Sunday, May 24, 2015

Ode to My Friends--By Peter Dome--United Kingdom

Ode to My Friends

To all my beloved friends
All over the world
And vast oceans
Your friendship and kindness shown me
Fills me with such joy and emotion
And a golden glow of eternal thanks
And utmost devotion
As I keep you all in my loving heart
And carry you around where ever I go
For you are my world
My family
The only one I know.

Hi, my name is Pete. I live in Sheffield, U.K. I hope you enjoy my poems. I look forward to reading yours. My best wishes. Pete.

Let the Dreamers Who Sleep Beware--By Joe Flach--United States

Let the Dreamers Who Sleep Beware

Lost in thoughts about what might have been
As the opportunity of today passes by
Regret from inactions is a mortal sin
Paralysis from fear prevents giving it a try

Security from harm keeps bad things away
While also keeping experiences from getting inside
Sometimes you should charge into the foray
While the mundane run off to hide

Scars may be your only reward
Tears, like a river, may flow
But to keep your journey moving forward
You cannot be afraid to go

Dreams are just realities yet to come true
Achieved only by those who dare
Take my hand; I’ll go there with you
And let the dreamers who sleep beware

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.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Giving From The Heart--By Charlene McCutcheon--United States

Giving From The Heart

If I can be of help to anyone as I journey along my way,
that is what I desire the most and for which I daily pray.
I am wanted, needed, special, talented and important.
Help comes with this kind of honesty and self-judgment.

Give and it shall be given is perfect advice from above.
I'll give out of a pure heart; motives must be out of love,
With no thought of reward, only Gods' glory as my prize.
Yet, many precious moments with Him description defies.

Rising to heights that are new, feeling approval of heaven,
Guiding me to lovingly serve; bringing to me good fortune.
What I focus on comes back twice fold. It's the going rate.
Giving from my heart, brings back more than I anticipate.

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.

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan/United Arab Emirates and Suvojit Banerjee--India

In Kafka Dreams

By Sheikha A. and Suvojit Banerjee

The keys have been tapping on their own;
my pen moves to its metronomic ticking
the way Marquez poured under the rain
in his head; the silence lengthy, the story
trapped in air; Kafka’s ‘giant insect’

metamorphosed; black like the unknown
Morse codes travelling from Austrian graves
where Kafka sleeps in his box of magic

when my Marquez self looks for relationship
with life – from his ghost the way to move
away from intellectuality – towards Aracataca,
and heat, dusty swirling banana leaves

in anticipation for the greatest singular line
that can capture fish falling from the sky –
the man that disappears isn’t really a man
but a brave leaper ready to strike a deal –
a dead space in between – a proliferation

of poetry seeking mind’s warmth and insanity.
Kafka, the provocateur/Marquez, the lover; dying
railroads to nowhere, the sounds of inconsequential
things. Faceless people haunt me to create Odysseys
from where I disappeared into the fog to come back
unscathed in body and tattered in soul, waiting
for the taps of keys to turn into whispers, the sea
to divide the Noah’s Ark. Miracles seldom happen.

Kafka’s insect hangs in my dream by a thread;
and all I see is a house, like a spectre with eyes
glowing green.

Authors' note : Inspired from an interview of Marquez in the Paris Review. Link:
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3196/the-art-of-fiction-no-69-gabriel-garcia-marquez

Up In the Sky--By Russell Sivey--United States

Up In the Sky

I look up
The sky is filled with twinkling little specks of filtered light
Bright at one point
But still illuminated with small amount of twilight
Nothing states their presence
As much as their omnipresent grandeur of pleasant beams
That only shine
Within their own presence, never glaring beyond the sky’s edge
I smile with their beauty
Of their grandiose presence that I so long to hold forever
Within my very hands
But cannot do so as the stars act in their own accordance
Of their own special flare
Which I delight in pathos of divine entities, prodding the times relevance
To my ego, lost in space
Only to find peace with its hovering splendor, bright and grand they bloom
With simplicity
Never honored more than what’s seen this very night, this ever flowing
Classical ponderance of a moment
In grace and peaking display of highlights, mainstream deliverance tonight!

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.

