Mar. 2011 Poetry Page

“Oh, the music in the air!

An' the joy that's ivrywhere -

the whole blue vault of heaven…

An' the earth…its tender green…

…is Irish on the Seventeenth o' March!” 

-Thomas Augustin Daly

source: http://www.quotegarden.com/st-patricks-day.html

 ________________________________________

POEM OF THE MONTH

IMMIGRATION SONG

by Helen Ditouras

I want to take a small slow boat to Ellis Island

With some coins in my pocket

And nothing but time

I want to purge my mind of family ties

And swallow the tears of this bittersweet rhyme.

Because only then can I begin to imagine

The borders they crossed to make things okay

How my father once said, 

"you've never been hungry"

As I rolled my eyes and he walked away.

I want to feel the shame at Ellis Island

Immigrants filing like herds of sheep

Butchered names and make-shift birthdays

The fine rewards for those who can't speak. 

And when I arrive at Ellis Island

I want to hear the chaos they heard

And see the faces all wrinkled with fear

That desperately cling to kind gestures and words. 

I want to look La Migra in the eye

Because I know my father never could

So scared they'd peel away his passport

And find a poor-boy shepherd 

with his cane of weathered wood.

I want to take a small slow boat to Ellis Island

Because I'm looking for the answer why

Blacks and immigrants built the Motor City

But are still dismissed as foreigners on the sly. 

I want to sing the song of Ellis Island

I need to hold my father's cold hand

And bury my head in my mother's old jacket

And kiss the ground of this melting pot land.

HELEN DITOURAS is an Assistant Professor of English at Schoolcraft College in Livonia, Michigan. Her favorite writers are Philip Roth and Isaac Singer, among others. Along with reading, her other passion is cinema. She studied Film Theory in graduate school and regularly teaches film at Schoolcraft College. Her favorite movie of all time is Wong Kar Wai's IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE. Contact 

~~~~~

A BIRD AT THE END OF WINTER

by Abigail Wyatt

A January bird hopped by
to beg a crumb of bread.
I fed him freely from my plate
and wove for him a bed.

For twigs and leaves other such
I braved the biting rain
to hollow out a nesting place,
then hurried home again.

For many weeks this pretty bird
sang merry in the nest;
secure and cosseted as he,
what signifies a frost?

But when at length the sun rose up
and lingered warm all day,
upon an altered melody,
my songbird flew away.

He did not trouble with farewell,
nor chance to glance behind;
no crumb of kindness there remained
that other birds might hope to find.

And had he not abused my trust,
or had he paused to tell me why,
I might have faith in feathers still
and not suspect the sky.

Now Nature’s set her precedent;
though winter blows no less severe,
a thousand songbirds yet may die
before a one finds succour here.

ABIGAIL WYATT writes for her life in the shadow of Carne Brae in Cornwall. Formerly a teacher of English, she is now a freelance writer whose poetry and short fiction have been published in a wide range of magazines and ezines, both in the United Kingdom and overseas. These have recently included Words with JAM, Word Salad, and Ink, Sweat & Tears; Kohinoor, Phoenix and One Million Stories. Her poetry is also regularly featured in Poetry Cornwall. Abigail is the 'house ' reviewer for Palores Press in Redruth. Her poetry collection, MOTHS IN A JAR, was published in October, 2010. Contact

~~~~~

TIME AND TIDE

by Cathy Quaglia                        

Time and Tide will not wait
for me and surely not for you
for I’ve hoisted the sails
and the Sea is calling.

I do not know what the sea holds for me
but I do know what you do not hold for me
and I must sail now or not at all
for the Sea is calling.

Time and Tide will not wait
for me and surely not for you
for the sails are filling with wind
and my Life is calling.

