Monday, November 4, 2013

November 2013 Poetry Page







“The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and storytellers; but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland."

- Lucy Maud Montgomery
source

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POEM OF THE MONTH




THANKFUL
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones


When you pitch down the stairs on your nose
or crash to the floor and can’t turn over
            I’m thankful there are only three steps
            nothing broke and I can haul you to a chair

When you tangle in your walker
body jammed against the door
           I’m thankful most of the blood comes
           from a small scalp wound

When you fret about jobs you think you didn’t do
or worry about Smudge the cat
outside in dark rain
            I’m thankful I can soothe your spirit
            and you remember the cat’s name
            (though not mine) and care

When you rage about people stealing you blind
or talk about your second wife’s good money judgment
            I know it is not happening
            and that is me though you don’t know that

When you use your Swiss Army knife to tear
your trousers in search of your wallet
            I’m thankful you don’t use it on me
            and I take it away

When you look scared about the men
surrounding you in your room
            I’m thankful you’re in your own home
            safe and alone in your room

When you say at bedtime thank you I love you
           I’m thankful for the glow in your eyes
           that says it’s true when you cannot
           speak my name

When you praise me and the other two women
taking good care of you

           I’m thankful you know you’re in good hands 
           though all those women are me



PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has a longtime interest in healing writing and the benefits people gain from writing and reading their work together. Her poems, stories and articles are widely published; chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast CancerVoices on the Land, and End-Cycle, poems about caregiving. Contact 





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NAUGHTY NOVEMBER
by Floriana Hall


The month of November is like a spoiled child
Who gets its own way no matter how wild
Winds whine and howl
Ominous clouds tear and bawl
Bare trees lose their luster
Bushes sway, twist, and cluster
Ice and snow crystals fall down at random
To form a seemingly endless tandem
Thirty days of misery or fun
Depending on outlook or someone.
No matter what anyone says or thinks
It will not be gone in a blink
The longest short month of the year
Is gone without a wipe of a tear -
Grin and bear it is easily said
But November might be a month to dread!



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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THANKS TO THE WWII VETERANS
by Susan Marie Davniero


The Pearl Harbor attack
There was no turning back
December 7, 1941
Will live in infamy
With Japan’s Rising Sun
The war has begun

President Roosevelt’s command
Rally every able man
For army, navy, or air
To go over there
D-Day June 6
Freedom at risk

Naval forces invade
Paratroops land a raid
Airborne troops bombard
Foot soldiers infantry
Walking history

Battle of the Bulge rage
Germans and Americans rampage
Military’s adversity
Allied forces affinity
Atomic bomb blast
Victory at last

1945 Triumph occurs
German and Japan surrenders
A glory site gazing
Iwo Jima flag raising
United States wins
Thanks to the WWII Veterans



Susan's Father - Gerard Fischetti, WWII Army, 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





AUTUMN
by James Piatt

It was a balmy fall day at the river,
filled with the meadow’s muted voice,
the trees sat in silence, as if waiting
anxiously for the freeze, which would
soon turn their leaves to a burnished
yellow, and fling them into a deep sleep.
The sun’s muffled beams of warmth cast
a sacred spell upon my mind, thawed
my soul from the thoughts of the coming
frigid chill: As gaudy birds sang near a
placid brook, the voices in my mind quietly
dwelled on summer memories, in my ears,
the songs of downy birds delicately trilled.
Holding my breath, I bathed in the
strangeness of the day, in my favorite
place, and with my pulse gently beating,
I held my worried thoughts far away, and
took in the strangeness of the hours

that harkened in the autumn, season.


JAMES PIATT earned his B.S. and M.A. from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU. Broken Publications published Dr. Piatt’s début book of poetry, “The
Silent Pond”
 in 2012, and they will be releasing his second poetry book, “Ancient Rhythms” in the fall of 2013. A third poetry book will be released in 2014. His poem “The Night Frog” was recently nominated for best of web 2013. He has had over 450 poems published, and Long Story Short selected his poems for the POEM OF THE MONTH  in 2011 and 2012. 
His books are available on Amazon.
 Contact 





WAGON TRAIN GIRLHOOD
by Nancy Haskett


Around 1960
my friend Diane
would play "Wagon Train" with me,
the front porch
transformed, for us, into a conestoga,
as we lifted our imaginary skirts to walk down
cement steps,
gathering twigs for firewood,
picking small, red pyracantha berries
to serve in plastic toy dishes —
berry stew
berry mush
a side dish of purple, jacaranda blossoms.

