A Journey of Love
How the soul reaches out to be touched
by the hand of love that caresses
the heart searching fulfillment
as it soars through the night
and on into the infinite light
of life dreaming of joys
yet to be experienced,
singing songs of love.
Beverly Reedy is an assistant editor and poetess from Washington State. Her first book of poetry called Treasures of a Poet Volume 1 was published by Creative Memories in 2006. She was published in anthology series from 1988 to 2007. Her work has appeared in American Poets Society, League of American Poets, Famous Poets Society, Poets Word Wide, and Passion for Poetry. She is a member of Poets For Integrity and The Writers and Poetry Alliance.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Saving Against Alzheimer's--By Lenora Good--United States
Saving Against Alzheimer's
How do you save your nouns and your verbs?
Do you write them in a notebook and keep it with you?
Do you tie them in brightly colored silk scarves?
A blue scarf for water, as it flows upon the rocks,
under the bridge, fills the river, sings of love
and sorrow. Knot it about your neck. Do not forget.
Take your red scarf, the color of blood, the color of life.
Into it put memories of your babies, your husband,
the war he didn't survive. Knot it, twice. Do not lose.
Your white scarf holds your prayers and tears, the
mourning of what might have been but can never be.
Gather your sadness, remember it, respect it. Tie the knot tight.
Fill your yellow scarf with happiness. The bliss
of laughing babies, your first published poem,
happy times with good friends, the joys of discovery.
Knot that scarf over your heart; hold it tight. Keep the
good nouns close, the happy verbs a part of your life. Hold
onto the scarves, the knots, as you sail off the bridge.
Your nouns and your verbs will survive.
Lenora Good lives in the desert of Washington State (yes, we have one). She writes poems, novels, and radio plays. When not writing she is reading, quilting, out taking photographs, or when very fortunate, taking a road trip, she may also be found at her blog, http://livingwithrainyday.blogspot.com.
How do you save your nouns and your verbs?
Do you write them in a notebook and keep it with you?
Do you tie them in brightly colored silk scarves?
A blue scarf for water, as it flows upon the rocks,
under the bridge, fills the river, sings of love
and sorrow. Knot it about your neck. Do not forget.
Take your red scarf, the color of blood, the color of life.
Into it put memories of your babies, your husband,
the war he didn't survive. Knot it, twice. Do not lose.
Your white scarf holds your prayers and tears, the
mourning of what might have been but can never be.
Gather your sadness, remember it, respect it. Tie the knot tight.
Fill your yellow scarf with happiness. The bliss
of laughing babies, your first published poem,
happy times with good friends, the joys of discovery.
Knot that scarf over your heart; hold it tight. Keep the
good nouns close, the happy verbs a part of your life. Hold
onto the scarves, the knots, as you sail off the bridge.
Your nouns and your verbs will survive.
Lenora Good lives in the desert of Washington State (yes, we have one). She writes poems, novels, and radio plays. When not writing she is reading, quilting, out taking photographs, or when very fortunate, taking a road trip, she may also be found at her blog, http://livingwithrainyday.blogspot.com.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Excerpts from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me--By Nila J. Webster--United States
Excerpts from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me
Thank you, hands,
For reaching out
Over sadness
And over doubt
Toward all
that is wonder
______________
For believing, loving,
Feeling, seeing,
The gift of Earth
The miracle of being
______________
These excerpts are from Nila J. Webster's picture book The Gift of You, The Gift of Me. She wrote the book in one sitting as a response in an incident of bullying, with the hope that honoring the beauty in nature, and in ourselves, will create a beautiful space where bullying will dissolve and be replaced by love and acceptance.
______________
Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at nila.webster@comcast.net.
Thank you, hands,
For reaching out
Over sadness
And over doubt
Toward all
that is wonder
______________
For believing, loving,
Feeling, seeing,
The gift of Earth
The miracle of being
______________
These excerpts are from Nila J. Webster's picture book The Gift of You, The Gift of Me. She wrote the book in one sitting as a response in an incident of bullying, with the hope that honoring the beauty in nature, and in ourselves, will create a beautiful space where bullying will dissolve and be replaced by love and acceptance.
