The Worrying Whys Within by Sarah Rahman |
| Destined To Be by Jonathan Anthony Burkett |
Collection of Haikus By Tanja Cilia |
| Words Running Free |
| Art by Mj Gillot |
The worrying whys still haunt my mind And the Acherontic aura surrounds me Neither letting me live nor letting me die The story still confounds me Had it been the Divine play or the Tempter’s little game The miraculous reality of my life or a hallucinating dream frame Had it been a pure devotion or an infatuation ended with time Had it been my fault or yours masterminded sweet crime If I had several flaws and never let you feel mine What made you love me then before choosing to decline If you had been the one alone to give up and give in What would you call the stances when I never treated your lies as sins If faith was all you had in me, and the affection would have been true How come you placed false blames on me been based on reasons untrue And now when we have separate ways to follow and pursue All I need is a justifiable reply for all the questions from you Since, worrying whys still haunt my mind While, the answers to the questions I try to find. |
| Starting with the Letter "A" A baby’s laughter Like the peal of angel bells Strengthens the spirit. A blaze of colour... Weeds along the wayside grow – Lowly, lovely, gems. A bolt from the blue; A hailstorm in the desert The day I met you A box of crayons Colours painting emotions; Kaleidoscopic! A bridge to nowhere; A long and serpentine path; I'd rather stay here. A farmer plants crops Hoping for a blessed yield Floods and drought destroy. A fly’s a nuisance A frog could be Prince Charming – Foxes are so sly! A fountain of peace A source of inspiration; When babies chuckle. A fresh breeze blowing Kites pulling against their strings - Freedom would doom them... A glacier’s thawing, A pond freezing into ice Balance of nature. A glass that’s half full Carries much more promise than One that’s half empty. A glimmer of hope, A lifeline to sanity – Smiles and hugs from friends A heart that's broken May not want to be chosen To love someone new A horse pulls at his reins; Child rebels because of rules – Both have to obey. A journey through life Has false starts and many stops Along the way. A knock at the door Ends all the expectation – Will it be bad news? A lightening bolt flash A glimpse of the horizon A moment in time. A lonely whelk cries At the bottom of the sea No one sees – or cares. A picture of peace Arms folded and eyes shut tight Yet my mind’s frantic. A shaft of sunlight Peeking through the closed shutters - To prove hope exists. A string of diamonds... Dewdrops on the spiders’ webs... Equally precious. A toddler’s giggle; An echo of a blessing, A picture of hope. A veil of silence Covers me like a shroud I feel so lonely. A warm hug is salve When nothing else will suffice To heal the heart's wound A withered leaf falls And is borne by the current To the Great Unknown Alone with my thoughts Clouds threaten to engulf me My sun is no more An army of ants Acts in perfect unison – Wills and souls stifled. Anchovies, salt cod; Breaded plaice and fish fingers – Do you call these fish? Ancient memories Scented petals of a rose - Decayed and mouldy. Angels chant off-key, Plucking harps way out of tune – Un-heavenly choir! Angels without wings Exist – if you care to look Closely at people. Another Missed Call; Strands of doubt entwine my soul; Is this a signal? Ant struggles uphill Lugging a load so heavy; For the common good. Appearances lie; Rivers flowing down mountains Roll over debris. Apple pies baking... Myriad smells of a household... Dog needs to be washed. Apples and cherries Can taste sharp although they're sweet The nuances of my life. Are still waters deep? Is philosophy shallow? Who cares, anyway? Arrow speeds so true Wounded deer lies down to die What price venison? Artificial smiles False bonhomie and handshakes Harbour hidden hate. As I turn the page The Book of Life reveals more Than I want to know! As if in a dream, A scent brings memories back; Pain and tears return. As plain as the day, When the saucers match the plates, Chipped mugs are thrown out. As time trickles by, I count the days, the hours Till we meet again. Autumn is my life. Not quite spring, not quite summer. But never winter. Autumn leaves wafting Without a care in the world Making golden rain Autumn’s bare branches Will be green again come spring – If spared by winter. Avalanche of fear; Tonnes of snow choke all my plans – Cold freezes my dreams. |
In every journey there is meaning
Following growth and understanding
Though every now and then, an individual
Feels as if that predicament has no significance
Along my voyage in life
I have come across dilemma and uncertainty
