Creating--By David Fox--United States

Creating

In a cozy café

of soft repose

I write a harmony

of original

and aesthetic masterpieces

In rhythm with the rain.

David Fox’s writing has appeared in over 100 venues, including newsletters, blogs, print journals and websites. He has been published in the U.K., Canada, India, Finland and the U.A.E.  He edits a print journal, The Poet's Art, (see his ad in the Whispers Ad column).

A Mingled Cup--By Neil Creighton--Australia

A Mingled Cup

When upon the world of men I think,
Its tender love, its lust for power,
A disturbing, mingled cup I drink
With tastes both sweet and bitterly sour.
A child’s laughter, whilst joy most bright,
Is lost in the staccato burst of gun
And innocence is damaged by the blight
Of injustice and gain corruptly won.
Then dark thoughts oppress and sadden,
That we who on this blue planet live,
Each other so callously burden
Taking much more than we ever give.
The horror of sharing this miracle of life
And wasting it in division and murderous strife.

Neil Creighton and his wife, Diana, live in a small village outside of Sydney, Australia. He was an English and Drama teacher. He has had a lifelong love of poetry. His subjects of love, justice, the beauty and mystery of the world, evocation of place and the search for meaning are expressed in a variety of styles. His poems have been published in The Second Genesis, An Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry and Prosopisia, An International Poetry Journal. He blogs at. "Wind of Flowers--Poems by Neil Creighton."

Haiku--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

dark sky

for a fleeting moment

one faint star

_____________ 

evening in the meadow

sandhill cranes

dancing with the stars

_____________ 

morning walk

tinsels of mist rising

between the vibrant peaks

_____________ 

hailstorm ends 

a rumpled robin

hunkers on a post

_____________ 

nature drive

a wild turkey flies

across the windshield

_____________

Elizabeth Howard lives in Crossville, Tennessee. She writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Poem, Still, Mobius, Now & Then, Slant, and other journals.

Tanka--By Aju Mukhopadhyay--India

on its way home

the kite carries

in its wings

the orange love

of the setting sun

______________ 

with abounding joy

fraught with risk and danger

clinging together they move

through the neighbourhood-

elopement

______________  

wishing to relish

the abounding beauty

I dallied-

and settled finally

with the ugly

______________

Aju Mukhopadhyay, a bilingual award winning poet, author and critic, writes fictions and essays too. He has authored 32 books and received several poetry awards from India and USA besides other honours. Recently he has received Albert Camus Centenary Writing Award, 2013 from Canada / Cyprus. He is a regular contributor to various magazines and e-zines in India and abroad. He is in the editorial and advisory board of some important literary journals. His poems and short stories have been widely anthologised and translated.

Waiting--By Christine Tate--United States

Waiting
 

We wait for most appointments

and on endless check-out lines,

in long, boring traffic jams

and always at stop signs...

We wait to catch a bus,

taxi, or a train, and

wait at busy airports

just to board a plane!

We wait on the telephone

and for all kinds of repairs,

but expect instant answers

to all of our prayers.

Be patient for God's answers,

there's no use getting riled,

they may not come tomorrow

but the wait will be worthwhile!

Christine Tate has been writing since 1994. She's the mother of 3 sons and has 8 grandchildren. She was widowed in 2007 and met her husband Artie, a widower with 6 children & 12 grandchildren, in a nursing facility where their mothers resided. They've been happily married 4 1/2 years. They describe their meeting as "God's divine appt." because of their faith, and the fact that they swore they'd never marry again. 

Wild Fruit--By Lynn White--Wales

Wild Fruit

I like the wild berries best.
Juice spilling over.
Bursting,
staining my tongue purple
or my lips red.
Each one a new sensation.
A little harder to come by,
than the bland clones,
the cultivars.
A bit more of a struggle.
And, it must be said,
not always sweet.
One never knows
with these wild fruits.
With each taste comes a surprise.
Spit out the sour,
take in the sweet.
Such joy!
Oh yes!
the wild berries are the best.

First Published in The Dawntreader, Summer 2015

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poems have been widely published.

The Visit--By Jennifer Criss--United States

The Visit

I felt a cold chill

on that warm night

and I thought

it might have been you

paying me a visit.

I felt icy fingers

crawl down my back.

perspiration replaced

by goosebumps.

Then nothingness again.

I’m afraid, but also sad

you’ve abandoned me again.

Jennifer Criss graduated from Ball State University with a minor in Creative Writing, a lifelong passion.  She is currently collaborating on an anthology for older adults and helps lead a writing support group. Jennifer writes mostly short stories but has discovered a love for writing poetry.  Her poetry has been published in Poebita Magazine. She now works at Ball State, is a busy mother of two girls and her pen keeps moving. She is an editorial assistant with Indiana Voice Journal.