Friday, May 22, 2015

Peacekeeper's Tears Still Darkle--By Elly Wouterse--Netherlands

Peacekeeper's Tears Still Darkle

fathers or mothers, sisters or brothers
uncles or aunts , sons or daughters
when in uniform
on behalf of their leaders and relying on their mates
afar from their home and loved ones

peacekeeper's lamed druthers
decreed military yachters
with a tent as a dorm
stationed at designated states
on guard for safer places under burning suns

a reality that, at times, thoroughly bothers
tucked tears forming invisible waters
every sound, flood or storm
might cause intense and painful dates
continued in countless affiliated reruns

each panicking moment hopefully smothers
with the help of human or canine spotters
such a lifesaving warm swarm
of invaluable fates
muting bit by bit the perpetual thud of guns

Dutch poetess Elly Wouterse is oftentimes focused observing the world surrounding her. While watching, noticing, listening, thinking, dreaming and - or fantasizing she often finds the inspiration resulting in Poetical Visuals published on her own website - http://www.ellywouterse.com/ and in her first publication, Between Moonset and Sunrise. http://www.ellywouterse.com/special-edition.html

The Rose of Horners Lane--By Marianne Szlyk--United States

The Rose of Horners Lane

Here, in Rockville, I am a springtime flower,
leaning over the chain link fence.

I spring up
red yellow orange white
sometimes even pale lilac
almost blue or gray.

I join the cherry blossoms
the dogwood
and the lilac--
if she can make it.

My humans cherish me,
bringing my blooms in
to color the cool, dark rooms.

The last rose of summer comes early here.
I bide my time until fall.

Marianne Szlyk recently published her first chapbook, Listening to Electric Cambodia, Looking Up at Trees of Heaven, at Kind of a Hurricane Press: http://barometricpressures.blogspot.com/2014/10/listening-to-electric-cambodia-looking.html. Her poem "Walking Past Mt. Calvary Cemetery in Winter" was nominated for the 2014 Best of the Net. Her poems have appeared in print and online, most recently in Poppy Road Review, bird's thumb, Black Poppy Review, Of/with, Walking is Still Honest, and Literature Today as well as Kind of a Hurricane's anthologies. She edits a poetry blog-zine at http://thesongis.blogspot.com/ and hopes that you will consider submitting a poem there or voting in one of its contests.

as the earth turns...--By Carolyn Noah Graetz--United States

as the earth turns
light and darkness
      collide

     on edge
blue heron
waits to eat

funeral process outside
       dying to get
           inside

       sheltered under
  my flooded furniture
“The Mighty Acts of God”

camera bug
     shots
memory simulators

Carolyn Noah Graetz was born in a small country community of Carroll County, Mississippi. She graduated from the Vaiden High School in that county in 1956. In the fall of that year she entered the Touro Infirmary School of Nursing in New Orleans. A few years later she attended and graduated from the school of nurse anesthesia at the Charity Hospital in New Orleans. She has been married for 50 years to Dr. Roger Graetz, and they have two children and four grandchildren who were born on three different continents.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

The Seasons of You--By David Williams--England

The Seasons of You

I saw it the first time we met
Your face like a spring day; youthful, fresh,
A blossoming smile like new leaves unfurling
Tasting the spring air for the first time.
Your eyes as clear as two new born stars
Radiating into my head like fork lightening
I knew then that I would spend my life with you.

Your personality emanating like summer
It was like laying down in a field of poppies
Under a lazuli sky; carefree
Breathing new life into me.

Then as your illness got worse; it was like autumn
Slowly watching your leaves fall one by one
But even at your worst I have never heard you complain
So thankfully you have no winter
I remember carrying you up the stairs for the first time,
You were in great pain,
As I looked into your eyes, it was spring all over again!

David Williams was born in England and has resided there all of his life. He started writing poetry at the tender age of 14. He was encouraged to enter a local school poetry contest and went on to win it. In later life, he joined many local poetry groups and writers circles, eventually becoming chairman. He has had 9 poetry books published and is collating material for two more books which will hopefully be out later this year. He holds workshops to help and encourage writers to understand the many different forms of poetry. He has won many contests and is also a recognised poetry judge.

The rain comes in--By Richard Carl Subber--United States

The rain comes in

The rain comes in, spattering, thin,
            staining high sand, sparing the lee.
Seabirds aloft, lifting, drifting,
            unhurried, as they scan the sea.
The rain comes in,
            then fades, silence,
                     my delight is quiet in me.

