Tuesday, June 4, 2013

June 2013 Poetry Page






“All poetry is supposed to be instructive but in 
an unnoticeable manner; it is supposed to make us aware of what it would be valuable to instruct ourselves in; we must deduce the lesson 
on our own, just as with life."

- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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POEM OF THE MONTH




DREAMS ARE MADE OF THIS
by Floriana Hall


Moving into a mansion of spacious rooms
Exploring upstairs and downstairs scene
Waking to a small cozy bedroom
Seemed so real, but was only a dream.

Trying to keep up with family
Pushing babies in strollers so fast
While pets got tangled in bushes
What a fantastic, lovable cast!

Repeatedly dialing the same phone number
Not getting through to a voice for years
Lo and behold, someone answered
To say she understood any fears.

A bus or train chugging, rolling along
To some destination unknown
Finally back where it started
In a private, comfortable zone.

Bees buzzing overhead
Running away to escape
Like a nightmare so tragic
Thank God it was only fake.

Hidden faces under the lamplight
Who is it standing there?
What are they waiting for?
Why, it's only a dream, not a scare!

Tramp, stamp, hustle of footsteps
Following in the darkness
Hastening departures
Is part of the process, I guess.

Perhaps it was the squash
Or too much fatty meat
Wouldn't mind waking up
To a frothy chocolate treat!

Romantic dreams may seem the best
Although a lover has gone
At least they result in smiles
That last the whole day long.

Is this what dreams are made of?
It's really not so bad
When none cause daylight trauma
Is that the dream I had?


FLORIANA HALL was born in 1927 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is a Distinguished Graduate of Cuyahoga Falls High School, Ohio in June 1948, and attended Akron University. She is an author and poet of 17 inspirational books, nonfiction and poetry. All of her books are available on Amazon.com. She has five children, nine grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. She is the founder and coordinator of THE POET'S NOOK at Cuyahoga Falls Library. Contact Website Website





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BEGINNING
by Cheryl A. Van Beek


Laser beams split rocks
roared.
Light drenched the planet.
Crystal prisms and cubes
folded molecules in flaps
around treasure--
egg shaped geodes bearing quartz  
mirroring the dream of the world.
The sun stretched way down,
beaming through raindrops,
dipped its toes
into the rosy hollows
of rhodochrosite
wound the fire out of an opal,
melted yellow
from sulfur's frosted druzy
foraged green
from a field of malachite
swam in a grotto of azurite 
tapped indigo
from tanzanite's jagged prisms
pressed violet
from amethyst's glassy fingertips.

The sun juggled the bands of colors,
slid them up her arms like bangles
and rose.

She painted the colors across the sky.
It wasn't yet a rainbow,
but it was a start.


CHERYL A. VAN BEEK has had two poems published in Sandhill Review, a Saint Leo University publication and is a member of the Saint Leo Writers’ Circle. She has also written for a local newspaper. She is a caregiver for her mother and lives with her husband and two cats in Florida. Contact



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THE SONGBIRDS JOURNEY
by Susan Marie Davniero


Nearer Heaven and sky
Songbirds flutter by
Journey takes flight
Bird travelers’ plight

Lifted wings flew
To land they drew
Birds aloft are
Cometh from afar

Morning dawn clear
Turn a listening ear
Nature’s music rings
Hear Songbirds sings

Destiny gives way
Farther than today
For Songbirds yearn
Upon seasonal return

Where they sprung
Sweet songs unsung
Winged couriers flee
The Songbirds journey



SUSAN MARIE DAVNIERO is a published poet listed in "The Poet's Market 2011." She writes in traditional rhyme verse and has been published in various publications including Pancakes in Heaven, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Long Short Story, Great South Bay Magazine, Write On, The Poet's Art, Creations, Poetic Matrix, Pink Chameleon, Shemom, and others. She has also written essays and letters published in newspapers and magazines including the New York Times, Daily News, Newsday, Ladies Home Journal, and Saturday Evening Post. Her blog “Susan Marie” is her writing history. They don't know her; yet, by way of writing they might. She is never at a loss of words. She has found her place as a writer and a poet. With every poem published she is inspired to write more. Writing feeds her soul - literally food for thought. Contact



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LET US FORGET 
by James Piatt


Let us forget

War, and
Instead, listen to the guttural
Croaking of frogs in a pond
When the moon is high and
We are safely tucked in our beds:

Let us forget

Dissension, and
Instead, listen to the soft murmuring
Of ring necked doves cooing in the
Dew of the early morn as we stroll
Atop pine needles on a country path:

Let us forget

Death, and
Instead, listen to promises of
Gentle prayers wafting through
Tall pines in the balmy evening while
We swing together on our
Old wooden, swing.


