Saturday, January 31, 2015

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

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  Submissions of unpublished and previously published work are acceptable.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 gksm@cableone.net 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 gksm@cableone.net  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.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Twilight Splendor/Milestone Thoughts--By Karen O'Leary--United States

Twilight Splendor

Autumn’s colorful hues
    have come and gone.

Silver strands replace
    youth’s golden tresses.
Gentle strength flows
    through her wrinkled hands.
Though bones ache,
    a smile lights her face.
Her fragile body encases
    a warm, generous heart.
When she eases into a room,
    others pause in awe.

In the middle of winter,
    her faith flows on.

_________________________

January 15 marked two years of Whispers!  Two days ago, we passed the 90,000 view milestone.  This is a tribute to all the talented contributors who share their words for our online journal.  It has been such a pleasure working not only with gifted writers but with kind, caring people too.  Thank you so much for making Whispers possible.  Wishing all of you the best wherever your writing journeys lead.  Thank you, also, to our readers and those that leave comments.  I appreciate your support and encouragement.
 

Blessings,

Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor

_________________________

Karen O'Leary is a freelance writer/editor from West Fargo, ND.  Her poetry, short stories, and articles have been published in a variety of venues.  She released her first book of poetry in 2011 called Whispers... published by A.P.F. Publisher.  Their second project, Snippets...an anthology of short verse, contains poetry from 73 talented writers from across the world and was released in 2012.  Karen is a member of The Writers and Poetry Alliance and the Haiku Society of America.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Memory’s Loss--By Ralph Stott--England

Memory’s Loss (cascade)

Where each memory, is but a leaf,
Uncertainty masks, that of belief.
The day they all fall and pile up high;
Revealed is a tree, stretched to the sky.

In the dappled-shade of summer’s shine,
You glimpse the return, of latent time.
Under canopies, you stand beneath,
Where each memory is but a leaf.

In each silent leaf, there forms and sways,
Many moments from, each long-lost day.
Happiness couples, the briefest grief,
Uncertainty masks that of belief.

Each recollection, will come to fade,
These random thoughts, on a journey made.
Many are shared and some will defy,
The day they all fall, and pile up high.

And departing there, you leave behind,
All that you have found, for what you’ll find.
Beside the ground where memory lies,
Revealed is a tree, stretched to the sky.

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.

Lore-A twisted tale--By Jane Richer--Canada

Lore-A twisted tale

I beheld an enchanting, Elven-maiden fair,
skipping dew-covered stones without a care.
Her mantle moss-green and etched with gold
as I inched in closer, my actions bold.

Her feet were clad in dainty boots of velvet-grey.
silver clasped and laced in spider-silk this comely fae.
She laughed which brought on my immediate grin
and I marveled at the pleasant tingling upon my skin.

'Come closer!', her voice tinkling like rippling water,
'Fear not young one, this woodland daughter!'
I arose, her voice compelling me at her bid,
Compared to her radiance; I was but a gangly kid.

Her voice stroked my ego as I listened in awe to her words,
'You are destined for greatness!', trembling at what I heard.
'Great men shall sit with you at a table in the round,
at your side a powerful sword; upon your head a royal crown!'

I jumped as a voice bellowed, ' Help me put my armor on!'
Fully awake, I wept for my beautiful maiden had gone.
Alas a wondrous dream; had allowed my imagination to take wing,
for never could a common and lowly squire; become a mighty king!

Jane Richer is a poet and writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. She is published online and in print. She loves to poke fun at herself and rather likes to write tongue-in-cheek poetry but she will dabble in all kinds of genres to widen her creative nature. She loves to 'sister'- (write a complimentary poem) and feels that is the greatest form of acknowledgment and respect in expression for another poet's talent.

The Butterfly Flutters By--By Joe Flach--United States

The Butterfly Flutters By

Just when the weight on my shoulders feels heaviest;
Just when my world of problems is making me cry;
Just when the crazies around me are at their craziest …
… the butterfly flutters by.

Just when I reach the end of the rope I hang onto;
Just when I am ready to ask the Good Lord, “Why?”;
Just when my head is about to split in two …
… the butterfly flutters by.