Richard Carl Subber (Rick) is a freelance editor, a writing coach and an amateur  historian. He’s a former newspaper reporter/editor who transferred his love of language to more satisfying expressions. Rick is a proud grandpa who is patiently teaching his granddaughter how to write, in case there is poetry in her future. His blogs are: http://barleyliterate.blogspot.com/ and http://historybottomlines.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Ode To The Dung Beetle--By Marcus Omer--

Ode To The Dung Beetle

Oh noble beetle you never paid toll
for strange little balls you're compelled to roll.
From pastures green the treasures you find,
to others seem bizarre, but you don't mind.

You select a dish, it must be precise,
ingredients fresh, yet ones you can slice.
The cow-patties cut and divided with care,
you begin your journey with a certain flair.

While others may cringe, you manners condemn,
still proudly you march with that smelly gem.
With winter coming on you know there's need,
you've a mate to support and mouths to feed.

Now you may ask, pondering God's green earth,
what in the world is a tumblebug worth?
But as walks we take over meadows clean
and see him working, must never be mean.

For you see, my friend, if it wasn't for he
just in how much danger we might be.
So give a salute to this trustworthy trooper,
for in him we have nature's own pooper-scooper.

Marcus Omer got serious about writing after he retired in 1997. He draws his inspiration from the many emotions we experience in life. He has published Of Sunshine and Clouds with iUniverse and The Winding Road with Shadow Poetry. He’s also published in Snippets, The Magic of Words and several issues of Golden Words.

Haiku--By Archana Kapoor Nagpal--India

full moon sunset -
silhouette of the bare tree
disappears
_______________

emptiness -
once again peacock
awaits the rain
_______________

circle of light …
through the forest canopy
this summer sky
_______________

dusk settles…
from my room window
a shooting star
_______________

purple sunset -
rush of sea foam
over my feet
_______________

Archana Kapoor Nagpal is an internationally published author of 6 books so far, and her winning stories are now part of international anthologies. She writes inspirational content for corporate newsletters, websites, blogs and print publications. Her inspirational poems touch every area of a person's life. She enjoys writing Haiku and Tanka as well. Visit her Amazon Author Profile to know more about her.

WHISPERS' SPECIAL ACTIVITY--FORM--9-1-1

Dear Friends,

It is a pleasure to share with you the 9-1-1 poems selected by our talented Joan McNerney, Activity Editor for May. Evie Ivy developed this wonderful form which was fun to work with.

9-1-1 Form Criteria

It is basically a poetic sentence with a bit of urgency to it. It can be titled or untitled. It can be lyrical, funny or both.

First line is 9 syllables (this is not so strict, can be 8 or 10)
Next line is 1
And last line is 1.


Thank you to all the contributors and especially, Joan, for sharing these enjoyable poems for us to read.  Please take time to comment and thank Joan for her hard work on this.  If you missed the deadline, feel free to share 9-1-1 poems in the comments section.

Happy writing!

Karen O’Leary
Whispers’ Editor
_____________________________

How do you keep from reaching for what’s
not
there?

By Evie Ivy
_____________________________

Interfaith Council

A priest, a rabbi, and an imam
                share
                                   jokes.

By Robert P. Hansen
_____________________________

The fragrance of a new-born poem…
it
breathes

By Ralph Stott
_____________________________

True love: riding each threatening wave
with
trust

By Paul Callus
_____________________________

Queuing round the block for a concert
sell
out

By Jack Horne
_____________________________

Writing a note with disappearing ink
dear
john

By Barbara Tate
_____________________________

I feel the warmth of her outstretched arms
my
Mum

By Anne Curran
_____________________________

We’ve found the owls’ nest—mother owl asks:
Who?
Who?

By Kelley J. White
_____________________________

All the greens of spring are opening
our
eyes

By Joan McNerney
_____________________________

And so you said you “loved me” . . . and so
you
said . . .

By Evie Ivy
_____________________________

Tragedy, floods and earthquakes!
sad
news

By Beth Winchcombe
_____________________________

Stories surround us, daily begging
tell
me

By Charlene McCutcheon
_____________________________

Arachne


She weaves spider-web plots--shimmery
death
traps.

By Elizabeth Howard
_____________________________

Weather prediction tornado watch
black
clouds

By Sara Kendrick
_____________________________

His mate checked twice before yelling out,
"Check-
mate!'

