Activity Editor's Thoughts--By Michael Escoubas--United States

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

I like to write poetry because poetry gives me a way of expressing myself within the chaos of modern life. We poets have something to offer which can be read in seconds, yet, affect people for a lifetime.

Whispers allows so many people, worldwide, to form a community of blessings and hope through the medium of poetry. What an honor to be among an ever-growing family that has found refuge, acceptance, and opportunity through the common denominator of this journal.

What Will Bring Us Together?

It can begin with clouds*

     we share them

          we are all under them.

We sense their frailty

    we are made wet

          by their storms,

and strengthened when the sun

    sends its bright beams

         arcing in rainbows.

Michael Escoubas, Whispers’ Activity Editor

*“It can begin with clouds,” from Notes on the Assemblage, by Juan Felipe Herrera,

United States Poet Laureate.

A Done Deal--By Ndaba Sibanda--Saudi Arabia

A Done Deal

the view could be blurred by

roaring and furious mists over

high mountains and sharp rocks

the road could be filled with thorns

and bottomless potholes and explosives

like an eagle—Thembani---soars beyond

the hurdles and prevailing situation around him

like an eagle he knows that as he soars the snakes

he is clutching in his fist are a done and defeated deal

like one Isaac he is prospering in the face of adversities!

Ndaba Sibanda is a Zimbabwean-born writer. His poems, essays and short stories have been published in Africa and the USA. Ndaba currently lives and teaches in Saudi Arabia. Of his career, he says, "writing is my life, and my second wife".

After the Games--By Joyce I. Johnson--United States

After the Games

The Olympic games are ending.

Oh, what a show it's been,

With athletes losing gracefully

And gracious when they win.

Bringing honor to their countries,

Their families and their sports.

Behind the scenes they mingled

And listened to reports.

USA contestants are a wonder,

They have gobbled up the gold.

The tales of fearless athletes

Will be told and retold.

if only nations followed

The examples of their youth,

We'd solve our problems without war

And be winners in all truth.

Before the games in 2020

May the world find a lasting peace

And leaders who've learned lessons

And formed friendships such as these.

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 98th birthday in July of 2016.

The First Stone--By Dan Tharp----United States

The First Stone

My self-righteous indignation
is short lived

when I ponder the peril
of my own transgressions
precariously perched upon
the pedestal of pride.

Perhaps I shall find repentance
in the hour of recognition
of the reckoning awaiting us all.

May a kind hearted and gracious God
find room in His heart to grant us the gift
of repentance; the gift of forgiveness

to a sinful society, socially
adept to aberrant behavior. 

And, as was written by some ancient sage,
on a piece of parchment
later to become a small portion
of the biblical standard,

"let he who is without sin
cast the first stone.”

Dan Tharp is the author of four books of poetry, 3 of which are in chapbook form... Side by Side, Yielding Desire to Fate, A Season Made for Wondering and A Rose in the Briar Patch. Dan resides in Southern California.

Tanka--By Marilyn Fleming--United States

deep in the woods

my face in my hands

I speak to

the hollowed out tree—

my red heartwood bared

Bamboo Hut, May 2016

one red apple

clings to a naked branch

winter coming on

long after it’s over

still hanging by a thread

Cattails, May 2016

downward facing dog

in the shade of the plum—

picking season

I pull up the ladder

limbs resting for a bit

Gogoyshi, Monthly 2015

Marilyn Fleming was born and raised on a farm in Wisconsin. She has a special

interest in oriental forms of poetry. <marilynflemingpoet.wordpress.com>  

This is my last letter--By Jan Oskar Hansen--Portugal

This is my last letter

I have loved you   from the first time I saw you

Something about your eyes

And the kindness of your heart

You know if you can explain love there is none

You are going on a long journey

With your man and that is OK

And when you return I will not be here

I just want to tell you how much I love you

How much I enjoyed your breath

The aroma of your body when you’re teasing

Me with your youth and my old age

I did not even hope but took the nearness of you

As a dulcet dream unobtainable.

Love is a rainbow it does not tell you where it falls

Good bye my darling thinking of you

Has eased the burden of my later years

Jan Oskar Hansen is a published poet from Portugal.

Learning the Organ--By Alice Couch--United States

Learning the Organ

Oh, if only! I thought one day,

a church organ I could play.

This idea throbbed in my head,

had me toss and turnabout in bed.

So, music lessons for two years,

soon help me overcome my fears.

Volunteered at church at last to play,

background, then singing one day.

For five years, I enjoyed myself,

until retirement put me on the shelf.