And suddenly, the weight is less heavy;
No tears do I need to cry;
The crazies regain their sanity …
… and the butterfly winks an eye.

The rope is my salvation;
The Good Lord gives His reply;
My head is in one piece again …
... sing praise to the butterfly.

Joe Flach is an amateur poet living in Gig Harbor, WA. Joe has been writing poetry, short stories and song lyrics his entire life but has only recently found the courage to share some of his work with others through internet websites and his own Poetry Facebook Page – “Poems, Lyrics and Stuff by an Average Joe”. As a professional consultant working in the fields of crisis management and disaster recovery, Joe uses has writing as a form of stress release and an opportunity to expand his horizons. Joe is a father of four children who he often relies on as a source for inspiration.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Through a Hole in a Wall--By Russell Sivey--United States

Through a Hole in a Wall

Through a hole in a wall I see beyond
Into a world of white, snow enhanced
Solid ice, slippery it runs on
And I hold onto dreams of a child
I loved days gone by, when life was simpler
When the Earth didn’t seem to battle us
Where I could go skiing with joy
And not see fear in my eyes of storm’s rage
Blizzard warnings that come across
When I’m looking through the hole in the wall
The singular wall of solid ice,
Ice skyscraper stands firm and tall

Russell Sivey lives in the United States and has been writing poetry for 26 years (after his major car accident that left his arm paralyzed). He has been improving year after year. Russell enjoys reading poetry as well as writing it He finds himself listening to almost any type of music. Russell has been with Poetry Soup for almost 3 years and enjoys the poetry that he reads there from his friends. He is currently attending school for a Creative Writing degree with a specialization in Poetry. Yes, that means he will have a poetry degree. He looks forward to reading everyone's poems here on this site. His muse is the moon.

“God is Never Too Busy.”--By Helen Dowd--Canada

“God is Never Too Busy.”

Luke 11:9, 10

God's never too busy to answer our prayer,
No matter how small it may be.
He's willing and able our burdens to bear;
All our cares laid on Him sets us free.

Luke chapter eleven, verse nine and verse ten
Says, "Ask, and most surely you'll find.
Just knock, and the door will be opened right then.
If you seek Him you'll find peace of mind."

Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 56 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. She has one book published. Her stories and poems have been published in several Anthologies. She is presently a caregiver for her husband and sister, two dogs, four cats and 3 gold fish.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Bad Bad Boys--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Bad Bad Boys

Looking back pensively through the annals of time,
there comes vividly a memory to my aging mind
of listening intently to stories on our old radio;
a must, aired weekly, called……….”The Shadow.”

My two younger siblings listened fixated too.
Don older, often teased, “The Shadow knew!”
He, Mama and Dad were not home, we thought.
Hanging on each word, that story we bought.

Not expecting it, suddenly the front door rattled.
When no one came in, we were all quite startled.
We became unglued at the back hall loud noise,
Convinced our fate was sealed by bad bad boys.

Running behind the couch, my little brother hid.
My little sister screamed and cried, “We’re all dead!”
I buried my panicky face in the sofa bed’s corner.
Daddy in the bedroom, yelled “What’s the matter?”

The front door locked, Don had come home unaware,
ran to the back door, stumbling in the hall on a chair.
Abject relief brought with it a giggly nervous laugh.
We never listened to …”The Shadow”… after that.

Charlene McCutcheon is a 73 year old, wife, mother of seven, grandmother of thirty and great-grandmother of 14. She has just discovered her voice through poetry within the last few years. Her former ways of expression have been through the media of arts and crafts. Her desire to share herself with others for their benefit has been the motivating factor in all her endeavors. She loves life, work, play and most of all people.

My Walk With Him--By Colan Hiatt--United States

My Walk With Him

As I think of the years before
Christ came into my life
Reflecting back, it seems absurd
How did I deal with grief and strife

But then I recall that blessed day
When I heeded, - "come unto Me"
Life has never been the same
Since from bondage, He set me free

In my daily walk with Him
I have stumbled along the way
But He has been my sword and shield
A beacon light, He does portray

As turmoil rages on every side
And human efforts are rendered nil
His Word and promises, reign supreme
What He has declared, He will fulfill

Colan Hiatt resides in Mt. Airy, NC. with his wife. A retired electronic technician, he has been writing for several years. Most all the poetry, is derived from observing "down-to-earth" events that occur around us. A personal "mini-story" is often associated with the majority of compositions. Usually a metaphor is found with spiritual implications that portray God as the ultimate solution to life's problems. To direct the reader to this "Source", is the desired goal.

