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Poetry is the expression of the human experience. Wordsworth defined poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings;" Emily Dickinson said, "If I read a book and it makes my body so cold no fire ever can warm me, I know that is poetry;" and Dylan Thomas defined poetry this way: "Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing."

Poetry is many things to many people. If we narrow it down to its most central characteristics, it is economy of language. It is clean, clear and concise. It's musical and emotive, evocative and surprising, logical and mystical. It is complexity and sophistication. In other words, it is something that is unwilling to be defined.  In the end, whether through sound, form, or rhetoric, pattern, beat or rhythm, it is the sharing of what it is to be human. 

We are excited to share the Poetry of these talented authors. We applaud all of our contributors and encourage everyone to continue to follow their artistic and literary dreams. For those whose works we’ve selected, we hope this is just the beginning of an illustrious career in the arts.



Misinformation

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs

it is a well-believed misconception
the only true poetry
is that which rhymes

the would-be poet seizes upon
the fallacy that perfect poetry must rhyme
forces verses into sonnets, sestinas,
rondels, and terzanelles

he forces the rhyme
for the sake of the form
final result: mutilation

he must learn
that the only true poetry
requires inspiration, perspiration, revision
by wordsmiths who have learned their craft

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. Glenda is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. Glennis’s Poetry page can be found at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com

Read more: Misinformation

 


 

Invisible Presence

by Gerardine Gail Baugh

He sat on the wooden bench directly outside the closed down Ace Hardware, across the street from the butcher shop where the smokers were in use: scents of hickory and applewood wafted down Main Street.

He leaned back, arms spread wide across the top of the bench as though he were hoping for more; more in a darkened movie theater sitting with someone instead of here where he sat alone. His dark eyes reflected sadness, clashing with his bright smile.

Most days caught him sipping on a sweating glass coke bottle. Time had turned thick glass bottles into plastic, plastic that he would clench and unclench feeling its sound, his own internal noisemaker. His hair had never lost its weight; it had begun losing its dark shine a little more each year, painted with streaks of white as bright as midday.

He adjusted where he sat within the locations of the sun, the rain, and the snow, the shadows and the time of day. Today he was on the east side of the road, facing the setting sun.

Earlier in the day, he was shooed out of the grocery store by one of the cashiers. “He makes me nervous,” she had said as groceries slid along the short conveyor belt. “He isn’t right,” she repeated with a roll of her eyes.

“You know he’s deaf, right?”

“No, deaf people don’t sound like him.”

“I wonder if he ever went to school?”

“Course he did,” another had chimed...

Read more: Invisible Presence

 


 

Summer Rain

by Heather Lander

I’m wishing for the sound of rain upon the roof and down the glass
A rhythm from the darkened sky that beats upon the summer grass
A respite from the silence of a hot and humid gulf-coast night
Relief from endless, glaring failures shining in a dull streetlight
I’m wishing for the sound of wind across the yard, against the panes
A chorus of sweet memories for me to hear again…again
A forceful sweep of atmosphere against my fragile house of cards
An elemental sonnet from the best of Mother Nature’s Bards
And out into the storm I’d venture climbing up upon my roof
To be surrounded; comforted inside of this exquisite proof
That my senses have not withered here as I lay fast awake
They’re waiting for the summer rain upon the roof to boldly break

BIO: Heather Lander earned her PhD in Experimental Pathology with a focus on viral pathogenesis. She then realized she wanted to write and became a Science Writer. When not writing about science, Heather writes poetry, songs, and someday-novels. One of her poems, Highway 101, was published earlier this year in Westward Quarterly.

Read more: Summer Rain

 


 

The Unborn

by Sunbeams

Nature's Ballet........................
Seeds...... floating on a gentle breeze,
Some soared towards the blue sky, out of sight.
Some twirled gently, descending to a fertile soil.
Others were twinned not getting the same height,
But found a safe space to rest after their flight.
Others came spinning towards my face,
So I closed my eyes and felt their tickling graze,
And I looked down to the verge so green,
Cast in weightless clumps like a summer snow scene,
Like a fallen race cast aside, never to be seen.
Thousands have flown to reap what they sow.
Thousands will die and never will grow.

BIO: Sunbeams is a therapist whose work includes calming stressed babies and children. She rescues animals, believes all life is precious, and that the spoken word helps people connect to their soul. Her creativity shines as she dabbles with words expressing her feelings about situations that provoke a reaction within her and require a poetic form.

Read more: The Unborn

 


 

Death of My Dog

by Sunbeams

Come lay with me,
the fire is beckoning.
Come feel its warmth and hear its sound.
Come lay with me so I can smell you
and remember
the days we lived together,
not to be forgotten.
But entrenched in your heart,
where I am found.
My eyes are cloudy, but I see you.
Cradle my head as my vein is pierced.
I will slip away softly gently as I lived
only for you.
Come lay beside me,
these minutes are few,
try hard not to miss me. I loved only you.
Rescue another in my name,
your heart will ache won’t be the same
for I was loyal and unique.
But the others are dying day upon week.
I'll slip away gently, knowing you will find
another soul to give you peace of mind.
You did all you could, so did I.
I lived to love. I bid you goodbye.
My name was STAR, and to the heavens, I rise,
another will live as my soul does fly.

The poet took this picture of her dog, STAR, that died 12/09/2018. We have the poet’s permission to use it the photo.

BIO: Sunbeams is a therapist whose work includes calming stressed babies and children. She rescues animals, believes all life is precious, and that the spoken word helps people connect to their soul. Her creativity shines as she dabbles with words expressing her feelings about situations that provoke a reaction within her and require...

Read more: Death of My Dog

 


 

Portrait of a Starving Cat

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs

she disdains ordinary cat chow,
pesters humans for their food

she paws at the cookie tin,
flips the lid off,
helps herself to arrowroots

she drags bread
from the grocery box,
chews a hole in the plastic bag

she sits by human at meal time,
grabs at his fork for a morsel
of chicken or cheese

she ends her day
by chomping samples
from the muffins
left to cool on the counter


"Glory is the heroine of Portrait of Starving Cat. Full name: Glory Barrie Lynn. She was rescued from under a mailbox in winter just as the ravens were about to attack."

