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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.


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


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

 


 

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 as Jax and Luna sped out the door to do their favorite things. Jax promptly hiked his leg and pissed all over me while Luna dug, flinging dirt until Quark was covered in mud. Little did they know their reign of terror would soon cease.

A yard gnome, such as I, received magical powers at the crack of midnight when a full moon rose in the sky. We had one hour to get those freaking dogs outside at the appointed time.

“Psssssssst, Snark. Are you sure this will work?”

“Yes, if you do your part. Don’t let me down. Two more nights of abuse, then we’ll have our revenge.”

“I can barely see with dirt in my eyes,”

“Well, I can barely breathe with piss all over me.”

Two more days and nights we suffered indignities from those hairy creatures. At ten pm the moon shone brightly, all was quiet in the house, but…now-- Quark was blubbering.

“I’m scared, Snark. If we fail, they’ll smash us to bits.”

“Is that worse than what we go through now? Just do what we planned.”

I felt my body quiver all over like nettles had been cast off. I could move! The magic hour was upon us. “Now, Quark. Make the keening sound that only the dogs will hear.” I laughed as the ruckus...

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,
fireworks illumed skies in rainbow colours,
the hands on the Peace Tower clock
slowly crept towards midnight
cheering of thousands drowned out the loudspeakers
as everyone sang the National Anthem: “Oh Canada,”
we strolled down the Sparks Street Mall,
watched sedate Ottawans jump in the fountains

do you remember when we attended the lecture
about Polish treasures at the National Art Gallery,
how we decided to leave by a side door
only to find we couldn’t get back in
because there were no handles on the doors?
we descended and descended stairs until
we found ourselves in a basement
with crates of paintings and the security guards
who hustled us out with great haste

you went to buy a pair of pantyhose,
came home with a green Morris Minor?
we explored all the shopping malls,
drove up to Kingsmere, looked for ghosts and ruins,
attended the outdoor concerts at Camp Fortune
strolled on the ski trails in the surrounding woods
drove up to Wakefield on Sundays for a beer

do you remember that night
we went to the Party Palace -- our second home --
for an ice cream cone and strawberry licorice swizzle sticks?
our tongues swirled around delicious chocolate,
we strolled over to the swings by St. Mark’s,
plunked ourselves down on the hard wooden seats,

do you remember how we talked of
our...

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 and Miller too,
Came to his party with gifts and food.
Oliver and Dexter howl in tune
Near the birthday boy in the middle of the room.

Kids are singing the birthday song,
Next to his mommy, Deacon claps along.
On to the packages wrapped so neat
Xtra ribbons to tangle with his feet.

Yellow balls and a car or two
Orange ducks he’ll share with you.
Up and down and round and round
No boy happier could be found.
Gramma and PaPa C are having fun,

('CAUSE DEACON KNOX YOUNG IS TURNING ONE!)
Happy, first birthday, Deacon.
From GG Leona with all my love.


Photo by Taylor and Holly Young. Deacon is their son.

 Leona Pence 2017


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: 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 the fire’s embers shimmer a slow curve against the wall, the newspaper on your lap, the purring Siamese at your feet, and your wrinkled face twisted and still in denial. The summer she went away, I cut my ponytail, put on her lipstick, and sat at your feet purring.

 

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: Daddy Dearest

 


 

Boardwalk Excursion

by Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs




sunlight diamonds glitter on the lake,
blind me until I don sunglasses,
warm summer zephyrs caress my cheeks,
gravel crunches under my feet
until I reach the planks of the Boardwalk

my sandals flip flop against the wood,
a pain gremlin stabs my knee, taunts me,
every bone in my body jolts when
I sit down on a pebbled concrete bench

I practise yoga breathing,
watch my abdomen rise and fall,
I struggle to continue my walk,
after five minutes I reach my destination

my name and my husband’s name
are charred into one of the boards,
I kneel down, feel stickiness from varnish,
trace the letters with a finger,
swear I can smell burnt wood

the gremlin attacks my other knee
I drag my cell phone from my pocket
punch in my husband’s number
I lean on the railing
enjoy the cool breeze off the lake

my husband parks the car,
I loop my arm through his,
limp over to the car,
the rubber mat obstructs my sandals
my expletives turn azure skies to cobalt

my body leans
into the velvety upholstery,
savour its softness
as I lean back the seat
and close my eyes

 

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...