Captivating Titles--Whispers' July Writing Exercise

Dear Whispers Readers,

Titles are our first opportunity to capture a reader’s attention, yet so many times I feel a bit disappointed when an otherwise wonderful poem starts off with a title that repeats the first line. Other times, something from the ending is shared that gives away the message, leaving the verse feeling flat.

Finding the right title is hard but if you find one that intrigues or sparks the interest of the editor, you increase the likelihood of publication. One editor I know had 1000 submissions for the latest issue.  Some competitive poetry journals accept 2% or less of what is submitted.  So, every detail matters.  (Note—this does not refer to untitled forms such as haiku and tanka.)

I would like to try an exercise that I hope you will enjoy.

1.      Please share a poem that is untitled—2-10 lines

  in the Post a Comment

2.      Use the reply button, Reply, below any poem that you want

  to suggest a title for

3.      Please note that if you suggest a title the author is authorized

  to use it for publication with his or her poem without

  further authorization.

Below is my poem for this exercise, with a reply for your reference.  I look forward to reading your poems and suggestions for titles.

Sincerely,

Karen O’Leary

Whispers’ Editor

Praise From God--By Evelyn Splane--Canada

Praise From God

Some day before the Judge we'll stand,
While Record Books are in His hand.
Nothing from His eye is hid,
Of all the things on earth we did.

The things we did for praise from men
For these there's no reward again,
But other deeds in secret hid,
These for the Lord alone we did.

We work; we pray; we give; we go,
That others too His love may know.
Of things done here upon the earth,
These are the deeds of greatest worth.

God knows the labour and the tears,
The faithful work of many years,
He'll say "Well done" and give us praise
We'll see the smile upon His face.

At her own expense Evelyn Splane traveled many times back and forth from Canada, her homeland, to India, for the fifty years she was an active missionary.  She lived in a modest, one-bedroom suite in the basement of a church, in Toronto. In April of 2006, due to her advancing age, and deteriorating health, she moved West to live with her sister and brother-in-law, Hart and Helen Dowd.  Now, as her health does not permit, she can no longer travel about from place to place in her homeland to create and renew an interest in the Lord's work in her adopted land of India. However, she generously gives of her meager income to help others go. (If you want to read more of Evelyn’s stories, check out:http://occupytillicome.ca/missionary/     

Aerogramme--By Nivedita N (Divenita Er)--United States

Aerogramme

Her hands shivered as Hima

tore along the sides of the letter

her eyes widened while reading the

words dipped in the expensive gel ink.

She pressed her nose against the

white paper--

The smell of his hamburger

sprinkled with his scent;

the p that seemed crooked now

like his accent that changed

over the trunk calls made with

‘change’ that she saved.

There was no news of his arrival yet;

She folded the aerogramme neatly

and placed the torn pieces

 in her locker

Nivedita N (Divenita Er), a Hyderabadi, is an unschooled student of poetry and prose. She writes to make sense of the chaotic world around through her stories and poetry. Among her other interests, she loves enjoying the world of printing, publishing and editing. She blogs at: nnivedita.com. Currently she resides in Wisconsin, soaking in the warmth of its people and the onset of Spring.

Haiku--By Ralph Stott--England

glasses

full of rain

paper umbrellas

_____________

empty glasses

a man signs

the air

_____________ 

mother's crystal glasses

holding her memory

in the light

_____________ 

jug

or straight glass

a dimpled smile

_____________

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.

Mother, Edith, at 98--By Michael Lee Johnson--United States

Mother, Edith, at 98

Edith, in this nursing home you're

blind with macular degeneration─

I come to you with your blurry

eyes, crystal sharp mind,

your countenance of grace─

as yesterday's winds,

I have chosen to consume you

and take you away.

"Oh, Jesus, where did

you disappear to,"

she murmured over and over again

in a low voice

dripping words

like a leaking faucet:

"Oh, there He is, my

Angel of the coming."

Video Link of Poem--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0x5K-qL9do

Michael Lee Johnson is a poet, editor, publisher, freelance writer, amateur photographer, small business owner in Itasca, Illinois.  He has been published in more than 880 small press magazines in 27 countries, and he edits 10 poetry sites.  Michael is the author of TheLost American:  From Exile to Freedom, several chapbooks of poetry, including From Which Place the Morning Rises and Challenge of Night and Day, and Chicago.  See his website for more about him http://poetryman.mysite.com/     

River Hands--By Tricia Knoll--United States

River Hands

I saw ripening first on the backs of my hands –

age speckles and pouchy fists, wrinkles

like retreating tide marks in sand,

then oxbow veins channeled to my wrists.