Photo was taken by the author.

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. Glenda is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA.  Glennis’s Poetry page can be found at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com

Read more: Portrait of a Starving Cat

 


 

I Remember

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs

the bewilderment,
in the hollows of his eyes
shadows of the man
he used to be

I remember
this man, my uncle,
who took my family
on cross country trips
so we could meet
other relatives

I remember
how he hated
babushkas, pin curls,
labelled them artillery,
hated his nieces not
looking their best

I remember
how he ran up the hill
to stop the car
when it rolled backwards

I remember
the uncle
who always had time
to help a child,
to teach a lesson

now
he forgets the date,
tells us he wants
his mother to visit,
forgets she died
forty years ago

he talks of his teaching days
when telling a child
smoking was bad,
stopped it

he wages war
against dandelions
with his jackknife,
loves to be useful
fix this or that

he knows
somehow, I am his family
but is not sure how,
he always has time
to make a cuppa,
offer cookies

now his age,
disease,
imprison him

I see
the hollows in his eyes,
remember the uncle
he used to be

Inserted photograph is of Uncle Neil. He came to Flin Flon, Canada in 1933. The photo is owned by the author.

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. Glenda is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published...

Read more: I Remember

 


 

Inukshuk

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs

what is this mysterious
stack of stones? a Shinto shrine?
a stone stick man designed by a child at play?
an insignificant example of modern sculpture?

not a meaningless pile of stones,
but an Inukshuk, lifelike figure of stone
built to act as guide for a safe journey,
to help travellers through Arctic wilderness

symbols of safety, food, shelter,
directional guide, each stone supports,
is supported by the layer above,
the layer below

reminders that man too
is independent, yet dependent
on friends, family, the world around him,
yet joined together to bond as one

The photo of an Inukshuk was taken by the poet and her husband.

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. Glenda is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. Glennis’s Poetry page can be found at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com

Read more: Inukshuk

 


 

I'm a Poet

by Louise E. Sawyer

I’m a poet with a propensity
to write three morning pages,
observing my pen as it gallops
across the lines of the notebook.
I release my mind from mental exertion,
as if I’m taking dictation of how I feel.

My pen has a life of its own.

I’m a poet with animal companions
called piggies, Midnight and Cocoa,
two muses who inspire me,
while I give them their massages.
Big black eyes look soulfully at me
as I gently stroke their heads, backs, sides.
They go limp and relax in trust.

My mind calms and my back eases.

I’m a poet with an iPad, who opens Word,
touches the blank doc with one finger,
chooses letters to form words. Words paint
images of life across the page.
I’m on a journey with no map
but I have an inner compass.

My finger playfully hikes into the wilderness.

I’m a poet who walks in nature,
observing white and purple lobelia,
rambling under the chestnut tree,
wandering along the seawalk
to gaze out over the ocean waves
and across the wide expanse to the mountains,
listening to the seagulls squawk.

My imagination follows God to eternity.

Poet’s photo of Sidney, BC water, looking across to Mt.Baker, Washington, USA

Louise E. Sawyer lives on Vancouver Island and enjoys the ocean, evergreens, and wildlife. Her guinea pig companions, Midnight and Cocoa, are her two new muses. Louise creates memes and puzzles for Village Square. She is in...

Read more: I'm a Poet

 


 

It’s Not Easy Being Blue

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs

my moods are ever changing
shades of blue
like my friends
the sea and sky

mornings after sleepless nights,
when I have morphed
into a zombie,
colour me indigo

when marmalade tabby
snuggles under covers,
holds my face with his paw,
his tongue rasps my cheek,
colour me midnight blue

I down scalding coffee,
jump start my brain,
rev up body systems,
colour me blue green

my pen races
royal blue ink
across blue white pages
to form words, ideas,
poems, stories

suddenly the flow stops,
writer’s blocks sets in,
I cannot think
of anything else to write,
colour me navy

I turn turquoise with
jealousy when I see
my rival’s picture in the
local newspaper

at last my muse
strikes again,
ideas flow as swiftly
as a widening stream,
my imagination glows
with the brilliance
of sapphires

as night falls
I savour the moment of l’heure bleue,
curl up with a purring cat,
a glass of Zinfandel, watch the sun set,
my soul become the cerulean of the sky
as peace steals across my world

colour me blue

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. Glenda is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. Glennis’s Poetry page can be found at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com

Read more: It’s Not Easy Being Blue

 


 

Animal Companions

by Louise E. Sawyer

Neuron, my animal companion, bonded
to me, but when I brought Little Joy home,
Neuron became Little Joy’s mama.
We were a family but I catered
to my first piggie, my precious Neuron.

Neuron taught Joy to squeal for food and run
laps around their cage. But the day arrived
when I separated Neuron to one side
of the cage. Joy tried to chase Neuron,
who could hardly get out of her bed.
 
Neuron, now too weak to eat, stretched out
in her sleeping bag like a limp cat
on my bed. I gave her gentle massages
along her tired back to soothe her.

Joy wanted Neuron to play, to run laps.
Neuron crawled out of bed the last morning
to say goodbye to Joy. She got to the grid
separating them. They tried to touch noses.

I held Neuron close to syringe-feed her.
I placed her down on the couch. Her body
quivered, collapsed very still. Tears filled my eyes.
Little Joy’s eyes stared at me from her big cage.

Joy roamed around Neuron’s side of their home,
sleeping in her bed, looking for her friend.
I took Joy to my bed and I gave her
massages. She adopted me as her mama.


Photo, taken by the poet, is of Joy and Neuron at Halloween.

Bio: Louise E. Sawyer lives on Vancouver Island and enjoys the ocean, evergreens, and wildlife. Her guinea pig companions, Midnight and Cocoa, are her two new muses. ...

Read more: Animal Companions

 


 

The Green Hay Pile

by Louise E. Sawyer

mornings depend
upon

the green hay
pile

owned by cream cavy
Cocoa

beside black brother
Midnight

Photo was taken by the poet.

