Monday, April 23, 2018

The Time-Machine--By Jack Horne--England

The Time-Machine

Last week, I built a time-machine,
and, first, I traveled back to see
the dinosaurs upon the Earth;
they tried to eat or trample me!

Such fun to set the clock and then
I'd whoosh through time, from age to age:
I saw the Romans, Vikings, Celts,
and witnessed Shakespeare on the stage.

I longed to be with you again;
I'd travel back and there I'd stay...
my memories and what I saw
were quite at odds, like night and day.

I realised that in my mind
I'd changed the past; my love was blind.

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry. He is Whispers' Activity Features Editor.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Special Feature Young Writer--By Eren Cehreli--Turkey

lego train
the world peace 
is simendifer

a kite
the summer days
never end

garden party
i always wear
a messi uniform

Six-year old, Eren Cehreli, shares poetry with us that is remarkable at such a young age. He is a student at Lycée Français Charles de Gaulle at CP class.  CP class, explains his aunt, Fatma Gultepe, is the first class of primary school.

Key to My Heart--By Allan Ball--England

Key to My Heart 

Life is never easy 
Living with a broken heart

Will you ever realise
I loved you from the start

Alas you never noticed me
A lonely figure in full sight

Flickering eternally
A distant candlelight

Still, I wait and wonder
What the future has in store

You see I really love you 
And need you even more 

Allan Ball has retired from a career in the Banking and Financial sector. Writing is both peaceful and rewarding, the written word allows our hearts to speak. His poems have been published in anthologies.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Sonnet 100, Springs First Sweet Kiss--By Ken Allan Dronsfield--United States

Sonnet 100, Springs First Sweet Kiss

Sing me a sonnet of springs first sweet kiss.
Let me gaze at splendid colors around.
warm sun touching my cheeks; the cold remiss.
those angelic sounds of spring now abound.
The morning songbirds sing loud flying high,
honks of northbound geese waving in the mist.
the buzz of the bees all about the sky
The bedroom curtains gently dance and twist
whisper to me lines of a Summer's rhyme.
Sing me a last sweet winter serenade;
of things my memory shall keep in time
renewal of nature for which we prayed
await our toast to this sonnet with wine
springs first sweet kiss, we relax in the shade.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet residing in Oklahoma. Ken enjoys music, writing and spending time with his cats Willa, Hemi and Turbo. He has one poetry collection, The Cellaring and is Co-Editor for 2 poetry anthologies. His work can be viewed in numerous (online) magazines and anthologies worldwide. Ken loves life!

Frühling--By Arthur Rehbein (1867-1952)--Translated By--Gert Knop--Germany

Arthur Rehbein (pseudonym Atz vom Rhyn)—In Memory 1867-1952—Germany
(shared and authorized for individual monthly publication by Gert Knop—a Whispers’ contributor since 2013. Arthur was one of Gert's grandfather's brothers.)

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

Frühling (German)—Original poem by Arthur Rehbein

O wunderschöner Maientag,
den nie ich im Leben vergessen mag!
O Sonnengold und Lenzens Lust,
O würziger, kräftiger Tannenwaldduft!
An meiner Seite die lieblichste Maid -
O Frühlingszeit, Maienpracht, Seligkeit

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

Spring (English)—Translation by Gert Knop

O beautiful May day,
that I'll never forget in life!
O sun's gold and springtime's delight,
O flavoursome, strong pine forest scent!
By my side the loveliest maiden -
O Springtime, May splendor, bliss

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

Primavera (Spanish)—Translation by Gert Knop

Oh hermoso día de mayo,
¡que nunca olvidaré en la vida!
O el oro del sol y el deleite de la primavera,
O sabroso, fuerte olor a bosque de pinos!
A mi lado la doncella más adorable
O primavera, esplendor de mayo, felicidad

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

Arthur Rehbein, also known under his pseudonym Atz vom Rhyn, was one of Gert Knop’s grandfather's brothers. He was born on October 26, 1867 in Remscheid, North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany and died on February 29, 1952 in Berlin, Germany. His son Max H. Rehbei was a journalist, TV-editor and producer for the NDR (North German Radio). Arthur Rehbein was a journalist and author. He did extensive travels around the world and published many books including three volumes of poetry.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Editor's Thoughts/Friendship--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

Thank you for all your support and encouragement.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think about our poetry family. As gather to share our poetry, we knit a fabric in which each person that graces our journal adds strands to. The fabric grows and becomes stronger.

