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

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.

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.

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.

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

silkworms

_______________

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 – aliznaidi.blogspot.com and follow him on Twitter @AliZnaidi. 

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

Dorothea​

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

www.authorsden.com/carlpalmer

Poetry Moments--By Niranjan Navalgund--India

empty tea pot
I see what is

missing

_______________

ambling moon

the clock ticking

slower

_______________

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 www.niriwrites.wordpress.com 

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.

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

_______________

butterfly
... 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

hourglass

of time.

Lives

s

e

e

one

brief

moment,

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.

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

            adrift

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.

Textures--By Judy Moskowitz--United States

Textures

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

_______________

beneath
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: http://zenspeug.blogspot.com  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.

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.

Blessings,

Karen O’Leary

Whispers’ Editor

_________________

christmas

shopping but 

nothing for you;

I light a church candle

and weep

By Jack Horne

_________________

One more

grey morning

unfurling its

endlessly boring chores

again.

By Joan McNerney

_________________

over

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

_________________

watching

the mist rise

above the ground –

the floating trees now drop

anchor

By Paul Callus

_________________

Fallen
maple tree
decayed throughout
poised on a branch a bird
singing

By Ralph Stott

_________________

why not

let bygones

be bygones now

life is too short to hold

grudges

By Charlene McCutcheon

_________________

the sea

buried him

with one big swoosh…

his sea chest rests, still shut,

at home

By Karen O’Leary

_________________

winter

fire burns

houses, bodies

what remain are souls, hearts,

drunk minds

By Ananya Dhawan

_________________

across

the valley

scent of roses-

how shall I not follow

his steps?

By Archana Kapoor Nagpal

_________________

outside

the phone wires

become a staff

the black notes of starlings

singing

By Mary Jo Balistreri

_________________

my dog

alerts me

her frenzied bark . . . 

hunkered beside the barn

bobcat

Elizabeth Howard

_________________

smiling
in your arms
is happiness
and my hand in yours is
blissful

By Melanie Antanesian

_________________

dozens

of footprints

meandering

through the snow, leading me

astray

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.

whisper

of the sea…

renewal

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 maryjobalistreripoet.com  

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.

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, http://chenouliu.blogspot.com/

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.

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

Possibility

By Mary Jo Balestriri and Michael Escoubas

In the silence

of the rain’s hush

the sky looks

uncertain

and though I fear

the in-between

of myself

and the murky

gray weather

I watch color

slip quietly

imagine

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

possibility

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.

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.

Limericks--By Gerald Heyder--United States

Limericks

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 

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.

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.

Sincerely,

Karen O’Leary—Whispers’ Editor

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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!

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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.

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