Wednesday, January 24, 2018

A Christmas Story--By James Dean Chase--United States

A Christmas Story

Three blankets, threadbare and thin,
were still some service to him
- the frail old man in the box
of wood and cardboard - his home
amongst rats and alley cats.

A coffee can full of wax,
melting with a sooty flame,
kept the freeze off his fingers
as he ate his trash bin prize
of discarded pizza crusts.

He toasted his good fortune
with a swig of soured juice,
then rested his weary head
on a bubble wrap pillow
as sirens sang lullabies....

James Dean Chase is a Mixed Anglo/Native American Indian writer, poet and artist, born and raised in Texas. He has traveled "the seven seas", and spent six years in the American Navy. James has been writing since the age of 5. Unfortunately, all of his writings before age 16 are lost. Many of his articles, columns, poetry and short stories have been published. 

Strong Will and Firm Resolution--By Aju Mukhopadhyay--India

Strong Will and Firm Resolution

Daydreaming
Riding on a robust horse
Strong vital force
Will unwavering
Takes you to the distant shore
To the sky height unforeseen before
Though it’s often abandoned
Dried on the road
Ideas dying in the bud
Falling with a thud;
Dreams flowering here and there
Dry without base as they appear.
Unlike a dido if it’s a real dream
It’ll make you leader in life’s stream.

Aju Mukhopadhyay, an Indian bilingual poet, author and critic, has authored 34 books; 12 books of poems, 5 books of short stories and a novel. He writes travelogue, on animals and nature. He has contributed many essays in books and journals; His poems and short stories have been widely anthologized.

Monday, January 22, 2018

Morning shines--By Robert Filos--United States

Morning shines

crisp the early breeze shines
bright shadows envelop arctic seas
here, narwhals slide quick cutting green
whiteness reflects in aqua blue shades
comets streaking across the silky water
below as above in looking glass dance
a singing gentle, the early morning call
as gulls shout out their salt filled lungs

Robert Filos is an author of poetry and short stories that combine beauty and wit while highlighting social justice issues. Published worldwide his poetry received over 40,000 views in 2017. Born and raised in The Bronx, he now resides in the South Carolina Low-country with his wife and children. He can be reached at rfilos63@gmail.com

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Cherished Desires--By Edilson Afonso Ferreira--Brazil

Cherished Desires

I feel I could never be related to owls, bats  
and wolfs, or other nocturnal animals.
I love at daylight to stare at the world face to face,
entirely visualizing all its beauties.  
I love the sunrise that dispels the blackness,
exposing and revealing everything, without   
shame, measure or prudency.
I love to feel that we’re on the road again,  
to a future we aren’t aware of, but confident
in one Almighty that, closely and affectionately,
although hidden and discreet, guides all of us.  
I love the noise of people on streets and alleys,
corners and places,  
jointly seeking to move the hard wheel of time.
I prefer love vows done clear under the sun
than those by the rapture of night passions.
I must confess that, on some sunny days
and a blue sky,
I dream to ride the winds high and high, 
looking for the lost realms of Paradise.

(Published in Indiana Voice Journal, Sept./Oct. 2017 issue.)

A Brazilian poet, Edilson Afonso Ferreira, 74, writes in English rather than Portuguese. Largely published in international and selected literary journals in print and online, he began his literary life at age 67, after his retirement as a graduate employee at a Bank. Ferreira lives in a small town (Formiga – MG), with wife, three sons and a granddaughter. His first Poetry Book, Lonely Sailor (one hundred poems), is scheduled for publication in 2018.

Tanka--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

looking at Christmas lights
with a three-year-old . . .
an excited country girl
I rode to a neon city
to see Gone with the Wind
_____________

at Christmas
honeybees testing the keyhole
to the cinnamon buns—
yet when fruit trees blossom
                    only surrogates
______________

in the guest cabin
grandchildren on pallets
helter-skelter . . .
pick up a blue stick
red, green, yellow tumble

Elizabeth Howard lives in Arlington, Tennessee. Her work has appeared in Comstock Review, Big Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Green Hills Literary Lantern, and many other journals.

Saturday, January 20, 2018

From Our Activity Feature Editor—Jack Horne--England

Dear Writers,

Rhyming poetry or free verse. Which do you prefer?

I used to think that free verse wasn’t ‘proper poetry’ (like playing tennis with the net down, as my hero Robert Frost once said) and that only rhyming verse was true poetry...strictly rhyming, metrical poems, that is. But wasn’t I missing out on some great poetry? Of course I was. It took Carol Ann Duffy’s wonderful ‘Valentine’ to first show me the error of my ways.

