Submission Guidelines (Please Note New Email Address)

Thank you for considering Whispers for a place to share your writing.  The guidelines follow:

1.  Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable.  Please do not send quotes from others unless they are in the context of the piece submitted and that the original author is given credit.  It is up to the author to obtain permission if needed for reprints.  By submitting to Whispers, the writer is assuring that the work is his or her own.  Whispers reserves the right to delete any work that has been copied from another writer without credit or authorization.

2.  Send one of the three following:

    ---1 poem 20 lines or less

    ---up to 5 haiku/senryu (please make sure to clearly identify that separate poems are being submitted)

    ---up to 3 tanka (see above)

    ---for people that are not poets, 1 short paragraph of encouragement will be considered

Writers are eligible for publication every other month.

3.  You may include a bio of 4-5 lines written in third person style.  See “Living Wings” published January 15, 2013 for an example.  A bio is not necessary for publication.

4.  No profanity, erotica, violence or other derogatory writing will be accepted.

5.  Whispers reserves the right to select poetry based on the goal stated at the end of the guidelines.

6.  Spiritual poetry is welcomed but the editor would like to have a variety of pieces that will uplift and inspire readers.  Humor is appreciated.

7.  Children’s poetry is appreciated.  Parent permission is required.  Please email karenoleary1956@gmail.com before sending.

8.  Poetry will be published along the left margin for consistency.  Please keep that in mind when submitting.

9.  Preferred method of submission is to send poetry as a works document or in the body of an email with your name and country.  Please email your submission to Karen O’Leary at karenoleary1956@gmail.com  If you would rather submit by snail mail, please email Karen for her address.  You may email her with any questions you may have.

10.  I hope you also participate by commenting on others’ writing. 

In this challenging time for many, it is the hope that Whispers will connect people in a way that is supportive, encouraging and inspiring to others.  Thank you for considering being a part of this community.

New Email Account for Karen O'Leary

Dear Whispers Friends,

I am transitioning to a new email account.  Please send your email address to--

karenoleary1956@gmail.com

Thank you.

Sincerely, 

Karen O'Leary
Whispers' Editor 

Editor's Thoughts/We Are Writers--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Dear Whispers’ Friends,

This has been a month of change.  It has been sad losing Beth Winchcombe early this month.  The support for her Memorial shows that our community reaches far beyond poetry as we care for one another.  Your words will bring comfort to her husband, Geoff, and to her good friend, Jack Horne, in the difficult days ahead.

We welcome seven new writers, including two young writers to our poetry community.  Whispers is closing in on 150,000 views which we should reach in the next few days.  This is a tribute to all the talented writers that share their diversity for a variety styles and thoughts.  Thank you so much for your ongoing support.

Special thanks to those that promote Whispers and bring new writers to our online journal.  In the changing of the seasons, it is important that that we continue to grow and open doors so that poetry passes on to future generations.

We Are Writers

Published or unpublished,
     we are writers.
With our special gifts,
     we can affect lives.
Be it a card  to one or
     a book read by millions;
Each has a purpose,
     not to be diminished.

May your poetry be born of your hearts in a never ending journey.  We are writers, enriching our corner of the world.

Many blessings,

Karen
Whispers’ Editor

In the dead of night desertion--By John Daleiden--United States

In the dead of night desertion
(Poetry Form--Cinqku)

nightmares
waken me—
tremulous shakes
envelop my drenched sheets
each night

pictures
of you haunt
my sleepless nights—
trembling, I see the stairs
empty

I stare
into dark,
waiting to hear
your voice, see your bright smile—
nothing

I creep
back to bed—
the void, dread filled
with relentless desire . . .
I groan

John Daleiden moved to Phoenix, Arizona in 2007 where he founded The West Valley Writer’s Critique Group in Avondale, AZ at Gangplank (http://www.meetup.com/West-Valley-Writers-Critique-Group/). He also moderates other central Phoenix writing groups. Wind in the Reeds: A Collection of Poems, Valley View Press, is the title of his first book. He is retired after 43 years of teaching Language Arts courses in Public schools in Iowa and Illinois. John currently works as a freelance fiction and non-fiction editor in the Valley of the Sun, Phoenix, Arizona.