______________
Nila J. Webster has been writing since a young age, thanks to the encouragement and support of her beloved mother, poet jani johe webster. In the last six months, Nila has donated over 23,000 picture books in her mother's honor, with more to come. If anyone knows of schools or hospitals that would like to receive a picture book donation, please let her know at nila.webster@comcast.net.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Heaven’s Promise--By Poppy Herrin--United States
Heaven’s Promise
The hills that march to Heaven grow harder with the years;
when one begins the journey the higher land appears.
It is a little distant but never very far,
a mile or two at most from any place you are.
As mountains on a clear day seem close when they are not,
Heaven becomes elusive and when its fields are sought,
it drifts beyond the questioning and lifts a spire to say:
“What makes you think you’ll enter my premises one day?”
But Heaven has a promise and suddenly sometimes,
with blue skies and green fields, its sweet, unbroken chimes
come hastily before us—a miracle is wrought.
Heaven is a strange land, not found when it is sought.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.
The hills that march to Heaven grow harder with the years;
when one begins the journey the higher land appears.
It is a little distant but never very far,
a mile or two at most from any place you are.
As mountains on a clear day seem close when they are not,
Heaven becomes elusive and when its fields are sought,
it drifts beyond the questioning and lifts a spire to say:
“What makes you think you’ll enter my premises one day?”
But Heaven has a promise and suddenly sometimes,
with blue skies and green fields, its sweet, unbroken chimes
come hastily before us—a miracle is wrought.
Heaven is a strange land, not found when it is sought.
Poppy Herrin is married to the love of her life Jason, and together they have four daughters and one grandson. She is originally from Laurel, Mississippi, but recently relocated to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. By day she makes a living as a medical transcriptionist, and by night she works toward living the dream as a writer. Her poems have appeared in many publications and have received various contest awards.
Friday, May 23, 2014
At the Pawn Shop--By Elaine George--Canada
At the Pawn Shop
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.
I met her in a pawn shop on a warm summer night
When running from the rubble of my shattered life
To sell a broken dream that would never come true
An engagement ring to pay for the rent that was due
There she lay sleeping in a battered rosewood bed
Heart strings breaking in a rusty sea of velvet red
So hauntingly beautiful, she took my breath away
Violin - an old reject who would change my life that day
So I bought Violin and lived out on the street
And played Rhapsody in Blue as coins fell at my feet
And soon we had a little flat high above the Bay
And every day, I got better with every note I played
Today I am a maestro playing Carnegie Hall
My name in lights blinking on a Marquee Wall
For it was I who saw myself in Violin
A tarnished soul and the beauty buried there within
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
Gratified--By Cristine A. Gruber--United States
Gratified
I wish
to live simply…
view as an observer
‘til life’s unfolding is complete.
Content.
Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver and a devout vegan. Her poetry reflects her view of the human condition in all its complexity and beauty. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal, Foliate Oak, Full of Crow, Leaves of Ink, The Old Red Kimono, The Penwood Review, Poetry Now, The Poet’s Haven, and The Tule Review. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, was released by Infinity Publishing and is available from Amazon.com.
I wish
to live simply…
view as an observer
‘til life’s unfolding is complete.
Content.
Cristine A. Gruber, a Southern California native, is a registered caregiver and a devout vegan. Her poetry reflects her view of the human condition in all its complexity and beauty. Her work has been featured in numerous magazines, including: North American Review, Writer’s Digest, Writers’ Journal, Foliate Oak, Full of Crow, Leaves of Ink, The Old Red Kimono, The Penwood Review, Poetry Now, The Poet’s Haven, and The Tule Review. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Lifeline, was released by Infinity Publishing and is available from Amazon.com.
With a Pen’s Magic--By Karen O'Leary--United States
With a Pen’s Magic
Writers help others experience the world…
Through sight…painting pictures of a sunset
the beauty of a tulip, and the majesty
of snow-capped mountains in summer.
Through hearing…capturing the magic
in cascading water, the peace of harp
music, and the joy in a child’s laughter.
Through taste…savoring the richness of coffee,
the delight of a Thanksgiving dinner,
and the pleasure of milk chocolate.
Through smell…delivering the fresh scent
of spring rain, the aroma of baking
bread, and fragrance of a new book.
Through touch…transferring the breath
of the wind, hands linked in sorrow,
and the feel of an warm embrace.