After five years of publishing, I feel blessed to have met many wonderful people along the way.  Some have crossed our borders for a season, some staying since the onset, yet each voice has a purpose.  I set out to share an online journal that allowed beginning poets and accomplished writers to rest side by side—each sharing an equal space.

The relationships are the greatest gift of the writing experience for me. Caring about each other matters.  I treasure my co-editors Jack Horne and Inge Wesdijk for allowing Whispers to grow with more opportunities to share the gift of words.  Inge accepted “Friendship” for publication this month which I am grateful. 

Friendship

From heart to heart
Respect & caring
In love it grows
Enriching gift
Nestled in warmth
Demanding nothing
Sharing souls
Helping with kindness
Inspiring words
Perpetual light

Before this turns into a book, I would like to close with thank you, again.  Best wishes with your writing journeys.

Blessings,

Karen—your humble editor

Enter your poem--By Ngozi Olivia Osuoha--Nigeria

Enter your poem

Poetry is an Art,
It could draw a chart
By sales in the mart
But it lives in the heart

Poetry is a song
The echo can't be wrong
It always lasts for long

Poetry is a vaccine
It can heal like medicine

Poetry is life

Poetry is like a tribe
Where everyone is a scribe
Words, we want to imbibe

Poetry is a village
Where we share our knowledge
Into an artistic collage

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha is a Nigerian poet/writer/thinker, a graduate of Estate Management with experience in banking and broadcasting . She has published over 130 poems in over 10 countries and featured in over 15 international anthologies, 3 poetry books are published The Transformation Train, Letter to My Unborn and Sensation, available on Amazon.com

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

It's Only Words--By Susan Kahil--Spain

It's Only Words

It’s only words that fill this page
My thoughts passing through this age
Why are you reading me, I’d like to know?
Is it simply because I put them on show
The question arises why do I?
Bare my soul, let you pry
The only reason I can figure out
Is that myself I must doubt
For if I were so sure and content
I would in silence, know what is meant
One fine day after I have untangled my rhythm
I’ll come to this conclusion a final decision
That my poetry is but for me a learning curve
The journey in which I myself observed
To find that all words are but emotions
Spelling in drops into a vast ocean
So for now read my dictations from the heart
I’ll soon be gone, will have to depart
For I will be wiser and so very sure
Its only words, there’s so much more

Susan Kahil poet/singer/songwriter from London UK, now in Spain on a mountain valley farm living a semi sufficient lifestyle using solar/wind power and growing own food. Susan draws inspiration for poetry and songs from nature and the cosmos. She is currently working on her first book Starlight Translated out later this year https://www.facebook.com/StarlightTranslated/  

Christ Consciousness--By Yancy Dalton--United States

Christ Consciousness (a sonnet)
  
Jesus taught by both example & words
Love one another even thrilled love birds
Love as ye live, do not quarrel or fight
Give up thy pride, follow my divine light

Repent & be baptized my humble ways
Holy Ghost is given, hearts guiding rays
Follow my ordained servants at all times
The chosen vessels of my priesthood lines

Find your way in my living head apostle
Who's with authority, my chosen vessel
Savior of mankind, all ages & kinds
Your shepherd brother from our father binds

In me, find eternal life, don't just glance
You're not on earth by accident or chance

Yancy Dalton grew up on a cattle ranch riding, roping and branding calves. He started writing poetry after college, church mission and marriage.  When he first started writing online, the name "Yancy" was often taken for a girl's name. So, he made up a pen name to progress as a poet called "Knight Writer."