Haiku--By John McDonald--Scotland

under
the persimmon tree
sketching with words
_______________

halloween -
the rattling skeletons
of dead leaves
_______________

a clear blue sky -
contrails
stitching the world together
_______________

night fishing -
with the moon and orion...
pisces
_______________

a lifetime
of suns -.
the persimmon tree
_______________

John McDonald is a retired stone-mason who came to haiku in the mid-nineties. He fell in love with the genre immediately. Being a writer in the Scots language this genre fitted so well with Scots: a language steeped in rural life and having a natural succinctness to it. John has his own blog in Scots, with English versions: http://zenspeug.blogspot.com  He enjoys being involved in translations, working with the very fine Irish poet Gabriel Rosenstock on various ventures, the most recent being translations into Irish and Scots of the great haiku poet Buson: Moon over Tagoto and has appeared in many anthologies.

Haiku--By Ronald Grognet--United States

family
back from vacation--
lost no more
_______________

strange experience
planning his day--
methadone
_______________

summer break--
I find the assignment
the dog ate
_______________

roof icicles
day by day--
swords
_______________

a ferris wheel high --
amidst the stars
one for her finger
_______________

Ronald Grognet is a retired Clinical Psychologist who practiced private individual and family therapy for thirty-five years. He lived and worked in Washington D.C., and Sarasota, FL before retiring in New Orleans to be close to his grandsons. Besides his volunteer time spent on disaster assignments for the Red Cross, he fills his time devoted to haiku poetry. His interest in poetry came as a gift in retirement. Reading an article about haiku filled with many examples, he recognized its similarity to the reflective stance of the meditation he practiced for many years. He has vigorously pursued its study for the last two years, personally experiencing its healing and enlightening qualities.

Respite--By Mary Jo Balistreri--United States

Respite

is to walk along the sawdust trails
forest’s sun-filtered walls  fallen birch logs,
and the fresh smell of evergreen
    Where cotton trees seed a needled floor
and downy white tufts become a plush carpet
to soften a shoe’s tread
    Where listening to wind
blow through cedars and pines is like water
lapping on a far shore

And there to rest on glacier stone  to watch trilliums
    commingle with oaks  lady slippers
display their yellow shoes unaware that time
has disappeared.
    Where a hermit thrush threads
songs of praise among the trees its melodic
range weaving a loop of garland over draped branches
    To discover that breath is peace and nature
makes sense of our lives when we most need it

Mary Jo Balistreri has two books of poetry published by Bellowing Ark Press and a chapbook by Tiger's Eye Press. She has more recently been enjoying learning and writing haiku type poems. She finds it helps her see differently and experience life in a new way. For more information, please visit her at maryjobalistreripoet.com

Around this Fire--By Laura M. Kaminski--United States

Around this Fire

"It's a rare privilege for commoners to dine with Kings
and Queen on this royal table of poetry." - comment from
Melchizedek, son of Michael

Melchizedek, we all sit around this same fire of poetry,
and in the dark there is no way to tell who's commoner,
who's king. But when a voice on this dark night cries
out for tatsuniyoyi, it then becomes incumbent upon
whoever has a story to stand up and convey it, whoever
has a drum or flute must play it, whoever has a poem
must stand up and recite it best they can, with sincere
appreciation for all the silent listeners, for each
one that stays awake, attentive to the end, for every
young one who finds within a lesson, for those elders
who nod wisdom, for each child that leaps up to dance.