Now, I sit and reminisce about the way,

I said, “Oh, if only!”  and learned to play.

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.

Welcome Michael Escoubas! Our New Activity Editor

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

Michael Escoubas has graciously accepted my offer to be our ongoing Whispers’ Activity Editor.  Activities are an important part of our journal and a staff member will ensure a variety of different challenges and that we have an activity each month.  I am so excited about having Michael in this new role.  We are now a staff of two!

Michael will be responsible for our activities.  Please email everything else to me.  I hope you will be as encouraging to Michael as you have been to me.  I will leave you with Michael’s first poem published at Whispers and his bio.

Blessings and best wishes,

Karen O’Leary

Whispers’ Editor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moment of Winter Twilight

Spread your arms mighty oak,

like my father and his before him.

In you, I’m in their arms wrapped

warm in a shawl of blue-cream

fringed in white powder. Amber-glow

softens the rough-edged tree-line.

In the seam of time between night
and day, this twilight moment unveils

a vacancy long denied: the embrace

I never knew, like a puzzle-piece

put in place by nature’s sleight-of-hand,

a timely fit; this grown man now complete.
 

Ekphrastic poem read at Lemont Art Center, March 2015

After retiring from a 48-year career in the printing industry in 2013, Michael Escoubas began writing poetry for publication. His study of and interest in poetry goes back some 30 years. During this time he studied classical and modern poets learning from their works and from critics who comment about them. Michael writes poetry in part because his mother once said, “You have a gift for words; you should do something with that gift.”

Summer Dance--By Mary A. Couch--United States

Summer Dance

She

is

a pale

rose beneath

an old willow tree

awaiting a dance with her love.

He is a dragonfly swirling in the summer breeze

who dips to kiss her soft petals,

inhaling her scent

for their one

moment

in

time.

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.

Fibonacci Poems--By Ralph Stott--England

Flowers of Cellophane

With

cooled

water,

our kettle

for two, replenished

our anniversary bouquet.

The Vineyard

Sun

down

and the

pebbles were

still warm to the touch,

when I recalled the buddist's words.

Open House

Through

the

open

doors, I glimpsed

the twinkle of the

altar flame, deep in the darkness.

Ralph Stott was born in Kent, England in 1957. He is married and has two daughters.  He studied design at the Medway College of Design in the mid-70's. Expressing ideas through the written/visual media, has always interested him. Ralph began to dedicate more time to poetry with The Writers and Poetry Alliance, in particular the 'Stylists' forum, over the last 3 years. He has self published one book called Legends For Lunchtime; a collection of short stories and has a second book pending called The Sounding.

How to Catch a Skunk--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States

How to Catch a Skunk

We read it in print, my brother and me,

skunks make wonderful pets for all to see.

The one in the magazine was descented.

I seriously doubt the skunk had consented.

My brother was twelve and I was just eight,

We planned to go there right after we ate.

A burlap sack and dog Tip, was our plan

to catch this skunk quickly by our own hand.

The plan was so simple, it could not fail

my job was to just grab hold of its tail,

hold it down so that he wouldn’t spray  

as my brother quickly stuffed him away.

His tail came out, then his hopping hind feet.

I pulled his furry tail down, it felt neat.

Everything was going just as we planned

until he turned, trying to bite my hand.

I let go and ran fast to Dad in the field.

Skunk sprayed my brother’s face full while he kneeled.

My brother still stuffed the skunk in the sack,

shook his head and brought the skunk and sack back.

(A true story)

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"

Water Lilies--By Marlene Million--United States

Water Lilies

In your ever-changing waters,

I see blue skies.  On other days, storm

clouds gather, as in the depths of my soul.

Such stillness is ripe with life.

Toss a pebble, ripples flow outward.

They expand, and journey towards 

far reaches of pond.  These circles bobble,

bounce amid whites, dark blues, greens.

Dew-laden leaves are lavish.  A cool mist

rises from the pond, as light breezes 

murmur.  Scents from flowers 

permeate atmosphere, exudes lushness.

Nature encircles in comfort, and I breathe

deeply while butterflies flit, bees pollinate.

Willow branches sway on the bank

of destiny amid sweet joys of tomorrow!

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.

cobwebbed windows--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.  Thank you, Nila, for continuing to share your Mother’s poetry. Through her words she lives on.        