By Karen O’Leary
_____________________________

Hooting at midnight, shadow silent
wing
wind

By Kelley J. White
_____________________________

Spring brings lots of flowers, blossoms and
green
grass.

By David Fox
_____________________________

It was finally  music  that  set
the
steps

By Evie Ivy
_____________________________

A playful autumn breeze lifts girls' skirts
up
high

By Anne Curran
_____________________________

Distressed, yet visibly popular
blue
jeans

By Paul Callus
_____________________________

Someday…

politicians will make promises
they’ll
keep.

By Robert P. Hansen
_____________________________

When I am worried and all alone
I
pray

By Charlene McCutcheon
_____________________________

Fairies, floating, towards earth
through
clouds

By Beth Winchcombe
_____________________________

Like clothing that has been washed—you hang
it
up

By Evie Ivy
_____________________________

High winds, giant rain drops and hail fall
dark
dark

By Sara Kendrick
_____________________________


Rustling of leaves tell the story
fall's
here

By Barbara Tate
_____________________________

Pigeons take flight up on the rooftops
grey
skies

By Ralph Stott
_____________________________

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Poems--By Kelley White--United States

sun coming out
crow calls into
the light
_______________

Sixty—
how many years since
I’ve heard the whippoorwill?
_______________

Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her most recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.

Moonglow--By Joann Grisetti--United States

Moonglow

I kneel on the waxed white oak boards
and lean, elbows rest on the narrow sill,
cheek against the frigid glass
breath expands crystals of rime in circles.

I stare at the moon, bright enough
to blot all but the highest stars,
when full, it stabs my pale irises
with silver shafts, and draws in shades of grey;

fractals from trees, tessellations where houses stand
in rows along unseen streets frozen under snow –
fallen and melted and refrozen –
this diurnal pattern repeats through winter.

I feel a creeping cooling from extremities inward,
a shivering procedure unable to break the shackles
of moonglow.

I ride a roan Arabian mare
over the mid-night silver sands
we race the flat desert into dawn
as hot as the other was cold but still enflames the same
moonglow.

Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.

Lady--Jack Horne--England

Lady

Your nearness makes my heartbeat race,
I smile and look into your face.
Surrounded, kisses cannot be,
Although your eyes are all I see:
Your thoughts revealed by loving looks.
We must return to reading books!

I wish we were alone to talk,
And maybe take a little walk,
Your hand in mine, I’d know such bliss,
With no one there to thwart a kiss.

We’d travel time and space today,
And dance around the Milky Way,
The planets spinning like my mind.
My thoughts untamed but warm and kind.
Such magic at my fingertips.
My hungry kisses on your lips,
A floral crown upon your hair,
I’d demonstrate how much I care.

As secret passion floods my head,
I write a poem for you instead…

Jack Horne enjoys reading and writing poetry.

Monday, May 18, 2015

Just Passing Through--By Lisa DeVinney--United States

Just Passing Through

I am content with what I have,
But not enough to stay.
My heart still longs for something else -
It’s somewhere, far away.
So, while on earth, I’ll not complain,
‘Cause I’ll be looking toward
A home, a crown, an angel choir -
In Heaven, with my Lord

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

Haiku--By Raamesh Gowri Raghavan--India

blackout...
a million stars
switch on
_______________

swinging in the rain
myriad droplets
spray from my hair
_______________

summer hols
-- the jamun tree
ripe with boys
_______________

yellow leaves
grandma sweeps up
yesterday
_______________

headless statue –
long before me
and long after
_______________

Raamesh Gowri Raghavan moonlights as an award-winning copywriter by day and daylights as an award-wanting poet by night. He thinks he is funny, but his friends vehemently disagree.

Sunday, May 17, 2015

Special Feature Collaborative Poem--By Nalini Priyadarshni--India and D. Russel Michener--United States

Just Before Dawn: A Sedoka

By and Nalini Priyadarshni and D. Russel Micnhimer

Aspen glow reflects
Your warmth upon my face, add
Streak of love to my dusk

Your beams reach me far
away though I maybe, your
rich warmth always near


Distance just measures
How far and swift love travels
I exhale breaths you inspire

Inhaling your joy
Awakens my sleeping bliss
Each dawn a new dream shines bright


You fondly burnish
Pieces of my existence
Nurture me to flowering

Polishing edges
Buffing your glistening joy
To shimmering reflections


Light of our loving
Unlock enchanting visions
Sweet symphony to twain souls

Focus of living
Shining key to ecstasy
Opens all chests of treasures

Mother Remembered--By Jean Calkins--United States

Mother Remembered

White carnations on the altar;
Young head bowed in silent prayer.
Second Sunday of the May-month,
Longing brings a deep despair.