Laura M. Kaminski grew up in northern Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. She is an Associate Editor at Right Hand Pointing, and writes poetry in both English and Hausa. "Around this Fire" is part of her forthcoming poetry collection Dance Here (Origami Books, an imprint of Parrésia Publishers Ltd in Lagos, Nigeria); tatsuniyoyi means "stories" in Hausa

Grocery Shopping--By Jim Teeters--United States

Grocery Shopping

I push my cart down the aisle
my targets: laundry detergent,
French baguette, deli mustard
half pound sharp cheddar
but I see a small child
a shining face
his eyes dark cherries
the mother distracted
in her quest for pickled onions
maybe green olives
but this child
for a moment
claims my shopping heart
before I glide away
toward the dairy case

Jim Teeters has published poetry in several anthologies. He conducts poetry workshops for children and adults and is active in poetry readings in the Seattle area through the Striped Water Poets. He is the author of six poetry collections and the book, Teach with Style, (ASTD Press July 2013). Jim is a retired social worker living in Kent, Washington.

To a Woman by Her Lover--By Wale Owoade--Nigeria

To a Woman by Her Lover

My woman wears her pudding well
ever faithful, ever knowing
one rod and one pestle
her anger lives in pointed fingers
and silent chuckles of grown stares.

My woman loves her lover well
but who else will love her
when she carries the
world’s troubles in her breast
yet missing so much in her heart?
When her body knows
the shape of shame?
When her thighs are twice
the size of guilt?

But my love for her is a kiss,
a kiss ever knowing that
kisses are external,
my love for her is a love
a love ever knowing that
love is internal

Wale Owoade is a Nigerian poet. His poems have been featured in Apogee Journal, The Bombay Review, Radar Poetry, Yellow Chair Review, The New Black Magazine and in several other journals in U.K, U.S, India, Russia, Canada, Bangladesh, South Africa and Singapore. He is the Publisher and Managing Editor of EXPOUND: A Magazine of Arts and Aesthetics. Wale is currently working on his full length poetry collection.

Changes--By Peggy Dugan French--United States

Changes

another airport goodbye is upon us . . .
you’re heading back to New York, where your heart is
our lingering hug will have to cement us until the holidays
that familiar feeling rises up within me . . .
eyes misty, I watch you ease through the security line
our final wave is faithfully shared
then I watch you bounce off to the next leg of your journey
remembering times when you bounced out the front door
so effortlessly, with an easy wave and smile
soon to return to me . . .
today is more poignant, brimming with remembrance and hope
my heavy heart swirls with the airport bustle
calculating the wide distance between us
but as you lift off into the welcoming sky
transporting your dreams to the next destination
my heart sails right along with you
still wishing I could make all your dreams come true

Peggy Dugan French is a California girl with Minnesota roots. She has enjoyed being the editor of Shemom since 1997. She has worn many hats over the years, but being a Mom has been one of her greatest adventures; she’s had the pleasure of sharing that journey with her best friend.

Seasonal Dance--By Connie Marcum Wong--United States

Seasonal Dance

My garden window lets me know
That soon the autumn winds will blow.
Summer’s sweet dance will be replete
With wet days turning into sleet.

An abundant harvest. . . sublime,
With ripe fruits gathered just in time
Before light snow covers the ground
And hoar frost on the fence is found.

In shortening days, autumn’s breeze
Takes one’s breath in colorful trees.
Leaves, shivering, drift one by one
As they welcome the autumn sun.

Soon icy fingers cling to eaves
And the swirling dance of the leaves
Keeps time to earth’s harmonic song
As each season dances along.

Connie Marcum Wong has been the Web Mistress of a private poetry forum Poetry for Thought since October 1999. Her poetry has been in many publications, anthologies, magazines, and e-zines over the years. She published her first poetry chapbook, Island Creations in 2005. In 2007, Heart Blossoms was published. In January 2010, an anthology, A Poetry Bridge to All Nations, was published by Lulu Enterprises, Inc. Connie created the 'Constanza' poetry form in 2007 and Con-Verse form in 2010. She has resided with her husband in Hawaii since 1980.