Now I believe it doesn’t matter if we write in rhyming metric or free verse. It’s the words that count and the feeling behind each word.  Surely, those are the things that strike a chord with readers and make them feel like the writer is speaking directly to them. Well, after all, don’t we all feel some sort of special bond with our favourite writers?

We all share a common love of words. That has brought us together. Let’s enjoy the fellowship and the friendship!

Best wishes to all our Whispers' family – or ‘Whisperers’, as I call us,

Jack

Dream Too Real--By Jessica Swafford--United States

Dream Too Real

I bolted awake
breathless and scared
A blue flame vivid
from the heat stove
My dog growling
at something unseen

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Dreaming the Unicorn--By Andrea Dietrich--United States


Where fancy's flowers bloom, I go,
and music starts to play.
And when sweet words of beauty flow,
I dip and weave and sway. . .
Then comes a white horse, my delight,
so I'll not be forlorn.
In step with him, I freely write!
I dream the unicorn.

Dreamery--By Richard Carl Subber--United States

Dreamery

The dream was realistic in its detail…
In the old barn, I sensed a history
in every damp corner, an unfinished story
in every heap of debris that marked
a process without progress, in remnants
of machines, the gear of abandoned projects
that made only small shadows on the untidy floor.
I’m no farmer, I had no impulse
to harvest any dream theme,
but I felt no urge to end it…

Translation Poem Feature--By Gert Knop--Germany

By Gert Knop

Lärm von der Straße  (German)
so früh schon am Morgen
der Flug einer Schneeeule
Lautlos aufsteigend
von einem verlassenen Haus