…and jot on paper what others rush by.
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.
Writers help others experience the world…
Through sight…painting pictures of a sunset
the beauty of a tulip, and the majesty
of snow-capped mountains in summer.
Through hearing…capturing the magic
in cascading water, the peace of harp
music, and the joy in a child’s laughter.
Through taste…savoring the richness of coffee,
the delight of a Thanksgiving dinner,
and the pleasure of milk chocolate.
Through smell…delivering the fresh scent
of spring rain, the aroma of baking
bread, and fragrance of a new book.
Through touch…transferring the breath
of the wind, hands linked in sorrow,
and the feel of an warm embrace.
…and jot on paper what others rush by.
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.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Tiny Prints in the Sand--By Marcus Omer--United States
Tiny Prints in the Sand
Ten little toes, two little feet
make tiny footprints in the sand.
Innocent years when life was sweet;
my finger circled in her hand.
The answers simple way back then
for daddy and his little girl;
it's flowers and kittens, count to ten
and living in a small, small world.
Like hands of time the years unroll,
they press against a lonely mind.
The changing seasons take their toll,
as days so precious left behind.
The prints now made are her alone,
for daddy steps have grown too slow.
A path that winds through rocks and stones.
Can you see where the wind may blow?
Though days of Winter come with pain,
those living memories are grand.
I play them over once again,
'bout tiny footprints in the sand.
Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.
Ten little toes, two little feet
make tiny footprints in the sand.
Innocent years when life was sweet;
my finger circled in her hand.
The answers simple way back then
for daddy and his little girl;
it's flowers and kittens, count to ten
and living in a small, small world.
Like hands of time the years unroll,
they press against a lonely mind.
The changing seasons take their toll,
as days so precious left behind.
The prints now made are her alone,
for daddy steps have grown too slow.
A path that winds through rocks and stones.
Can you see where the wind may blow?
Though days of Winter come with pain,
those living memories are grand.
I play them over once again,
'bout tiny footprints in the sand.
Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.
The SMILE Lady--By David Fox--United States
The SMILE Lady
There's a woman I know that
Edits a poetry publication called SMILE.
She's been doing it for quite awhile.
She prints just about every
Poem, story or letter
From her subscribers, and yet
With each issue the magazine
Seems to get better and better.
She's not doing it for wealth
And she's been battling with her health.
Though I'm just over 40 and she's over 80
To me, she'll always be "SMILE Lady".
Dedicated to Joyce M. Johnson, Editor of Smile
David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
There's a woman I know that
Edits a poetry publication called SMILE.
She's been doing it for quite awhile.
She prints just about every
Poem, story or letter
From her subscribers, and yet
With each issue the magazine
Seems to get better and better.
She's not doing it for wealth
And she's been battling with her health.
Though I'm just over 40 and she's over 80
To me, she'll always be "SMILE Lady".
Dedicated to Joyce M. Johnson, Editor of Smile
David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry. Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Waiting for the Lost--By Nikko Palmario--Philippines
Waiting for the Lost
Wait for me when I get back,
just wait for me...
I rub my weary eyes, as I write this
hoping you’ll understand,
hoping you’ll take our memories with you,
as we travel on different roads
until that day comes
when I find that path
that leads me back to you....
I was forced on this journey, and so were you.
Neither of us wanted this, but maybe this is what we need.
Now I have truly become lost,
my eyes immersed in teary glaze
Everything's a blur now,
and I grasp at cotton candy clouds~
sugar crystals
sticking on my warm fingers,
and that is all.
Nikko Palmario is someone who enjoys dabbling with words and chocolate.
Wait for me when I get back,
just wait for me...
I rub my weary eyes, as I write this
hoping you’ll understand,
hoping you’ll take our memories with you,
as we travel on different roads
until that day comes
when I find that path
that leads me back to you....
I was forced on this journey, and so were you.
Neither of us wanted this, but maybe this is what we need.
Now I have truly become lost,
my eyes immersed in teary glaze
Everything's a blur now,
and I grasp at cotton candy clouds~
sugar crystals
sticking on my warm fingers,
and that is all.
Nikko Palmario is someone who enjoys dabbling with words and chocolate.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Whispers Passes 50,000 Views!!!