The Way Home--By Alan McAlpine Douglas--United Kingdom

The Way Home

Elderly, she wanders, paths trodden aimlessly
between rare, short bursts of grandchild-focussed activity,
shopping for food, and day-time TV.

Her once discerning eye a wayward stare,
any spring of step long gone
replaced by vagueness of action, and of mind.

That chimerical thing, purpose in life,
is left faintly shimmering, but far behind
as one door closes after the other.

Ahead, a barely perceived sparkling,
pure gentle light, almost a something
to look forward to

as she vanishes, all that she leaves
is the faintest whiff
of lavender water .....

Alan McAlpine Douglas, father to 5 and grandfather to 3, has been writing poetry since 1993. His idiosyncratic voice has produced thousands of poems in this time, and he finds it quite hard to stay serious, even when he means to. He also enjoys writing spoofs, using well-known poems or songs like Clementine or In the Ghetto as his models.

Featuring Young Writer--Molly Forrester--United States

Haiku--

black cat —
no bad luck until
Friday the 13th
_______________

forget-me-nots . . .
pull them out
and the new ones grow
_______________

Easter basket —
envious of what
she had
_______________

rainy season . . .
my mind
flooded with thought
_______________

super ball . . .
can't jump
as high
_______________

Molly Forrester is a 14 year old, 9th grader at the Loomis Chaffee School in Windsor, Connecticut. She is interested in writing, reading, drawing, playing the clarinet and cross country running. She wants to be a doctor and travel around the world.

Silent Cry--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

*Silent Cry

Eyes once bright as diamonds
are now as dark as coal.
A healthy beating heart now
skips and sputters, weighed down
by the confusion of what’s going
on. Continued night visits by this
monster that feeds on the fear of
those who are vulnerable and
unprotected. When will this stop?
When will someone help me? If
I say anything, I’m told no one
will believe me. Here comes the
monster again. I have to go now
and do what I am told. If I don’t
promises have been made to hurt
those I love. I’m silently crying.
Someone, please help me.

*Dedicated to someone I know who
experienced sexual abuse as a child. 
 
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.

Halloween Fright--By Robert Hewett Sr.--United States

Halloween Fright

Dressed as Superman, ready to fly,
I Told my mom “just standby”.
Went up the steps all alone,
Rang the doorbell heard a moan.
A cackling sound to my right,
Witch on a broom in my sight.
Cape flowing and hand of claws
Reaching for me trailing gauze.
I cannot move, frozen stiff
Eyes wide, my heart makes a skip.
Off to my left snarling growls,
fury monsters on the prowl.
My feet came free with a howl,
My bellows roared with my scowl.
Down the steps, a blur in sight,
Passed my mom, a streak of light.
Home is where I want to be.
Halloween is not for me.

Robert Hewett Sr. was born in 1933 on a Texas cotton farm. He moved to Oklahoma City at Age 14 and entered the U. S Army from there in 1953. Robert has been writing poetry and short stories for his family and himself since his teen years, but is just now publishing his collection of works. His hobbies include writing poetry and stories; clock and watch collections; gardening and growing flowers and shrubs from cuttings. Most of his poetry tells a story, a gift from his father who was a master story teller. He has received numerous awards for his work in his professional life and for his writing. You can find some of his writings at "roberthewettsr.hubpages.com"

Goodnight My Love--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia

Goodnight My Love

I am so sorry for your pain my love,
It was not my intention to leave,
I tried so very hard but the angels came ~
It was my time to go, I kissed you goodbye
I felt your heartbeat and the love inside.

You came into my life at a time ~
When love was lost forever, all hope was gone,
All my trust disappeared through pain over many years
Your gentle loving heart breathed life into my soul.
No words did I speak, yet you understood through my tears.

If I could only spare you from this pain,
But I have no control except to love you
You are every dream I have dreamed
Loving you has been the most precious gift ~
You captured my heart; we are one in soul and spirit.