A watershed of blatant blood canals, these

river hands. At birth, seamless babies

grab fat-finger hurry to taste and suck and taste

all sense out of touch. Then hands go to work.

Blood flows a course, pulsing hot, interlacing

in the high relief of pat, pet, fist up, and stroke.

Older veins lift as a blue roots’ stand-up show,

reminders – well-lived, well-loved, miles flowed

to celebrate a stream of touch-love, fingers bent

as guides to rafting where the delta ends.

Tricia Knoll is an Oregon poet whose aging hands continue to do work that fascinates her - writing haiku and poetry, digging holes for daffodils, brushing a dog, and peeling the skin off cooked beets. Her poetry collections include full-length book Ocean’s Laughter (Aldrich Press, 2016) and a chapbook Urban Wild (Finishing Line Press, 2014).  Website: triciaknoll.com   

The Last Swift--By Gareth Culshaw--Wales

The Last Swift

The last swift is bringing

down the sky. He is doing

the caretaker rounds before

the night caps the day. The other

half of the earth is pushing up

the moon. Gently nurturing

it through cloud, rain, song.

Stars will soon be with us,

I stand with hands in pockets

in the middle of the field.

The swift leans, tilts, staggers

his way, wing-boarding

the last breaths of the sun.

I take one last gasp of July

balm, then pocket myself

to bed. Leaving the swift

to carry on with his smocking

stitch of the suns last gasp.

Gareth Culshaw lives in Wales, he loves the outdoors and uses it to help him write. He has been published in various places in the UK and USA.

All I Need--By Carolyn Martin--United States

All I Need

A few skyward things: one steady star

to guide, one constellation to bet

a myth upon, one quasar to break

the dark. The rest is ornament.

One mountain to announce it is ripe

for bulbs and seeds to multiply

without a first or second thought.

Birth deserves tranquility.

A frenzy of birds at sleep tide’s ebb,

tornados of gnats at dusk’s flow.

Two feral cats. Two red-tailed hawks.

Days that warrant wilding up.

A word for grace or luck or hope

when the mountain blocks my star.

In-the- bone love for all that’s lost.

Something born to lead me home.

(Previously published in The Way a Woman Knows)

Carolyn Martin is blissfully retired in Clackamas, Oregon, where she gardens, writes, and plays. Her poems and book reviews have appeared in journals throughout the US and UK, and her second collection, The Way a Woman Knows, was released in 2015 (www.thewayawomanknows). Since the only poem she wrote in high school was red-penciled "extremely maudlin," she is amazed she has continued to write.

Edenic--By David Palmer--United States

Edenic

Upon these banks where You fashion’d my soul,

Please pronounce again your Divine blessing,

“It is not good for Dave to be alone!”

Upon my soul, this ongoing freedom

To be my own man, set my schedule,

Stare through my four walls while writing sonnets

Has grown old. Re-create my soul to give

Itself unreservedly to her heart.

Knead the clay comprising me to remove

Stones of self-absorption and impatience,

Stubborn insistence that my will prevail.

Give me a generous heart that invests

In her success. Purify my soulish 

Pools that she sees Your reflection through me.

David Palmer makes his home in Renton, Washington, just outside Seattle.  As a former minister, and avid reader, he is a lover of poetry and has written 88 sonnets, mostly for the delight of his friends.  He currently works for Bloodworks Northwest in Bellevue, Washington, a blood center supplying whole blood, platelets and plasma for transfusion to patients in hospitals in Alaska, Washington, and Oregon.

Haiku--By Gert W. Knop--Germany

early morning

rigidly sculptured as stone

a grey heron

_______________

yellowed photos

almost forgotten in album

become alive

_______________

maneki neko

hope for little more money

Chinese waving cat

_______________

Gert W. Knop, born in 1943, studies art and tropical agriculture in Germany and Scotland (University of Edinburgh). He has lived in many different countries and writes mainly in German, English and Spanish. He currently resides in Zittau (Saxony), Germany.

Quiet Appreciation--By Lois Greene Stone--United States

Quiet Appreciation

Sunlight warms my skin,

while raindrops remind

me of summer sprinklers.

Snow on my eyelashes, and

autumn leaves clinging to

sweaters make me smile.

Cloud patterns constantly

change.

Inside myself, as seasons

mark time, I stay the same:

content, and grateful. 

Published Fall/Winter 2006, Shemom

Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.