Feeling Skeptical of whether or not
I was destined to
Desiring now a change in my existence
A new course in life
I have chosen to take
For I wish to no longer, live my life unfaithfully
Repenting for my sins
Taking the time to replenish
To confirm to myself
I was destined to be
Self-reliant in my goals and dreams
I’ve chosen to be, for in life
There is only one which, I can trust and depend on
To be there for me
Respectful, unto others
I’ve chosen to become
No matter the companionship
Others show unto me
On a new course in life, I must now go
Finding prosperity, and not destruction
Finding fellowship, and not revulsion
Finding brightness, and not darkness
Thinking right, and not wrong
And giving love instead of dreadfulness
A change in my life
We will now all see
To show, through all
I was destined to be
Following growth and understanding
Though every now and then, an individual
Feels as if that predicament has no significance
Along my voyage in life
I have come across dilemma and uncertainty
Feeling Skeptical of whether or not
I was destined to
Desiring now a change in my existence
A new course in life
I have chosen to take
For I wish to no longer, live my life unfaithfully
Repenting for my sins
Taking the time to replenish
To confirm to myself
I was destined to be
Self-reliant in my goals and dreams
I’ve chosen to be, for in life
There is only one which, I can trust and depend on
To be there for me
Respectful, unto others
I’ve chosen to become
No matter the companionship
Others show unto me
On a new course in life, I must now go
Finding prosperity, and not destruction
Finding fellowship, and not revulsion
Finding brightness, and not darkness
Thinking right, and not wrong
And giving love instead of dreadfulness
A change in my life
We will now all see
To show, through all
I was destined to be
Road Blocks in Life by Jonathan Anthony Burkett |
Showered by negative thoughts
For many nights and days
Sickness and a mind to take my own life
Then troubled me
Giving me the impression
There was no way out
Experiencing emptiness, with many doubts in my time
Along with being told, my existence was an error
My dreams now
Are at a roadblock
Challenges, Adversity, and people telling me to give
up
Then came to my side, having me to believe
There was no way out
Don’t let worry trouble your life
Was then told to me
For faith and obedience to God’s words
Shall take you through
Roadblocks in life
Are one of the things, that, the enemy brings
To keep your dreams from taking root and being
fulfilled
Take action and believe
That the roadblocks in life
Will be opened, by our Father God
So give thanks, even when you don’t have
Trust and obey, even when you’re feeling
No more blessings is coming your way
For our Father God
Works, in many ways
As the year draws to its end, and
Darkness is reluctant to release the
World, I am pleasantly haunted by
Glowing specters of Christmas past.
I remember finding the tractor and
Train I could climb aboard and ride
Below a tree dotted in constellations
Of ornaments and electric lights.
Sacred carols and the succulent aroma
Of roasting turkey wafted palpably on
The air as Dad shared valuable time
With me as I played with the toys.
Years later, those toys are gone and so
Is Dad. I discover a new constellation
On a new tree and my daughters sing
Familiar carols as the turkey cooks.
Love and laughter are permanent,
It’s only the voices that change.
| Ghosts of Christmas Past by David Lee Summers |
Lumps of Coal by David Lee Summers |
The Refuge
by David Lee Summers
When I am with you, I enter a refuge
Where brave and noble unicorns still
Fight for young women’s honor,
And proud, yet graceful dragons
Soar overhead, majestic and respected.
Though vampires lurk in the shadows,
We revel in the warmth of sunlight.
Though this refuge may seem fantastic,
I do not see myself a brave, armored
Knight, nor you a winsome lass. Rather,
You are the wise and buxom gal who
Loves the scruffy, kindhearted lad –
The couple everyone really roots for
And wishes they could be.
first published in Möbius: The Poetry
Magazine (USA)
by David Lee Summers
When I am with you, I enter a refuge
Where brave and noble unicorns still
Fight for young women’s honor,
And proud, yet graceful dragons
Soar overhead, majestic and respected.
Though vampires lurk in the shadows,
We revel in the warmth of sunlight.
Though this refuge may seem fantastic,
I do not see myself a brave, armored
Knight, nor you a winsome lass. Rather,
You are the wise and buxom gal who
Loves the scruffy, kindhearted lad –
The couple everyone really roots for
And wishes they could be.
first published in Möbius: The Poetry
Magazine (USA)
Bituminous coal before the flame –
swart, soft, and smoldering.