Monday, January 26, 2015

A Winter Rose - A Sonnet--By Elaine George--Canada

A Winter Rose - A Sonnet

I walk through the glistening virgin snow
That covers the sorrow of autumn’s death
Where I find on a bush a frozen rose 
Its beauty held ageless in winter’s breath

How I long to touch those petals again
Those moist velvet lips that promise such bliss
Opened in passion whispering my name
As I drift in dreams of a breathless kiss

Oh! To pluck this rose from the winter snow
And hold it closely to my aching heart
And free it from that ice so bitter cold
That now my love keeps you and me apart

But if I were to pluck this winter rose
Would all its petals fall upon the snow?

Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members.  Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people.  She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness.  Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.

Values--By Lanette Kissel--United States

Values

We can have the blessings of living
in a land of milk and honey,
that have nothing to do with
the accumulation of money.

There are values that cannot
be measured in a dollar amount.
Love of God and country, home and family,
are the values that count.

If we find that heavenly values
with our earthly ones collide…
Remember that what we really need
our Father in Heaven will provide.

Lanette Kissel lives in southern Indiana with her adopted Yorkie-Poo, Benjy. She enjoys writing Inspirational poetry, essays, articles, and some secular fiction. Her work has been published in small print publications and in online magazines. Some of her fiction has been published as e-books at Red Rose Publishing.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Africa--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi

Africa

It is the blackmail of your beauty
And your arrow-like gaze as you stand
In the warmth of my arms
That vanquish my manliness.

Africa, my Africa, I sing
Of your indigenous ornateness,
The African symmetry of your figure
And the fragile tenderness
That enveloped you.

I do not need a banjo or a drum
To sing a song. You are my song:
Those shimmering eyes are a song,
Your breath is my music,
Your heartbeat is a drum
And your mouth is a horn of music.

You are a light
That stands out in light;
Music in every song;
And a moon in all seasons.

Ndongolera C. Mwangupili works as a Senior Inspector of Schools in Malawi. He has vast experience as a teacher of English and Bible Knowledge. Many of his short stories, poems and essays have been published in the Malawi News and Weekend Nation. His stories are anthologized in Modern Stories from Malawi and The Bachelor of Chikanda and Other Stories. His poem “The Genesis” was anthologized in The Time Traveller of Maravi: New Poetry from Malawi. His other poem “Letters to a Comrade” is published online in India on www.openroadreview.in. He believes that there is a thin line between fiction and reality. All that people write is a re-creation of what is already known to the writer and exists not only in the mind of the writer but also outside the writer, therefore, fiction is actually facts written as if they are not facts. He is married to Angella, and they have a daughter Mary Magdalena.

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell--By Kathryn McLoughlin Collins--United States

Problem solving at 2:00 a.m. in medicinal hell

The alarm's on the bed so I won't fall.
Really I'm able to get to the bathroom.
The Dr. told me it's okay.
Says the nurse "it's not in your chart."

I think: "God, please get me out of here", but if I get
up, the bells with sound and an RN herd
will race down the hall scolding me all the way
like I was a little girl.

Had their ways, I'd be straight-jacketed,
(safe from harm, other than psychological),
and the nurses could take off their clogs
and stay at their station and chat.

I think I'll wet the bed and buzz someone
Problem solved.

Born in 1945, Kathryn Collins is a native New Yorker now living in Connecticut whose works have been described as “a gentle sort of poetry” by the editor of her first book No Need for Breadcrumbs, published by BeWrite Books, 2004. Her work has also appeared in numerous anthologies. Inspired by her beloved grandmother, she developed a great love of poetry at an early age and has been writing for 20 years.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Random Reminders--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Random Reminders

Live like there’ll be no tomorrow.
Pray like your prayer’s being heard. (it is!)
Sing like there’s no one around you.
Promise, then stand by your word.