It is hard to believe we would be at this point when the Whispers' journey began in January 2013. I decided to post this, because in addition to the talented contributors that have made this online journal possible, there are many readers out there that I do not know. Each and everyone of you are a blessing.
Currently, we have contributors from the following countries--Australia, Botswana, Canada, Canary Islands, England, France, Germany, India, Israel, Malawi, New Zealand, Nigeria, Philippines, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States and Wales. If you are a writer that would like to help represent your country, please email Karen at gksm@cableone.net
This journal is for new and experienced writers to come together to share family friendly poetry. For anyone just beginning to write poetry, I am willing to help with the editing process. For those experienced in the art, you are helping those new to the process.
May you all find joy in sharing your talent. Writing is such a gift!
Blessings,
Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor
Best Road--By Janet Vick--United States
Best Road
Road to generosity
is warm hearts through toils,
friend’s gift of love,
grateful days
we share with others.
Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.
Road to generosity
is warm hearts through toils,
friend’s gift of love,
grateful days
we share with others.
Janet lives in rural Suffolk, Virginia with her husband, Randy. She loves the fresh air and space of country living. She works as a Registered Nurse in surgery. She is a mother of one and grandmother of two.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Joy--By Barbara Siekierski--United States
Joy
I look up
to the heavens
to seek hope.
The whole universe
is crying out
in unison, saying
look beyond
the stars, sky
and sun--there
is your hope
and peace
for tomorrow
yet to come.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
I look up
to the heavens
to seek hope.
The whole universe
is crying out
in unison, saying
look beyond
the stars, sky
and sun--there
is your hope
and peace
for tomorrow
yet to come.
Barbara Siekierski is a writer from Swarthmore, PA.
Day Story--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom
Day Story
As the night succumbs, goes to rest
and dark velvet skies turn to vibrant blue,
the air still crisp.
The morning gently settles in.
The dawn chorus begins
with joyful bird song
awakening the sleepy unfolding flowers
kissed by moist droplets of dew.
As the warming sun
smiles down
upon the lush green ground
and nature comes alive in abundant glory
in celebration of a new day
and the beginning of another
day story.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.
As the night succumbs, goes to rest
and dark velvet skies turn to vibrant blue,
the air still crisp.
The morning gently settles in.
The dawn chorus begins
with joyful bird song
awakening the sleepy unfolding flowers
kissed by moist droplets of dew.
As the warming sun
smiles down
upon the lush green ground
and nature comes alive in abundant glory
in celebration of a new day
and the beginning of another
day story.
Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Silent Endurance--By Mary Kent--United States
Silent Endurance
The pain was so unbearable
to even think it through
When he placed the gun against his head-
that is when she got the news
She prayed dear Lord, forgive him,
while her eyes swelled up with tears
the room was still, the lights so dim
all I could offer was my hand
I light a candle and I pray
don't let her heart die with her pain!
Mary Kent resides in the Pacific Northwest, a successful business woman. She is a wife and mother, blessed with a wonderful family. Mary is ever inspired and enriched by life and nature. She is dedicated to writing in her journal of poetry. She writes from her heart and soul, pleased to share her words with us.
The pain was so unbearable
to even think it through
When he placed the gun against his head-
that is when she got the news
She prayed dear Lord, forgive him,
while her eyes swelled up with tears
the room was still, the lights so dim
all I could offer was my hand
I light a candle and I pray
don't let her heart die with her pain!
Mary Kent resides in the Pacific Northwest, a successful business woman. She is a wife and mother, blessed with a wonderful family. Mary is ever inspired and enriched by life and nature. She is dedicated to writing in her journal of poetry. She writes from her heart and soul, pleased to share her words with us.
A Kiss--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States
A Kiss
A kiss as light as a feather
that lands softly on the lips
tickling the imagination
then drifting away with the
breath of a gentle wind.
Will it find its way back
to an awaiting heart that's
filled with sentimental thoughts?
Maurice J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in various publications. He is the owner of To God be the Glory! Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations. More information can be found at: www.tgbtgpublictions.com.
A kiss as light as a feather
that lands softly on the lips
tickling the imagination
then drifting away with the
breath of a gentle wind.