The two of us lie awake, hands reaching toward
one another in a room shrouded in shades of blue
and black with just a little sparkle as moonlight
drifts lazily through ice crystals on the window.
Sleepily we gravitate toward one another in
passionless silence, desperate to be together
for a short time, yet desperate to be quiet
lest the children wake, hear, and disturb us.
Bituminous coal after the flame –
murky, messy, and muffled.
first published in The Ink Spot (USA)
| GOODBYE |
I’ve been saying “Goodbye” a lot lately. To the people and things that led me through the maze of life. The gentle hands that caressed my back though the river of change. And shaped me from the boy in the forest to the man in the world. I’ve been saying “Goodbye” a lot lately. To the ideas of youth that I was invincible, only to find I was human. To the anger of inhumanity that I could not change but fought to anyway. And to my thoughts like writings on a Mayan wall. Once thought of as brilliant only to be dismissed over decades as the rantings of history. I’ve been saying “Goodbye” a lot lately. To the parade of passionate beautiful woman who have loved me. The perfume of their essence remains in my heart as blood flows through it. And the gifts of their time and passion that fulfilled me like water in the desert of life. The humanity I share is the calming part of the river of life that they gave me. I’ve been saying “Goodbye” a lot lately. To the people who took me from being the small boy in a school yard in England To the multitude of rooms that make up the mansion of life that is mine alone. Leading me through the treacherous river of life, guiding me in the white water. Only to lead others through their white water days. I’ve been saying “Goodbye” a lot lately. To my journey of life on the river and the many who have shared my raft. From the pain, laughter, caring and guidance, I have learned a lot And now hand it off to the next band of rafters for their journey. For now I’m saying “Hello” to the possibilities of the future Not so much my future but the seeds I have planted in the minds and hearts of those I’ve loved From the pre-school ballerina who battles in the Operating room daily To the little league home run king who protects us from ourselves. And the beauty that each one gives the world everyday. Morgan Lawrence |
| If we all joined hands |
| If we all joined hands and formed a large circle If we all joined hands and smiled at each other What a huge circle it would be you would not believe your eyes Forming one large ring of each sister and each brother Living together and understanding our strengths and differences you see Would help make the world a better place to live in for you and for me If we all joined hands and looked into each other’s faces Smiled and hugged our neighbors who came from different places What a huge ring of love and hope this would be and how far around it would go A never-ending circle of goodness and kindness for the entire world to know If we all joined hands and tried to understand one another Wouldn’t that be great if did not use hate against each other Instead we would all pray that one day we could live in a world you know Free of strife, wars and dissention and people that whose understanding would grow To see the world as it really is with so many people in it who care To join their hands and show that our world is special beyond compare. If It Could Only Happen: I Don’t Think So By Fran Lewis |
| Ode to the Bard © December 2006 by Linda J. Pedley T'was the day of the party and all through my mind no ideas were stirring, my words were not kind. The platter of fruit all ready to bring Alexis said bells on her toes were to ring I could not for the life of me think of a poem At work...I could not...so early went home. I cried to myself...oh, woe...what to say without seeming to copy or risk a cliché I sprang from my desk and went to the shelf somewhere I recall I wrote something myself. The topic escapes me...I remember not rhyme But I know I put it safe to read at some time. Distracted again I dropped the fruit platter No words were to come...so what did it matter? I just will not go as I have nothing to share I know they'd be kind because they all care. And with everyone's life as busy as mine My excuses and reasons would all be just fine. I and my glass had just settled in when all of a sudden there arose such a din... I tried to ignore it...and covered my face... “I don't want to go...now get out of my place!” Then what to my reddened eyes should appear!!! But a bard dressed in red...and elf named 'Shakespeare' He smiled so kind and shook his fair head My sigh of relief...as these words he said: “Wherefore art words? Fear not my dear writer take to heart this advice; don't give up...be a fighter. If thou'd not leave task until the last minute wealth of great wisdom increases within it. Be ever aware...be always ready composition is sure...certain...if steady. Stay calm...don't lose focus...force no t the ink Let words wander freely from whence forth as you think... Although reasoned in mind...create with your heart Your words are your soul...their essence ~an art.” With a wink and a sip from my glass he was gone But tomorrow and tomorrow his words shall live on. So whenever my muse seems lost in the pace I smile and think upon his smiling face Life is our muse, good and bad...day and night What we write we can live...because we live what we write |
Some Moments
Some moments I am locked in the
embrace of a new day
taking care of old business...
and it seems like it was yesterday.