CATHY QUAGLIA grew up in New York and moved to Killington,Vermont in 1975, establishing Aspen East Ski Shop with her husband, Lee. With the emergence of snowboarding, they started Surf the Earth Snowboards, and continue to run their retail and online stores together. During this time, she was a certified professional ski instructor and resort real estate broker. She has hosted many events at the shop, including book signings with best-selling authors, Linda Greenlaw, Reeve Lindbergh, Karen Lorentz and Wendy Clinch, and The Ski Channel’s movie THE STORY to a large audience at The Summit Lodge in January 2011. She created WATERCOLOR WORDS, a collaboration with fellow Killington Arts Guild member, artist Alice Sciore, combining Cathy’s poems, “ODE TO SKIING,” “REFLECTIONS ON SNOW,” and “MOUNTAIN HOME” with watercolor paintings that Alice created for them, which are now available for sale as art prints. She is working on a book of poetry and images called LIGHT ON LIFE. Contact

~~~~~

IT IS WHAT IT IS 

by Floriana Hall

Vast canyons echo
Reverberating memories
Voices from the past

Chasms of charm and wit
Slide slowly to wither away
Confusion left in the wake

Whispers of love and rapture
Intensify in the loneliness
Of one instead of two

Whistling in the light of day
Jesting in the peak of time
Composed yet complex

Whiffs of smoke encircle
‘Melancholy Baby’ sounds
Contented in the cave

Tenacity like a river
Flows over the cliffs
To a muddled puddle

Silence envelops the walls
Heroic symbol wanes
It is a matter of fact.

FLORIANA HALL is the author of twelve books, six nonfiction and six inspirational poetry books.  Her nonfiction book, FRANCIS, NOT THE SAINT has recently been translated into Spanish (FRANCISCO, NO EL SANTO). Her new poetry book SELECT SANDS OF RHYME AND REASON and young children's book SIMPLE PLEASURES are now available at Cyberwit.net and Amazon.com. Floriana teaches poetry at www.LSSWritingSchool.net under YOU, ME, AND POETRY. Contact Website Website

 ~~~~~

EARLY MORNING MARCH 19 

by Maralee Gerke

Alone in a strange house,
everything is quiet
except for the rumbling furnace.
Marooned in silence, I search
but even the dog has disappeared

 
Across town in the hospital
my mother is dying.
Her last breaths tear from her chest,
and all I can think about
is that I would rather be at home with you.

I don’t need to see this dying.
I have died by bits the last two months,
my heart torn, but not broken.
Unshed tears are locked behind my eyes,
and my head hurts from holding them back.

Light spreads across the valley floor
but I feel closed in,
no broad vistas of desert or mountains,
make it hard to breathe.
Soon I’ll be the oldest in my family.

 
I want to feel joy again,
long to dig my fingers into crumbly soil,
hold your healing body to my breast,
forget the pain
and start this day again.

MARALEE GERKE is a poet and gardener from Madras, Oregon. She has published two books of poetry and her poems have appeared in Calyx, Exit 13, Windfall, Avocet, and other poetry journals. Her work can be seen online at Long Story Short, Mu, and Moontown Café. Recently she recorded four poems which can be heard online at oregonpoeticvoices.org. Contact

~~~~~

GRAY AND WARM
by Roger Singer

A winged nymph passes easily
within brushed air.
Lifting my eyes, I am amazed at the
lightness and the chance so little
is so much.

March on eyes of wandering,
the keepsake of tears, the harbor
of liquid hands no ocean can claim;
sad hearts bow down to faces
under the ground.

Shadow moon; a night cruise over
a city of cool faces and full eyes.
Dogs bark at warm greetings
and rusty hinges.

The night has my shadow.
I am consumed in the shade of gray.

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 

 ~~~~~

MANAGEMENT
by Gregory Liffick

Suspicious
activity
in the
worker
brain.

A little
too cozy
with
rage and
childish
pursuit.

Memos
passed down
from the
cortex.

Behave
or
face
maturity
training.