Will it find its way back
to an awaiting heart that's
filled with sentimental thoughts?
Maurice J. Reynolds is a freelance writer who has had material published in various publications. He is the owner of To God be the Glory! Publications, a literary ministry that produces the poetry publication Creative Inspirations. More information can be found at: www.tgbtgpublictions.com.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Who Cares?--By Helen Dowd--Canada
Who Cares?
Psalm 142
I cried, "Oh Lord, please help me.
Please come and rescue me.
My enemy is waiting.
He's set a snare for me.
My spirit is so troubled.
My friends have fled away.
I looked around for refuge--
A place my head to lay.
There was no one to help me.
There was no one to care.
I turned to God my Savior.
He heard my desperate prayer.
My foe may still be present--
And stronger far than I--
Yet I'm no longer frightened,
For God, the Lord, is nigh.
He's wrapped His arms around me.
In Him I now can hide.
I'll ever sing His praises,
For He will be my Guide.
David's prayer from his cave.
See also I Sam. 22:1
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
Psalm 142
I cried, "Oh Lord, please help me.
Please come and rescue me.
My enemy is waiting.
He's set a snare for me.
My spirit is so troubled.
My friends have fled away.
I looked around for refuge--
A place my head to lay.
There was no one to help me.
There was no one to care.
I turned to God my Savior.
He heard my desperate prayer.
My foe may still be present--
And stronger far than I--
Yet I'm no longer frightened,
For God, the Lord, is nigh.
He's wrapped His arms around me.
In Him I now can hide.
I'll ever sing His praises,
For He will be my Guide.
David's prayer from his cave.
See also I Sam. 22:1
Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish…Email address: helenmdowd@shaw.ca
3-Legged Race--By Cindy Evans--United States
3-Legged Race
Some say love is flowers
and romance, a perfect place;
I feel instead love is more
like a three-legged race.
Your right leg and their left,
bonded together, a connection,
keeping in step together,
you head in the same direction.
If one falls, the other
is there to give a lift;
having someone alongside of you
truly is a gift.
When both are doing well,
they enjoy the ride -
together they share the victory
and win it side by side.
Unity and staying close
is the secret, know the wise;
shoulder to shoulder, racing ahead,
they'll surely claim the prize!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the greater Atlanta area. She does receptionist work for corporate offices as well as at non-for-profits. She is happily married to her husband, Mark, and they enjoy ferris wheels, lighthouses, Christian movies and walking trails.
Some say love is flowers
and romance, a perfect place;
I feel instead love is more
like a three-legged race.
Your right leg and their left,
bonded together, a connection,
keeping in step together,
you head in the same direction.
If one falls, the other
is there to give a lift;
having someone alongside of you
truly is a gift.
When both are doing well,
they enjoy the ride -
together they share the victory
and win it side by side.
Unity and staying close
is the secret, know the wise;
shoulder to shoulder, racing ahead,
they'll surely claim the prize!
Cindy Evans is a published poet living in the greater Atlanta area. She does receptionist work for corporate offices as well as at non-for-profits. She is happily married to her husband, Mark, and they enjoy ferris wheels, lighthouses, Christian movies and walking trails.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
An Interlude So Brief--By Pamela A. MacBean--United States
Pamela A. MacBean
An Interlude So Brief
Sunset brings a day to a close
folding it's petals like a red rose.
Starlight gauzy drapes nightfall
softly in a silvery shawl.
Life's cares can be trimmed in goldleaf
if you breathe in
an interlude so brief.
Pam is currently battling metastatic breast cancer and is doing remarkably well. Some of her poetry is shared on Poetry For Thought and AllPoetry.com. She has been published in many online and print journals, and has had two chapbooks published, Postscripts in Time and A Dalton View. In the Great Northwoods, a collection of poetry was published by Publish America. She lives in New Hampshire.
An Interlude So Brief
Sunset brings a day to a close
folding it's petals like a red rose.
Starlight gauzy drapes nightfall
softly in a silvery shawl.
Life's cares can be trimmed in goldleaf
if you breathe in
an interlude so brief.
Pam is currently battling metastatic breast cancer and is doing remarkably well. Some of her poetry is shared on Poetry For Thought and AllPoetry.com. She has been published in many online and print journals, and has had two chapbooks published, Postscripts in Time and A Dalton View. In the Great Northwoods, a collection of poetry was published by Publish America. She lives in New Hampshire.