Bio: Louise E. Sawyer lives on Vancouver Island and enjoys the ocean, evergreens, and wildlife. Her guinea pig companions, Midnight and Cocoa, are her two new muses. Louise creates memes and puzzles for Village Square. She is in the MFA Nonfiction Program at WVU; she also takes the MFA Poetry classes.

Read more: The Green Hay Pile

 


 

Thank You, My Tech Friend

by Louise E. Sawyer




Thank you, my tech friend,
pretty with back dressed in rose gold
practical with front framed in cream.
Your screen opens up the world to me
while you stay beside me here on my bed.

You recharge to 100% at night
waiting each morning to assist me.
I listen to a meditation audio
aware of my body sensations
relax until the peace of God
embraces my heart.

I hunker down to write a poem,
touch your letters and symbols
stringing words like pearls across the page
creating a necklace of images.

I follow a link to the Internet
search for asparagus, sweet potatoes,
cucumber, lettuce, and carrots
and click on the shopping cart,
waiting for a knock on the door.

The two guinea pigs squeal
when fresh veggies arrive
when the delivery guy smiles
and I stock the fridge for our supper.

You wait while I go for a walk
with guinea pigs on my walker.
You recharge while I’m gone
And are ready to show me your
blue screen of activities.

I click on a picture, add a text,
post a meme or send a card.
Then take time to play Cookie Jam
and write emails to my game friends
or chat via Messenger.
“How did your day go?”

I click on Magic Puzzles
to play with shades of blue sky
travel vicariously throughout the world
to jigsaw lands of Croatia, Romania,
New York, The Netherlands, or Russia.

It’s evening and I let you rest...

Read more: Thank You, My Tech Friend

 


 

What Is Not Said

by Enza Vynn-Cara




Why do you speak and say nothing?
Say everything when you’re silent?
Am I to hear past that silence?
Understand its undertones and overtones,
When your spoken words hold nothing but interstice silence?
Do you hear me? Am I the one whose cryptic words challenge you?
Do you listen? To my words, not my silence. I listen to your silence.
It doesn’t lie. Is that why you speak and say nothing?

 

Bio: Enza Vynn-Cara a self-learner with a passion for studying the craft. WVU courses introduced her to the world of creating writing. She has gained a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing. Her self-learning continues with WVU MFA courses. With her writers’ group, WWWE, Enza has co-authored two short stories in two anthologies: Women Who Write with Elves and Second Helpings.











 

Read more: What Is Not Said

 


 

Ups and Downs

by Enza Vynn-Cara




Up there
inside the tower
with the air filters on the roof
you watch the asphalt below
through bulletproof windows.

Around you, leather chairs swirl
to your will while profits climb
colored graphs made of recycled paper.

Down here,
the air sneezes grease
while the asphalt sinks.
At the corner by the zebra
crossing the cherry tree
dies, the cobbler closes down
shop with my shoes still inside.

They struck the notice on the window this morning.

 

Bio: Enza Vynn-Cara a self-learner with a passion for studying the craft. WVU courses introduced her to the world of creating writing. She has gained a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing. Her self-learning continues with WVU MFA courses. With her writers’ group, WWWE, Enza has co-authored two short stories in two anthologies: Women Who Write with Elves and Second Helpings.











 

Read more: Ups and Downs

 


 

Telemarketers

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs





those evil scourges of civilization
call morning, noon and night,
harass me every day

I don’t want magazines,
timeshares in Florida,
fantastic ocean cruises

I’m in trouble with Revenue Canada,
if I don’t send money
I’ll be arrested for tax evasion and fraud

I don’t need to clean up my windows,
I washed them yesterday,
they’re sparkling clean

what in the world shall I do?
I’m almost out of my mind,
I don’t want to have a nice day

I’ve discovered the miracles of modern technology:
call display, call announce, call answer, call block
I ignore the phone and savour my coffee


Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. She is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. She has been published previously in Village Square. Glennis’s Poetry

 

Image by Julie Lach Julie from Pixabay
pixabay.com/vectors/phone-red-vintage-vectors-388838/ 
Gerardine Gail Baugh inserted the text.

Read more: Telemarketers

 


 

Oceanography

by Wynelda Ann Deaver





Ocean holds secrets close. Millions, trillion, gazillions of droplets mixed with millions, trillions and gazillions of other droplets that have been here there and in between. They move continuously, one place and many. They have held unicorn blood, sailor’s urine, the tears of God.

Still, Ocean holds.

Contains.

Boundaries are many and yet Ocean’s surface is even greater. Ocean grasps the ship cradles it close or flings it away with no malicious intent. There is no intent, no anger, no joy. Just is.

How then these rocks right here? Ocean has crashed upon them for millennia and yet there is only today. How then this ship, deep below the blue, providing a home to coral and crab alike? Yesterday, today, tomorrow that ship will sail Ocean’s Seven Seas and still reside beneath the crash and hum of the waves.

Ocean races across the world, greeting glaciers and cities alike. She welcomes both blocks of ice and homes stripped from cliffs with equal regard. A steamship, a pirate ship, a Viking ship, and a Nazi submarine—all sleep in Ocean’s embrace.

Still, Ocean holds.

Contains.

Little men with big voices try to explain Ocean, talking of Ocean as if Ocean were not there. They have not seen the depths of Ocean—can not know what it is to contain the tears shed when the world exploded into being. Or imploded from being abused. Little submarines try to pry her...

Read more: Oceanography

 


 

Mystery Man

by Leona Pence



I once met a man from a far distant land, so handsome and charming was he.
He was suave, debonair, with an elegant air and the ladies on him were so keen.
I once met the man from the far distant land and still, he's a mystery to me.
His eyes do not share what's hidden in there, but just what he wants to be seen.
So be careful girls when he gives you a whirl on the dance floor where he reigns supreme.
He'll treat you so nice like sugar and spice then fade from your life like a dream.