JAMES PIATT earned his B.S. and M.A. from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU. He has had over 350 poems, 1 novel, 31 short stories, and seven essays published. Broken Publications published his book of poetry, ‘The Silent Pond’ in 2012. His novel, The Ideal Society was published in 2012 by Write Words Inc. Broken Publications will be publishing his poetry book, ‘Ancient Rhythms’ and his latest novel, The Monk, in early 2013. James was the featured poet in Word Catalyst Magazine in 2009, and Contemporary American Voices in 2010. Long Story Short selected one of his poems for the POEM OF THE MONTH in 2011 and 2012; Phati’tude Literary Magazine featured an interview with him in 2011. Contact






REFRESHING
by Barbara Irvin

The water sparkles.
It looks so deep, cool, and clean.
I long to dive in.



BARBARA IRVIN is just starting out in literary magazines. She has previously written for newspapers and newsletters. Contact

FILIAL DUTY
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones


The slight man in Birkenstocks
scoops up his father for his birthday,
96 today and they’re headed for the desert.

No women are allowed—
though his wife packed chocolate cupcakes
with a can of chocolate icing
in his backpack.

They’re doing their guy-thing:
low-end motels,
long walks in the dust,
letting their clothes get grungy
and cheeseburgers every night.

They’ve been celebrating Dad’s birthday
this way for many years.
Neither shows any sign of stopping.


PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES is a former psychology researcher and writer/editor with an interest in healing writing and the benefits of writing and reading work together. Widely published in poetry and nonfiction, she writes for the review department of Recovering the Self: a journal of hope and healing and has ten chapbooks of poetry. Contact 






WEATHER REPORT
by
Richard Schnap


Once my mind was an angry sky
A mad canopy spitting down drops
Of acid rain that seared my heart
And flooded my soul like a black sea
That swallowed my lifeboat of dreams

Then you came and the clouds lifted
And the sun emerged to dry my tears
While the wind from your lips parted
The waves until I stood again on land
Marveling at the rainbow in your eyes


RICHARD SCHNAP is a poet, songwriter and collagist living in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. His poems have most recently appeared locally, nationally and overseas in a variety of print and online publications. Contact




MILLIONS OF MEMORIES
by Jade Kolbo


If someone asks me what my favorite memory is
I won't know how to answer them
There are any number of memories to choose from

Moments of pure and inspiring happiness and joy

The time I landed my first lead theatre role
The time I accepted my first unpaid writing job

Moments of being completely proud and astonished

The time I said goodbye as my brother joined the Navy
The time I hiked to a cliff top with a group of twenty

Moments of hardship that made me stronger

The time I was bullied in junior high
The time I experienced endless school changes

So how can I choose and answer so complex a question
When I don't have a simple answer?



JADE KOLBO lives in Minnesota and studies Journalism at Concordia University. Contact 



~~~~~



UNDER THE WILLOW TREE
by Floriana Hall



Willow, Willow, Dear Willow,
Weeping Willow tree
Do you ever weep for me?

Do you remember the month of June
When he sang, just for me, loves sweet tunes
In the sun, mist, or rain?

You stood tall outside my door
And listened to songs that I adore,
Songs that live forevermore.

Your leaves danced to the swing and sway
Or melancholy moments, our way of
Drifting to the mood of the day.

You heard the laughter and whispers of love
As you drank in God's liquid from above
And knew wings of the peaceful dove.

You will be living when I am gone,
He sings for me in the great beyond
Perhaps you still hear him softly.

What will it be like, dear Willow
In a whistle or sunrise glow
Will you know?
Yes, by a new romance
People of all ages who take a chance
To live their lives together.

You will surely know, dear Willow
When you hear their melody of love.







~~~~~



CHURCH IS HOME
by Susan Marie Davniero

Whatever the reason
Whenever the season
No need to drift or roam
The Church is home