Read more: Boardwalk Excursion

 


 

Late Summer

by Debbie Noland

The winner of the April 2019 Poetry Contest!

  
Summer gasps its last hot breaths,
panting on the edge of night.
Against dark curtains of the trees

the earliest leaves let go and drop,
float out like blackened paper bits
escaping from a neighbor’s fire.

Somewhere yonder near the lake
an angler wets a twilight hook
or maybe watches moonbeams glide
across a black floor, ripple-free.

Bio: Debbie Noland is a retired, Missouri college writing instructor. Her poetry collections are: Throw the Rock (2014), Touch a Cloud (2015), and Harvest the Stars (2018).  She wrote, The Legacy of Plywood U: History of State Fair Community College 1966-2002 (2002). She has published poems, essays, and short stories. Blog: Googie's Attic  FaceBook

Image by Goemedien on Pixabay
pixabay.com/photos/lake-water-brombachsee-sunset-tree-80780/ 

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 a troubled sea, as ever-changing as the tide,
As inconsistent as the moon... on restless wings my fancies ride.
My life is either night or day – either black or white,
Dusk and dawn aren’t long to stay, like a grey bird bent on flight.

At times life seems to be
As futile as a funeral fire
As it fiercely destroys the desolate dead
And consumes a corpse with its ire.

Yet through a precious kindly word or wishes of good luck,
As if on heaven’s holy harps the chords of Hope are struck.
And life seems like a radiant bride who stands with Hope in hand,
Asleep to the blackness of this life, in the whirl of her white wonderland

Such magic is ephemeral, exquisite ecstasy subdued,
Awakened soon to face this life now differently construed.
Soon I hear that shrill, sharp screech of the ghostly phantom Fear,
Devilish despair displaces Hope, with a satanic sneer.

Just like a fevered temperature I find emotions raging,
No amber – either red or green; extreme – and always changing.
I’ll search to find a calm, grey dusk, I’ll seek an amber dawn,
When volatile emotions calm, maturity is born.

END

Bio: Gallerist—Founder of Natalie Knight Gallery, Hyde Park, South Africa www.knightgalleries.net 

Feature writer, playwright, art curator, editor, researcher, and cultural historian.

Barmy Days- Play produced...

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 new thought conceived
Is quickly strangled. Still-born.
To be a mother – and nothing else?
Nagged and pestered – no free time?

And then a brief escape.
An idea begins again.
But in the middle there’s a wail.
Insistent, demanding my attention.
It must be satisfied.
The dummy is administered.
The bleeding knee mercurochromed.
The homework done, mouths fed, bodies washed, stories told,
Then all in bed…


Once again, there is a thought
Creation stirring in my mind.
But, oh, how bladders and childish thirsts
Again destroy the concentration,
The constant flow of water in and water out
Is then attended to.
Angelic smiles in devilish eyes
Promise obedience in goodnight prayers.
Will sleep at last descend on well-scrubbed, tired faces?

As hands rest once more on the elusive keys
And the brain begins reluctantly to think
Can any phrase exasperate a mother’s ear
more than ‘Mommy, mommy, please come here’?
‘Control yourself. You’re bigger. You can kill!
Would you murder what you have created!?’
Perhaps I should rejoice – they want me still,
The time may not be far away
When I will call –
And will my needs go unfulfilled?

END.

Bio: Gallerist—Founder of Natalie Knight Gallery, Hyde Park, South Africa
www.knightgalleries.net

NATALIE KNIGHT PRODUCTIONS C.C.
Member: N.G. Liknaitzky No. CK 95/42665/23

Feature writer, playwright, art curator, editor, researcher and cultural
...