Some yesterdays come back to haunt
reminding me that lessons learned are
being revised
and sometimes taunt ~ then it seems I let
them go
and continue on with the day.
Some days it feels as if you were never
gone
and I come home with school-girl
anticipation
then suddenly...am overcome with tears.
Some tears just threaten trying to
dislodge my independent demeanor
while others shake it wildly from its
moorings ~
...then tears and fears get the best of me.
Some fears are honest yet self-absorbed
as they threaten not my physical being
but soak my soul with doubt.
Some doubts are unfounded as I
remember your words
reassurance encouraging me to hang in
there ~
continue on to aspirations and dreams.
Some dreams come true.
...they carry our hearts on to our goals.
Some dreams don't.
...and they weigh upon our souls.
and I realize...
that is the choice of some moments.
Linda J. Pedley © 2007
Some moments I am locked in the
embrace of a new day
taking care of old business...
and it seems like it was yesterday.
Some yesterdays come back to haunt
reminding me that lessons learned are
being revised
and sometimes taunt ~ then it seems I let
them go
and continue on with the day.
Some days it feels as if you were never
gone
and I come home with school-girl
anticipation
then suddenly...am overcome with tears.
Some tears just threaten trying to
dislodge my independent demeanor
while others shake it wildly from its
moorings ~
...then tears and fears get the best of me.
Some fears are honest yet self-absorbed
as they threaten not my physical being
but soak my soul with doubt.
Some doubts are unfounded as I
remember your words
reassurance encouraging me to hang in
there ~
continue on to aspirations and dreams.
Some dreams come true.
...they carry our hearts on to our goals.
Some dreams don't.
...and they weigh upon our souls.
and I realize...
that is the choice of some moments.
Linda J. Pedley © 2007
| Our First by Jeanne Ripley |
It's our first Christmas and I feel no rough edges
spruce needles linger on our ten-foot tree that fills
the centre of our room.
You have accepted my love for this season
red and green lights mask the darkness in your eyes,
the shadow in your smile.
For now, we act as if we have no scars
and simply return to our original skin-
like virgin wool: unbleached, in season
and ready to be weaved.
Santa is in town, he brings surprises
all around, presents wrapped in body hugs
tied in ribbons of joy, tagged with your scent.
I want nothing new ... only the feel of you.
| Write A Song by Jeanne Ripley |
I am yours. You move to my heartbeat,
weave our words from bated breath into
the songs and poems of our history.
Create a stage of mystery.
Your scent is my potion. You…
my passion. Let me write a song with
red-ribbon words. Pain stuffed with bliss.
Eyes blurred in the pounding rain, your
hand reaches for mine.
Tomorrow is all there is. We walk
together to harvest the juicy, drooling
chemistry. It is our time to dance. You
take my hand.
Colors swoon, create a rainbow melody,
a cloudless sky. Will you pull the arrow
back or let it fly? It’s time to say
good-bye to guesses. I have already
said yes.
Bring me recognition, a rare white smile
in your eyes…
this is the day of bulging red hearts and
fire.
| Taking Wings A Poetry Session with Poet Jeanne Ripley |
Tips For Writing Inspirational Poetry
If you have been trying to write poems and
sense they lack substance, it may be that
you need to go deeper into your experience.
Does this resonate for you? If so, read below
for more. As you know, writing poetry
requires each word to count. It is often
difficult to find the balance of enough words
so that we connect with the reader but not
having so many words that the reader loses
interest.
When I was writing for my first book, Wings to
Fly, I threw away several poems because I
realized that I didn’t have passion or a focus.
I believe that when we draw from a deeper
well of passion, ideas and words flow easier.
I asked myself: Why am I not writing about
what is central to my life? When I did that, my
focus became spiritual growth : the
crossroads where science and spirituality
meet.
It also helped me to write from a photograph.
