LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE: May 2010

A poem begins with a lump

in the throat;

a homesickness or
a lovesickness....

~ Robert Frost

Source

POEM OF THE MONTH - TIE!

SEASIDE GRACE
In Memory of Patricia Mees Armstrong

by Luke Armstrong

Like post orgasmic peace, the living waves,

slaves to you not so neutral moon, slave to

earth, home to you, admired waves;

a green, ripe opening, unlit fires of night,

hazy inspiration, no so far from the truth:

all ice cubes will one day be sea-foaming surf,

to be sliced right open, again, water mending wounds;

the hermit crab's home rests between two sea-tanned breasts,

which through a series of perfect parts, connects to two

traveled feet, leaving hopeless prints on ever washing sands,

a song of one sound sets tempo in her musical ears,

the washing cleanses what harm it brings,

scores of voices, who have never turned her down,

mix water without words, under a late-light sky,

so see the orange blued of the set and rise,

imagine what's behind the curtain of a green, silk skirt,

and trade a day to pass away in a moment of minutes,

outside itself, and beside itself, with Grace.

the fall, the quiet spectacle when dust-bound leafs

wash onto sandy shores—youthful, romantic wings,

castles, not lasting a day, are testaments to eternal life:

temporary empires, composed of the eroded walls of you Rome,

Grace, before a meal of lightly treading thoughts is a

welcomed guest before a crashing company of waves

sinking forever into the boundless sands below…

As a non-fction writer, LUKE ARMSTRONG’s work has been featured in dozens of travel publication including Outside, Perceptive Travel, Folate Oak, MatadorTravel, and his piece Finding Maximón was nominated for the 2010 anthology of Best American Travel Writing. A volume of poetry "iPoems for the Dolphins to Click Home About" was published by Small Poetry Press in February, 2010 and is available on Amazon. His second novel How One Guitar Will Save the World is scheduled to be released in late 2010. Of this poem, Luke writes:

“Seaside grace was inspired by my grandmother Patricia Mees Armstrong. She was a poet and writer. I gave the poem to her as a gift several months before she passed away. Before she left us, she had had a decade long struggle cancer. It had been in remission for several years and then came back and infected much of her body. But through all her struggles, she always kept a sense of humor and remained happy and in love with my grandpa till her last day. She loved to be by the sea, hence 'water mending wounds'.

She also traveled across the world as long as her health permitted. The 'song of one sound' refers to the sound of crashing ocean waves. I use 'which through a series of perfect parts' because, despite the amputations, my grandpa always saw her has complete and perfect. She had an intrepid soul and towards the end of her life was often frustrated that her body could not keep up with her untetherable spirit.

When I re-read this poem, I see an image of my grandma as she saw herself. She never saw herself as an old woman in a hospital bed. She saw herself as a young, romantic woman walking with a flowing dress on the sea´s shore, with her dreams laid out youthfully in front of her, and her prints soon washed behind her as she walked towards a hopeful future.”

Luke resides in Antigua, Guatemala, where he directs the humanitarian development organization Nuestros Ahijados. Contact

Luke's Grandparents

POEM OF THE MONTH - TIE

FRONTLINE

by Rosemary Carr

In the dark no-one sees us,

Not once I blow the candle out.

Only my mind can paint a picture,

An unseen charcoal sketch.

A still life we sleep to dawn when

Morning’s distant canons roar.

You stir. I wake.

My skin clings to yours

Smooth and glib with sweat.

Soldier on the frontline.

My skin tells me when you’ve left.

ROSEMARY CARR is currently studying Advanced Creative Writing with The Open University in England. She has previously been published in Allthingsgirl.net Visit Rosemary's Website for more information about her work. Contact

Editor's Note: The two poems honored this month reflect two of May's special holidays: Mother's Day and Memorial Day.

MUSIC UNIVERSAL

by Floriana Hall

We may speak languages divided,

We may worship different deities,

The one way we stay united

Is in music of the centuries.

The tinkling sound of the piano

Is soothing to kindred souls,

Communication of the heart and mind

Whether classical or rock-and-roll.

A German lullaby, a tango played in Spain,

Frank Sinatra's songs, Elvis' records gold,

Relate to every lover, romantic passion told.

We may travel the world over

From China to the Poles,

Music played on various instruments

Relaxes, excites, soothes, consoles.

We may hear "The Song of India"

Performed on Scotland's moors,

Or bagpipes played by different clans

On many island shores.

Italy's rhythmic accordion tunes

In Venice's gondola filled canals,

Reverberating echoes of a baritone,

An operatic pitch in Wales.