Work like your master is watching. (God is!)
Play every once in a while.
Notice the people around you.
Trust with the faith of a child.

Hug with a reckless abandon.
Smile all the way to your eyes.
Love, even when you’re not loved in return.
Ask God, and He’ll make you wise.

Rest when your body is weary.
Be satisfied with enough.
Look at the stars in the clear winter sky,
While holding someone that you love.

And if you forget all the rest;
Remember, in God you are blessed!

Lisa DeVinney is a homemaker and mother of six in upstate New York. She enjoys photography and writing devotional poetry in her spare time. Lisa is the author of several books, including a devotional entitled I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes. She also maintains her own website at liftingmyeyes.com

Friday, January 23, 2015

devotion--By David J. Kelly--Ireland

devotion
======

Each Monday he climbs the same unforgiving hill,
parang* in hand. Each time it takes a little longer.

The tropical heat, the monsoon rain, the broken road,
stifle momentum, challenge resolve,
but his small steps do not falter.

He narrates his progress in an old language
the children do not understand;
they think him mad ... or senile.

Half a mile beyond the hill’s crest, still sweating, but
breathing more steadily, he pauses by a narrow path.

He lifts the parang and meticulously
clears a few new weeds from the verges.

Stooping in front of the home-made tomb
he whispers, “The way between us
is clear again.”

* A parang is a large knife, similar to a machete, traditionally used by farmers in Indonesia and Malaysia.


David J. Kelly is an animal ecologist based in Dublin, Ireland. While his day job revolves around science writing, his light poetry and Japanese verse forms (haiku, tanka, haibun and haiga) have been published in a number of journals and anthologies. He aspires to publish a book of poetry one day, when he has enough suitable material. David is a member of The British Haiku Society and Haiku Ireland.

Vagabond Clouds--By Robert L. Hinshaw--United States

Vagabond Clouds

Oh! Fleecy vagabond clouds scudding o'er this turbulent earth.
The things you must witness drifting about its expansive girth!
Arrayed in the heavens by that Benevolent One Immortal,
Such peace and beauty you bestow upon this restless mortal!

For the fleet moment you're in view, you capture my imagination,
As I marvel at the dynamics of your ever-changing formation!
I see majestic ships full o'sail racing before a mighty gale,
Never minding another cottony cloud depicting a languid whale!

Another cloud appears to be a baby angel playing with its toes.
There's a woolly one portraying some little lambs in repose.
Rising o'er the horizon is a cloud imitating a cat a-creeping,
Chasing another cloud on which an innocent mouse is sleeping!

You must dance with glee playing hide and seek 'mongst mountain tors,
And do you weep mournful tears passing o'er lands scarred by wars?
With the help of The Master Artist's brush when your day is done,
Such magnificent robes adorn you in the rays of the setting sun!

As I lie upon this grassy knoll watching you pass in review,
How I love to share my dreams and aspirations with you.
As about this troubled globe you make your eternal bourn,
May you be a calming symbol to a world so pillaged and torn.

Robert L. Hinshaw served 30 years in the Air Force retiring in 1978 in the grade of Chief Master Sergeant. He began writing poetry in 2002 at age 72 and has composed over 1100 poems.

Thursday, January 22, 2015

i rise--By Sara R. Vogler--United States

i rise

i rise,
above the noise,
that surrounds the rooms of my mind.
i rise,
above the people,
who try to take down my good nature.
i rise,
and i must continue to forge forward.
like the notecards ready to be sent,
like the rain that hits roof on a cloudy night,
like the sun that makes me sweat.

i rise,
above everything.
i stand tall.

Sara R. Vogler is a published poet and writer, originally from Krakow, Poland. Currently living in Washington, DC, her work has ranged from poetry to critical essays. Recently, she has collaborated with her father on a three-piece book featuring work to honor their past. Vogler finds comfort in knowing that her words will someday make a lasting impression on someone's life.

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls--By Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson--Canary Islands

Golden Leaves and Golden Souls

Leaves don't last long when they are golden, neither I say do we
But unlike leaves that change together, our time for change does vary you see.
We all know that we have a soul, that special self felt deep inside
That no matter how old we be still feels young and starry eyed

For like leaves born green we have to learn to grow and face a storm
So through life we must develop same with love till we transform
To have a soul gold with love, for when it's gold it's full of light
Light enough so that we rise to take up God's invite!