Poet of the Month--Jack Horne
House on Henley Street
By Jack Horne
Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'
I closed my eyes and wished him there.
My fingers traced the bricks and slate,
Exploring textures rough and smooth:
The wooden beams, the open grate.
I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked,
And climbed the narrow flight of stairs.
I stopped by windows where he’d stood,
And patted tables, beds and chairs.
The building held his tears and joys.
He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet.
I felt him etched upon the place:
He’d loved the house on Henley Street.
_______________
From the editor--It a pleasure to announce that Jack Horne is May’s Poet of the Month. His is a talented writer and the author of two books. Readers at Whispers enjoy his poetry. He has been consistent in encouraging me and others since the onset of the site in January 2013. Jack has collaborated with several other writers in a variety of poems that have been featured at Whispers. He has promoted our online journal bringing new writers to our poetry community. It is a privilege to present Jack with this honor.
_______________
Thoughts on “House on Henley Street”--I first read this poem when Jack submitted it for a book called Snippets that I was compiling. Of course, I accepted it! Through his eyes, we get to experience Shakespeare’s birthplace with him. It almost has a haunting feel as Jack awakens part of artistic history for us. He uses multi-sense images taking readers on the journey through the halls walked by a literary icon. He captures so much in just twelve lines, one of his best poems.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Jack! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
By Jack Horne
Remembering a visit to Shakespeare's 'Birthplace'
I closed my eyes and wished him there.
My fingers traced the bricks and slate,
Exploring textures rough and smooth:
The wooden beams, the open grate.
I stepped on creaking floors he’d walked,
And climbed the narrow flight of stairs.
I stopped by windows where he’d stood,
And patted tables, beds and chairs.
The building held his tears and joys.
He seemed so close I hoped we’d meet.
I felt him etched upon the place:
He’d loved the house on Henley Street.
_______________
From the editor--It a pleasure to announce that Jack Horne is May’s Poet of the Month. His is a talented writer and the author of two books. Readers at Whispers enjoy his poetry. He has been consistent in encouraging me and others since the onset of the site in January 2013. Jack has collaborated with several other writers in a variety of poems that have been featured at Whispers. He has promoted our online journal bringing new writers to our poetry community. It is a privilege to present Jack with this honor.
_______________
Thoughts on “House on Henley Street”--I first read this poem when Jack submitted it for a book called Snippets that I was compiling. Of course, I accepted it! Through his eyes, we get to experience Shakespeare’s birthplace with him. It almost has a haunting feel as Jack awakens part of artistic history for us. He uses multi-sense images taking readers on the journey through the halls walked by a literary icon. He captures so much in just twelve lines, one of his best poems.
_______________
Congratulations and thank you Jack! I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
Sincerely,
Karen O’Leary, Editor
Rebirth and Renewal--By Christina R. Jussaume--United States
Rebirth and Renewal
The pine tree sheds needles and spreads seed each year
An old tree’s death may be near
Sometimes trees get sick with some type of disease
Little sprouts come up to please
Nature has way of replenishing all things
Not all trees have lots of rings
Some trees are not healthy from the very start
They may need more sun and heart
After fires new seedlings then must be brought in
With care their life does begin
Severe storms bring some down and then new ones grow
New seedlings do grow quite slow
The forest always shows us rebirth, just look
It is like our Holy Book
Only the strong will survive in God’s great plan
Now is time to make your stand
Rebirth is through Jesus, please do understand
God is Savior to man
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
The pine tree sheds needles and spreads seed each year
An old tree’s death may be near
Sometimes trees get sick with some type of disease
Little sprouts come up to please
Nature has way of replenishing all things
Not all trees have lots of rings
Some trees are not healthy from the very start
They may need more sun and heart
After fires new seedlings then must be brought in
With care their life does begin
Severe storms bring some down and then new ones grow
New seedlings do grow quite slow
The forest always shows us rebirth, just look
It is like our Holy Book
Only the strong will survive in God’s great plan
Now is time to make your stand
Rebirth is through Jesus, please do understand
God is Savior to man
Christina R. Jussaume is a Christian Author of 9 poetry books. She has had many poems published in anthologies and fundraisers. She has won many awards for her poetry including Best Spiritual Poetry award from Christianstorytelling.com. Her first book, My Walk with Jesus, received this award and began her journey toward fulfillment as a Style Tutor now on the Alliance of Poets. All of her books except the first book were published by apfpublisher.com.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Haiku--By Robert Epstein--United States
home alone
slowly slipping into
the sleeve of night
________________
cemetery
looking for something
to hold on to
________________
in the crying rain death is still holy
________________
the sun
on my face
that’s all
________________
morning light
searching for a lullaby
to die by
________________
Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku. He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.