Noise from the street  (English)
so early in the morning
the flight of an snowy owl
silently ascending
from an abandoned house

~~~~~~~~~~

Ruido de la calle  (Spanish)
tan temprano en la mañana
el vuelo de un búho nival
silenciosamente ascendente
de una casa abandonada

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

dreams…By Karen O'Leary--United States

dreams…

dancing on fingertips
delicate spring blossoms
dozens of pastel hues…
dreams flit with hummingbirds,
dragonflies and stardust,
dancing above the clouds,
drifting into my soul...

Dream--By Swapan Kumar Rakshit--India

Dream

When it seems that the past went adrift
And the future would be totally aimless,
Only the dream plays the role of a nice gift
To a wounded mind, that needs a solace.
It can reciprocate the love unrequited
And can reflect unanswered smile at night.

Dreaming Fool--By Jake Aller--United States

Dreaming Fool

Am I just a dreaming fool
Or is the real world the dreaming world

I don’t know, and don't care
So I sleep on, re-entering the dream world
Hoping I can stay in my dreams

My dreams are nightmarishly real
I dream movie scripts
And other worlds that do exist
And I live there in the dream world
Dreaming of this world

Monday, January 15, 2018

Delicate Dreams--By Inge Wesdijk (Daginne Aignend)--The Netherlands

Delicate Dreams

In the upper drawer
of my small cabinet
I stored them, safely
Afraid otherwise
they might get lost
When times are tough,
my secret cache opens
and I cherish myself
by the warm compassion
of my delicate dreams

The Chosen--By Justine Johnston Hemmestad--United States

The Chosen

Listening in stilled passageways,
my body all ears, my mind a pair of grasping hands.
For a heart pleading to be heard,
bequeathing grace through the darkened hours.
Crossing the difficult boundaries
between resistance and submission, she calls -
With knowledge from another world, afloat upon
the secret it harbors, cast upon waves unknown.
Symbols embrace her message,
caressing her insight with tender allure -

We share her love, sight unseen, taming our fear,
spoken within our blood and skin;
Colors breeze into our hearts and shed light
on the love we’ve raised from great depths -
Words spoken within the hot breath of spirit,
bringing us to the shores of home;
Among the folklore that abounds,
legends become truth and truth promises life -
Epiphanies that are like draping curtains,
pulling back to reveal the world of my dreams.

Justine Johnston Hemmestad is a mother of seven, grandmother of one, currently earning her Master's Degree in English Literature. Her novella called Truth be Told and novel called Visions of a Dream are available at Amazon; she's also included in Chicken Soup for the Soul, ''Recovering from Traumatic Brain Injuries."

Sunday, January 14, 2018

My Dream--By Jack Horne--England

My Dream

Last night I dreamed that you returned,
that all the wrongs were right again;
you said this time you'd stay with me,
I kissed your lips, forgot the pain,
and as I held you...what a noise!
A ringing clock that filled my brain,
its job to drag me from my sleep...
Awake, my sunshine turned to rain.

Trusted Aid--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Trusted Aid

Dreams,
visions
in the night,
God's parables:
when interpreted
with the help of the Lord,
give instruction and guidance.
Or else no clear understanding
of the symbols can be deciphered.
Bizarre dreams are not insignificant!

Friday, January 12, 2018

Innocent Dreams--By Paul Callus--Malta

Innocent Dreams

Like wild horses
Dreams gallop freely
Across the vast plains
Of my guileless mind
Blissfully unaware
Of the insidious lassos
Lurking in the shadows.

I Still Merry On--By Ken Allan Dronsfield--United States

I Still Merry On

Bundled wishes and rowdy crowds
Holiday cheer; just a nip in the mug.
parades gone, the balloons careening
the Caroler's silent, in loving harmony.
A tempest within time year after year.
of lovely presents and family affairs.
the constant chaos with tidings of joy
our Savior's blessings remembered
cherished days at Church or home
in dreams of old, I'll still Merry on!

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

From Our Poetry Editor/reflexion—Inge Wesdijk ((Daginne Aignend)--The Netherlands

Dear Writers,

Writing is for me a way to express myself, some make music, others paint and I write.

Poetry has a lot in common with music and paintings, lyrics can be very poetical, and you only have to look at the subtitle of Whispers “Painting pictures with words” to see the connection with visual arts.

Whispers is a place for all who treasure the beauty of poetry, sharing and caring about the wonderful world of words.

What I love about poetry are the different styles writers compose their work, every little pearl of the mind is shown in a unique personal setting. I really look forward reading the precious valuables of our contributors.

reflexion

my thoughts are
an ongoing stream of
scattered fragments
till words are formed
into a composition
of peaceful harmony
a poem is born

I wish the Whispers' Family happy writing; don't worry about the writer's block.
Sometimes your muse needs a short time-out, don't force her, she always returns as long as you stay positive.

Best wishes,
Inge

Virtue--By Jack M. Freedman--United States

Virtue

Youthful rabbi spoke to my spirit kindly
Book of Job, waxed passionate and poetic
Told her I was lost, but soon found the answers
Patience replenished

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Spending Time with Isha Wagner--New Zealand--An Interview

Dear Friends,

It is a pleasure to share Whispers’ first interview with you. Isha Wagner is an accomplished poet from New Zealand who has been contributing her insightful poetry for our online journal since 2013. She has been an international traveler, connecting with others that embrace the gift of words. Her writing conveys cultures, allowing us to travel with her.

Thank you, Isha, for sharing your thoughts for this interview…


Karen--Where are you from?

Isha--I was born in Wellington, the capital of New Zealand.  I am fifth generation New Zealander of Scottish/English heritage.

Karen--How would you describe your life?

Isha--I am a traveler, traveling over the world from a young age. 

Karen--Why do you write?

Isha--Perhaps to express an idea and perhaps, more importantly, to communicate with others...always a deep desire to write in words something one wants to express in the written word.

Karen--How did your interest in poetry begin?