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 a story from a word.)
BY (AGED 80)


A whole story about one word rather appalled me

But I was intrigued by a word that my had editor had called me.

It was a word I had never heard but it sounded alright.

The word she used to describe me is

Multi –potentialite.

Here is my story, successes, defeats
in iambic pentameters, limericks and beats.
Its more like a rap song, you’d hear on the streets.

A word becomes poem, a note becomes a song.
A step becomes a statement, two rights become a wrong.

The curving and swerving, changes and loss,
no fear of failure, no varnishing gloss,
The challenge has been to discover and glean
what in reality, does the word mean?

Can I explain it, in the parts that contain it?

I am tempted to Google, to help my thinking unwind
But limit myself to the words I can find
that are rushing like lighting -right here in my mind

These are the thoughts switched on in my brain
Are they limping cart horses, bogged down with key chain
or racing like champions, or a fast express train?

Don’t let these words, with no rhythm or rhyme
Be assessed or assembled by a doctor of mine
These wild streams of words from a subconscious state
May reveal far too much of my conscience or fate.


...

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 the whole white yard lies trackless.


A sunlit window whispers, look closer.
A spider crawls along the outside window frame,
struts, stretches, yawns, and tucks itself back
into a knot to sleep.


This poem was written in Free Verse.

Bio: Brigitte Whiting lives in Maine and often uses settings and experiences from her backyard in her writing. She has completed the Nonfiction MFA at WVU and is working toward her MFA Certificate in Fiction. Her stories and poems have been published in Village Square.

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,
Her little sleeping bag of fleece
And runs from me. She plays a gag.
She is very fast and such a tease!

Her little sleeping bag of fleece
With blue and purple flying fairies.
She is very fast and such a tease.
Are there such things as fairy cavies?

There are blue and purple fairies
On my Joy’s soft sleeping pouch.
Are there such things as fairy cavies
Who start running with a crouch?

My Joy is in her sleeping pouch.
She looks at me with cautious glee,
Beginning her run with a crouch,
She jumps out of the bag to flee.

She looks at me with cautious glee,
She runs into her sleeping bag
But she quickly jumps out to flee,
Playing a simple game of tag.

Running into her sleeping bag,
Joy, my precious guinea pig friend,
Finishes with her game of tag.
She is finally at the end.

Joy, my precious guinea pig friend,
Enjoys her wee evening massage
On my bed where she comes to an end.
I smile at my memory mirage.

Oh, if only Joy were alive,
Running from me, playing her gag.
I yearn today for a grief reprieve,
“Joy, please crawl out of your sleeping bag.”

NOTE: Cavy = a guinea pig

Written in a Pantoum form

Bio: Louise Sawyer lives on Vancouver Island and enjoys the ocean, evergreens, ...

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 to learn,
to practice our craft

we gradually
share our poems, quaking
at what comments will be written,
we are vulnerable,
expose our souls,
fear hurt

we learn to trust,
become colleagues,
we share highs, lows,
moments of joy,
times of sadness

we evolve into friends,
cyber sister poets

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

Read more: Cyber Sisters

 


 

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
wind moans
dashes snow against the deck
hurtles it through the fence

inside, ginger cat
tries to catch snowflakes
jumps back
when snow thunks on glass
he scuttles behind the chair
curls up against the hot air register


This is a duel-voice poem written by the poet and Farley Winston Furball

Bio:  Glenda (Glennis) Walker-Hobbs is a Canadian writer. A member of Word Weavers and Julia Cameron groups; she is a long-time member of WVU. 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: GlennisPoetry

Read more: Winter Ballet

 


 

-=> Click Here for More Poetry <=-

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...

Read more: Lost and Found

 

 

 

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...

Read more: One Hundred Yards

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Yearning - F2k WINNER!

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Flamenco

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Marbles

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Ruler of the House

 

 

 

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...