My spirit will always evolve lovingly within you,
Until the day when we can be together for all eternity;
If only one more day I could have stayed,
To hold you tenderly in my arms, please remember dear!
My love lives in every thought and memory we shared.

Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.

WHISPERS’ OCTOBER SPECIAL ACTIVITY--FORM--NINETTE

Joann Grisetti, an accomplished writer, generously offered to be the activity editor for October.  She was gracious in thanking each contributor for sharing their ninette poems.  The criteria for the form follows--

The ninette starts with one syllable, then two, then three up to five, then decreases. Ninettes begin and end with the same syllable count for a total of nine lines.      

I would like to thank Joann for selecting these creative poems for publication and all the contributors that participated in this activity.  It is a growing experience to try new things and a pleasure to see so many wonderful poems below.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

                                            --Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No Go

No
It won’t
Work out right
Just will not fit
The gap is too small
Should I make it
Bigger to
Fit tight
Yes!

By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson

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

Go Stay

Go
Do try
But just be
Careful that you
Don’t overdo it
Take it slowly
To make it
Tight to
Stay

By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson

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

hush
believe
the world sings
it cries no more
because of its pains
laughs and dances
just pretend
for now
sing

By Jim Teeters

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

kneel
and pray
pray for me
pray for yourself
seek the brightest light
in the heavens
for healing
for health
rise

By Jim Teeters

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

day
after
sordid day
I plod along
in a rut that grows
slowly deeper
swallowing
up the
night

By Robert P. Hansen

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

lost
among
memories
scattered across
long-forgotten days
your guiding hand
the only
thing i’ve
found

By Robert P. Hansen

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

Freedom

Price
Freedom
Is costly
Some families
Give more than others
Don't disrespect
Sacrifice
Give thanks
Grave

By Shirley Smothers

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

Sleep

Sleep
Eludes
Me often
The frustration
Of my life invades
My nightly dreams
I stay up
Depressed
Wake

By Shirley Smothers

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

first
robin
welcoming
warm days of spring
builds her nest in the
evergreen tree
sings a song
home at
last

By Barbara Tate

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

long
shadows
and clouds of
a coming storm
are gone with the wind
in half darkness
the days are
getting
short

By Barbara Tate

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

Pain
and strife...
challenges
that can flower
and enrich others.
Words like petals
uplift lives
and bring
hope.

By Karen O'Leary

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

True
love is
the one thing
that changes you,
shaping who you are,
and yet does this
so subtly,
it don't
hurt.

By Emile Pinet

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

Red
sky, that
reflects off
the blue river.
Distant rolling hills:
gently weaving
their paths of
ever
green.

By Ralph Stott

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

Up
in the
sky, in a
hot air balloon.
The hurricane's path
is traced by the
trees that have
fallen
down.

By Ralph Stott

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

wet
eyes with
salty tears
flowing freely
my heart is breaking
trust this trial
for your good
my eyes
dry

By Charlene McCutcheon

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

lost
fearful
bewildered
anxious and praying
answers come slowly
as hope springs up
faith grows and
love is
found

By Charlene McCutcheon

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

still waters

still
waters
and stiller
these thoughts of mine
far in the sunset
the flamingoes
taking off
one by
one

By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan

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

yellow

with
the sun
on the rise
o'er the sea
is this yellowing
leaf yellower
in the bright
white of
day

By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan

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

dawn
lily
pond reflects
orange yellow red
autumn trees’ glory
so brilliant now
then fading
into
dusk

By Kelley White

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

high
above
our cottage
tree branches creak
in the heavy wind
threatening all
huddling down
small scared
low

By Kelley White

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

True
friends are
so precious
like diamonds.
Always treasure them!
They’ll support you
every day
of your
life

By Jan Allison

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

clouds
gather
overhead
rain pouring down
little by little
clouds pass away
sky turns blue
and then
sun

By Elizabeth Howard

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

dark
settles
suddenly
fierce voices call
fear overwhelming
I lie sleepless
till at last
comes the
light

By Elizabeth Howard

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

Grief
Washes
Over me
- a tsunami
Of pain that soon ebbs.
Cleansed, I embrace
Life with a
Dance of
Joy

By John Daleiden

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

Swing
it babe—
sheathed in silk,
she promenades
the Miracle Mile
amid the stark stares
of plain folk’s
gaping
eyes.