To join Him in His home above the one that we call Heaven
And though it may take some years, some can be ready by seven.
For unlike leaves our time's not set, some are gold at body life
Yet for most of us it takes time through lots of struggle and strife.

Our season for change varies in time, with some being gold when young
While for others it can take time with many a long year being sprung
Yes! For unlike leaves no-one knows just when our soul will be
Golden, light, full of love so that we rise to eternity!

Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson is a coal miner’s daughter, the only girl among 6 lads.
A young mother to a son, she became a widow before she turned 18.  Patricia, then, married her childhood sweetheart who fathered her lovely son and two wonderful daughters.  Her children encouraged her to pursue her own talents.  After 51 years of marriage, she became a widow again recently.  She fills her time with poetry, helping others whenever she can.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

A Student’s Lament--By Tom Davis--United States

A Student’s Lament

I’ve always liked Dickinson’s
“Success Is Counted Sweetest”
I’d think about those things
For which I’d the greatest need
And how marvelous it would be
If I could just succeed.

Then my English teacher assigned
This poem for us to read
Find the meter and alliteration,
Note the similes and personification,
Inversion to look for, assonance to find
Consonance, metaphors, and scheme of rhyme.
Tell the mood, explain the theme.
And then she asked, “What does this mean?”

We finally finished
And I no longer dared
To achieve success;
But what was worse,
I didn’t even care.

In his younger years, Tom Davis served as a Special Force Combat Diver. It seems to him that he spent more time on, in, and under the water than as a landlubber. This and other adventures he has written about in his memoir, The Most Fun I Ever Had With My Clothes On: A March From Private to Colonel. http://www.oldmp.com/davismemoirs

Empty Nest--By Rhoda Galgiani--United States

Empty Nest

A mind
Lonely -
Framed painted picture
Swirl of lost colors
Painted blends become single hue
Design captured from its own grey
Tears moist brush
Brings movement
One completes cycle empty nest
Searches for light on a new path
Visions peek through cracks of life
Maps a direction to take
Search is -
Complete

Rhoda Galgiani is a published Poet and Author of two books, Expressions from the Inside Out and No Snow for Johnny - a Child’s Story listed at LuLu.com or Amazon.com. Rhoda is a retired senior that delights in maintaining her own website entitled Expressions Poetry Journal which is dedicated to the world of poetry. Come visit her at - chesakat1.blogspot.com

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

WHISPERS’ SPECIAL ACTIVITY--FORM-PERFECT SIX

Brian Strand, an accomplished writer, generously offered to be the activity editor for another wonderful opportunity.  He invited writers to explore his PS (perfect six) form.  The criteria for the form follows--

The PS (perfect six) an Epigram form--a maxim, a pithy precept, pungent proverb or witty words in three lines, six syllables 1:2:3 (or 3:2:1)with an integral title. It can be on any theme.

I would like to thank Brian for selecting these 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.

                                            --Karen O’Leary, Whispers’ Editor


Voice of Freedom            Pencil Politics
By Mary Couch                By Ralph Stott

Pen's                               Now!
Power                             Sharpen
Defeats sword                 Your aim! Draw!
____________                  ____________

Coward Moon                 Old Wives Tale       
By 
Anne Curran             By Barbara Tate

a                                     true
full moon                        or not
shines yellow                 I don’t ask
____________                  ____________

Indelible Love                Frost
By Ralph Stott                By Gert Knop

Penned                          a
For a                              red nose-
Road-side shrine.           no reindeer
____________                 ____________

Odorous                         Conversation
By Joan McNerney         By Shloka Shankar

she                                 the
sure knows                     lies i
her onions                      tell myself
____________                 ____________

Creative Community      Poetic License
By Karen O’Leary          By Joan McNerney

our                                 test
Whispers                        drive through
family                            outer space
____________                 ____________

Found                            True Love
By ayaz daryl neilsen    By Beth Winchcombe

tears                              Love--
and cheers                    placing
puppy’s home               others first
____________                 ____________

Modern Art                     A Bold Speaker
By Brian Strand             By Sara Kendrick