Isha--I recall sitting on a park bench when about seven years old saying to myself--I will be a writer and that stayed in my mind.  So, I began to write little poems, but these were not accepted well so I stopped and decided to wait till I was an adult.  (Editor's thoughts--It is so sad that people can't celebrate and encourage young writers. I hope if anyone knows of a young writer that the Whispers community can celebrate, please email me at karenoleary1956@gmail.com)

Karen--Have you any preferred style of poetry you like to write in?

Isha--I prefer to write freely.  When writing rhymed poetry, it always seems to me to be contrived and somewhat false or pretentious.  And yet I know this is not so in reality, it's simply as I see it.  I just write as I write without--as I see it--without restriction. 

Karen--If you could make a wish and have it come true what would it be?

Isha--This is difficult to answer as each day I have a different wish: I could say there is not one specific wish I wish for.  Today, writing these few words, my wish is to live forever.  And, tomorrow I may wish I had never been born!  Yesterday, I wished for a disease-free world.  As said, one has varied opinions.

Karen--If you had a chance to live your life again, what would you change?

Isha--I would change my thought processes, have a clearer, sharper mind, become all-knowing and probably go into the sciences and study physics.

Karen--What final words would you like to say to the reader?

Isha--Write as if your life depends on it which in a sense it does. Despite little praise or words of encouragement, there is a degree of satisfaction especially when you look back at your earlier work and think did I write that?  There is, after all, much comfort to be derived from putting your thoughts and ideas that spring up spontaneously - into written poetry.  And you will never know how much pleasure and even meaning you can give to others' lives.

Karen—In closing, Isha’s poetry has been celebrated and appreciated at Whispers. She encourages others with her insightful comments for them. We reach out--we cross borders--we grow. I will let Isha’s poem and bio share the rest of this column. Thank you so much, Isha, for this interview. 

Blessings,

Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor

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

Birthday at Tatum Park

a chilly August windless blue sky day
and the elegantly served afternoon tea
of Earl Grey and English Breakfast
with silver pots and fine bone china
gladden the eyes glazed with cataract
and distracts the minds from rheumatic limbs

later we walk amongst the statues of trees
planted by settlers over a century ago
the camera in my hands awaits to capture
the face of a child of seventy-five this day
pinched, wrinkled, thinning bright white hair

with aloof but thick knowing eyes

lens pointed to immortalise the nostalgia
please, she says gently, don't
I look so different from how I feel

her remark astounds me
I put the camera away and
leave this moment alone

Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.

Monday, January 8, 2018

Shards--By Anne Curran--New Zealand

Shards

if your dreams
should suddenly shatter
don't feel bitter and dull
find yourself a dustpan
and pick them up again
shard by shard
enlist the compassion 
of family and friends
and build a new mosaic
a window to look out of again.

Canyon Lights--By Ellen Huang--United States

Canyon Lights

Out from rock and canyon ash, castle towers and city lights
reach toward the nightly cosmos. My friend and I,
we make haste to catch this vision, our meteor shower, our heaven--
Till the counselors pull down the tarp, obscuring all that future from us.
We drop our camera and canvas, trapped in that total eclipse.
The camp is hypnotized by a black-and-white film projection on the tarp.
Yet my friend and I strive--there are dances in autumn's flaming leaves
without burning, there are eagle wings for soaring on this side
of the sun, there are homes in the wild and laughter in the trees,
and oceanic new Jupiters and Neptunes arise at the edge of the world. 

Saturday, January 6, 2018

Surreal--By--Vivian Wagner--United States

Surreal

A water main broke, flooding a dream yard.
It was an emergency that my unconscious brain couldn’t
fathom, except as a reason to call my mom.
She was unavailable in all the ways she was
always unavailable: scattered, unfocused,
unable to see me as anyone other than a mixed-up teenager.
I gave up on her, in all the ways I learned to give up on her.
I turned an oily gear and shut down the main, even as I
kept listening to the thin, strange strands of her voice.

Dreamers--By Lynn White, Wales, UK

Dreamers

The sun is standing still for them
Standing still for the streams of dreamers.
Dreamers streaming down the roads to somewhere else.
From somewhere that has become nowhere.
Dreaming of escape.
Dreaming of a future, any future.
Dreaming of the life they once had.
Dreaming of normality, whatever that means.
Dreaming of returning
when the sun comes up again, if ever it does.

First published in Expound, Issue 6, June 2016 (different edit)

Friday, January 5, 2018

Thank you...By Nila Webster--United States

Excerpt from The Gift of You, The Gift of Me

Thank you for
A place of peace
A place of dreams
And a place of sleep

Thank you for the ancient stones
For sand and sea
And a place called home

Cecil Dreams a Bed--By Elizabeth Howard, United States

Cecil Dreams a Bed

In my sleeping chair, I am cold.
I dream scary stuff, rats with long
yellow teeth, monsters at the broken
window, a red-eyed giant with a belt.
When teacher tells us to draw our room,
I draw my chair.  Where’s your bed? she asks.
I never had a bed, but I dream a soft pillow,
blue sheets, a quilt like the one on the wall
at school.  In a warm bed with a pillow,  
I wouldn’t have scary dreams. 

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Dreams--By Feby Joseph--India

In Dreams

I spent seasons in bed now –
for I can only see you in reverie
bathed in colours – long forgotten by the sun.
     Only a few fragments of your fragrance fast fading
     in the brittle lies of light.

I keep my eyes closed for ages
In hopes of seeing a few pages of you
I can later transcribe into odes.
     I need these poems –
     The pictures have started to fade.

Friends--By Linda Imbler--United States

Friends

We sit here face-to-face,
assembling Lego pieces
of a fairytale broken world,
as we talk about
the real one we live in. 
A world more fractured
than what we, at this moment, build.
We hope we’ll have more time
to use our dreams
to repair our own.