By John Daleiden

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

 
Your
silence
shouts silent,
eternal sounds—
surging surf washing
my dreamless nights
into long,
empty
days.

By John Daleiden

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

tears
falling
missing her
remembering
carefree happiness
may be found yet
there is hope
for new
smiles

By Jack Horne

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

life
too short
to worry
we are meant to
love wholeheartedly
someone special
each moment
before
death

By Joann Grisetti

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

Unwelcomed Guest--By Mary A. Couch--United States

Unwelcomed Guest

That wasn’t there before on the sink,
there was just a saucer and coffee cup
when I came to the kitchen for a drink.
No thing of evil seated where I sup.
I need to do something to get it out,
look about for a trap or coffee can.
It moves at me, I back up with a shout,
reach out, try to grab my old frying pan.
It's too far away, the wild critter jumps,
then stares death at me and leaps to the floor.
I run, trip on the carpet, lose my pumps.
It chases past me and scurries to the door.
I gingerly approach... let it leave house
that tiny obnoxious terrifying mouse.

Mary A. Couch resides in Noblesville, Indiana, and works as an Admin Assistant for Taylored Systems, Inc. a local telecommunication company. She is the Premier Poet for the Indiana State Federation of Poetry Clubs, and she learned poetry from her mother and two grandmothers who were writers, artists and storytellers. She has been published in a variety of venues.

Elton's Songs (Songetry Sonnet for Lainey)--By Michael Todd--United States

Elton's Songs (Songetry Sonnet for Lainey)

Sad songs say so much, or so speaks Elton;
Though really, does not have to be as such.
We all fall in love sometimes, with the one;
I need you to turn to; ask I too much?

Not all things constant, if the river can bend;
I'm still standing, whatever comes my way.
Love lies bleeding, but my heart you can mend.
Come down in time, and I'll meet you halfway.

Heartache all over the world, this is true.
I suppose the end will come at some time.
I've seen that movie too, what to do?
Duets for one lend only to sublime.

Breaking hearts is not what it used to be.
Goodbye doesn't seem right for you and me.

Note from writer: This is a songetry piece, made up from song titles and passages from Elton John & Bernie Taupin. It was written as a result from a poetry challenge to write a sonnet using song titles from a favorite artist. Elton John was the obvious choice for this writing exercise.

Michael Todd aka Myke Todd has been writing and posting stories and poetry on social networking sites since 2006. He can currently be found at his dedicated poetry site... http://myketodd.blogspot.com/

My Friend the Wind--By Paul Callus--Malta

My Friend the Wind

On the green bank beside the river
my senses leap and heart strings quiver.
I lay my head on nature’s pillow
and hear the wind blow in the willows.

I look above where clouds are sailing.
The fragrant scents I am inhaling.
The wind-strewn gifts strongly attractive,
they reach my soul and hold me captive.

In undertones the wind talks gently;
secrets unfold; he whispers softly
into my ears. Now fascinated
I close my eyes, intoxicated.

The friendly wind, contact established,
goes on his way, his job accomplished.

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.

It’s Called Ego--By Yancy Lee Dalton--United States

It’s Called Ego

Exists as imagination gone wild
Has no form, its mortally styled.
Fear or pride triggers its effect
Falsified natural mans intellect

Yet, it can reach up into the sky
Curb our appetites, when we try
Making us feel sick until we cry
Dear Lord please let us not die!