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Poetry 'n Stuff--By Nick Spargo--United Kingdom

Poetry 'n Stuff

Some say that poetry is best
when taken in small doses.
That poets are all suffering
from strange, bizarre psychoses.
Some say that they were taught
at school to play around with words.
But learning to compose by rote
is strictly for the birds.
Taught to be a poet?
I don’t think it can be learned.
To gain the muse of poetry
 is something that is earned.
Through your life’s experiences,
you absorb it by osmosis.
And find that you can rhyme a word like
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

Nick Spargo writes poetry, short stories and monologues. He has been published extensively and has won a number of prizes with his work. He lives in the South-West of England.

Secret Land--By John Polselli--United States

Secret Land

I am a dreamer in the night,
    A traveler in space,
Searching for a secret world
    Where thrives a secret race.

I am a dreamer in the night,
    Peering through the veil
That separates the hummingbird
    From the nightingale.

I am a dreamer in the night
   Reaching out my hand
In hope of finding my true love
    In a secret land.

John Polselli’s poetry has been published in many literary journals and is the recipient of several Editor’s Choice Awards. As a poet, John enjoys composing in all traditional forms including free verse as well as inventing his own.

Monday, April 16, 2018

Four Seasons in one day--By George L. Ellison--England

Four Seasons in one day

I Crave the sun that dawns a brand new day
Brave Helios drives all the mists away
gave us spring now and I do hope, to stay!

Lunchtime comes around and the sky turns dark
Glowering clouds they make everything stark
As if winters returned to leave its mark

As blossom it curls when the frost it burns
as it looks as if spring is taking turns
as autumn and as winter each return

There’s a hiatus as the afternoon sun
 makes everyone believe that summer’s come
As daylight fades, temperatures undone

Four seasons in one day or so it seems
I go to bed with summer in my dreams
 
George L. Ellison is a Poetry and Short Stories writer, he has three books published, entitled Poetic Reminiscences, Weaving words and Reflections. He is the Poetry form a Poem Master at the Writers and Poets Alliance with a number of collaborative books to his name, including Remembrance 1914 -2014. He lives with his wife and dogs in England, plays the Ukulele and is also studying the saxophone.

Fries--By Les Epstein--United States

Fries

I’ve a begging new matter
To consider
Now that I’ve crossed
A crinkled fry

Sadly dropped from a beloved
Tray of beef, bun and wilted lettuce

Into patched Crab Grass
Hugging the Norfolk tracks
Over, which crinkled cars,
Ramble on to Charleston
With gas from which
Fryers may gear up
To boil more crinkled fries

Les Epstein is a poet, playwright and opera librettist.His work has appeared in journals in the United States, Philippines, India, and the U.K. Recent credits include Eyedrum Periodically, Interstice, Mojave River Review, Fourth & Sycamore, and Saudade. He teaches in Ronaoke, VA.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Men of Steel--By Paul Callus--Malta

Men of Steel 

Brave men do not retreat or cower
From the threat of an iron shower.
In the frenzied heat of a spear-din
They find courage to fight and to win
Having prayed and put faith in the Lord
They fear not blood or sleep of the sword!
__________

Notes from our Poetry Editor Inge Wesdijk—

iron shower = rain of spears or arrows during a battle
spear-din = battle
sleep of the sword = death
__________

Paul Callus is a Maltese author who writes both in Maltese and English. He has contributed to several anthologies. Apart from poetry he writes lyrics for songs and has published two books, one a story book aimed at children (related to his experience as a teacher) and a historical book based on research.

A Gift of Love--By Daniel Turner--United States

A Gift of Love

Around my mom, I always felt my guilt
My conscience seemed to always take her side
Some years ago, I gave her a new quilt
I still recall the tears of joy she cried

My gift of love to warm her nights with pride
It's hand sewn patches in a ring design
It showed up at my door after she died
Inside a plain brown box tied with used twine

And though there was no note, I read her mind
She knew the message sent would be received
A gift of love, to warm, when life's unkind
She once made quilts to give to those in need

Her gift of love with message plain to see
She knew the one in need, this time... was me.