Sometimes we galloped to the corner
on unseen horses,
looping invisible reins over the mailbox,
walking off to meet
a pretend husband
or pioneer scout lover,
our arms encircling the street lamp post,
lips kissing stone,
teeth brushing lightly
against the reality
of rough granite

NANCY HASKETT is a retired junior high language arts teacher. She belongs to several poetry writing groups, and her poems have been published in numerous places, including the anthology More than Soil, More than Sky; Stanislaus Connections; Medusa’s Kitchen (website); Chaparral Updrafts; Song of the San Joaquin, and more. She lives in Modesto, CA with her husband and cat! Contact 



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MASTER
by Gregory Liffick


Michelangelo
would
carve away
extra
marble
to reveal
the
figure
he
already
saw
in the
stone.
Need
hammer
and chisel
to go from
a chip
off
someone else's
block
to the
rock
you want
to be.


GREGORY LIFFICK is an artist, musician, and teacher of special education and college night-school courses from Ontario, California. He has been a poet, he says, for most of his adult life. His online poetry chapbook collection entitled WATERSHED is available to print online. Contact 


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SWEET CHARIOT
by Linda Gamble


She sees him, tall, slender climbing
into that red Celica.
Don’t get a red one, she’d warned,
or a stick.
Home he and Dad came,
happy in cahoots,
her boy driving a red stick-shift.

Wonderfully maddening, those years,
tennis in fall, cross country in spring,
bright and full of himself,  a rocket
ready for take-off. She misses
even those late nights waiting
for that damn car to pull in.

She waits        some nights hears 
the phantom click of his trick
ankle on the stairs.


AUTHOR’S NOTE:  This poem was previously published in Mused  in September 2012.


LINDA GAMBLE is a retired reading specialist who previously published articles in educational journals, but is now free to enjoy her first love of poetry. Her poems have been published in Edison Review, Mused, Long Story Short and Camel Saloon. Contact 



~~~~~



CALLING   CALLING
by Joanna M. Weston

turn down
teenage sound and movement

footsteps up   down stairs
slide the hall
leap old chesterfield

these days of endless text    tweet
Ipods  Ipads  Blackberries   in jeans pockets
lost in the depth of our hideaway chair …
that insistent ring


JOANNA M. WESTON: Married; has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes,’ is published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father,’ is published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBook, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ is available at her blog. Contact 



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GRANDMA'S THANKSGIVING
(In Memory of Grandma Bridge Cioffi)
by Susan Marie Davniero


You’re invited to Grandma’s Thanksgiving
Holiday feast with all the trimmings
Family love surrounds where they sat
All bridging the generation gap
The table is properly dressed
In its suitable Sunday’s best
China plates surround trim with roses
Sitting on bed of placemat doilies
Apple cider poured in stemware glasses
Antipasto debut as appetizer
Welcome platter of homemade pasta
The golden turkey bows a starring role
Co-starring yams, cranberry, corn and rolls
Mangia telling by Grandma’s call
Announcing Bon Appétit to all
Rich desserts spread closing act
Italian pastries, pies and snacks
Full of turkey and all of the above
But most of all – you’ll be full of love.



Susan & Bob Davniero holding a Happy Thanksgiving sign
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


~~~~~


LEAVES
by Patricia Landi Zippilli


I dress in colors
my veins are chemically
treated by moist
rotting sweetness.
Grey is my favorite
color, the sun takes
too much out of me--
I end up sleepy
on the ground.
Turning over and over
shivering my edges,
piling up--
kicked around.
I sound like a gathering
of voices
whispering illegible
conversations


PATRICIA LANDI ZIPPILLI enjoys reading and writing, and a bit of the TCM classics. In the past, she belonged to a ballet company, and taught art in an elementary school. Her heart now belongs to poetry. Contact





ECHOING WALLS
by Floriana Hall


She haunts the walls of the care home halls
No, she is not a patient.
She visits her husband almost every day
Because he cannot walk or transfer.
A machine and two workers do the job,
But she and they are patient.
You see, he fell and broke his hip
At the age of eighty-nine years
And now he is ninety-one
But keeps on smiling like the sun
That peeks through his window shades,
He feels that he has it made
When he can smoke a cigar
When loved ones come to visit.
And the jokes he tells
Reverberate so well
From the walls of the care home halls
Laughter that helps cure all.
Ha, ha, ha, lol.