For our ego is on a death road
Shaping us twisted and bowed
Keeping us from knowing truth
The way we act is a sure proof

Thinking were better so sadly
Treating our fellows very badly
Is it possible we will ever learn
Love of fellows, non ego yearn

Yancy Lee Dalton is a published writer from Colorado.

Autumn`s Journey--By Yvonne Sparkes--England

Autumn`s Journey

Hints of gold and glints of fire,
Super moons with hearts desire,
Shadows clinging, misty clouds,
Wet long grass with soggy shrouds.

Leaves that dangle from the trees,
Bright filled mornings, autumn breeze,
Birds that chatter, fill their beaks,
"Winter`s coming in some weeks".

Nature`s finished all she`s planned,
To her story, vision grand.
In green she`s born, in gold she`ll die,
When Geese shall fly across her sky.

Her fire emits her light within,
The knowledge she`ll again begin,
But first to sleep, so she must rest,
To give her new born seeds the best.

Born on Feb. 27, 1940 in Barkingside, Essex, England, Yvonne Sparkes,  immigrated to New York in April, 1948 with her parents.  She now resides in Chelmsford, Essex and has two sons.  She has a book published by Cyberwit called Captured Images.  A writer for many years, Yvonne has been published in Israel, Germany, France, Australia, America, and Britain.  She has read her poetry in public at Church and Knockout Competitions. Her hobbies are travel, the arts, reading, hiking, taking her Scottish Terrier for walks, and spending time with family and friends.

Prisoner--By Tim Ryerson--United States

Prisoner

Send me back home where I truly belong
Cut the chains dear, please let me depart
Why does your brain keep replaying our song?
Let my melody drift to your heart

Making me haunt you is very unkind
I'm no ghost dear, please grant my parole
Why bottle me up inside of your mind?
Set me free to go dwell in your soul...

*For Vicki Lynn Perrin Ryerson, 10/25/1948 - 6/20/2008

Tim Ryerson is a published poet from Ponchatoula, Louisiana who retired from the printing business in 2011. He began writing in the 80’s but did not take it seriously until 2001 after the untimely death of his then 21 year old son. He does not have a ‘signature style’ but prefers writing different forms of poetry. Many of his poems use southern slang and Cajun dialect. He also enjoys writing humorous poems, especially limericks and senryu and was among the winners in the latest Humor Press writing contest with his entry “Emergency Rooms Just KILL me.”

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Mary Jo Balistreri--United States and Angelee Deodhar, India

Haibun : Bricolage

Prose--By Mary Jo Balistreri, USA
Title and haiku--By Angelee Deodhar, India

This morning, walking with the wind blowing, temperature below 50 degrees, I put my hand in the pocket of my old jacket only to find a piece of typing paper with a poem printed on it--God's Grandeur, by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Long ago, I used to type favorite poems to memorize on my walks. Here it was so I began reciting the lines of the poem again, putting them to memory. And the world was wondrous and I saw it flame forth like the shining from tin foil.

The leaves were living proof of the loving freshness and deep down goodness of things-chickadees singing two note melodies, a cardinal. Giving a fuzzy brown caterpillar my arm to ride on, its furriness tickled me. The tin foil that went out in the cold came back warm, blazing like a foil of gold.

crunching underfoot
the breakfast cereal
sounds of autumn

Bricolage : In literature, bricolage is affected by intertextuality, the shaping of a text's meanings by reference to other texts.

-silhouette of pale light--By Rick Parise--United States

-silhouette of pale light-

the curtain of torn promise
falls in a flood of darkness
forging amid confusion
searching a desolate path
the desperate vagabond
stumbles through the cold fortress
lost in the shadows of night