For what Jesus gave
You can be saved
In the steeple dome 
The Church is home

Open door policy
Faith is your key
All faithful welcome
The Church is home



SUSAN MARIE DAVNIERO is a published poet listed in "The Poet's Market 2011." She writes in traditional rhyme verse and has been published in various publications including Pancakes in Heaven, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Long Short Story, Great South Bay Magazine, Write On, The Poet's Art, Creations, Poetic Matrix, Pink Chameleon, Shemom, and others. She has also written essays and letters published in newspapers and magazines including the New York Times, Daily News, Newsday, Ladies Home Journal, and Saturday Evening Post. Her blog “Susan Marie” is her writing history. They don't know her; yet, by way of writing they might. She is never at a loss of words. She has found her place as a writer and a poet. With every poem published she is inspired to write more. Writing feeds her soul - literally food for thought. Contact



~~~~~



HOLLYWOOD REMAKES
by Ronald Charles Epstein

Don't serve me rancid horsemeat,
on a day-old bun,
then try to tell me
that it's a Waldorf Red Hot,
served at Simpson's Downtown,
in Toronto-back in '63.



RONALD CHARLES EPSTEIN was born in Bogota, Colombia in 1956 and has lived in Toronto, Ontario since 1959. His first publication appeared in Piedmont Literary Review in 1982. He has also been published in Harvard Review, The Antigonish Review, The Toronto Star and Expresso Tilt. Ronald has several DVD reviews published in VIDEOSCOPE and his latest book review appears on the PRAIRIE FIRE REVIEW OF BOOKS website. Contact 



~~~~~



CAFÉ RACER
by Roger Singer

Leather necking wind
Corners on black road surface lust
where devils wink
and angels fly off
to safer clouds
leaving behind Tommy Knockers
and café racers chasing
shadows into curves
where knees kiss the road
and shoulders slip the bounds
of gravity
while tires lick flat black
and side bend
hanging between the
death of beyond and the clouds
of now
as the riders beat the leather
into sweat
tasting speed
spitting at careful
dashing for the next

of what’s up front.


ROGER SINGER served as a medical technician at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida for three and a half years during the Vietnam era. While stationed at MacDill, he attended evening classes through the University of Tampa. When discharged, he began studies at the University of South Florida and attained his Associate and Bachelor degrees. In 1977, Dr. Singer attained his chiropractic doctorate from Logan College of Chiropractic in St. Louis, Missouri. He has had over 500 poems published in magazines, on the Internet and in books. His poetry has appeared in Westward Quarterly, Black Book Press, Avocet, SP Quill, The Unrorean, Underground Voices, Language & Culture and The Tipton Poetry Journal. Contact



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TAO OF BEER


With deliberation
I soak my grimed bandana
in refreshing mountain flow.
A sign near the bridge read:
Bard Creek
which “bard” I know not
and somehow, doubt
if I am soaking up
energy of poetic effervescence
however jubilant,
this spring run-off
born of high blue ice
and endless seasons in time.

Today,
only the Tao of a cool beer—
immersed in frigid waters,
wedged between stones
conceived
in the fires of earth’s memories.
       
                                            p.l. wick


p.l. wick is a versifier, never a “poet.” p.l. wick has been contributing to periodicals for over forty years: youth publications to literary journals, even outlaw biker magazines. One trade book of illustrated verse is credited, and an eleventh chapbook is being completed. Born in the first half of the last Century—two pennies are always kept ready for the boatman. Contact


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IF WE DARE TO CARE
by Patricia Crandall


for all children
A red-headed, freckle-faced
bare-limbed boy
kissed by the golden sun
is berry-juice brown
as he scampers along
the stretch
of a railroad bed.
A wide-brimmed hat
sets cockeyed upon
his tousled, curly head.
He bounces along
to the tune of a song,
a train whistles
a refrain most ill-bred.
Still, while a passerby
views this small, happy guy,
his uncluttered world
is to be envied.
His is a simple life,
carefree and lacking strife.
It is the way it should be
for a red-headed, freckle-faced
bare-limbed boy
kissed by the golden sun.


PATRICIA CRANDALL has three books in print: a thriller, THE DOG MEN, a historical volume, MELROSE: THEN AND NOW, and a poetry book, I PASSED THIS WAY. She is currently working on an adventure/thriller novel and a book of bottle mining adventures. She lives with her husband on a lake in the Grafton Mountains in upstate New York. Contact Website



~~~~~                    
              
THE WAVE
by Hal Lorin


Oh little darling
Smaller than the wave
At the edge of the sunny sea.
Jump now. Jump. Jump in.
See it shine your skin
In a moment
The tide will rise
The sun will set
The beach will empty.



HAL LORIN has published in edited e-zines and printed anthologies. He has written four novels and two books of poetry. He has published books and articles in aspects of Computer Science and Technology. He has been a Consulting Faculty Member at IBM Systems Research Institute and has held graduate level professorships at New York and Hofstra Universities. He has spoken at universities and international symposia in Europe, Africa, and Asia. He is Principal Consultant of The Manticore Consultancy. He is a resident of New York City. Contact 