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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SPIRIT OF THE FAMILY TREE
by Debbie Hilbish
  
Family ties, the bonds that lie
not-so-dormant
in a heart.

Roots tangle fervently,
with centuries of ancestry;
connecting us in so many ways
we can’t begin to see.

All trees have limbs that harbor disease
filled with sadness and stories
that will never ease,
standing alone in the cold,
shivering in a breeze.

Nothing would change
by a knotty eye
or be made whole
when leaves try to hide
life.

All that happens is meant to be;
adding color and spirit
to the family tree
whispering. gently, lovingly

Family ties, the bonds that lie
not-so-dormant
in a heart.


DEBBIE HILBISH is a self taught poet who has been writing poetry since she was a young teen. She has held poetry readings throughout the southwest and had seminars, sponsored by Arizona and New Mexico libraries, on poetry appreciation for young adults. Debbie also hosted an eight week author’s at The Reader’s Oasis in Quartzsite, Arizona 2008-2012 years.  She is presently working on her first novel. Contact 



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CHIMES
by Patricia Crandall


 I love to listen
to wind chimes play
when gentle weather comes.
As sweet, melodic harmonies
Chant hymns to everyone.
Chimes tease the leaves
on limbs of trees
hour by hour.
They ride on winds,
and on to spin
upon waking flowers.
A sound so pleasant
to my ear,
remembering those
who once were dear.
Gone now are they.
I love to hear
wind chimes play.



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


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GIVE IT TO THE LORD
by Douglas Ellington

You see I knew that the Lord was always there,
But I would push him away,
Like I didn’t care,
But it’s time to make a change,
So I’m giving the Lord my soul,
And keeping my heart away from the dark hole.

Because I know that he is here,
To keep me from all evil,
So I have nothing to fear,
Because the Lord is with me,
No matter where I go or where I may be.

Now you see my soul was once lost,
But now it’s found,
So I’m coming out the water,
Raising my hands to the father.

                   
                                                 
DOUGLAS ELLINGTON is a young, aspiring poet who writes in various categories to include tough love, heart breaking, and falling in love, life experiences, and spirituality. He will continue to write poetry to touch people's hearts and souls. Contact 



~~~~~



THE OLD COYOTE
by James Piatt


The old coyote howled 
Its eerie sound in the
Dark hours of the night,
It moaned its haunting notes
Into my dreaming, ears.

It sent forth rasping rhymes,
Evocative unnatural sounds
Of that which was frightening,
It was an unworldly, impious moaning,
That sunk into the murky soil.

It was unified with all that which
Breathed in the darkness and
Thrust my mind into the damp
Earth until it tasted humanity.

I long to see that old coyote that
Howled such ghostly songs, but
It has passed unobserved into
The obscurity of its own
Shadows…and mine.



JAMES PIATT earned his B.S. and M.A. from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU. Broken Publications published Dr. Piatt’s début book of poetry, “The
Silent Pond”
 in 2012, and they will be releasing his second poetry book, “Ancient Rhythms” in the fall of 2013. A third poetry book will be released in 2014. His poem “The Night Frog” was recently nominated for best of web 2013. He has had over 450 poems published, and Long Story Short selected his poems for the POEM OF THE MONTH  in 2011 and 2012. 
His books are available on Amazon.
 Contact 


~~~~~


                       
THAT KISS
by William M. McCurrach

I want to tell you a story you will believe,
It was a long time ago, and no one will grieve! Pause;
It was a rainy November night, the darkness fell,
As we stood, there in fright.
But the memory would burn for years on end,
That gentle kiss my female friend.
That kiss echoed through the years,
I remember giving it to you, to stop your tears.
When we broke, you smiled you see,
Said you had to go home from me.

That kiss lives on in my mind,
That kiss never died even in time.