 


Bio: Leona Pence is a mother of four a grandmother to twelve and great-grandmother to seven. She started writing later in life after the death of her husband of forty-four years. Hemphill Towers was written when she was sixty-five published at 70. You can find her on Amazon, Bump off Your Enemies Anthology, The Darwin Murders Anthology, iTunes, and at her Blog Leonaschatter


Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay
pixabay.com/photos/fantasy-lake-house-dance-water-3778227/ 

 

 

 

Read more: Mystery Man

 


 

Minotaur

by Joy Manné

 

Two children, girl and boy,

progeny of servants of King Minos,

playing beyond the Royal Palace,

find a door, secured by soldiers,

day and night, night and day.

Once a year, or once in several—

children don’t count time as we do—

seven girls and seven boys,

of marriageable age,

the most beautiful of all, enter

and never come out.

 

They’ve heard, those children,

Girl and boy, there’s a labyrinth inside.

Their parents say that’s why

the beautiful children never come out.

 

‘Labyrinths are all the same,’ says the boy.

‘No, they aren’t’ says the girl. ‘My

father’s an architect so I should know.

I’ve seen plans for labyrinths in his office.’

Smart children, he the son of a mathematician,

learn the plans, there are several,

map them out in sand in secret.

Practise all. Smart children,

watch and wait, wait and watch

guards take their tea break,

take their pee break.

Children sneak in.

 

Stinks. Hold their noses.

Pull faces.

Quickly run out. They know

peeing doesn’t take very long.

 

Curious children, take to listening.

All the grown-ups know

but no one talks about it,

that and many things.

Grownups have secrets.

 

So do girls and...

Read more: Minotaur

 


 

Lullaby for a Lost Child

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs




I

I feel you kick under my heart,
soon my special angel child,
I will hold you in my arms,
sing you a lullaby

I cannot wait,
only six weeks to go,
you are so cherished

you will have a father, mother,
grandmothers, aunts, uncles
who already love you

II

my angel son,
you arrived with the cord
wrapped around your neck
you died before I could give you life

instead of a cradle
your resting place will be
your great grandfather’s grave,
wind and rain will sing your lullaby

III
my angel child.
I christened you with my tears
you are nameless ‘baby”
in the provincial records,
your burial site yet unmarked

even though forty years have passed,
your father still cannot speak of you

soon I will join you,
if you do not recognize me,
then the pain would be greater
than losing you the first time

I pray that your sisters will honour
my request to etch your gravestone
so your name will not be forgotten

 

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. She is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. She has been published previously in Village Square. Glennis’s...

Read more: Lullaby for a Lost Child

 


 

Look Up

by Gerardine Gail Baugh





Stand back and look up. Do you see it? Do you?
Alice's rabbit checking out its pocket watch.
An aeromancer rides a cumulonimbus,
whipping up winds of imagination. Look up.
Wild horses racing a line of thick and smooth,
like peanut butter spread across a piece of bread.
Broken off bits of fluff just below and above,
five hundred feet racing along with that rabbit,
until something, something….decides -it has had enough
and leans an arm down, swiping all the playing pieces
off the board tipping, pulling, shaking and lifting.

Turning from dark to white to blue to yellow
streaks of blue hues, to blood red smears the edges laughing
in its knowing of tomorrow's tomorrow. Look up.
Even the birds stay still underneath its heavy breath.
Only the most frightened attempt to take it on.
Like an out of control racecar, they are smashed apart.
You reach out. Try to hook on to dragged along
the ball of light as it dips lower escaping
what is coming. Letting the night deal on it to win
or not. Stand back as it moans overhead,
then dives into a rabbit hole, checking out
the under-side of today. Look up, what do you see?


 

Bio: Gerardine Gail Baugh has published poetry on Poemhunter, IWVPA, Short stories on Staticmovement.com, Einstein’s Pocket Watch and on her Blog. She has certifications from The Institute of Children’s Literature and The Long Ridge Writers Group and...

Read more: Look Up

 


 

I'll be a Poet

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs





I’ll take my pen in hand

crystallize thoughts into ideas
paint magic with words

shape words into lines
lines into poems

I’ll be the pulse
of the nation

record the dreams
of the times

I’ll be a poet
and teach the world to dream

 

 

 

Bio: Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is Canadian and a long-time member of WVU. She belongs to Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups. She is secretary of her local writer's group. She has published seven books of poetry and had her poetry and prose published in various anthologies. She is working on her poetry MFA. She has been published previously in Village Square. Glennis’s Poetry



 

Read more: I'll be a Poet

 


 

Give Me The Wings Of An Angel

by Leona Pence





Give me the wings of an angel
To lift me above worldly things
Give me the voice of an angel
To the heavens I will sing
Give me the love and the laughter
From people everywhere
Place in my heart compassion
That always I shall care.

Give me the wings of an angel
Over Oceans I will soar
Give me the voice of an angel
To be silent nevermore
Let me fly to far off places
And to friends I've never seen
Let the joy of our meetings
Be as lofty as our dreams.

Give me the wings of an angel
My darling I shall seek
Give me the voice of an angel
That in heaven we may speak
I know that he is waiting
And watching over me
Please, Jesus, help me find him
Just one more time to see.

 


Bio: Leona Pence is a mother of four a grandmother to twelve and great-grandmother to seven. She started writing later in life after the death of her husband of forty-four years. Hemphill Towers was written when she was sixty-five published at 70. You can find her on Amazon, Bump off Your Enemies Anthology, The Darwin Murders Anthology, iTunes, and at her Blog Leonaschatter



 



 

 

 

 

 

 

Read more: Give Me The Wings Of An Angel

 


 

Flashing Lights

by Leona Pence




(My songwriting attempt)


I want to see all the lights upon a flashing marquee.
It’s the last thing I remember when she said goodbye to me.
All the colors of a rainbow bouncing off the windowpane,
Are like arrows in my heart that tell me I’m to blame.

Chorus:
Flashing lights carry my sorrow
Far away lest I die
Beam it up toward the heavens,
As you rise into the sky.