Daniel Turner lives in Arkansas. He has been writing poetry for approximately 40 years. He loves animals and all things having to do with nature. Now retired, he has traveled over 3 million miles as a long-haul truck driver, worked in the oil fields of Texas and on the Mississippi River on a tow boat. He loves to read and watch old black and white movies.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Special Feature Translation Poem--By Jack Waller, Canada

Ruminating--English

In the morning
I am very happy
Because the sun is bright.
My heart knows
My dream is reality-
My God,
My love also gives me
A gift. 

Ruminer--French

Dans le matin
Je suis tres heueux
Parce'que le soleil est brilliante.
Mon coeur sait 
Mon reve est vrai-
MonDieu, 
Mon amour aussi donnes moi
Un cadeau.

An-Nur Al-Ain: Manzilat--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan/U.A.E.

An-Nur Al-Ain: Manzilat 
after An-Nur by Laura M. Kaminski (Halima Ayuba)

Moula, your shrine is alight with colours
of lu'lu'a, zamard and manik. My eyes see
still waters; I flow like waves in this sea of
generations, bringing my forehead to the silver,
pressing my skin to your faith. Look at me,
the second lineage of the ripples that will
extend broader and nearer to where
your feet rest; lock your eyes with mine
and bless this curse that frets my sleep
with dreams of prolonged contingency.
My seeds have not met with soil; release me
from this custody, scouring deep wells
with no pails at the ridge, and darkness is
thunderous in enormity. Reward me
for devout-incurred abrasions on my knees;
call me by name when my lungs tremble
under your roar; send me dreams of lions
like the circle of light I bind every day
protecting what is still the birth of me.  

An-Nur Al Ain: Light of the eyes
Manzilat: Place/Position/Status
Moula: Master
Lu'lu'a: Pearls
Zamard: Emeralds
Manik: Rubies

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and U.A.E. and often finds herself in a world of oscillation that most of the times motivates her writing too. She maintains a (or tries to) blog on sheikha82.wordpress.com                    

Faith's Journey--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Faith's Journey

Life seemed to bring on one difficulty after another!                  
"You must go to the doctor,” said a caring brother.
"Use wisdom in all things;” advice from the comforter.
My wisdom was, “Doctors can't help, so why bother.”

Somewhere in the midst of these conflicting opinions,                 
two thoughts calmed doubt, fear and the evil minions.
"It's by grace you are saved;” 'tis the Lord's dominion.
"After all I could do,” was my appointed conviction.

The 'Father of medicine' spoke great words of wisdom.           
"Let medicine be your food and food be your medicine."
Following his advice, I studied, then added more doctrine,
"Get a blessing.” To outsiders, I knew it was uncommon.

Doing all I could, still, illness lingered, and I asked why?         
Did it mean I needed to be more patient or was I to die?
"What more is there to be done?” was my adamant cry;
not willing to go to the doctor because drugs were a lie.

He kindly encouraged me, brother’s desire to be satisfied.         
Reluctantly I made an appointment, swallowing my pride.
"Nothing can be done. No drugs!” the doctor verified.
So humbly having done all, upon Jesus I've wholly relied.

Charlene McCutcheon is a 78-year-old wife and mother of seven, grandmother of 30, great grandmother of 20. She lives in Manti, Utah. She loves life and people.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Your valuable gift--By Swapan Kumar Rakshit--India

Your valuable gift

I promise to be your sun; you’ve every right to dislike me.
Though, you will never feel signals from my loving heart.
When cold chills will run down your back momentarily,
I’ll send warm rays for your comfort; but, I’ll stay apart.

After a prolonged downpour, I’ll colorise your rainbow.
At afternoon, I’ll present you a colourful firmament
I’ll decorate the fountain of your life with a sunbow,
And, you’ll be prioritised, even, adorned by an ornament

But, I’ll never exhaust you by radiating my scorching heat,
I'll leave the residual heat when I’ll go down.
I won’t loot your resources like an uncontrolled anarchist.
Rather, I’ll brighten your grace to embellish your renown.

You may not admit your sun as your life’s valuable gift,
This sun will always be ready to give you the required uplift.

Swapan Kumar Rakshit is an Indian poet. He lives at Aurobindanagar (North), Bankura, India. He wants to be acquainted with the universal creative minds through his poems and wants to come into contact with that creative force.