Ballads of court jesters,

Somber organ tones, religious tales,

Bands drumming, marching to John Sousa,

Patriotic themes fulfilled

Enjoyed in France or Appaloosa.

Blaring trumpets, trombones, flutes trill,

"Oh, Danny Boy" gives all a thrill.

We may hear resonating depths of despair

Like musical chords from the "Phantom"

In Prague or Ireland's County Kildare.

Strains of the centuries fathomed

Blues, ragtime, jazz, swing and pop,

Folk, calypso, opera, country, bebop.

Angels strumming melodic harps,

Cowboys plucking banjo's, regional art.

Violins melancholy strings, bells resounding chimes,

Melodies universal for now and all times.

"It's a small world, after all," foretold

The harmonious language of the world.

FLORIANA HALL FLORIANA HALL is the author of 12 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 . Floriana teaches poetry at LssWritingSchool.com under YOU, ME, AND POETRY. Contact Website

FATE IN HIKING BOOTS

by John Grey

That fateful Saturday

I was hiking

the same hills

you were hiking.

I clambered

over hills.

You clambered

over hills.

I trod carefully

the narrow ledge.

You trod carefully

the narrow ledge.

I almost

slipped on stones.

You almost

slipped on stones.

I stopped for

a blue and white wildflower

I’d never seen before.

You. . . no you didn’t stop.

Thus you

reached the fork

a minute or two

before I did.

You hiked

the old spring route.

I hiked the fern trail.

We didn’t meet.

Chance

was elated

though it had

no right to be.

JOHN GREY has been published recently in the Georgetown Review, Connecticut Review, South Carolina Review and The Pedestal, with work upcoming in Poetry East and The Pinch. He lives in Providence, Rhode Island. E-mail jgrey10233@aol.com

HAIKU

by Raquel D. Bailey

midnight stroll:

a wave washes the moon

onto the shore

RAQUEL D. BAILEY, originally from Jamaica, is the Founding Editor of Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine, sponsoring haiku, tanka & short fiction contests year round. An F.S.U. English graduate, she has earned Honorable Mentions in the 2009 Satoyama Haiku Contest, With Words Haiku Contest (U.K., Japan), 2008 Ludbreg Haiku Calendar Contest (Croatia), Haiku Calendar Contest U.K. (Snapshot Press). Among many others, her poetry works appear in The Heron's Nest, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, Simply Haiku, Modern English Tanka, Wisteria and Cider Press Review. Raquel resides in Florida. Email

CLEVELAND CINQUAIN

by Michael Ceraolo

Lake gull

gliding with grace

from streetlight to streetlight

for its own secret reasons this

morning

MICHAEL CERAOLO is a 51-year old civil servant/poet who is interested in, and writes about the past, present, and future. Contact ceraolom@yahoo.com

THOSE HILLS

by Ashutosh Ghildiyal

Those hills, so close, yet so distant

Looking at them, you forget yourself

For one timeless instant

Overwhelmed by their beauty

Standing there, you grow aware

Of the age of this earth

And of your own impermanence

They will remain, and you, with your

Sorrows, pains, and worries, will pass away

They will be there, as they have been

Since long before you came

ASHUTOSH GHILDIYAL was born in 1984 in Lucknow, India. He is a salaried professional and a part-time author. He writes short stories, poetry, and essays. His work has been published in both print and online media. He is currently based in Mumbai. Website. E-mail.

THE CLOTHES KNOW THE CREASE

by mikel weisser

the clothes they know the crease

they’ll fold to it

if you let them

they fall cartoons of ourselves

crumpled and weak

or sleek and angle bound

the perfecter we

than the we they carry

they lay upon the bed

they hang in wait on hooks

they’re stained, they’re ruined

when wet they cling like cold kittens

when bouncing fresh out of the dryer

they give their love

a final warm embrace

before cooling

mikel weisser writes from the left coast of Arizona, performs poetry, paints murals, makes politics funny with his political humor column, "Current Comedy," teaches social studies and creative writing, and lives in a peace sign themepark in So-Hi, Arizona. Email

THE LEAF IN A LAKE

by Amit Parmessur

A lake, bordered by delicate

and delightful flowers

Loud birds chirping

A swan is swimming

A leaf that grows on a

branch that is reflected

in a peaceful lake will

live longer in the lake than on the branch

The branch feeds the leaf

yet exposes it

to the atrocity of seasons

Of unknown time

The water reflects the leaf’s growth

The leaf grows in reflection

It reflects the leaf’s pain

The leaf suffers in reflection

The branch then releases the leaf

The water attenuates its fall

and washes its pain away

A leaf that floats on a

peaceful lake will never live on the

branch again

My love resembles a leaf

which lives in a heart

and is reflected in another heart

The lake, bordered by delicate

and delightful flowers

Birds are chirping loudly

Can another swan ever

repeat the route the swimming swan is making?