I told her that I loved her and I’d always be true
I didn’t keep my promise and I made my darling blue.
Other women didn’t matter but I couldn’t stay away
From the booze and the cards or the friends who liked to play.

Repeat Chorus:
The night my baby left me I was sad as I could be
Her tears shimmered in the lights and finally made me see.
I gave up all my vices and turned my life around
But I lost the only true love that I had ever found.

Chorus:

Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay

Gerardine Gail Baugh inserted the text.

 


Bio: Leona Pence is a mother of four a grandmother to twelve and great-grandmother to seven. She started writing later in life after the death of her husband of forty-four years. Hemphill Towers was written when she was sixty-five published at 70. You can find her on Amazon, Bump off Your...

Read more: Flashing Lights

 


 

Eidolon’s Wind Chimes

by Gerardine Gail Baugh





I miss our disagreements, laughter and silent times.

Memories of listening to your deep steady breathing as you slept dying on your living room couch. Curtains were drawn. You were so organized and neat. You worried that your house wouldn’t be cleaned when you were gone.

I opened my door early this morning.

Stirring up cat fur and dust, letting in the cooler morning air. It flowed from room to room until I opened a window and it hurried back out into sunshine. Nesting birds grab bits of cat fur to build up their nests. Currents of fur push over my weak tomatoes. I had set them out to catch some rainwater and sun. Hoping to strengthen their legs so they can hold fruit.

Blue sky glimpses me between hanging smears of misty clouds.

Every year on your birthday I talk to you, to the sky, to the shadows in the trees. You have never answered. I wonder if it’s pain that prevents me from hearing you; I don’t think I will ever let that go. For 364 days I celebrate your life. June 23rd I will mourn your death, birth, and life all in one day.

The air is silent until I open a window or that door.

Wind chimes hang just inside the door, a metal-hat holding tight to blue and silver. Five different lengths of thin silver chain, each end holds a metal idiophone...

Read more: Eidolon’s Wind Chimes

 


 

-=> Click Here for More Poetry <=-

There Are No More Pets in My House

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

 

There is death in my house.

“It's gone to a better place,” she says. "Now flush it down the toilet and wash your hands. Breakfast is ready."

Like that, she cans Juju, our goldfish. She did the same with Didi, Ma’s parrot, ...

Read more: There Are No More Pets in My House

 

 

 

Revenge of the Fishy

by

Leona Pence & Tom Whitehead

 

 

 

Tom Whitehead: (In the deep husky Marlboro movie guys voice) HEEEEEEEEEEEER FISHY, FISHY, FISHY!

It was an early Saturday morning. He thought it was just another day of fishing, then all of a sudden out of nowhere he...

Read more: Revenge of the Fishy

 

 

 

Temp-Tation

by

Leona Pence

 

 

David Porter watched his wife and two sons as they played on the monkey bars at the park. He smiled in contentment as peals of laughter rang out. Two short weeks ago, he’d been in danger of losing his family.

...

Read more: Temp-Tation

 

 

 

Free Range Souls

by

Enza Vynn-Cara

Samael and Malachi, two brothers working for different bosses, sit on the fence dangling their booted feet each on their side of the divide. One pair of boots is caked in white droppings; the other scrubbed clean. It’s like a dare. Trespassing? Not quite. ...

Read more: Free Range Souls

 

 

 

Einaudi

by

Luann Lewis



An elderly woman shuffled up the sidewalk and took a seat on the bench across the way from me. I watched her slow steps and noticed her feet stuck in matted slippers and her swollen discolored ankles. Breathing a sigh of relief, I felt grateful...

Read more: Einaudi

 

 

 

Campfire

by

Brigitte Whiting


We sat around a campfire in the backyard that evening, our parents and us four kids, aged four to fifteen. Dan, the oldest at nineteen, was in the Army serving somewhere that Mother didn't want to tell us. "You don't need to worry," she said. "I'll...

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Jack and the Beanstalk

by

Albert Orejuela

The global wealth distribution has been heavily off balance, the scales of capitalism have plunged so far into disproportion they will fall before they will be fair again.  Jack and his widowed mother have economically crammed a century of mourning into an egregious year but failed...

Read more: Jack and the Beanstalk

 

 

 

Lost and Found

by

Brigitte Whiting

Smelled: a gamey odor downstairs in the basement. Searched for its source but couldn’t find it.

Found: one dead mouse with reddish-brown legs and a white underbelly in the basement bathroom. A deer mouse. Picked it up with tongs, took it outdoors, and tossed...

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One Hundred Yards

by

McCord Chapman

 

 

A deep sigh came just as Jason was pulling off the highway onto Route 11. He was close and could feel his back tingling as if his whole spine had suddenly fallen asleep. This happened every time he headed into a small town, no...

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Yearning - F2k WINNER!

by

Noel



Trish pushed her hair to the side to show off her sparkling diamond earrings. “Alvin just got these for me. I didn’t even have to drop a hint.”

Heather leaned forward for a better look. “Oh Trish, they’re beautiful. And LuAnn, did I see you drive up in a new...

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Flamenco

by

Cedar White

We’re late, of course. Won last-minute tickets to a concert at the Greek, the Gipsy Kings, but now parking is impossible. Ten years of driving in LA and the traffic makes me want to move to, I don’t know, Kansas. Then my date points to a...

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Marbles

by

Brigitte Whiting

 I had plans for that summer and everything changed because of the marbles. But I’m way ahead of myself.

My brothers, Jeff and Mick, hung around Farmer Tom’s place, feeding chickens and riding on the tractor with him, watching while he milked his yellow cow, Bess. I’d...

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Ruler of the House

by

Luann Lewis

We never should have bought this old house.  We sunk all our savings into it plus we took on a mortgage so huge that at this point I would have to pay out money just to get rid of the place.

 

I hate the sounds...

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Abe, the Teenage Hypnotist from Planet Garfunkel

by

Albert Orejuela

You’re hearing a voice, but no one else hears a sound. It’s a deep distant whisper, soft, safe, and inviting: the words of which you can’t yet make out. The harder you listen, the softer it gets; softer and softer, deeper and deeper. The more you listen to it here, ...