Read more: A Night in Fontana

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Swiftwater

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Seinfeld Moment

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Salvation

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

Road Trip

by

David Snyder

  The eight-year-old 1958 Chevy was purring along through rural Kansas with ease. Don smiled with pride. When it hit 180,000 miles he planned to celebrate with a smoke and an ice-cold Mountain Dew from the cooler.  It was a beautiful late April day with the sunny...

Read more: Road Trip

 

 

 

Why I’m Failing My Innovative Fiction Course

by

Ed Kratz

   

This is from an assignment in the Innovative Fiction Course taught by Karen

I'm just not making it in my innovative fiction course.
What is innovative fiction you might ask? Well, if you have to ask, I'd say you're one of those rubes...

Read more: Why I’m Failing My Innovative Fiction Course

 

 

 

Dear Don...

by

Ed Kratz

   

The Don, whose real name you do not want to know, ever, has vast experience solving problems. Our organization, Don’t Try to Find Us Press, never advocates violence. We take no responsibility for violent acts committed by those misinterpreting the Don’s recommendations.
Now for...

Read more: Dear Don...

 

 

 

Todd’s Miracle

by

Leslie

Todd shivered in the dark, seated cross-legged on the linoleum. Coats and dresses draped gently over his five-year-old shoulders. He flinched as a slit of bright light flashed through the space at the bottom of the door. Seconds later the deep, rolling rumble followed. “Mommy?”

Silence.

“Mommy?” ...

Read more: Todd’s Miracle

 

 

 

Mad Hatter Town Planners

by

Margaret Fieland

   

I fell down the rabbit hole straight into the town planning committee meeting. A large basin of Sangria sat in the middle of the scratched wood table in the center of the room, and a keg rested against the back wall. Al, Stan, and Art...

Read more: Mad Hatter Town Planners

 

 

 

Dinner at Grandma's

by

Lolla Bryant

You’re at Grandma’s house again for dinner.  As always, the family is gathered together and everybody’s trying to out-talk everybody else.   You ask yourself why you continue to go through this ordeal every week, but you know why; it’s Grandma.  Also, it’s a family tradition that brings you...

Read more: Dinner at Grandma's

 

 

 

Mommy’s Little Secret

by

Leslie

At age five, Amy told her mother that the thought of swimming scared her. Not surprisingly, her mother poo-pooed the idea, and said that fear showed weakness and stupidity. From then on, Amy said she hated swimming and never admitted any fear to her mother again. I don’t...

Read more: Mommy’s Little Secret

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Betrayal

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Absent But Present

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Miracle Baby

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Cyber Sisters

 

 

 

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...

Read more: Ottawa Reverie

 

 

 

The Room

by

rolly




I hear little drips the leaky faucet makes
amid violent silence of the passing night

how I long for that...

Read more: The Room

 

 

 

Speedy, My Reptilian Twin

by

Lina Sophia Rossi




The house seems different, quiet and empty
despite being filled with people, cats, and dogs.
No longer swishing or pitter-patter,
...

Read more: Speedy, My Reptilian Twin

 

 

 

Metaphorically Speaking

by

Lina Sophia Rossi




They say life is like a bowl of cherries
sweet, juicy, tasty. Watch out for the pits.
Isn’t that what...

Read more: Metaphorically Speaking

 

 

 

Ligature Ideations

by

Lina Sophia Rossi




From the doorjamb, staff had to cut her down,
now she was an amorphous, lifeless mound,
large form lying on...

Read more: Ligature Ideations

 

 

 

Never Sober, Always Arguing

by

Lina Sophia Rossi




Arguing chips away at my soul.
How can I feel half, when part of a whole?
Drink yet another beer, ...

Read more: Never Sober, Always Arguing

 

 

 

Your Call to Say Hi, Gone to Hell

by

Lina Sophia Rossi




Why call, then yell I interrupted?
To talk to you, gives me great displeasure.
My personal peace has been disrupted.
...

