velvet

stop for one moment
fond-time thoughts of yesteryear
i offer you now
these lips   eyes   heart   very soul
my love-wrinkled valentine

David Austin is professional violinist and teacher, who communicates through poetry. He has played with the Cincinnati Symphony, taught at Colorado College and various public schools. He is a published author, who has been writing poetry and novels for over 40 years. His pride and joy is a shelter in which he feeds and cares for animals.  David is a member of Poetry Soup.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Mary Jo Balestriri and Michael Escoubas--United States


By Mary Jo Balestriri and Michael Escoubas

In the silence
of the rain’s hush
the sky looks
and though I fear
the in-between
of myself
and the murky
gray weather
I watch color
slip quietly
roots and stems
sip life
sap rise

In summer air
dogs and ponies
alfalfa hay
raked in rows
make air thick and sweet
with clover smells
they seem like arms
embracing me
these smells, these colors
this weather slips in
on cat’s feet
pregnant with
my roots and stems
sip life

My Lovely--By Jan Oskar Hansen-- Portugal

My Lovely

I wrote your name
On an autumnal leaf
And let it blew away in the wind
Now you are forgotten
But only your name
I hear your whispering in my ears
On cold brisk days.

Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.

monarch...By James Rasmusson--United States

monarch of times past…
lifeblood of distant seaports
tall ships repose

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.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

The Master Builders--By Yvonne Sparkes--England

The Master Builders

Those master builders of the air,
Build homes with great aplomb and flair.
Gathering bundles in their beaks,
From tops of trees where branches meet.

A mission set before their eyes,
In warmer weather, bluer skies,
They pull and tug with all their might,
To carry twigs along in flight.

Such joyful vision nature brings,
When life`s transformed in warmer spring,
Each bird has nesting on their mind,
To lay those eggs and breed their kind.

To sit and watch in noon day sun,
Is to see creation just begun,
A continuum that God has planned,
A scene still splendid and  as grand.

Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes,  immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents.  She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons.  She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images.  A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain.  She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.

A Time for Pears--By J. T. Milford--United States

A Time for Pears

The liquid moon
Spills its full light down on
Gleaming clusters of early white blossoms
Reflecting a canopy of virginal light

From a sultry blue sky
The scarlet sun burns its rays
On a rippled sea of leaves
Hiding the still green fruit

Then comes quiet September
The enduring tree is transformed
And lights up noble and glowing
On the golden eve of the gathering

As the luminous sun and earth
Again grace us with fruit
And the rhythm of life
Begins to change

J. T. Milford is a retired CPA who has just completed his first book of poetry.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Limericks--By Gerald Heyder--United States


Meet Moe the private detective
who is truly ineffective,
he wouldn’t know a clue
if it stuck to his shoe
so he’s called the “eye” that’s defective.

Joe bought a big fancy boat
with a hefty check he wrote.
It bounced like a ball
and that’s not all,
Joe’s big boat doesn’t float!

Let us pity poor Paul
who is simply no athlete at all,
try as he might
he can’t get a strike
using a square bowling ball.

Gerald Heyder is a published poet from Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

When--By Linda Hurdwell--England


When the moon is hanging ever so high
Amid the blackness of the night sky
With silver stars like diamonds new
That’s when you know, I love you

When you feel great drops of heavy rain
Drowning the world’s large terrain
And we run indoors with limbs wet through
That’s when you know, I love you

When the Sun is hot and smiling down
The warmth ironing out a worried frown
When the wind turns our frames cold and blue
That’s when you know, I love you.

When our hands caress and our lips might kiss
And our hearts entwine in heavenly bliss
When we smile so wide you’ll know it’s true.
That you love me, and I love you.

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.

Monday, February 15, 2016

From the Archives—Featuring Robert Lindley

It is a joy to travel back into our Whispers’ archives and read gems from past issues.  Today, it is a pleasure to present Robert Lindley’s first poem published at our online journal. This lone tree faces many challenges over a span of many years—as have many of you.  As bits and pieces are lost with illness, aging, deaths, etc., we are reminded by Robert’s words that we can still endure.  Thank you, Robert, for sharing your talent with us.


Karen O’Leary—Whispers’ Editor


Great Lone Tree, So Beautiful
By Robert Lindley

Great lone tree standing in the middle of Harper's lot
  weathering all attacks from so many enemies it has got
Struck eleven times by lightning in as many years
  last one burned so hot that sap burst forth like tears!
First plague was ten thousand locusts eating its fruits
  next came grub worms devouring its sweet tender roots
After that first fire came burning high above its trunk
  then came the woodpeckers pecking out chunk by chunk!
Next the teenage boys driving in nails for a playhouse
  adding to the big holes bored so deeply by a wood mouse
Second fire burned its trunk until hard rain put it out
  followed by six years of county's hottest, longest drought
Great lone tree had weathered so many terrible attacks
  insects gnawing ever deeper its long and deep cracks
So many years it giving its fruit and comforting shade
  its life beaten but that majestic beauty never did fade
Great lone tree stood reaching ever upward to Mother Sky
  enduring all while so stubbornly refusing to ever die!


Robert Lindley is poet from the Southern USA. He has been writing poetry since 1969. Robert writes with the intent to offer others words to enjoy and with high hopes he may inspire and brighten lives in some way.