Read more: Abe, the Teenage Hypnotist from Planet Garfunkel

 

 

 

A Night in Fontana

by

TJ Marshall

Brody Carlisle halted his horse on the crest of a shrub-covered hill, slapped his Stetson twice sending dust floating skyward, and after placing it back on his head, coaxed a swallow from his canteen.

To the west, the sun slid behind a scattering of tall pillar-like plateaus. Their...

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Full

by

Luann Lewis

Food. Globes of mashed potatoes glistening with a thin layer of gravy, plump slices of pie gushing with ruby red cherries–food wassensuous. It was sensuous before Abby even knew the meaning of the word.  Sparkling Christmas goodies enticed her as a child. She would sneak from her...

Read more: Full

 

 

 

The Decision

by

Brigitte Whiting

Stan stood on the sand, crumpled by how many people and birds running and sliding into it today. Now, it was getting dark, the last of the purple, streaky clouds turning black against a pale, gray sky.

Go or stay, just two choices.

He reached down...

Read more: The Decision

 

 

 

Swiftwater

by

Cedar White

10

Amos stood on a thick, muscular knoll on the shoulder of a dark river. He shivered, soaking wet from his silver hair to his leather shoes, and stared, disoriented, at the pines across the river. They seemed to stand with their backs to him. Amos felt...

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Minerva Shield

by

Frank Richards

In July the monsoon rains returned and with them came the little green frogs. Price Aurigena had first seen them in the summer of 1969 when he’d arrived in Korea and now, a year later, they were once again everywhere. Frogs sprang from the ground like exploding popcorn...

Read more: Minerva Shield

 

 

 

Seinfeld Moment

by

Frank Richards

I have studied martial arts all my life: Karate, Judo, Kenpo Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, and Hsing-I, but as I've gotten older, I pretty much stick to Tai Chi. I used to study Tai Chi at a park in Washington, D.C. called Glen Echo Park. It's an old...

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Wedding Portrait – Life Portrait

by

Glennis Hobbs

July 20, 1942


Escorted by her eldest brother Neil, Annabell walks across the front lawn to meet Bill. her groom. She is dressed in a long gown of pink net overlying pink point d’esprit. A bandeau of artificial roses secures her pink net veil. She also...

Read more: Wedding Portrait – Life Portrait

 

 

 

Salvation

by

Teresa Crowe

S is for Scintillation. 

Their arms and elbows locked as they vied for control.  Major released her grip and dredged her beet-colored nails across his muscled chest.  Zane glanced at the four lines of ripped skin, blood dripped onto the rim of his pants.  He lunged forward, grabbed...

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The Explorers

by

Glennis Walker Hobbs

Black, ginger, and tortoiseshell felines zoom through the open screen door onto the deck. Black Nic pauses and surveys his domain from the top of the steps. Kittens race down the ramp and scamper into the backyard. Glory, the tortoiseshell, runs to the maple in the corner, ...

Read more: The Explorers

 

 

 

Beckett – you asked for this

by

Joy Manné

Here am I, on this grey morning, here I am again, entering this day as I entered yesterday and the day before and unless I am spared by death will enter tomorrow and the day after, endlessly growing older with the anxiety that brings, the fear of coming...

Read more: Beckett – you asked for this

 

 

 

Reconciliation

by

Brigitte Whiting

Mattie opened the front door. "I'll be back in a while, Henry," she said, then stepped onto the porch and clicked the door shut.

It opened behind her and Henry stuck out his head. "Wait, I can come with you."

She shook her head. "I need...

Read more: Reconciliation

 

 

 

The Goldfinch

by

Brigitte Whiting

On a Monday afternoon, I carried a bucket of water outdoors to refill the birdbath. A male goldfinch jumped down from the bath’s rim, and hopped away as quickly as he could to creep beneath a nearby spruce branch. I thought how odd he was...

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Of Heroes and Holiness

by

Angela Hess

What does a hero look like?

 

George Bailey is a hero.

 

George Bailey dreamed of traveling the world.

 

George Bailey gave up his dreams to care for his family and community.

 

Rudy left his family...

Read more: Of Heroes and Holiness

 

 

 

My Desk

by

Luann Lewis

Another rejection letter and I feel like a loser. Yeah, I know, I’m not trying to make a living doing this. I even claim to be “writing for myself.” Butwe all want validation and, let’s face it, us writers want readers. So here I sit, ...

Read more: My Desk

 

 

 

My Mobile Space

by

Janet Harvey

 

In June, I will expect to find my special place in Townsville, Queensland. Last year it was in Darwin, Northern Territory, and today my place is in Hobart, Tasmania.

 

 

We live in a truck, a 2004 Isuzu 350NPR turbo automatic...

Read more: My Mobile Space

 

 

 

A Red Squirrel's Narrative

by

Brigitte Whiting

This past summer and fall upturned me. The birdfeeder, usually so generous, abdicated her job, and I had to scrounge for food during the long wet season. My mother told me it was unusual to have such a rainy August and October. She would know. I was born...

Read more: A Red Squirrel's Narrative

 

 

 

Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

by

Joy Manné

This essay is part of a Talk-Back series – I owe that title to Karen. A Talk-Back is my response to a chapter in a WVU textbook, my communication with its author.

This Talk-Back is a response to the exercise in Lia Purpura’s chapter, ‘On Miniatures,’ (Flas...

Read more: Talk-Back, Dear Lia, on FnF

 

 

 

Reunion

by

Lina Sophia Rossi

“Why the F--- Do I want to see a F—ing alligator jump up to eat a F—ing chicken hanging on a clothesline?”

 

The last time I hung out with my Uncle Dan is when I dragged him to Gatorland to do something touristic. ...

Read more: Reunion

 

 

 

A Fear of Broken Things

by

Angela Hess

“Does he look at you?”

 

My cousin’s innocent question triggers a flashing red warning light in my brain. My baby doesn’t look at me. I assumed he was too young still, but my cousin’s baby is only four days older than mine, and they are...