Rick Parise, known as “A Pondering Poet”, is from the beautiful land of Salem, Oregon.  The main focus of his poetry is to take the reader to a meaningful, personal time in their lives, to a place where spirit's are touched and memories unwind. He hopes you enjoy his work. To Contact Rick please email him at rapondering@yahoo.com

lifesong--By Su'eddie Vershima Agema--Nigeria

lifesong 

if life was fair
the bleating of goats would not be nuisance
nor our claps try to kill mosquitoes when they with music thrill
animals wouldn’t all go naked
lost in the wild, prey to predators
who feast on their innocence

if life was fair
plants wouldn’t be at the end
trampled on or turned to food
objects brought down
when life seeps through their souls
fibres that reach to the skies
swaying in praise…

if life was fair
we wouldn’t run to find fulfilment
in li(n)es that might never come true

each end sets a trend that creates a better end
sometimes not seen but always realized
when we believe…
everything worketh together for good

Su'eddie Vershima Agema was joint winner, Association of Nigerian Authors Prize for Poetry 2014 with his second collection, Home Equals Holes: Tale of an Exile. He lives in Nigeria, blogs at http://sueddie.wordpress.com and can be reached at eddieagema@yahoo.com. @sueddieagema on Twitter.

White Spirit--By Marlene Million--United States

White Spirit

White entity dances at dawn.
Priceless, above compare, she prances.
Staccato pacing, silver-white power passes
near edge of rippling creek.

Limitless land unrolls ahead of mare
on her journey to high country.
Beyond the canyon, she climbs.
Closer to the summit, she stops,
snorts her approval.

Leaping into air, hooves slam down
upon the earth's dry sagebrush.
Aware of her territory, she rushes
the range amid high plain.

With a wild and restless spirit,
she races onward in contentment.
Silhouetted against the morning sky,
this pearl answers freedom's lure.

Marlene Million is a retired insurance secretary from her husband's business and grandmother of four. She has published two chapbooks and belongs to several writers’ groups. She had a poem on display at Indianapolis Arts Garden the month of February, 2013 and has been published in a variety of venues.

Poet of the Month-- Marianne Szlyk

Travels with the White Ghosts

By Marianne Szlyk

As the two of them left the city,
flurries drifted onto the white car
like the ashes of a dozen term papers,
a hundred used books,
and a thousand letters from friends
burnt in a bonfire.

From the passenger’s seat,
she looked back.

He grinned and kept going.
This was another good-bye,
another sack or two
of mail returned to sender,
another adventure
in a half-lifetime of them.
Only this time he
was in the driver’s seat.

Together, the two of them inched
down the coast on back roads,
on dirt roads
through places where one could die.
They were escaping from a fire
down knotted sheets,
each one shorter than the last.

North of San Francisco,

they finally fell short,
landing hard in a small town.

Without him,
she rode the bus east,
leaving the white ghosts behind.
_______________

From the editor--It is a pleasure to announce that Marianne Szlyk is October’s Poet of the Month.  She is a talented, published writer and the editor of The song is...  Marianne is an encouraging voice at Whispers, posting thoughtful comments which others appreciate.  She participates in our community activities and has collaborated on a poem that was featured at our online journal last month. She encourages others to share in our Whispers community.  It is a joy to honor Marianne this month!
_______________

Thoughts on “Travels with the White Ghosts”--The intriguing title captured my attention right away, an asset for any poem.  The pace and the mystery of Marianne’s verse kept me wondering what was next.  Her skillful use of imagery provides a unique view.  It is a gift to share Marianne’s words with you!
 _______________

Congratulations and thank you Marianne!  I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.
 
Sincerely,

Karen O’Leary, Editor

Changes--By Linda Hurdwell--England

Changes

I stare in awe and disbelief
The changing shades of just one leaf.
Green to start with, then rusty brown
Now red and orange as it flutters down
From the tree, it’s safe worldly home,
Before it falls and begins to roam.
A little leaf on a cold, windy day
Flies and tumbles in complete disarray
Time to experience of a different kind
Tossing and turning, helpless and blind
Until finally the leaf lands breathless and old.
Waits patiently to be – Mother Nature’s mould.

Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years.  She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born.  She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published.  Although now a pensioner,  she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week.  Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.