~~~~~ 



letting go
by Steve Croisant

let the warm wash of breeze flow forth from your lungs
for there is life within it and inspiration and time
and in it lies my mood

let the gravity have its say lest your potion of laughter
drift me afar where its music will not echo within
a soar of solitude

let the night fall for we are moored in safe harbor
in a berth of ways and means where tranquil darkness gives us another way of seeing

let the lightning know our eyes and 
thunder drum our hearts
the storm plays our song and letting go of everything but us is another way of being


© Steve Croisant, 2003
January 28, 2003


STEVE CROISANT has no formal writing training or education, but has been writing semi-regularly since the early 2000's. He has been a member of Columbine Poets for five or six years, and reads semi-regularly at a couple of open mics in the Denver metro area. His poems have been published in Brenda Stumpf's art book, Seshat, Columbine poet's anthology, Backstreet Poetry Review, and Long Story Short. Contact




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BOB'S HIGH SCHOOL DAYS
(AT HOLY CROSS HIGH SCHOOL)
(To my husband Robert Davniero) 
by Susan Marie Davniero


At Holy Cross he comes to depend
As if it was his best of friend
Faithful High School of command
Rises above he will stand

Tuition befalls on his parent’s concern
His boyish thoughts are to learn
Faculty’s lessons to fill his need
As he follows guidance to succeed

Knowledge rewards build to acquire
To store away for this young squire
Beyond the wealth of books for some
He plays sports ballgames to be won

His term of school years forward on to date
With honorable degree he proudly graduates
Bygone High School days are of the past
Yet, the memories found today still last



Robert Davniero's Yearbook Photo at Holy Cross High School 
Credit: Susan Marie Davniero



SUSAN MARIE DAVNIERO is a published poet listed in "The Poet's Market 2011." She writes in traditional rhyme verse and has been published in various publications including Pancakes in Heaven, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Long Short Story, Great South Bay Magazine, Write On, The Poet's Art, Creations, Poetic Matrix, Pink Chameleon, Shemom, and others. She has also written essays and letters published in newspapers and magazines including the New York Times, Daily News, Newsday, Ladies Home Journal, and Saturday Evening Post. Her blog “Susan Marie” is her writing history. They don't know her; yet, by way of writing they might. She is never at a loss of words. She has found her place as a writer and a poet. With every poem published she is inspired to write more. Writing feeds her soul - literally food for thought. Contact


~~~~~



HAIKU FOR SPRING 
by Floriana Hall 



spring is in the air
whispering breezes capture
hints of life again

crocus bursts through soil
bluebirds sweet melodic pitch
in tune with humans

romantic feelings
love songs new rhythm and beat
stir the fragrant soul

nature plays a part
banishes shivers and fears
love blooms in warm hearts


FLORIANA HALL was born in 1927 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is a Distinguished Graduate of Cuyahoga Falls High School, Ohio in June 1948, and attended Akron University. She is an author and poet of 17 inspirational books, nonfiction and poetry. All of her books are available on Amazon.com. She has five children, nine grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. She is the founder and coordinator of THE POET'S NOOK at Cuyahoga Falls Library. Contact Website Website 







~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



june celebrity poet 

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(1749 – 1832)

nationality: German


Johann Wolfgang von Goethe – Credit: Wikimedia Commons






JUNE

SHE behind yon mountain lives,

Who my love's sweet guerdon gives.
Tell me, mount, how this can be!
Very glass thou seem'st to me,
And I seem to be close by,
For I see her drawing nigh;
Now, because I'm absent, sad,
Now, because she sees me, glad!

Soon between us rise to sight
Valleys cool, with bushes light,
Streams and meadows; next appear

Mills and wheels, the surest token
That a level spot is near,

Plains far-stretching and unbroken.
And so onwards, onwards roam,
To my garden and my home!

But how comes it then to pass?
All this gives no joy, alas!--
I was ravish'd by her sight,
By her eyes so fair and bright,
By her footstep soft and light.
How her peerless charms I praised,
When from head to foot I gazed!
I am here, she's far away,--
I am gone, with her to stay.

If on rugged hills she wander,

If she haste the vale along,
Pinions seem to flutter yonder,

And the air is fill'd with song;
With the glow of youth still playing,

Joyous vigour in each limb,
One in silence is delaying,

She alone 'tis blesses him.

Love, thou art too fair, I ween!
Fairer I have never seen!
From the heart full easily
Blooming flowers are cull'd by thee.
If I think: "Oh, were it so,"
Bone and marrow seen to glow!
If rewarded by her love,
Can I greater rapture prove?

And still fairer is the bride,
When in me she will confide,
When she speaks and lets me know
All her tale of joy and woe.
All her lifetime's history
Now is fully known to me.
Who in child or woman e'er
Soul and body found so fair?



















Quoted for educational purposes only. 
All work the copyright of the respective authors.

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