                                                     --Karen O’Leary--Editor

cobwebbed windows

there were always

golden leaves

and blue seas

    somewhere

drinking muddy coffee

in dirty diners

and looking out

    cobwebbed windows

i knew i had

in my mind's landscape

    golden leaves

         and blue seas

Thoughts from Nila J. Webster--This poem embodies a longing my mother always carried, and an inner knowing that no matter how bleak our outer circumstances, we have it within ourselves to tap into the beauty of our mind’s landscape.

Psalm 37:1-7--By Helen Dowd--Canada

Psalm 37:1-7

If the devil comes to taunt you
And is knocking you about—
..........Don't fret!
If you think that God's not with you
and your mind is filled with doubt—
..........Just trust!
Don't let Satan see you falter,
or he'll surely win the bout—
..........Stand firm.
Put your faith in Christ your Trainer;
then just knock the devil out—
..........You've won!

Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. Helen hosts an inspirational online publication, www.occupytillicome.ca  She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish.

Tumbled Stones--By Colleen Keller Breuning--United States

Tumbled Stones

From oceans deep to mountains high,

We search for truth and reasons why.

Like tumbled stones, our dreams askew,

Life is a journey tried and true.

Dark winds of change ruffle our hair

As strains of bagpipes fill the air.

Hope soars in skies of cobalt blue;

Life is a journey tried and true.

Amidst the anguish and heartaches,

We made too many wrong mistakes.

Pick up the pieces, start anew.

Life is a journey tried and true.

From oceans deep to mountains high,

Life is a journey tried and true.

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 Patio--By Ronald Grognet--United States

The Patio

jasmine arbor

held captive by

fragrance 

sound of a breeze

silenced by jets

the bucolic feel

after rain

rain seeps

into moss covered bricks

slippery patina

fly circles

the dog's head

snap

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.

Summer Serene--By Constance Escobar--United States

Summer Serene

The cool marine layers

The base of jazz players

Fresh berry salads green

Seaside sand in everything

Dancing in the midnight air

So many couples so many pairs

The band plays into the night

No time for rest until mornings light

Fresh fruit and flowers on the table

Tend your garden and be stable

Answers to winter's prayers

A Mountain top with fresh air

Summer breezes serene 

Enjoy summer and everything

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.

"Galactic Glimpses"--By Terry O’Leary--France

"Galactic Glimpses"

Galactic curls in spiral swirls, entwining twisted mystery,

where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,

like sandy dunes, some writ in runes, enclosing cosmic history

Galactic dust, from novas' gust, congesting empty spaces,

once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,

may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places

Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring  

yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -

magnetic webs of eons ebb, infernal fusion roaring

Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth devine creation

while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation

that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration

Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter

that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:

a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter

Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,

though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;

but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer

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

Heaven Blue--By Diane Webster--United States

Heaven Blue

Heavenly blue morning glories
yawn under rising sunshine
as dozing sunflower heads
lift and witness the sun path
across the sky east to west…

no one knows how they retrace
their stares during nightfall
to reawaken at dawn.

Afternoon busts forth over
four-o’clock blossom fireworks,
and cosmos wave hummingbird wings
as dusk descends like a dragonfly
settling on a zinnia landing pad.

Diane Webster grew up in Eastern Oregon before she moved to Colorado.  She enjoys drives in the mountains to view all the wildlife and scenery and takes amateur photographs.  Writing poetry provides a creative outlet exciting in images and phrases Diane thrives in.  Her work has appeared in The Hurricane Review, Eunoia Review, Illya's Honey, and other literary magazines.

Nuages--By J. T. Milford--United States

Nuages

An adagio of misty whites

Drifting silently below the summer blue

Across a wide expansive sky

From horizon to zenith

Then slowly floating away

Carrying my swirling dreams

Of argent swans bears

Ships sailing

Far over lakes marshes

Checkered countryside

Their earth shadows following

In harmony with clear light

Later in the light slanted afternoon

The marching clouds silently recede

Only to leave a burning sun fall

A cumulus of dreams

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

WHISPERS' AUGUST ACTIVITY--THE FIBONACCI

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

We are pleased to present to you an array of Fibonacci poems for your reading pleasure.  It is interesting how these poets used the form to convey a wide spectrum of ideas with different voices.  Thank you to all contributing artists.  What a joy to read your words!

Sincerely,

Michael Escoubas

Whispers’ Activity Editor

Karen O’Leary

Whispers’ Editor

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Advice

eat

cheese

chicken

worrying

too much will not help---

advice from a caring mother.

Sunil Sharma, India

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Quarter Moon

Night

sings

alone

like a cat

swirling a gray tail

at the loneliest ankle boot.

Tricia Knoll, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Resolution

Day

breaks

for me

open wide

to give it a try

all the best I have to offer.