Read more: A Fear of Broken Things

 

 

 

Wild Roses Growing in the Ditch

by

Louise E. Sawyer


It is a joy to hold a lovely scene, a delightful moment, in memory.
~Marjolein Bastin

Frank was four and I was five and getting ready to start school when Dad and Mom moved us into a new house on Glasgow Avenue—a three-bedroom home that wasn't quite finished—in...

Read more: Wild Roses Growing in the Ditch

 

 

 

Hazardous Happenings

by

Albert Orejuela

At some point, everything comes to an apex.  Status quo can only persist for so long before the natural balance of the universe calls for consumption, and then it all comes down to a choice.  That’s it, a lone decision that ultimately leads down a pathway to a higher level...

Read more: Hazardous Happenings

 

 

 

Dealing with Rejection

by

Carolann Malley


Sending your writing out into the world can be scary whether you write poetry, fiction, or nonfiction. But, at some point, if you are a serious writer, you will do it. Getting a rejection letter back can be more devastating than asking a girl out as a teenager and...

Read more: Dealing with Rejection

 

 

 

Backyard Neighbors

by

Brigitte Whiting


I took an hour to walk outdoors in my yard, first to clip dead honeysuckle branches, pluck dandelions, and then to fill the birdbaths and feeders. And to ponder what to write about one of my backyard neighbors, the gray squirrel, Sciurus Carolineses. Its name is derived from the...

Read more: Backyard Neighbors

 

 

 

Betrayal

by

Angela Hess


My four-year-old son has a friend over. I overhear my son’s friend tell my two-year-old daughter, “Gracie, you can’t come in here.” Then my son’s voice: “It’s okay, she can play with us. Here, Gracie,” he says, presumably handing her one of the toys they are playing with. My mama...

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The Weight of Emotions

by

Angela Hess

  I can hear my parents’ raised voices upstairs. They are fighting again. I turn on the sink faucet, letting the sound of the running water drown out their voices. I thrust my hands in the nearly scalding hot water and methodically scrub each dish in the sink...

Read more: The Weight of Emotions

 

 

 

An Apology

by

Brigitte Whiting

   I'm sorry that I hadn't thought of how I would take care of a puppy. It had seemed like a good idea, accept the gift of a puppy from acquaintances. She had the coloring of a coyote and was named Brindle for those tawny markings. I'd...

Read more: An Apology

 

 

 

Baby Precious

by

Louise E. Sawyer

It was Christmas Day 1950 and my sixth birthday. Under the tree was an unusually long, large box with my name on it. I was excited to open it. I couldn’t wait. When I finally did, I was amazed to look upon the most gorgeous doll I’d...

Read more: Baby Precious

 

 

 

Downsizing

by

M Clare Paris

 
I think about death quite a bit. Not morbidly, nor do I worry about what happens when one dies. Although I enjoy a spiritual life, I am also philosophical about the end of my life. If there is something else, it will be darned interesting. If there isn’t, ...

Read more: Downsizing

 

 

 

Absent But Present

by

Louise E. Sawyer


My father, Thomas George Sawyer, was absent at my birth and absent the first seven months of my life.

It was Christmas Eve 1944 at the two-story white house on Beechwood Drive-my Grannie’s house in Victoria, the capital city of British Colombia on Vancouver Island. Grannie Price, my...

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Gathering: A Contemplative Essay

by

Brigitte Whiting

I'm always looking for ideas to use in writing: for that prompt at which I first gulp and then slowly retrieve some thread of an idea, for the poem I need for the Monday morning poetry group, for an essay that's due in two days.

I've heeded...

Read more: Gathering: A Contemplative Essay

 

 

 

Seasons in a Wild Turkey Hen's Life

by

Brigitte Whiting

Last spring, a wild turkey hen incubated her eggs for twenty-eight days. When they hatched, she scrambled to keep up with them. Poults to scientific literature. Babies to her. She didn't need to teach them to scratch for bugs—they came with that instinct. Nighttimes during their first four weeks, ...

Read more: Seasons in a Wild Turkey Hen's Life

 

 

 

Lesson in Subtext

by

Joy Manné and Karen Barr

Roles

Teacher – Karen Barr

Student – Joy Manné

Teacher

WELCOME TO WEEK 8 OF SUBTEXT.

There is no word count, but the challenge is to get all ten types of subtext in as few words as possible. Here they are:

Show don’t...

Read more: Lesson in Subtext

 

 

 

Teenage Escape Plan

by

Danielle Dayney

I woke to warm, gooey air smothering me even though the ceiling fan was spinning on high. Dangling lightpulls smacked and banged the glass globe with each rotation of the blades. The base of the fan swayed and groaned, ready to jump from its screws in the drywall any second.

...

Read more: Teenage Escape Plan

 

 

 

Miracle Baby

by

Harry C. Hobbs

The mother and father watched as the sun rose on a cold morning in February 1945, wondering if their four-month-old son had lived through the night. Could miracles really happen? Perhaps this child they had wanted so badly wanted wasn’t meant to survive. His mother was a month past her...

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Ylva the Úlfr

by

Cynthia Reed

When I flew to California in September, the golden archipelago summer, verdant below and mazarine above, still held sway. Twenty-three days and eleven thousand two hundred and forty miles later, if you’d sat here with me on the back deck this afternoon--you’d know, too--autumn now envelopes Sweden in...

Read more: Ylva the Úlfr

 

 

 

Thank You, My Tech Friend

by

Louise E. Sawyer




Thank you, my tech friend,
pretty with back dressed in rose gold
practical with front framed...

Read more: Thank You, My Tech Friend

 

 

 

What Is Not Said

by

Enza Vynn-Cara




Why do you speak and say nothing?
Say everything when you’re silent?
Am I to...

Read more: What Is Not Said

 

 

 

Ups and Downs

by

Enza Vynn-Cara




Up there
inside the tower
with the air filters on the roof
you watch the...

Read more: Ups and Downs

 

 

 

Telemarketers

by

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs





those evil scourges of civilization
call morning, noon and night,
harass me every day
...