Vivid recall of a casket.
Tender was her face in sleep.
How he misses you, lost mother;
Blonde head bowed as blue eyes weep.

Jean, at 82, has been writing poems since she was 18. For 25 years she published a popular poetry quarterly of up to 100 pages, with a subscribership of nearly 500. Illness in 1986 ended the magazine. She currently publishes, by email, a 2-page monthly of clean humor. Contact her at joker31277@yahoo.com

Welcome Home--By Elizabeth Howard--United States

Welcome Home

the door open
pinto beans simmering
in the kettle,
thin white curtains
beckoning welcome,
he takes off his beret
and enters, knowing
his ma and pa will
fluff up the featherbed
kill the fattest fryer

he sits down
in his plush chair
vacant the long months
he’s been overseas--
when they come in
he’ll lay down the crutches
that brought him home,
rise up and walk

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

Saturday, May 16, 2015

A Lonesome Song--By Ndongolera C. Mwangupili--Malawi

A Lonesome Song

I am a lonely frog's egg,
Missing parental care and love,
Surrounded by hungry fishes,
Carried away by angry waters
To a non-existent place.

I am a lonely butterfly in whirlwind,
Whirling, swirling
To a bizarre hearth.

I am a lonely soloist
Without a mirthful audience,
Singing cumbersome lamentations
Memorized by migrating birds
Flying away from this wild world

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 two daughters Mary Magdalena and Princess Cleopatra.

The Least of These--By Lanette Kissel--United States

The Least of These

Can we manage to feel concern and compassion
for those we meet on any given day,
those who are trying to roll with life’s punches,
the forgotten lambs who have wandered astray?

Some people practice wearing a brave fa├žade
while on the inside they are falling apart.
Can we show concern for what happens to them?
Can we offer them a piece of our heart?

Our Jesus consorted with the diseased and destitute,
the ones society was afraid to touch,
the overlooked, the ostracized, the outcasts,
the ones who needed His kindness so much.

We can attempt to make a difference.
If it’s our Lord we are hoping to please,
we can search out the hurting and lonely.
We can do it for the least of these.

(Previously published in The Pink Chameleon Issue 13, July 2012)

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.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Poet of the Month--Peggy Dugan French

in my dreams

By Peggy Dugan French

you
across the table
still


30 years ago
we were surrounded
by family and friends
now we have a seasoned past
to keep us company
the kids
old friends
a grab bag of memories
pains, sorrows, pleasures, joys

still
whether it be across the breakfast table
or a candlelit dinner
we brave the future side by side
not knowing where the path will lead
but always full of faith in us

now
sifting through the decades we’ve traveled
since embarking on this journey
i smile with remembrance
of our days of youth
and discovery
gently reminding me
that every twist and turn through the years
steered me in the right direction

always to you


yesterday
and today
the man of my dreams
still
_______________

From the editor--It is an pleasure to announce that Peggy Dugan French is May’s Poet of the Month.  She is a talented published writer and the editor of Shemom.  Readers at Whispers enjoy her creative poetry.  Peggy is an uplifting voice at our online journal, regularly leaving thoughtful comments which others appreciate.  She has collaborated with a writing friend on poems that have been featured at Whispers. She regularly shares her talent by participating in our community activities.  Peggy’s honor is richly deserved.
_______________

Thoughts on “ in my dreams”--Right away, I was drawn to the artistic presentation of Peggy’s poem.  Her clever use of spacing gives the reader a chance to pause and absorb what she has to say before moving on to the next stanza.  As I journeyed along with Peggy, I found my self relating to facets of my own life.  Drawing the reader in is so important to a successful poem.  This is truly a different slant on a love poem, one with depth and honesty.  Her talent is evident in this wonderful piece.
_______________

Congratulations and thank you Peggy!  I appreciate all you do and have done for Whispers.