Tricia Knoll, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Time Well Spent

If

You

Pray to

the Lord, you

Will be able to

Spend time with him eternally.

David Fox, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

On the Anniversary of the 1972 Olympics in Munich

Twelve

dead,

hooded

terrorists

pierce peace with pain and

mute cheers of joy on fields of blood.

Shelly Blankman, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Crescendo

Love

Sings 

Purely

Upon my

Awakening heart

Building symphonic rhapsody.

David Palmer, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Top Gear

Dress

me

O Lord

each new morn

in your attire-

to rescue others from the mire.

Brian Strand, England

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Waiting

Blood

moon--

tonight

an old wolf

waits in dark shadows

where silent ghosts and spirits live.

Barbara Tate, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Bighorn Sheep

Brown

rock

rugged

barren slope

home for Bighorn Sheep

with crescent horns that crash in rut.

Michael Escoubas, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Garden

Lush
green
garden
in front of
my house gives immense
pleasure to my lamenting heart.

Dr. Satish C. Srivastava, India

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Walk

Walk

as

if you

are kissing

the earth with your feet 

to reach your goal comfortably. 

Dr. Satish C. Srivastava, India

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Dicey

Sharp
stones.
These paths
enveloped
in uncertainty,
my ever precarious life.

Pat Geyer, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Vet Visit

Caught
cat
emits
warning growls
resists carrier.
Tail lash tells us everything.

Suzanne Delaney, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Open Garden

Wild
blooms
beside
the roadway
A spot of beauty -
flowering for all who pass by.

Suzanne Delaney, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Forgiveness

What
if
we could
forever
exist alongside
ourselves absent of transgressions

Langley Shazor, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

The Last Gardenia

One
bloom
blossoms

soft pure white
early in August
alone after all kin has died

Sara Kendrick, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The Summer Storm

The
storm
brings wind
some dark clouds
pouring cool raindrops
relief from summer's scorching heat

Sara Kendrick, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Opossum in Daytime

He

sleeps

beneath

my back porch

teeth sharp as razors

waiting to rumble in moonlight.

Michael Escoubas, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Kitten Feet

The

coy
spirit
vanished but...
left small feline prints,
a trace of your passing presence.

Annie Jenkin, England

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Feathering

Your
light
touch and
warm fingers,
leave silken kisses
along the fringes of my dream.

Annie Jenkin, England

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

finding rainbows

life

sifts

like sand—

my brittle

fingers can’t hold back

ticking time…yet, my words flow on

Karen O'Leary, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Hugs, Come, I

hugs,

tears. . .

hero’s

returning

from deep space missions

embraced by great-great grandchildren

ayaz daryl nielsen, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

hugs, come, II*

‘come

come

to earth

our reasons

for exploring space 

twisted by greed and politics’. . .

an invitation to alien conquistadors

ayaz daryl nielsen, United States

*This poem illustrates an extended Fibonacci; line 4 contains 5 syllables, line 6 contains 8, thus leading to a 13 syllable count for line 7.—Editor Michael Escoubas

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Nature Shows the Way

Pines

bend

with the

storm's fury.

Watching them let go,

suggests our ultimate freedom.

Mary Jo Balistreri, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Storing Wisdom

Books

packed 

in boxes

soon to be unwrapped--

the joy of holding each old friend.

Mary Jo Balistreri, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Breakfast on the Fly

Blue

birds

stationed

on high wires

watching for insects—

a swift dive, a crunchy breakfast

Elizabeth Howard, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Inseparable

Time
And
Again
I believe
You dwell in my heart
Though oceans do separate us

Maricris Cabrera, Philippines

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Halcyon Days

We 

spend

our time

together

we dream, reach our goals

live glorious days forever.

Maricris Cabrera, Philippines

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Joy

From

day

to day

these grey whiffs

of sadness fail to

upend the joy of just being.

Raamesh Gowri Raghavan, India

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Arthur Murray Feathered Dancers

Six

white

seagulls

frolic with

surf along shoreline,

soon become a feathered ballet

Mary Couch, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Child’s Forgotten Footprints

I

saw

tiny

sneakered tracks

amid muddied grass,

now devoured by hungry meadow.

Mary Couch, United States

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Wayside Story

In

The

Morning,

I saw a

Lost shoe by the road,

With its eyelets, moist with the dew.

Ralph Stott

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 

Outback-Packer

On

The

Clear glass,

The viewing

Patform, was filled with

A warm draught of eucalyptus.

Ralph Stott

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