Rising Sweetness--By Dwight Roth--United States

Rising Sweetness

Naked Maples
Line the edge of the field
Shivering,
When March winds whisper hello!
Hints of warmth call forth
An adrenaline rush of sweetness
Rising in spongy bark,
As spring calls each one by name
Spouts sink into bored trees
Knowing sweetness flows within

Dwight Roth is a retired elementary school teacher who enjoys writing poetry and posting photography on his WordPress blog: https://rothpoetry.wordpress.com/  He has self-published several books and has books published on AmazonKindle. Dwight lives with his wife Ruth near Charlotte, North Carolina.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Spring Days--By Ion Corcos--Greece/Australia

Spring Days

Wildflowers grow in a vacant lot
where sheep graze, old ladies hunch,

collect chamomile to dry. Flowers
touch above knees on this hot day

when there is no wind. A distant horn
of an inward ferry cuts across the town

of this small island; it shifts me, as do
strings plucked slow on a bouzouki.

Ion Corcos was born in Sydney, Australia. The themes of his poetry center on life, nature, and spirit. His poems have appeared in many journals. Ion also writes short stories and non-fiction. He enjoys reading, cooking and traveling, currently traveling indefinitely with his partner, Lisa, most of the time in Greece.

anniversary--By Peggy Dugan French--United States

anniversary

nothing else
like you
to the moon and back
for you
ups and downs, twists and turns
beside you
joys and sorrows shared
with you    
sunrises and sunsets
next to you      
today, another anniversary
close to you
  
Peggy Dugan French is a California girl with Minnesota roots. She has been the editor of Shemom since 1997. She welcomes this opportunity to share her work with the Whispers readers and thanks Karen for starting such a wonderful shared space.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Special Feature Translation Poem--By Inge Wesdijk--The Netherlands

Awakening--English

tender blossoms
budded from
glistening pearls
of camaraderie
intertwined roots
a lucid awakening
of a newborn friendship

Ontwaken--Dutch

tedere bloesems
ontsproten uit
glinsterende parels
van kameraadschap
wortels verstrengeld
een helder ontwaken
van een nieuwe vriendschap

Memories--By Sajal Suneja--India

Memories

She is beautiful
In those memories,
Hidden in a corner of my heart,
Waiting
To be forgotten
And fade away
Just like her
But
I managed to keep her alive,
With an unchanged calendar
With a broken watch
With a jammed door,
Locking me in
My memories of her,
In a corner of my heart
Waiting
To be forgotten

Sajal Suneja is currently undergoing his masters in literature from Delhi University (India). He finds his escapes from reality by painting the blank canvas through words. His work has been published in few local magazines and online journals like Carcinogenic Poetry, Anapest journal and Yes, He lives alone with his two cats.

Passover & Friends--By David Fox--United States

Passover & Friends (dedicated to the Astrof Family)

At Passover we celebrate
things from long ago
We read about the symbols
of life and the Pharaoh
We eat parsley
for the coming of Spring
And in between prayers
we have lots of songs to sing
But we know what's really best
It's having you as our guest!

David Fox edits the magazine, The Poet's Art. For info about submitting and submissions fee, contact David by postal mail: 171 Silverleaf Lane, Islandia NY, 11749, United States

Sunday, April 8, 2018

Special Feature Translation Poem--By Gert Knop--Germany

Frühlingsboten—German

Der Winter ist vergangen,
und mit ihm, was in seinem Griffe lag,
und die Natur erholt sich wieder,
von ihrer Schlafensruh.
Der Himmel jetzt, so klar,
lässt uns vergessen
die winterliche Zeit, die grauen Tage

Und Vögel singen ihre Lieder neu.
Die ersten Blumen zeigen sich
auf zuvor stillen Feldern.
Und überall im Wald,
ganz frisches Grün in neuen Trieben,
tritt schnell hervor
aus leerem, braunem Spreu

Messengers of Spring—English

Winter has passed,
and with it what layed in its grasp,
and nature is recovering,
from its sleeping rest.
The sky now, so clear
let us forget
the winter time, the gray days