Owl See You--By Jan Allison--United Kingdom

Owl See You

Please don’t ruffle my feathers

It is very rude when you stare

I have the most sensitive hearing

And I know you are lurking there

I mainly venture out at night

For I really am quite shy

Many people don’t even see me

For I don’t make a noise when I fly

My head can turn 270 degrees

So my eyesight is extremely good

Under cover of dark I lurk in the shadows

So you may not see me in the wood

Jan Allison is a relative newcomer to poetry. She didn’t start writing poetry until her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent surgery at the end of 2013. She wrote her first poem ‘Splendid Isolation’ whilst he was in hospital. Since then has discovered a love of poetry and has written over 500 poems. Jan also wrote collaboratively with her writing partner Darren Watson under the name Jadazzle United.

That Granite Needle--By G. Louis Heath--United States

That Granite Needle

The tall obelisk in the cemetery across

from my third-floor office submits to the will

of the sun this blue morning. I have thrilled

to the sun ascendant over my computer for

years, an unavoidable meditation on a cemetery.

It is a granite needle that pricks my gray folds

each morning I work. It’s a relative I don’t

want to see. It’s a meeting I’d like to

avoid. It’s a doctor’s appointment I dread.

It’s a sermon I don’t want to hear.

It’s that granite needle again.

My morning coffee at my desk, I am full into

my routine as the steeply inclined sun finger

paints on granite, a pastel of light downward

till the base is bright. This work of light on the

obelisk never fails to draw my eyes from my

keyboard, if only for moments. The sun paints

a message for me, maybe.

Today a weed-eater begins to buzz around the base.

I look down and resume typing e-mails to staff.

G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, teaches at Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. He retires in June, 2016 because his university is closing. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. His books include Mutiny Does Not Happen Lightly, Long Dark River Casino and Vandals In The Bomb Factory. His most recent poems have been published in Dead Snakes, Poppy Road Review, Writing Raw, Inkstain Press, Verse-Virtual, Eunoia Review and Squawk Back. He can be contacted at gheathorov@gmail.com     

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Michael Todd, Sheri Green, Beth Holmes, Wynne Huddleston, Anna Donovan, Joleene Naylor, and Julie Catherine Vigna—United States

Vacating The Premises

Now, appears the time,
Vacating the premises
Seems the best option.

There is nothing left.
Doubts whisper upon the winds,
Urging me onward.

Traveling the road

Where silence awakens sight,

Mind is free once more.

Like oil on parched skin,
Relief anoints my body;

Renews my spirit.

Assent, not defeat,

Clarity in dissension,

Daring life en face.

A new beginning,
Like the Phoenix from ashes,

Born of letting go.

Trust higher power

To guide soul's best intention,
Facing the future.
______________

Lamenters:

Michael Todd

Sheri Green

Beth Holmes

Wynne Huddleston

Anna Donovan
Joleene Naylor
Julie Catherine Vigna 

Earth--By Richard Sponaugle--United States

Earth

The earth was long considered flat

That’s where worldly wisdom was at

Til some mapmaker found

The world to be quite round

But we’re not long on this land

Life slips through fingers like sand

But Heaven and Hell have no shape

No boundaries – and no escape

Richard Sponaugle was born 4-20-60 in Maryland and raised in Northern Virginia.  He received a BA from George Mason University.  A prolific poet and songwriter, he has been published in many venues. 

Registering change--By Sunil Sharma--India

Registering change

The dawn… anticipated

the dusk…dreaded

by the figure

strapped

to a catheter

on a steel rod

eyes drugged but

alive

to the change in the variation

and colour of the

day-light

registering subtly---

each alteration of the rhythm

 of the passage of time

from someplace in the void.

Sunil Sharma is a writer based in Mumbai, India. A college principal, he has published four books of poetry, two books of shorts and a novel in English, apart from co-editing six literary anthologies.  He edits Episteme: http://www.episteme.net.in/  

Poetry Moments--By Cynthia Sidrane--United States

clouds thick as mortar
but wind-carved chinks of blue sky
mean it might not rain

_________________ 

curtain of long leaves

parted by three hummingbirds

in a eucalyptus 

_________________ 

mockingbird whistles
repertoire of joyful riffs
threaded leaf to sky

_________________

As a desert and mountain dweller and avid hiker, Cynthia Sidrane’s poetry is inspired by the wild, remote and rugged beauty of Arizona deserts, and the Sky Island mountain ranges that rise like miracles from them. Her poems have been published online, and in print, including two short-form poetry anthologies: Pay Attention, A River of Stones and A Blackbird Sings. 

Beach Nightfall--By Robert L. Porter, Jr.--United States

Beach Nightfall

Pelicans flying home in single-file flights.