Read more: Your Call to Say Hi, Gone to Hell

 

 

 

Waiting for the Rain

by

Helen Rossiter



Mavis Bone with her face as crinkled as a brown paper bag sits quiet and still in the ancestor’s rocker, ...

Read more: Waiting for the Rain

 

 

 

Christmas Birds

by

Debbie Noland



Just above the power lines
that stretch along the road, the birds
on Christmas morning swarm, and then

at some...

Read more: Christmas Birds

 

 

 

Stragglers

by

Debbie Noland



Two pelicans left in the cove
this brisk November afternoon
must surely know it’s time to leave.

The dock marina...

Read more: Stragglers

 

 

 

San Luis Valley Sunshine

by

Frankie Colton




Summer sky azure
Thunderheads billow rain falls
Warm sunshine-filled days

Golden leaves falling
Fall breeze whispers winter comes
Crisp morning...

Read more: San Luis Valley Sunshine

 

 

 

Bathroom Ekphrastic

by

Debbie Noland



It’s dank and dark and dingy
in the old cabin bathroom.
The narrow steps stretch downward
with their cold, metal...

Read more: Bathroom Ekphrastic

 

 

 

Ice-Breaking Revisited

by

Christina Huizar



I met my love – my love was fair
His most chance word fascinating
His every move a mystery
I...

Read more: Ice-Breaking Revisited

 

 

 

Boardwalk Stroll – A Prose Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

My morning stroll leads me to the east end of Flinty’s Boardwalk by Del’s Cairn. A replica of ...

Read more: Boardwalk Stroll – A Prose Poem

 

 

 

Adventuring — An Unrhymed Heroic Couplet

by

Brigitte Whiting




I've been where no red squirr'l has gone before,
toheights and depths, despair. Until an opened...

Read more: Adventuring — An Unrhymed Heroic Couplet

 

 

 

Ode To A Poem

by

Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs)

you start as a blank screen
or a sheet of pristine paper,
words elude me, then
tantalize, taunt...

Read more: Ode To A Poem

 

 

 

The People’s Princess ~An Elegy

by

Louise Sawyer

There was a day never forgotten
When the world, including me, watched from afar
the fairytale wedding of...

Read more: The People’s Princess ~An Elegy

 

 

 

Crystalized Fog ~a Pastoral Poem

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh

Of cold air hitting a warmer ground
Yesterday ended in a rising fog
Or was it the other...

Read more: Crystalized Fog ~a Pastoral Poem

 

 

 

Elegy for Judy

by

Gerardine Gail Baugh


I try to hear her voice; its sound has faded.
I see her hair, shining dark, brushing her...

Read more: Elegy for Judy

 

 

 

Portrait of Solitude

by

Albert Orejuela

More Details...

 

 

 

Break Time

by

RJ Hembree

More Details...

 

 

 

Colors

by

Maggie Fieland

More Details...

 

 

 

Wild Horses with the Snow Covered Mountains

by

RJ Hembree

More Details...

 

 

 

Color Cubes

by

Maggie Fieland

More Details...

 

 

 

Rest

by

Albert Orejuela

More Details...

 

 

 

Camera Smile

by

RJ Hembree

More Details...

 

 

 

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

by

RJ Hembree

More Details...

 

 

 

First Step

by

Karen Barr

More Details...

 

 

 

Orchid Alone

by

Albert Orejuela

More Details...

 

 

 

Veg 2

by

Maggie Fieland

More Details...

 

 

 

All Along the Watchtower

by

RJ Hembree

More Details...

 

 

 

Ham

by

Karen Barr

More Details...

 

 

 

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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Along with the Sandhill Cranes, American Wigeons Filled the Sky

by

RJ Hembree

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Aleyne Desert

by

Maggie Fieland

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A Favorite Fishing Spot for the Ospreys

by

RJ Hembree

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Wearing a Coating of Ice

by

Gerardine (Gail) Baugh

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Long Way 'Til Spring

by

Brigitte Whiting

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