And birds are singing their songs anew.
First flowers show up
on previously silent fields.
And everywhere in the forest,
fresh green in new shoots,
dash forward
from empty, brownish chaff

Mensajeros de la primavera—Spanish

El invierno ha pasado,
y con eso lo que estaba al alcance de su mano,
y la naturaleza se está recuperando,
de su descanso quietud.
El cielo ahora, tan claro
haciendo olvidarnos
el invierno, los días grises

Y los pájaros están cantando sus canciones de nuevo.
Las primeras flores aparecen
en campos previamente silenciosos
Y en todas partes en el bosque,
verde fresco en nuevos brotes,
aparecen rápido
de vacía paja amarronada

Water of Gladness--By Bruce Mundhenke-United States

Water of Gladness 

May the love of the Lord,
And the beauty of His creation,
Become a river and a stream,
That may flow through your heart,
And fill it overfull
With the water of gladness

Bruce Mundhenke writes poetry in Illinois, where he lives with his wife and their dog and cat. He finds in nature beauty, inspiration, and revelation.

Freedom of Dreaming--By Luke McNamara--England

Freedom of Dreaming

In Lucy West’s painting, a herd of flaming horses
traverses the cosmos. As I stop and stare, they strike me -
these blazing stallions charging through the constellations!
Their gracious gallop commands my attention, they speak
to me; Behold my grandeur, for I was created perfectly.
Their boldness, their beauty commands my gaze;
A glorious parade of nature’s majesty burning through
the cosmos: It is then that I realise that we were all born
with the same grandeur.
We can all burn through the mind’s cynical self-criticism.

I look beyond the horses, and explore the whole painting:
One might be tempted to say the luminous blue contrasts,
the fiery orange, claiming it symbolises light shining
through the dark. It does, but the painting means more.
There are stars in all these spaces: a grouping of galaxies
occupying one space for all eternity – that is what we are.
Our time on earth is temporary, but our stories
can last forever. So dare to be free and dare to dream.
When your time on earth is over, your legacy
will last through the ages as a blazing supernova.

Luke McNamara is from Worcester and has a passion for writing poetry that encourages people to see their inner beauty! Reading literature is an escape for him, he believes it can unify people through feeling and experience and hopes that his poetry encourages people to love themselves!

Saturday, April 7, 2018

tanka--By Chen-ou Liu--Canada

I just need
more space between us ...
at sunset
I barely hear her
above the ocean’s song
________

I stand still
saying nothing, everything
as she waves goodbye ...
the sound of leaves
falling on leaves
________

I gaze up
at the white contrail
while writing tanka
as if there were magic words
to ground you in my world
________

Chen-ou Liu lives in Ajax, Ontario, Canada. He is the author of five books, including Following the Moon to the Maple Land (First Prize, 2011 Haiku Pix Chapbook Contest) and A Life in Transition and Translation (Honorable Mention, 2014 Turtle Light Press Biennial Haiku Chapbook Competition), His tanka and haiku have been honored with many awards.

Horehound Candy--By Carl "Papa" Palmer--United States

Horehound Candy

Seeing it on the country store shelf reminds me of Dad,
'Horehound candy', a name snickered at when I got older, 
the flavor not really to my liking, 
a root beer licorice cough drop taste, but still, it was candy, 
and what kid would turn down candy.

Dad would always buy one stick, snap it in two, hand me 
my half and say, "too much sugar'll spoil supper,
plus a penny a piece is ridiculous."

I don't remember the first or last time he bought me a stick,
I just remember he always did, 
a sort of father son rite of passage 
when horehound was on the shelf.

So, I ask for one of the candies, pay the ridiculous price 
of a quarter and put half the stick in my mouth. 
It tastes just like it did back then, but I don't remember 
it ever causing a tear to fall from my eye.

Carl "Papa" Palmer of University Place, WA is retired military, retired FAA, now just plain retired without wristwatch, cell phone, alarm clock or Facebook friend. Carl is a Hospice volunteer and president of The Tacoma Writers Club.

MOTTO: Long Weekends Forever