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 Website 

 ~~~~~

NEON

by Reem Khondakar

We waited for the bus
against mud and puddles and
shimmering orange lights,
for bent glass
and broken crystal headlights
a simple neon sign
not too far away
but just far enough
to sigh.

REEM KHONDAKAR was born in England and raised in Chicago, Illinois. She is an eleventh grade high student at the University of Chicago Laboratory Schools. Her poetry has appeared in The Poet’s Art, Write On, and The Acorn. Contact 

~~~~~

SURVIVAL
by Bob McHeffey

inout
breathe
                         “How man how?”
under
the air
tracking             

                        black wings 

                        black

flying at him
flying
inout
breathing
                        “Ain’t no way”

night breath
white in black

                        “Ain’t no way”

flying
black wings
black
                        “How?”

under the air,
man,
under the air

BOB MCHEFFEY is a writer, high school English teacher and girls basketball coach in suburban Southern California who juggles moderately well. Most of his poems get workshopped through his high school creative writing classes, so they can get practice in looking objectively at the craft of writing. Contact 

 ~~~~~

A TRUE FRIEND
by Joe DiBuduo

An image of a dog
pops into my brain

I see one designed
by Giacometti and

then I see one
designed by god

both assigned
to man intended

to be desired and
designated to be

loved

but instead they’re
forced to fight
forced to kill
forced to breed

what have we done

JOE DIBUDUO is a writer who lives in Arizona and graduated from Yavapai College in 2009 in the creative writing program. He has published several short stories and poems online, and has published one nonfiction book. He is presently working on a memoir and novel along with writing a poem a day. Contact 

  ~~~~~

QUESTIONS

by BRASH

Her expression blinkers his mind
The fast flashing makes it remain
As if he’s seeing it under a strobe
Even as it changes again
Towards the questions he finds
Himself trying to probe.

Humber, Alliah. DROBE. Collection of the Artist, Washington, DC.  
Credit: Alliah Humber

AUTHOR’S NOTE: “QUESTIONS” was inspired by artwork at ARTOMATIC in Washington, DC in 2009 and specifically to artist, Alliah Humber for her work known as "DROBE."

BRASH is known for writing poetry inspired by art, in association with the Washington, DC extravaganza ARTOMATIC, and by invitation to participate in various gallery events, readings, and performances. Her latest work includes creating and performing companion poetry to the book ADDICTION AND ART and the project’s show at Blue Elephant Gallery in Frederick, Maryland.  BRASH will lead workshops at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, Maryland this year. Hear excerpts from her lyrical collaboration with Daisy Birch for Ahmad Nadimi's “SUITE FOR PEACE.” Read Frederick News Post interviews BRASH for the ADDICTION AND ART SHOW. See her claim to fame under “Notable Artists” on Wikipedia. Contact

~~~~~

WHAT I TOLD THE BIRDS

by John Tzikas

Senile sundrenched snowbirds seek segregated spas
majestic migratory marches materialize meticulously
afraid aviators assimilate astutely
yesterday you yelled
because blackballs became
eagle-eyes

JOHN TZIKAS is a Toronto, Canada based poet, lyricist, and free verse writer with a passion for classic literature and history. His poems have appeared in Long Story Short, Midwest Literary Magazine, Word Salad, Quill's, Ditch Poetry Magazine, Mused- the Bella Online, Hudson View Poetry Digest and Wordbridge Magazine. He has performed readings for more than five years in small coffee house settings, while living in Guelph and Kitchener, Ontario. Contact 

~~~~~

UNEXPECTED
by Patricia Crandall

Two old cats
chase each other
through the house,
awakened by
the minutiae
of spring's arrival.

I throw open shuttered windows,
unlatch storm doors; watch
robins worm in mud
and straw grass.

Oops! Winter's back!

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  

 ~~~~~

SPRING DAY
by James Piatt

Early flowers of spring
Oranges vermilions
Yellows and whites
Shining remnants
Of yesterday's drizzle

Silver cumulous clouds
With gray centers
Tightly hug tall mountains
Then swirl and condense
In the afternoon sun

Dreams hover gently
Over green mountains
Laden with
The beginnings
Of new life
Lightening my mind

Marshmallow clouds
Liberating their weight
Of moisture like men
Ridding themselves
Of tiresome burdens

Raindrops falling
Cleansing their minds
From the worries
Of the bitter winters
Of their lives.

JAMES PIATT earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from Brigham Young University. He is retired and spends his summers along the river, reading, writing, and penning poetry. Two relatives, John James Piatt & Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, were prolific poets who wrote poetry in the 1800's. Contemporary American Voices (featured poet), Word Catalyst Magazine (featured poet), Apollo’s Lyre, Caper Journal, Vox Poetica, Shadow Poetry Anthology, The Penwood Review, Wilderness House Review, Front Porch Review, A Handful of Stones, Autumn Leaves, and Hanging Moss Journal, have published or will be publishing his poetry. Contact 

  