If you take a look at the sneak preview of
Wings to Fly at www.jeanneripley.blogspot.
com the first poem is called Choices. It’s also
the first poem in the book.
We want to write so that the reader is drawn
into the poem and can relate it to her/his own
life experience but not make it so narrow that
most people cannot find themselves within
the message.
Have a read and tell me what you think. Did
you see yourself and your own story in the
space of the poem and photograph? Would
you like to share what that story is: a
breakup of a relationship, an illness?
(Please click to complete your Session.
Ms Ripley is expecting you.)
Danger Song
Into your black ash eyes I stare.
Dark nothingness and foreboding
Are my friends and foes.
Staring back are your enemies of delight.
We shall dance in your liquid night.
You are my companion in this moment.
I shall forever be your slave.
Once this second’s age has passed;
I know not how I’ve lasted
Without this fear of life.
Each tick quickens and then it’s gone;
The day you and I danced this danger
song.
Natalie Williams
www.natalie-williams.com
Natalie writes:
I am of African/Irish ethnicity and was
born in 1981 in Harare, Zimbabwe and
lived a life immersed in creative activity,
from music, singing training, creative
writing, school newspaper production and
editing and acting. I won an Honours
Eistedford award for my poem 'The
Thicket and The Musgrove' at the age of
nine with various other poems/stories
printed in local newspapers and
magazines. Writing is my passion, finding
inspiration by dark fantasy, story telling
and poetry, and continues to develop
ideas formed by simplicity and warmed to
readiness with imagination.
Into your black ash eyes I stare.
Dark nothingness and foreboding
Are my friends and foes.
Staring back are your enemies of delight.
We shall dance in your liquid night.
You are my companion in this moment.
I shall forever be your slave.
Once this second’s age has passed;
I know not how I’ve lasted
Without this fear of life.
Each tick quickens and then it’s gone;
The day you and I danced this danger
song.
Natalie Williams
www.natalie-williams.com
Natalie writes:
I am of African/Irish ethnicity and was
born in 1981 in Harare, Zimbabwe and
lived a life immersed in creative activity,
from music, singing training, creative
writing, school newspaper production and
editing and acting. I won an Honours
Eistedford award for my poem 'The
Thicket and The Musgrove' at the age of
nine with various other poems/stories
printed in local newspapers and
magazines. Writing is my passion, finding
inspiration by dark fantasy, story telling
and poetry, and continues to develop
ideas formed by simplicity and warmed to
readiness with imagination.
Ground and Mortar
by Natalie Williams
Underneath the ground and mortar
They say the chiefs’ bloods been spilled
And inside the flowing water
Every victory and defeat was willed
by Natalie Williams
Underneath the ground and mortar
They say the chiefs’ bloods been spilled
And inside the flowing water
Every victory and defeat was willed
The People
by Natalie Williams
They are calling down the river,
Down the wakes and bends
They are banging down the oceans
Lying in the forest floor
They are drumming in the mountains
Sending down the echo’s prayer
They are looking for beginning
Where the ending was born
by Natalie Williams
They are calling down the river,
Down the wakes and bends
They are banging down the oceans
Lying in the forest floor
They are drumming in the mountains
Sending down the echo’s prayer
They are looking for beginning
Where the ending was born
Cream Tears
by Natalie Williams
She pastes on her finery
Plastic hose and diamond white
She is the night
Her pearls are cream tears
Sugared by her losses
She glosses over
She's trapped in the mirror
Can you hear her?
She’s breaking a liquid turn
by Natalie Williams
She pastes on her finery
Plastic hose and diamond white
She is the night
Her pearls are cream tears
Sugared by her losses
She glosses over
She's trapped in the mirror
Can you hear her?
She’s breaking a liquid turn
by Katherine Soniat The title poem from her fifth collection coming out from Louisiana State University Press. |
Where Does the Day Go?
Where does the day go?
Over the rise and into the valley
to hide in a little known hollow?
It brings
the sun, the rain, the cloud
the wind, the calm, the light
but where does it go
when the sun sleeps, the birds no longer sing?
Does it go in search of more light,
more joy, more magic?
Does it go down to the bottom of the sea
to pick up color, bubbles and beauty?
Does it travel to distant lands
where the Unicorns live, the fireflies frolic?
It brings us happiness, laughter, enchantment, song
but where does it go
when we lay our head to rest, when puppies sleep?