What                              The
YOU..will                        Linguist
make of it !                    Stuttered through
____________                 ____________

Battery-Driven?              The Commitment
By Jack Horne                By Peggy French

hen                                 Rain
mobile -                          or shine
coq au vin                      You and me
____________                 ____________

Trinity                            Blowing in the Wind
By Ralph Stott               By Elizabeth Howard

Seek                              Cock
And you                         on the
Will find...us.                 weathervane
____________                 ____________

Dressing Up                   Stay Optimistic
By Joan McNerney        By Beth Winchcombe

Girls                               Hope
wobbling                       plus faith
in high heels                 propels me
____________                 ____________

K-9 K-NICE                      Rainy Season
By James Ramusson      By Anne Curran

dogs                                rain
are the                            again-
nicest folks                      false summer
____________                  ____________

Monty’s Python               Mother’s Instinct
By Brian Strand              By
Anne Curran 

As                                   some
sick as                            mother
a parrot                          wipes her tear

Aduro--By Joe Maverick--England

Aduro

Title less yet, the days to come; the times gone… Memories at best half-remembered
While amidst the fleeting is now! A time of lost opportunity, or the place of renewal..?
Ours to discover, ours to hold, not grasping of avarice led, self-serving design cold.
So as days quicken, as the hour flies, though mid-winter be here
And deep snow lies, can we kindle? Let us host here generosity bright.
From where land ends, to the highland fells sound the trumpet, ring the bells.
Though the darkness does match the lowering skies, let there be light.. 'light..'
Light that brightens mind and eyes, bring in to fire the Scots cone & fir
Let burn logs of apple, elm, maple; oak-burr, strike the bow to fiddle string
As shoes heels click, and echoes out ring, form the line, and dance the jig,
Baste the tatties and turn the pig, gather the family welcome to all, spread the feast
In house and hall, let sadness cease & may joy be strong to greet the New Year in
happy song.

Note--Aduro is a Latin word means alight or to set alight or kindle a fire.


Joe Maverick is a freelance author, from a widely educated background. He has been writing for 27 years. He is interested in feedback from the public; readers are the reason for his writing. Some of his poems are short and succinct, others tell a story. He would like to see the literary flame burn bright in any day and age, believing that it can feed the spirit and bring enlightenment.

Winter's View--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

Winter's View

More than not it’s often a frown
instead of a smile when my time comes.
I’m pure, sociable and oh so beautiful;
just as important to the Earth
as my other siblings. But, alas, not everyone
loves a crisp chill in the air, or the shiver
of a stiff Northern wind. When it comes
to the fresh blanket of snow that hugs
the ground and kisses the trees,
there is natural awe to behold. My season
is filled with many complaints and threats
to move in with my brother Summer; to a place
where he shines all year long. Nonetheless,
Mother Nature still calls upon me year after year,
in spite of who does not want me around,
and when it’s time for me to leave, she always
tells me, “Thank you for your season,”
to which I humbly reply, “My Pleasure.”

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.

Monday, January 19, 2015

The Haunting Sea--By Leokadia Durmaj--Australia

The Haunting Sea

I love the allure of the ocean
It heals my mind heart and soul
Drowning my thoughts with it sound
Imposing a rhythm within

Feeling the breeze embrace my body
Whilst casting a spell sending shivers
Bringing back the spirit that knows ~
The love that evolves inside of me

Voices from the sea speak to my soul
Quieting my thoughts I hear angels sing
Uniting all spirits giving birth to wisdom
I hear cries from the ocean beneath.

Leokadia Durmaj is a published writer from Australia.

Aging--By Elizabeth Kral--United States

Aging

golden hairs turn white
winter casts its dark net
winds mourn my defeat

a scarecrow wears my clothes
lovely pale-faced mannequin

dancing alone
in my best silk dress
decayed under suns

Elizabeth Kral is retired and resides with her husband in Surprise, Arizona. Local memberships include the Arizona West Valley Writers Workshop and the Arizona West Valley Writers Critique Group. Elizabeth and her husband enjoy spending summers in Colorado, and she is a member there of the Steamboat Springs Writer’s Workshop.