~~~~~

ONE NIGHT, WANDERING DUBLIN 

by John Lander

Near midnight and the sky is pale

as the faces of this city. I walk

through clouds of smoke thick as coughs

of old men standing in doorways

with thin, weathered frames; lupine, mangy 

grins maligned and lathering 

the street’s bare shoulders.

Recently paved thumbprint bruises

bleed to the cracked surface, cobbled

conglomerations; now photographed. In alleyways,

whispers hiss against brick, the rummage of shadows

through rubbish bins, meek yet willing

to turn rabid if approached with haste,

and after a few hours of walking I begin to realize

how much the body does not depend upon its mind.

Muscle movements become involuntary, feet wander

of their own accord, directions are superfluous,

so mapless, I tread on: 

a California gull circling another’s river

and wondering why it feels as though 

I've been here before. 

JOHN LANDER is a writer from Austin, Texas who enjoys reading and writing out of his hammock, but he dislikes mosquito bites. His work has been published in Every Day Poets, Thieves Jargon, and Boston Literary Magazine (although he would like to suggest you continue reading the rest of this issue before navigating elsewhere). Contact

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

march celebrity poet

William Butler Yeats 

(1865 – 1939)

nationality: irish

William Butler Yeats – Credit: Public Domain
source: http://www.basicfamouspeople.com/index.php?aid=333

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, 

of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, 

a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, 

for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning 

to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, 

and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping 

with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, 

or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Read the entire poem at:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=172053

For the poet’s biography, see:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-butler-yeats

________________________________________

Quoted for educational purposes only.

All work the copyright of the respective authors.

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Feb. 2011 Poetry Page

“Love is the flower of life, 

and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, 

and must be plucked where it is found, 

and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.”

-David Herbert Lawrence

source: http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/thematic_quotes/love_quotes.html

________________________________________

POEM OF THE MONTH

HOLDING HANDS

by Amye Nicole Bird

I'm afraid my tears have wet your quilt

As I lay my cheek against your hand,

I haven't thought of a word to say

Or whispered that I will surely mend.

But even if I screamed right now

I have my doubts that I'd be heard,

For the fingertips that danced with mine

And the works of beauty they once shared,

Stitching life, love and us together

For all those precious bygone years,

Now lay silently still within my hand.

Yes, I should have said goodbye already,

Or bid my last farewell,

But I find my hand's too tightly clasped

Stuck firm, still wrapped 'round in yours.

For hours, I've sat here in the silence,

Watching the continued world outside the glass,

Moving quickly, never ending,

Flowers blooming, wind is blowing,

So many rushing lives going on without a care,

As the noontime rays continue down

Stinging me with their flickering glare.

The nurse seems like she's in a hurry,

To change the sheets and clean the room,

Making ready for the next soul upon her list,

After all, it is her occupation to continue on as well.

But I myself am in no hurry

To lastly leave your side,

To never again feel the dancing of your fingertips

So warmly, wonderfully in love with mine.