Read more: Telemarketers

 

 

 

Oceanography

by

Wynelda Ann Deaver





Ocean holds secrets close. Millions, trillion, gazillions of droplets mixed with millions, trillions and...

Read more: Oceanography

 

 

 

Mystery Man

by

Leona Pence



I once met a man from a far distant land, so handsome and charming...

Read more: Mystery Man

 

 

 

Minotaur

by

Joy Manné

 

Two children, girl and boy,

progeny of servants of King Minos,

...

Read more: Minotaur

 

 

 

Lullaby for a Lost Child

by

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs




I

I feel you kick under my heart,
soon my special angel child,
I...

Read more: Lullaby for a Lost Child

 

 

 

Look Up

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh





Stand back and look up. Do you see it? Do you?
Alice's rabbit checking...

Read more: Look Up

 

 

 

I'll be a Poet

by

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs





I’ll take my pen in hand

crystallize thoughts into ideas
paint magic with...

Read more: I'll be a Poet

 

 

 

Give Me The Wings Of An Angel

by

Leona Pence





Give me the wings of an angel
To lift me above worldly things
Give...

Read more: Give Me The Wings Of An Angel

 

 

 

Flashing Lights

by

Leona Pence




(My songwriting attempt)


I want to see all the lights upon a flashing...

Read more: Flashing Lights

 

 

 

Eidolon’s Wind Chimes

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh





I miss our disagreements, laughter and silent times.

Memories of listening to your...

Read more: Eidolon’s Wind Chimes

 

 

 

Don’t Piss Off (or on) a Yard Gnome

by

Leona Pence

Prose poem: This one was inspired by the poet’s dogs, Jax and Luna.


I cringed...

Read more: Don’t Piss Off (or on) a Yard Gnome

 

 

 

Do You Remember, AJ?

by

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs





June 30, 1967, we met on Parliament Hill,
listened to the Centennial music gala,
...

Read more: Do You Remember, AJ?

 

 

 

Deacon Knox Young is Turning One!

by

Leona Pence



 

Everybody’s gonna have some fun.
Aunt Peggy, Uncle Kris, Sydney...

Read more: Deacon Knox Young is Turning One!

 

 

 

Daddy Dearest

by

Enza Vynn-Cara




Today, I saw you for the first time, without disguise, nestled in the corner where...

Read more: Daddy Dearest

 

 

 

Boardwalk Excursion

by

Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs




sunlight diamonds glitter on the lake,
blind me until I don sunglasses,
warm summer...

Read more: Boardwalk Excursion

 

 

 

Late Summer

by

Debbie Noland

The winner of the April 2019 Poetry Contest!

  
Summer gasps its last hot breaths,
panting...

Read more: Late Summer

 

 

 

Teenage Turmoil - (Aged 16)

by

Miss Natalie Sackstein.

Part of the series: #1 THREE AGES OF WOMAN

TEENAGE TURMOIL
by (Aged 16)

My mind is but...

Read more: Teenage Turmoil - (Aged 16)

 

 

 

Frustration - (Aged 28)

by

Mrs. Natalie Liknaitzky

Part of the series: #2 THREE AGES OF WOMAN


FRUSTRATION
BY (Aged 28)

Creation stifled. Each...

Read more: Frustration - (Aged 28)

 

 

 

Multipotentailite - (Aged 80)

by

Natalie Knight

Part of the series: #3 THREE AGES OF WOMAN.

MULTIPOTENTAILITE
(Inspired by Lydia Davis to write...

Read more: Multipotentailite - (Aged 80)

 

 

 

By Late Winter

by

Brigitte Whiting


My unfinished deck waits beneath two feet of snow.
The driveway is one long strip of ice,
and...

Read more: By Late Winter

 

 

 

Joy Crawls Out Of Her Bag

by

Louise Sawyer




In memoriam of Joy, my animal companion, who died January 9, 2018.

Joy crawls out of her sleeping bag,
...

Read more: Joy Crawls Out Of Her Bag

 

 

 

Cyber Sisters

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs

we meet in online classes,
strangers in cyber space,
we share
a love of poetry,
a desire...

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Winter Ballet

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs




snowflakes swirl in a dance
hurl themselves against the window
pine trees rock branches to and fro,
gently, then furiously
...

Read more: Winter Ballet

 

 

 

Computers and Catspeak

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs


I move the mouse
over the pad
type in password

mouse?
did I hear the word mouse?
where...

Read more: Computers and Catspeak

 

 

 

A Soldier’s Letter Home – A Found Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs



Based on letters by Private George Walker, written June 12, 1918-July 17, 1918

I got your letter just about lights...

Read more: A Soldier’s Letter Home – A Found Poem

 

 

 

Ottawa Reverie

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs



As I leaf through my manuscript of Ottawa poems, “In the Shadow of the Tower,” I decide to check...

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Get Out the Penitentiary

by

Albert Orejuela

More Details...

 

 

 

Tulips or Three?

by

Albert Orejuela

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Rock and Roll

by

Albert Orejuela

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Garden of Hearts

by

Albert Orejuela

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Evil Eye-pad

by

Albert Orejuela

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Portrait of Solitude

by

Albert Orejuela

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Break Time

by

RJ Hembree

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Colors

by

Maggie Fieland

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Wild Horses with the Snow Covered Mountains

by

RJ Hembree

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Color Cubes

by

Maggie Fieland

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Rest

by

Albert Orejuela

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Camera Smile

by

RJ Hembree

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To Relax Wild Horses Before a Photo Shoot, I Find it Helpful to Tell a Couple of Jokes

by

RJ Hembree

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First Step

by

Karen Barr

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Orchid Alone

by

Albert Orejuela

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Veg 2

by

Maggie Fieland

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All Along the Watchtower

by

RJ Hembree

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Ham

by

Karen Barr

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Winter

by

Maggie Fieland

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Backlit Great White Egret

by

RJ Hembree

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White Lightning

by

Karen Barr

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Wild Horses

by

RJ Hembree

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Cow Gossip

by

Karen Barr

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Cooper's Town

by

Albert Orejuela

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