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Where--By Tim Ryerson--United States

Where

Lost out in space
Somewhere God has hurled
A less evil place
A far fairer world

Where one circumstance
I'm allowed to defy
Where I'm granted one chance
To just say goodbye

Where I rip through that wreck
To the seat where you bled
Where I cradle your neck
And hold up your head

Where I brush off the mud
And soothe your last fear
Where I clean off the blood
And wipe your last tear

Where I lay you to rest
And stroke shattered bones
Where you die on my chest
Instead of alone

* In memory of Daniel Lee Collins Ryerson, Tim’s son

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.”

The Dead Line--By Anna-Marie Docherty--Wales

The Dead Line

The fallen angel's
made a career of evil
the father of sin
this black/red coated devil

He minds over death's valley
With his hot road to Hell
and with determined temptation
will lure you with his spell

He'll sit by your shoulder
and by ill thought word or deed
your conscience will torture
and your pained soul shall bleed

This masterful serpent
with fire of unknown origin
whose pit of raging flames
is the prize that you'll win

So beware of the tongue
and do what is right
stay away from the darkness
and look only to the light

Anna-Marie Docherty lives in Pembrokeshire, Wales, UK and is often inspired by nature and the world around her. Having been writing poetry now for 4 - 5 years, her works have developed in structure and form as well as using free verse in her writing as she walks this endless art form and creativity in her thirst to further learn. Letting the pen and the muse dictate topic and form both humour, religion, nature or the serious subject might be touched upon therefore keeping the writing fresh and easy to read by those who follow. Writing both as given name above and pen name anaisnais through the net, examples of poems can be found both in Snippets, an anthology of short verse by various international poets, compiled by Karen O'Leary and Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson; also Pink Panther magazine, an anthology written by several poets and artists on feminist issues in our environment and various poems on the internet for taster.

Saturday, January 17, 2015

Impermanence--By Patricia Nolan--United States

Impermanence

they loved each other once
now he’s distant, controlling
what did she do wrong?

he takes her car keys,
her clothes, her phone, he yells
she’s a caged dog

no money, no job
no place to go – she’s a captive
he says she’s insane

violence escalates
stripped of her identity
she’s unraveling

battered woman
fingerprints on her neck
   her survival badge

his power destroyed
she lives softly in balance
and harmony and peace

Patricia Nolan is a member of Poetry West in Colorado Springs and the Haiku Society of America. She paints sumi-e (Japanese ink painting), also works in oil, pastel, and acrylic and writes poems in several Asian forms, as well as other poetry, essays, and outdoor articles. Western rivers, mountains, and trails provide most of her inspiration.

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!--By A. Michele Leslie--United States

Why I Am Thankful, Oh God!

I thank you, God, for snow, covering the midwest ground like a racing white steed;
for evergreens, bending in the wind, like a band of green worshipers.
I thank you that winter gives way to a swaying Spring maiden
beneath the sun's all-cleansing rays; I thank you for
small children, darting across the fields, for the barking dog,
for the glittering plate I drop my offering in; for Sunday stories
told by holy priests, and children tugging at their mother's coat
to go and dine. I thank you for a heart that loves each season and
I thank you for candles seizing light and windows shining rain,
for smoke arising on an altar from incense to your name,
for song whose melody like dancing feet trots on to merry
climbing of a mountain in fresh air where monks abound
and for the yogi sitting at its foot, his head, a lotus-crown.
For these, for all, for more, my offering of thanks arises
before the gift that you have given:  my life
of small and quaint surprises!

A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Sauk Rapids, Minnesota with her husband, David, and two cats.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Haiku/Senryu--By Shloka Shankar--India

alphabet soup
I mentally run
spell check
_______________

the myths i believe in silver lining
_______________

laundry day...
the stains of memory
still intact
_______________

January...
a little too warm
for winter
_______________

mnemonic
all the things
I'm supposed to forget
_______________


Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer residing in India. Her work appears in over two dozen international anthologies including publications by Paragram, Silver Birch Press, Minor Arcana Press, Harbinger Asylum, Kind of a Hurricane Press and Writing Knights Press among others. Her poems, erasures, haiku & tanka have appeared in numerous print and online journals. She is also the editor of the literary and arts journal, Sonic Boom.