AMIT PARMESSUR hails from from the beautiful island of Mauritius and has been published in The Short Humour Site, Orchard Press Mysteries and Swan Morrison’s People of Few Words. A B.A. in English, Amit was the winner of the Short Humour Scooptheloot Prize October/November 2003 and has published an anthology entitled THE WORDS I LOVED IN MAURITIUS (2007). Contact

SPACE ALLOTMENT

by Mary Ann Goodwin

A stalwart oak stands captive in our yard,

survivor of the developer’s grace-for-profit.

Dignified and resolved, it forever stretches limbs

to challenge limits of an invisible container.

We owners savor its shaggy shade,

but protest when it transgresses

reasonable and necessary boundaries:

fence, sidewalk, street,

electric lines, driveway, garage

flower beds, shrubbery, house.

So we chide and constrain our prisoner

to precise and awkward dimensions—

amputate upper growth that touches roofs

and over-shades flowers,

shear lower growth that scrapes car tops

and teases tallest heads.

Yet we frown in disapproval at damaging holes

determinely plundered by wily woodpeckers,

clear debris when rowdy rains

and ripping winds weaken and sever limbs.

In early spring electric company men

brought machines to mangle and gut

its creeping crown of sun-saluting growth.

Both the elder woodsy statesman and we

were humbled by their partiality to power lines.

Now spring sends friendly winds

to shake spindly limbs, flutter new-formed leaves.

I catch a whisper as they nod,

Be careful where you’re planted.

Keep growing.

MARY ANN GOODWIN is a retired aerospace software project manager who now writes poetry and children stories. She is a member of the Gulf Coast Poets, the Galveston (Texas) Poets Roundtable, the Poetry Society of Texas and the Society of Children Book Writers and Illustrators. Her first chapbook, unleavened bread, includes the above poem. Besides LSS, her poems have been published by Gulf Coast Poets. Others are scheduled for publication in Windows 2010 (Alvin Community College) and the Poetry Society of Texas Bulletin. Email

morning music

by cm

there’s something about

the way i begin

mornings

first breath,

complete and total

silence

then, as the last sip

of coffee

drains from my cup

my lips,

it’s time

don’t like to blast

screeching, screaming, rockin

mornings are sacred,

refined, perfectly tuned,

private

for me

very low, barely there

miles, coltrane, or turrentine

something like that

close my eyes

ease in

maybe later

after all those damn cars,

dumptrucks, beepers, door slams

intrude,

i’ll switch over

to stevie ray V,

and say hello

to morning

CHARLES MARIANO is the author of THE WHOLE ENCHILADA: Recipes, Photos and Stories from Merced, CA, available at Amazon.com. Charles is, in his own words, "Elusive, reclusive, and otherwise quiet." Contact

MERMAID’S WISH

(Sonnet)

by Rachel Blackbirdsong

I fall into cascading depths of blue
Warm water is a cushion for my skin
I weave and spin – a beautiful corkscrew
Then break the waves - a newly born dolphin

The ocean calms my spirit through and through
I surge through breaks and tides then back again
Returning to the innocence I knew
Forfeiting human bonds and discipline

There is no end to possibility
When summer dreams are born with each new dawn
While swimming towards your heart’s tranquility
This mermaid’s wish is no phenomenon

This freedom is a thing I’ve never known
As I forsake the world of flesh and bone.

RACHEL BLACKBIRDSONG is a poet and novelist. Her publishing credits include, UCLA's American Indian Cultural and Resource Journal, Thorny Locust, and Red River Review. Currently, she is working on her first poetry collection and she has edited an anthology of poetry for Goldfish Press Publications. Contact

THE TAIL AND THE AFTERTAIL

by Mary Pacifico Curtis

The newest comet

to be seen

is green I’m told

and one must use binoculars

turned southward

in one-digit hours of morning

seeking Saturn

and another bright star

skymarkings to gaze between

stellar signposts

defining the space

where one can locate

the comets glow

with a tail and aftertail

traveling the skies

like rise and fall

hope and loss

ebb and flow

life, death

and all that

comes

after.

When she is not writing, MARY PACIFICO CURTIS is CEO of Pacifico Inc., a Silicon Valley advertising and public relations firm. A graduate of Northwestern University, Mary currently serves on the board of the Children’s Musical Theater, as an Arts Commissioner for the Town of Los Gatos and on the founding advisory committee for San Jose Rocks. A recipient of the American Advertising Federation’s Silver Medal Award recognizing both excellence in the industry as well as social responsibility, Mary is a frequent speaker on topics pertaining to branding and marketing. Contact

FORGIVE ME...

by Marie Delgado Travis

Forgive me for

Bleeding on your

White rug.