slowly slipping into
the sleeve of night
________________
cemetery
looking for something
to hold on to
________________
in the crying rain death is still holy
________________
the sun
on my face
that’s all
________________
morning light
searching for a lullaby
to die by
________________
Robert Epstein is a licensed psychologist who lives and works in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has edited several anthologies: The Breath of Surrender: A Collection of Recovery-Oriented Haiku; Dreams Wander On: Contemporary Poems of Death Awareness; and The Temple Bell Stops: Contemporary Poems of Grief, Loss and Change; as well as two books of haiku: Checkout Time is Noon: Death Awareness Haiku; and A Walk Around Spring Lake: Haiku. He is currently editing another anthology, The Sacred in Contemporary Haiku, due to be released in 2014.
My Silent Hours--By Anne R. C. Neale--United States
My Silent Hours
As night's darkness touches the corners of my room
And a small night light shines small light rays into the darkness of the night,
I know God's healing hands are gently touching my Spirit and Soul,
Soothing and healing my body slowly but most assuredly making me to be fit and all right.
God's positive program for how He wants me to be now
Will be accepted by what God chooses to do,
God is the Master and Healer of all His creations,
And I will accept what ever God decides He wants me to do.
God is a compassionate God, our Master Physician,
My aches and pains and of all things God will take care of His way,
God's power of Healing is the most Powerful Miracle ever,
God gently holds my hand as we walk together with love on life's earthly path night and day
Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old. She taught outdoor education for 20 years. Anne still works at school as crossing guard. She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums. She resides in New Jersey .
As night's darkness touches the corners of my room
And a small night light shines small light rays into the darkness of the night,
I know God's healing hands are gently touching my Spirit and Soul,
Soothing and healing my body slowly but most assuredly making me to be fit and all right.
God's positive program for how He wants me to be now
Will be accepted by what God chooses to do,
God is the Master and Healer of all His creations,
And I will accept what ever God decides He wants me to do.
God is a compassionate God, our Master Physician,
My aches and pains and of all things God will take care of His way,
God's power of Healing is the most Powerful Miracle ever,
God gently holds my hand as we walk together with love on life's earthly path night and day
Anne R. C. Neale is 85 years old. She taught outdoor education for 20 years. Anne still works at school as crossing guard. She has sent six free poems daily to 165 people for the past 18 years. She been writing poems since the age of 8 and has all of them in albums. She resides in New Jersey .
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
The Candle Glow--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands
The Candle Glow
(Candlelight)
See the candle glow
For all those we know
That has life above
Prayer is from love
Blessed then are they
Gone on way
To be
Safely
With God
Where
Joy
Does
Run
Deep
And
Yet
Flows very fast while it's still
Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads.
A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18. Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters. Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents. After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently. She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.
(Candlelight)
See the candle glow
For all those we know
That has life above
Prayer is from love
Blessed then are they
Gone on way
To be
Safely
With God
Where
Joy
Does
Run
Deep
And
Yet
Flows very fast while it's still
Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads.
A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18. Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters. Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents. After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently. She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.
This Ditty--By Andrea Dietrich--United States
This Ditty
In limerick form is this ditty,
A rhyme not sublime, but it’s witty.
I’m a Word Warrior who
Kicks a rhyme like Kung-fu.
Don’t haiku me. It won’t be pretty!
Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.
In limerick form is this ditty,
A rhyme not sublime, but it’s witty.
I’m a Word Warrior who
Kicks a rhyme like Kung-fu.
Don’t haiku me. It won’t be pretty!