AMYE NICOLE BIRD is a thirty-six year old lifelong resident of Utah. She is a happily married, stay at home mother of four young children. It is her wish to inspire the love of reading and writing poetry in her children as it has always inspired her. Her poetry has appeared in The Story Teller, Northern Stars Magazine, Write On!! Poetry Magazette, The Sheltered Poet, The Poets Haven, Eye On Life Online Magazine, and is scheduled to appear in The Poet's Art, Westward Quarterly, The Pink Chameleon Online, The Stray Branch and Love's Chance Magazine. Contact

~~~~~

SO MUCH FUN

by Cathy Quaglia

You

start

slowly,

gliding easily,

breaking the silence

with the soft “shhh…shhh…” of your skis

as they sweep up sprays of powder

at each turn.

Here and there,

the sun catches snow crystals,

turning them to diamond dust.

Ever so gently

the slope steepens,

drawing you into widening, flowing, sensuous arcs.

And suddenly, magically,

you’ve found the mountain’s rhythm!

You’re flying, soaring, feeling your spine tingle,

laughing inside at the incredible feeling

of freedom and beauty and motion,

because you just can’t believe

anything in this world

could be

so

much

fun.

CATHY QUAGLIA is an avid skier and windsurfer living winters in Killington,Vermont and summers in Haiku, Maui. In 1975, she and her husband, Lee, founded Aspen East Ski Shop and when snowboarding became popular, Surf the Earth Snowboards, and continue to run their retail and online stores. She was a certified professional ski instructor and resort real estate broker, and has hosted successful book signing events at the shop with authors, Linda Greenlaw, Reeve Lindbergh and Karen Lorentz.  Contact 

~~~~~

A MONTH OF LOVE

by Floriana Hall
 
February can be a lovely month
Though cold winds may blow
Sweethearts nestled by the fireplace
While dying embers glow.
 
February can be a month of love
Traipsing through the snow
Buying Valentine cards and candy
Or flowers or plants that grow.
 
February can be a lover’s month
Zapped by Cupid’s bow
Or by amorous longings for a mate
The heart has made it so.
 
February can be a lively month
For children we may know
Ice skating, sledding, building snowmen
Making snowballs wherever they go.
 
February is a lovable month
Nature’s crystal white fashion show
Enjoying chocolates and hot chocolate
Brings happiness, seems apropos.
 
February is a month of love
Sending caring messages to friend or foe
Doing kind deeds for the less fortunate
Like St. Valentine long years ago. 

FLORIANA HALL is the author of twelve books, six nonfiction and six inspirational poetry books.  Her nonfiction book, FRANCIS, NOT THE SAINT has recently been translated into Spanish (FRANCISCO, NO EL SANTO). Her new poetry book SELECT SANDS OF RHYME AND REASON and young children's book SIMPLE PLEASURES are now available at Cyberwit.net and Amazon.com. Floriana teaches poetry at www.LSSWritingSchool.net under YOU, ME, AND POETRY. Contact  Website  Website

~~~~~

A GIRL THAT LOOKED LIKE YOU

by Bill Roberts

I once knew a girl that looked like you.
Sweet of face, smooth of skin,
she bubbled over with laughter,
so intent on discovering herself
and life's close-in, far-away pleasures.

I once knew a girl that looked like you.
She held my hand, took my heart,
swayed with me to music we shared,
whispered to me, guided me through
uncertainty, understood when I faltered.

I once knew a girl that looked like you.
Eager to learn, just as eager to share that
knowledge, content with our journeys,
careful with difficult choices, caregiving
to those who had fallen to adversity.

I once knew a girl that looked like you.
She endured through years both difficult
and joyous, met and conquered her own
demons, settled into life's quiet rhythms,
dancing a bit slower, still my partner.

I once knew a girl that looked just like you.

BILL ROBERTS is a Pushcart-nominated poet from Broomfield, Colorado. He has been widely published in online and small-press magazines (nearly a thousand in about 200 journals). He has had a poem nominated for Best of the Net in 2009, and another poem in 2010. Bill offers a seminar on how to write a poem a day in 15 minutes, and then take it to market.  He has a new Australian terrier, Princess Honey, who is trying to discipline him to use the big bathroom outdoors.  Contact 

~~~~~

UP UNTIL NOW

by Tanya Sinha 

Up until now, my life’s been a mess

A ball of confusion, chaos and some stress

I’ve had my bleak days-
My mind spinning like a windmill, out of control

Felt I was a lost cause-

Running out of ways, to save my tired soul.

Minutes turned into the hours

Hours passed into the days

But the incessant ticking of the clock

Didn’t help me change my ways.

Those were the moments

When the sun didn’t grace my window

But I ignored the darkness

And refused to keep my spirits low.

My trials and my doubts, 
My fears and the pain

Then gradually disappeared, 
To make my life more sane.