Glowing gold hues and darkening blue sights;

Mists flowing slowly over wave-break whites;

Scene dotted with soaring wind-driven kites.

While crying seagulls seek nests pair by pair,

Nostrils are savoring the sweet sea air;

Beach phantoms are packing their gear with care;

Last fisherman casts out his final snare.

We feel the dusk breeze blow through our hair;

The setting sun is our apricot confrere.

What a prized place to be -- we love it there!

A wondrous day; thankful, we murmur a prayer.

Robert L. Porter, Jr. is a retired entrepreneur from several industries.  An early lover of poetry, he restarted his postponed writing of poetry a decade ago and has just begun seeking publication.  Primarily a rhymer, he writes on personal experience in life and love.  He is humbled by the wonderful works published in today’s contemporary free style journals.

Haiku--By Ron C. Moss--Australia

newborn foal

a barn door left open

to the rain

________________

starless night

a paper coffee cup

in the frost

________________ 

darkness

in every window—

winter rain 

________________ 

a wallaby

in cloud shadow—

hidden moon 

______________ 

sunrise . . .

the last of me

letting go

________________

Ron C. Moss is a Tasmania visual artist, poet and lover of haiku. His poetry has won international awards and been translated into several languages. Ron's art is sold as limited edition-prints and originals. He has been featured in poetry journals and has designed several award winning poetry books.  Ron is a two time winner of the Haiku Society of America International renku competition, and he is a current member on the Haiku Society of America. Please check out Ron’s website--www.ronmoss.com 

Character--By Sara Kendrick--United States

Character

As the sunlight permeates the fog

Revealing dust's debris

Sunbeams filter within the soul

Exposes faults carefree

As selfishness dances around

Critical nature unfolds

A little pride displays itself

That hateful spirit cold

Lasciviousness floats below

Displays lust's wantonness

Are these desires cleaned from the soul

Other thirsts thoughtlessness

Cleansed by sunlight's radiant beams

Variance swiftly exposed

Hatred, wrath and strife destroyed

To love quickly transposed

When touched by the master's swift hand

All character flaws cleansed

Why did not simple surrender

Happen sooner my friend

Sara Kendrick married young and had a family soon after. After her last child went to school, she decided to pursue her GED. A gentlemen who worked with the GED program encouraged her to enroll in college.  She worked part time and cared for her family in addition to her studies. She graduated from Mercer University. Several years ago, after a health crisis, she started writing poetry. 

Rain Dance--By Maricris Cabrera--Philippines

Rain Dance

You're searching your whole life 

searching for gold 

fine gold leaf makes a fine headdress

head and hands thick and cold.

Discontented, disgruntled

searching for Paradise

believed in sweet words

though you know they’re all but lies

like people and acquaintances, you hoard.

No longer wearing your shame

your heart, like wildfire 

yearning for souls to acclaim

take heed, My lady!

make your spirit free.

Let your energy blossom 

let hopeful promises radiate

don't wait for the storm to pass

dance in the rain instead

let happiness and love transcend.

Maricris Cabrera is a wife and mother from the Philippines. She has been writing since 2009. Maricris joined Poems and Quotes, Poets and Poets Dream communities at Google Plus last year, where she started posting her poems.  She hopes you enjoy her poetry.

If A Poet, I Found I Could Never Be--By Robert Lindley--United States

If A Poet, I Found I Could Never Be

If a poet, found myself not to be,

would vivid colors lose their awesome splash.

Could life race ever on and live for me

or my soul die, rhymes in my head then crash?

If invading words I never dared loose,

stayed hidden within this lonesome, old cave.

Would I find world's mysteries more abstruse,

spirit thus devoid of writing I crave?

If words no longer soothed this needing soul,

could depths of love in verse for me exist.

If my life were lived as an empty scroll

shall it fade as Autumn morn's foggy mist?

If a true poet, could I never be,

this sad heart would be a dead and dried sea.

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.

Prayer--By Neena Singh--India

Prayer 

There are a thousand ways to pray

Visiting temples is not the only way

The little bird that sings so sweet

Praises God for the day to greet

The small brook that flows alone

Crossing hurdles of weed and stone

Says a prayer in its gurgling tone ~

The tree which raises arms to the sky

Is grateful for its fruits on high

I breathe this air so pure and now

In thankfulness for life I bow

The hands that pray 

Are blessed I see

Yet those that serve

More blessed by Thee

Neena Singh is the creator of ‘soul2soul’, a well-loved group on Facebook, committed to spreading peace, goodwill and light through theme-based discussions among members. She has received awards and accolades for her contribution in banking, management and social work. Neena lives with her husband, Prithpal and her golden lab, Rumi, in Chandigarh.