Five Years passed by and I saw you again,
You invited me over to have tea like a friend,
As we laughed and reminisced, suddenly up came that kiss.
I never answered your question you see,
Because I knew you weren’t for me.
That kiss still lingers in your mind and yes indeed even in mine.
One gentle kiss that we both shared,
Yet never once did you or I say we cared.
But the kiss lingers on till the day we die,
And I shall never tell you why?
Yes That kiss lingers on and onnnnnnnnnnnnn, 
til we dieeeeeeeeeeeeee!


WILLIAM M. MCCURRACH: Age 57; 16 Year  Retired Veteran and Disabled in Navy; Attended Naugatuck High School in Connecticut; Graduated Magnum Cum Laude from Naugatuck Valley Community Technical College 1997; Writes Poems, Short Stories and Rants and Rave on his Blog; Contact 



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COUNTRY WAYS
by Doreen James
 
There! Swallows diving and soaring high,
Can I see four, no I’m sure it is five,
Their plaintive song drifting in the breeze,
Calling each other above the trees,
Now they have gone.
The skies are empty, but here comes the hawk,
Swiftly heading for the ground,
What sweet morsel can be found,
Skimming the ground he soars up high.
Now he is gone.
What can I see held in his beak,
A harvest mouse, no time to squeak.
Now he is away gone from sight,
higher than the big blue kite.
Now comes the dusk
 
I see the hunter's moon begin to show,
The faint glow shows streaks of red
The clouds are tinged with a rosy glow
And so it is time for me to go.
The day has gone.


DOREEN JAMES is married with two daughters and four grandchildren (3 girls, 1 boy). She has been trying to write for years and has had two poem published. She belongs to a Creative Writing Group and with their help has had more confidence to send work to the various sites. Contact 



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TOMORROW
by Shirley Securro


Tomorrow what will you bring?

Happiness and a song to sing
A tear-filled day
That calls to pray
Or none of these things?

A boring hour
An exciting call
Dancing on toes
Without a fall

A friend to share
Someone to care
Or none of these things?

A kind or loving word
A beautiful flying bird

A smile from a stranger
A flirt with danger
Or none of these things?

A dream unmet
A promise kept

To be at rest
To hope for the best
Or none of these things?

Tomorrow what will you bring?



SHIRLEY SECURRO has been published in "Best Poems and Poets of 2005," "Who's Who In International Poetry," "Famous Poets of the Heartland," and more. She was a finalist in a chapbook contest with AMERICA "Let Freedom Reign" OUR SACRIFICES OUR HEROES by Bear House Publishing. She has designed two book covers for other authors and does poetry readings for churches, weddings, funerals, and meetings. Contact 


~~~~~



OUR THANKSGIVING HEART
by Susan Marie Davniero


Seeking to find our Thanksgiving heart
One Thanksgiving Day, we took our part
Volunteering to join the serving line
At the pantry for the needy to dine

The table is set with a Thanksgiving spread
Thankfully we pray to share our daily bread
Platter full of sliced turkey in starring role
Co-starring cider, yams, gravy and rolls

The door is always open to serve all
Welcome everyone to come each fall
One Thanksgiving Day from the start

We’re thankful that we found our heart



Susan & Bob Davniero serving Thanksgiving Day Dinner
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








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



november celebrity poet 

Lucy Maud Montgomery
(1874 – 1942) 

nationality: Canadian


Lucy Maud Montgomery – Credit: Public Domain







NOVEMBER EVENING


Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together,
With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather,
Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow,
Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow. 

Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showing
Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing;
'Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming,
Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, of the gloaming. 

Watchful and stirless the fields as if not unkindly holding
Harvested joys in their clasp, and to their broad bosoms folding
Baby hopes of a Spring, trusted to motherly keeping,
Thus to be cherished and happed through the long months of their sleeping. 

Silent the woods are and gray; but the firs than ever are greener,
Nipped by the frost till the tang of their loosened balsam is keener;
And one little wind in their boughs, eerily swaying and swinging,
Very soft and low, like a wandering minstrel is singing. 

Beautiful is the year, but not as the springlike maiden
Garlanded with her hopes­rather the woman laden
With wealth of joy and grief, worthily won through living,
Wearing her sorrow now like a garment of praise and thanksgiving. 

Gently the dark comes down over the wild, fair places,
The whispering glens in the hills, the open, starry spaces;
Rich with the gifts of the night, sated with questing and dreaming,
We turn to the dearest of paths where the star of the homelight is gleaming.



















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

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