Should've left

My sentiments

Lined up neatly

By the door.

Didn't mean to get

Your carpet wet,

But it seems I need

A tourniquet.

Excuse me for

Bleeding on your

White rug.

MARIE DELGADO TRAVIS is an award-winning author. She writes poetry and prose in English and Spanish. Her new illustrated poetry book, WHAT IF... (John Rivera, Illustrator) is available at Lulu.com. Website

THE THOUGHT OF TIME PASSING

by Bill Roberts

Why think about it?

It goes on, nothing to stop it.

Clocks, watches, even sundials fail

on a cloudy day,

but time plods on.

Oh, it races ahead sometimes,

as when a contest is predictable

before being fought, and

slows at times,

when an expected baby is overdue.

But it only stopped once

in my recollection:

when she walked into my life,

paused, pointed a finger

and said, You!

It never caught up again.

BILL ROBERTS is widely published in online and small-press magazines (nearly a thousand poems in about 200 journals). He has just solved the biggest mystery in his life: why it is that his grandparents had 22 children and he and wife Irene have had none so far. Answer: they were from Oklahoma, he and wife from the East Coast. Bill, Irene and obnoxiously spoiled dogs live the good life in Broomfield, Colorado. Contact

HOMEBOUND

by Brian W. Osborn

Aunt Leona said “when that Spanish moss sway

in the dead-calm air like that it mean the Lord

calling someone home”. She rose from her

porch rocker and went to the kitchen.

I stayed on the porch with Gran-ma, held her hand,

watched for the moss to move. Tall weeds

tapped against the nailed-shut bedroom window,

so greasy with age; weather stained and cobwebbed.

“Thistles! Thistles!” Gran-ma’s raspy words were

whispers at first, then filled the dead-calm

of my own thoughts. Her mouth trembled

for more words to say; her watery eyes,

still clear and starlit, gazed across the years.

She drifted back just then, to the tilled rows of new fields

where her girl-self flew kites. No cobwebs out there.

She smiled and let out more twine.

BRIAN W. OSBORN is a 51 year old jet mechanic, living in Tucson, Arizona, who enjoys reading and writing poetry. In his own words: “I consider myself more a craftsman than an artist with words. I have always written, since I can remember, and probably always will, for as long as I can remember.” Contact

GYPSY WAGON

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

On Highway 36

among lava rocks and red bud blooms

where grass grows lush

in spring rains

four horses amble,

avoid their master,

reluctant to start their day.

Last gulps of water,

green shoots lipped,

the beasts are harnessed

and on their way.

They pull an old gypsy wagon

with canvas top

stretched across hoops,

large pans and paraphernalia

clatter against the wood sides.

A bearded man

in worn work clothes

lays the reins gently

across their backs.

With creak of leather, bang of metal,

and the clop of sixteen large hooves,

they start another lap

of a criss cross journey

around the West.

PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has a longtime interest in 'healing writing' and the benefits people gain from writing and reading their work together. Widely published, her chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast Cancer, Voices on the Land, and End-Cycle: Poems about Caregiving. Contact

A ROSE THAT SHE SIGNED

by Stephen J. Safka

This time it appears the wind blows from behind

Grinning in gold hair and whipping from laughter

The universe furnished a Rose that she signed

A daughter was born to inherit her mind

Pink petal exchanges in the moments thereafter

This time it appears the wind blows from behind

Warm bed and hot soup in the kitchen she’ll find

Fireplace stories will raise to the rafters

The universe furnished a Rose that she signed

Warm garden-spent glances will eternally bind

Smiling her tears in a gown of alabaster

This time it appears the wind blows from behind

Recollection in dreams, her subconscious inclined

Awakened in silence, a domestic disaster

The universe furnished a Rose that she signed

Mother blesses the union as her own heart ran blind

Her meeting with God seemed so dreadfully faster

This time it appears the wind blows from behind

The universe furnished a Rose that she signed

STEPHEN J. SAFKA is a long-time poet, writing primarily for the joy of expression. He lives in New Jersey. His wife is Estonian and they have two children, ages 7 and 12, who are both bilingual. He says, “I work as a chiropractor, which I love immensely. Yet if I could write for a living, I’d probably opt to do so.” Contact

may celebrity poet

Robert frost

(1874-1963)

nationality: american

The present

Is too much for the senses,

Too crowding, too confusing—

Too present to imagine.

see frost’s’ bio and work

at frostfriends.org/

and poets.org

work copyrighted by the individual authors