Andrea Dietrich grew up in Iowa and now resides in Utah with a spouse and two cats. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. Having graduated BYU with a Spanish major/ESL minor, she has spent most of her adult life teaching. It wasn't until 2000 that she began writing in earnest and discovering her "niche" as a writer of lyrical poetry. The internet opened up a new world for her, and she has spent nearly a decade now participating in poetry clubs, acting as a judge of poetry contests for various magazines and for the website Shadow Poetry.
Monday, May 12, 2014
The Desert Rose--By Joann Grisetti--United States
The Desert Rose
the desert rose stretches a yawn
swiftly she swings her scythe
the darkened rocks rapidly react
pour forth a blood-red glow
the desert rose lifts her head
to glance upon her work
the glowing rocks respond once more
and lighten into gold
on she strolls across the land
ever they shift their colors
daily they repeat this ritual
the rocks and the admired
rocks shift and weather -
the rose remains the same
Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.
the desert rose stretches a yawn
swiftly she swings her scythe
the darkened rocks rapidly react
pour forth a blood-red glow
the desert rose lifts her head
to glance upon her work
the glowing rocks respond once more
and lighten into gold
on she strolls across the land
ever they shift their colors
daily they repeat this ritual
the rocks and the admired
rocks shift and weather -
the rose remains the same
Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.
Great Tree--By David Austin--United States
Great Tree
tree out my window
the various multitudes
call your branches home
world within a world
a mystery large to small
and each blade of grass
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.
tree out my window
the various multitudes
call your branches home
world within a world
a mystery large to small
and each blade of grass
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.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Jack Horne, England and Sandra Stefanowich, Canada
On A Misty Road
By Jack Horne and Sandra Stefanowich
It's raining and I'm soaking wet,
the water's rolling down my cheeks;
my face is wet with tears - my friend
is missing and it feels like weeks.
Tears run like a river with no end
mile markers of time slipping away
distance; the silent killer in the night
wondering if there was another way
As bitterness and anger die,
let raindrops wash all ills away,
I promise after heavy rain,
the sun will shine again today.
I see your hand reach out for mine
your love; as warm as the sun's rays
your promise is all I can hope for
as I find my way through the misty haze.
By Jack Horne and Sandra Stefanowich
It's raining and I'm soaking wet,
the water's rolling down my cheeks;
my face is wet with tears - my friend
is missing and it feels like weeks.
Tears run like a river with no end
mile markers of time slipping away
distance; the silent killer in the night
wondering if there was another way
As bitterness and anger die,
let raindrops wash all ills away,
I promise after heavy rain,
the sun will shine again today.
I see your hand reach out for mine
your love; as warm as the sun's rays
your promise is all I can hope for
as I find my way through the misty haze.
Heart in the Clouds--By Lisa DeVinney--United States
Heart in the Clouds
Today God said, “I love you.”
He wrote it in the sky,
Up in a cloud formation
That caught my wandering eye;
A perfect heart formation
Between two clouds that passed.
I tried to take a picture –
It disappeared too fast.
I smiled just a little,
And said, “I love You, too,”
Back to my Heavenly Father,
With heartfelt gratitude;
That He would take that moment
To share His heart with me.
Oh, what a thoughtful Father –
A precious memory.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com
Today God said, “I love you.”
He wrote it in the sky,
Up in a cloud formation
That caught my wandering eye;
A perfect heart formation
Between two clouds that passed.
I tried to take a picture –
It disappeared too fast.
I smiled just a little,
And said, “I love You, too,”
Back to my Heavenly Father,
With heartfelt gratitude;
That He would take that moment
To share His heart with me.
Oh, what a thoughtful Father –
A precious memory.
Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Lingual Diversity--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States
Lingual Diversity
We share the bench
at a neighborhood park,
watch children play.
He says something,
points toward a running, laughing boy,
probably his son,
about the same age as my daughter,
also running and laughing.
I point toward my little girl,
say the same thing in English
he most likely said in German.
Like our children’s laughter
we require no translation.
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
We share the bench
at a neighborhood park,
watch children play.
He says something,
points toward a running, laughing boy,
probably his son,
about the same age as my daughter,
also running and laughing.
I point toward my little girl,
say the same thing in English
he most likely said in German.
Like our children’s laughter
we require no translation.
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
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