Sincerely,

Karen O’Leary, Editor

Hope--By David Fox--United States

Hope

Be happy now, don't you cry,
Hope will keep your spirits high
Keep hope and you definitely will
Climb every mountain and every hill
Let yourself grow forever more
And the hope in you will surely soar

David has been published most recently in Smile, Poet's Digest, The Pink Chameleon, Creative Inspirations, Pancakes in Heaven, The Shine Journal, The Jokester, Weekly Avocet, Aphelion, Poet’s Expresso and Forte Green Literary Review. He publishes and edits The Poet's Art, a print journal that accepts family-friendly poetry.  Contact him at ipoetdavid@gmail.com for more information.

Tyke Kids--By d. n. simmers--Canada

Tyke Kids

" Jump away, jumping boy;
the boy I was shouts go."

           Geoffrey Hill

There on a three wheel tricycle with a yelling push
with his love, blonde, holding on behind.

This is the image of a hill and to be pushed
towards and the going up that will take us

down. Going down.

Is this what will happen? Does it come from a dream?

Love. Holding on to his back. Their screams.
while winds are hot against their necks.

Feelings fresh.

And then coming back down
together. Alive.

Finding her still holding on
while the wheels are going down

all the hills, then

up again.

Knowing they are together.
With the wind and the sky.

d. n. simmers is an on line editor with Fine Lines. He is in will be in Poetry Salzburg Review, the Storyteller, Iconoclast, Plainsongs, California Quarterly, Poets Touchstone, Bluestem, and  Nomad's Choir. He is on line in poetrymag.com, red river review, new american digital, storyacious, and word press. He is in an newly launched anthology Royal City Poets ( 4) and was in Van Gogh's Ear, Paris France.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Melody--By Gerald McBreen--United States

May--

Melody

I've heard wind chimes tingle softly

Irish tenors from across the sea

Mantovani conduct a symphony

I've heard violins sweet and exotic

doves coo in the rain

babies giggle as they learn to run

There is one sound sweeter
I hear it when I head for home
and mother calls my name

Gerald McBreen is the Coordinator for the Striped Water Poets of Auburn, WA. They host an "open mic" every first Monday of the month. He is Poet Laureate of Pacific, WA. (2009-2015) His most recent award - winning the online Cover Letter Contest for July, 2014 - River Styx. He loves to see members of the Striped Water Poets advance and get published.

Passion’s Desire--By Maurice J. Reynolds--United States

Passion’s Desire

A welcoming sight to behold,
the anticipation of your rising, and
the striking beauty of your setting,
oh sun, a longing to reach out
and touch you….to be a part of the
picture that you paint over the blue skies,
lush oceans and plentiful mountains.

Hearing the waves embrace the shores
on a lazy summer’s day, while the taste
of a ripe peach, or a juicy melon accents
the evening’s gentle breeze; a moment
that can only be described as tranquil;
to touch you, Mother Nature, would
satisfy the passion burning deep within.

Passion’s desire to reach out and touch
the Earth’s goodness and humanity’s smile.

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.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Kinuginu Tanka--Nalini Priyadarshni--India

eight petals cherry
drifts silently to ground
softening footfall
only noise breaking stillness
throbbing hearts at parting
_______________

aching limbs now rest
besides vacant warm pillow
distant notes of fue
bring perfume of promises
mingled with cool breeze of dawn
_______________

my heart is full of
memories of our meeting
untold bygone tales
we could tell, if it wasn’t for
cock’s crow that stole you from me
_______________

Nalini Priyadarshni is a poet, writer, editor and amateur photographer. Her work has appeared at numerous magazines and international anthologies including Up the Staircase Weekly, eFiction India, Mad Swirl, Camel Saloon, Lipstickparty mag, Tanka Undertow, Locution Mag, and Earl of Plaid. Her forthcoming publications include Learning & Creativity and Dukool. She lives in, India with her husband and two feisty kids.

The Eagle--By Christine Tate--United States

The Eagle

The eagle flies solo,
it soars with wings on high;
with keen eyes and great ease
it dominates the sky.

Lord, way above the turmoil
beyond the tallest trees,
like the eagle grant me wings
to soar o'er raging seas!

Sharpen my five senses
and my spiritual eyes,
so as the mighty eagle
I too can quick arise.

Keep me on course Lord
despite the winds that blow,
and help me glide peacefully
wherever I may go!

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