Minutes turned into the hours

The hours went into the days

And with the incessant ticking of the clock

I was graced with sunshine again

Graced with sunshine again.

TANYA SINHA is a twenty-five year old poet/lyricist/songwriter from London, England. She has been expressing her thoughts and feelings on paper for the last five years. She is enthusiastic and passionate about her work and believes that genuinely and imaginatively expressing oneself wholeheartedly is the key to capturing the reader’s attention. She has been published in Storm Books and was a semi-finalist for three entries in Song Of the Year in 2006. She enjoys all forms of art including music, painting, and dancing to her writing. Contact 

~~~~~

INABILITY TO EXPRESS

by Annique le Roux

I have failed to explain
describe
say.
Too many times to count
To what did this amount.

I remember fallen crumbs
remainders of my meal
nourishment.
The coffee warm in my hand
Change in my pocket jingling as I stand.

I feel the safety of my coat
as the wind buffets
me.
My mind pondering as I walk
I do not even hear him talk.

Sir
I stop.
Turn.
Look.

It is cold
He shows it. 
I feel for a coin. 
Extend my hand.

Rough fingers touch me
I feel their history
pain.
His eyes meet mine
Our thoughts seem to intertwine.

I understand
now. 
I feel there is more
than what I am
This man.

I take my leave
changed
altered.
The wind feels colder
And I think of him.

ANNIQUE LE ROUX is a fun loving, proud South African girl who fell in love with writing at the age of thirteen. She has not stopped writing since and has developed a dream of publishing a novel. Contact

~~~~~

DIMINISHED RETURNS

by Twixt

It’s as if nature and the natural world
receded across the skull of the earth
in my interest and focus and thought left
to thinking in its small central circle
lacked exits.

TWIXT is the mononym-onym of Peter Specker. He is a writer who lives in Ithaca, New York. His poetry has been published in MARGIE, The Indiana Review, Amelia, California State Quarterly, RE:AL, Pegasus, First Class, Pot-pourri, Art Times, The Iconoclast, Epicenter, Subtropics, and Quest. Contact 

~~~~~

DESCRIBING A COLOR 

TO A BLIND WOMAN    

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Burn your tongue

with hot chiles, savor

the flavor under the heat.

Feel rage bubble

in your breast

though you tamp down tight.

Prick your fingers

on a hundred cactus spines

or stub your toe so hard

your eyes cross in pain.

Listen to the soaring crescendo

of a symphony loaded with cymbals

and the beat of rock that forces

your feet to dance

and you’ve met red.

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.  Her chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast Cancer, Voices on the Land, and End-Cycle: Poems about Caregiving. Contact

~~~~~

MY KINDA GUY

by Gloria Watts

A presentable man, tall and fair

the kind of chap you’d take anywhere,

Mother loved him, Dad didn’t care.

it trundled on our affair.

Time passed by, we tied the knot

fairly happy we were not,

but you know how it is - time flies by

came the day I said goodbye.

Oddly, it seems he left a space

and when in memory I trace

remembered contours of his face,

sharp tears escape from faded eyes

love wells up – and I’m surprised.

I guess it’s love, for overall

he was fairly presentable.

GLORIA WATTS is a retired Further Education College lecturer who lives in a small market town in Northamptonshire, England.  She spends most of her time writing poetry, flash fiction, and short stories; several of her works have been published online.  When not scribbling, Gloria enjoys watercolor painting, gardening, playing piano and her regular yoga classes. She is an active participant in many writing forums and particularly appreciates the support of her fellow writers at Writer’s Village University, a forum offering classes on the different aspects of writing, and her monthly meetings with her local Writing Circle. Contact

~~~~~

THERE’S NO BROKEN HEARTS HERE

by Jacqueline Howett

Unexpectedly, the watchful spirits looked in,
There’s no broken hearts here.
The pruning season for the young in love:
has not yet begun,
Maybe not for many a sun;
They must be the lucky ones.
When they left, the lovers
Looked at each other,
cracking into laughter.

JACQUELINE HOWETT is a writer and artist who was born in London. She is currently an English-Greek American living in Florida. She has published poems, articles, fiction and cover art, and is presently editing several novels. Contact

~~~~~

AND THE WINNER IS. . .

by Martha O’Quinn

A statuette no taller than a ruler,

his gilded beauty barely skin deep

incites young and old to scream, swoon as

tinseltown alights from limos onto red carpet.