I wish to be a feather on its wing
to take the trails un-travelled
Then I could know, (I could tell you too)
where the day goes
I envision a flight of longest hour
taking but moments to fulfill
I envision a journey of excitement and joy
answers to life’s little mysteries
I envision a scene; gathering bits of illusion
to which we can add some ‘real’
Where does the day go?
I’m sure it’s all of these places
I feel certain it’s magical somehow
So don’t be sad when the day goes
It returns heavy laden
with gifts and blessings aplenty
It returns with a smile,
ready to drop in our life
which we can keep and hold close
and know there will be yet another
March 05/08
grace carr
Where does the day go?
Over the rise and into the valley
to hide in a little known hollow?
It brings
the sun, the rain, the cloud
the wind, the calm, the light
but where does it go
when the sun sleeps, the birds no longer sing?
Does it go in search of more light,
more joy, more magic?
Does it go down to the bottom of the sea
to pick up color, bubbles and beauty?
Does it travel to distant lands
where the Unicorns live, the fireflies frolic?
It brings us happiness, laughter, enchantment, song
but where does it go
when we lay our head to rest, when puppies sleep?
I wish to be a feather on its wing
to take the trails un-travelled
Then I could know, (I could tell you too)
where the day goes
I envision a flight of longest hour
taking but moments to fulfill
I envision a journey of excitement and joy
answers to life’s little mysteries
I envision a scene; gathering bits of illusion
to which we can add some ‘real’
Where does the day go?
I’m sure it’s all of these places
I feel certain it’s magical somehow
So don’t be sad when the day goes
It returns heavy laden
with gifts and blessings aplenty
It returns with a smile,
ready to drop in our life
which we can keep and hold close
and know there will be yet another
March 05/08
grace carr
Our Stay
By M. J. Gillot
We arrive in cardboard shipping crates,
having no immediate plans to emerge.
Collectively giggling, we peek and peep
through un-square openings,
our tiny fortresses rocking and trembling
in dew-drenched grass.
Inside, in crayon colors, we scrawl
our inventions from within,
our observations from without,
Frenzied at first, then slowing
as the walls fill up. And we read a bit,
perhaps out loud to each other.
But the grass: that wet, wet grass−
how it ruins our fine, square floors!
The chill of the ground distracts us.
Our crayons, and even some of our
words get broken and lost.
And have we grown, too? We feel so cramped,
so confined,
and for the first time
we hear
the sun
beckoning.
By M. J. Gillot
We arrive in cardboard shipping crates,
having no immediate plans to emerge.
Collectively giggling, we peek and peep
through un-square openings,
our tiny fortresses rocking and trembling
in dew-drenched grass.
Inside, in crayon colors, we scrawl
our inventions from within,
our observations from without,
Frenzied at first, then slowing
as the walls fill up. And we read a bit,
perhaps out loud to each other.
But the grass: that wet, wet grass−
how it ruins our fine, square floors!
The chill of the ground distracts us.
Our crayons, and even some of our
words get broken and lost.
And have we grown, too? We feel so cramped,
so confined,
and for the first time
we hear
the sun
beckoning.
YOU ARE LEAVING
by Ibrahim Honjo
I offer you my arms
You are surprised
I give you two eyes
You become fascinated
We dance waltz
Through the stale air of verses
You float blindly
We stop behind endless greenery
You enter someone else’s door
You jump over ancient fences
You leave
You come back
I look at what is happening
Unexpectedly and passing by
You stand on my foot
And talk about fashion of the nineties
The smell of naphthalene in my nose
You are talking about the latest fashion trend
You are going away
My stretched-out arms are hanging in disappointment
Hugging empty space
Bon voyage
by Ibrahim Honjo
I offer you my arms
You are surprised
I give you two eyes
You become fascinated
We dance waltz
Through the stale air of verses
You float blindly
We stop behind endless greenery
You enter someone else’s door
You jump over ancient fences
You leave
You come back
I look at what is happening
Unexpectedly and passing by
You stand on my foot
And talk about fashion of the nineties
The smell of naphthalene in my nose
You are talking about the latest fashion trend
You are going away
My stretched-out arms are hanging in disappointment
Hugging empty space
Bon voyage
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| A Gift for Robin Falls |