Armani and Versace gowns adorn

starlets, décolletage subtle or not,

jewels on loan – all for Oscar.

They cling to arms of tuxedo-clad escorts

with gel-slicked, bed-hair heads.

Show me a true golden icon;

Oscar Wilde and his portrayal

of the human condition.

Listen to soothing sounds of piano jazz

as Oscar Peterson tickles the ivories.

Dance to the beat of Oscar Lopez’s Latin guitar.

Contemplate the heroics of Oscar Schindler

and horrors of the Holocaust.

Dream of the Acropolis, the Parthenon as

moonlight filters into a room in the

Grecian Oscar Hotel.

Vote your conscience – superficial or simon-pure?

And the winner is . . .

Hold that thought; here comes George Clooney!

MARTHA O’QUINN is a writer who lives in Hendersonville, North Carolina. Her southern heritage is the inspiration for poetry and creative nonfiction. Contact

~~~~~

FIRMATOLOGY

by Gregory Liffick

Looking at

a globe

of the world,

the countries

change

so much

it is as if

the face

of

the planet

has a

skin condition

that flares up

during wars

and

revolutions

and settles

down

sporadically

into the

temporary

clarity

of borders.

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  Website 

~~~~~

DANZON SILENCIO

by Richard Luftig

This samba luna

    determined never to take

no for an answer.

    Esta vida, este lugar

tugging on the heartbeat

    of the pliant sea.

Silencio mi corazón

    afraid to take

a step in any direction

    so as not to drown

in an ocean

    of remembered sadness.

Amar,

    recordar,

y olvidar.

We dance because

    we still have

legs and breath,

love because

    we have nowhere

left to turn.

GLOSSARY

Esta, este = this
Luna = moon
Vida = life
Lugar = place
Corazón = heart
Amar = to love
Recordar = to remember 
Olvidar = to forget

RICHARD LUFTIG  is a professor of educational psychology and special education at Miami University in Ohio. He is a recipient of the Cincinnati Post-Corbett Foundation Award for Literature and a semi-finalist for the Emily Dickinson Society Award. His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals in the United States (including Art Times) and internationally in Japan, Canada, Australia, Europe, Thailand, Hong Kong and India. His third chapbook "OFF THE MAP" was published by Dos Madres Press in 2007. Contact

~~~~~

MOUNTAIN HOME

by Cathy Quaglia

Mountain home

where we play

and find some rest

from yesterday.

Walk through snow

against the wind

gaining strength

and peace within.

We gather wood

and build our fire

time slows down

as we desire.

These moments rare

cherished much

bring us together

keep us in touch.

CATHY QUAGLIA is an avid skier and windsurfer living winters in Killington,Vermont and summers in Haiku, Maui. In 1975, she and her husband, Lee, founded Aspen East Ski Shop and when snowboarding became popular, Surf the Earth Snowboards, and continue to run their retail and online stores. She was a certified professional ski instructor and resort real estate broker, and has hosted successful book signing events at the shop with authors, Linda Greenlaw, Reeve Lindbergh and Karen Lorentz. Contact

EDITOR’S NOTE: “MOUNTAIN HOME” is an artistic collaboration between Killington, Vermont artist, Alice Sciore’s paintings and Cathy Quaglia’s poetry, known as WATERCOLOR WORDS. 

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

february celebrity poet 

pablo neruda 

(1904 – 1973)

nationality: Chilean

(excerpt)

Pablo Neruda – Credit: Public Domain

source: http://www.basicfamouspeople.com/index.php?aid=8065

Love Sonnet XVII 

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, 

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: 

I love you as one loves certain obscure things, 

secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom 

but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma 

that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.

Read the entire poem at:  

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179257

For the poet’s biography, see:

http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1971/neruda-bio.html

Quoted for educational purposes only.

All work the copyright of the respective authors.

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