LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE: February 2013 Poetry Page

“Love has no desire but to fulfill itself.
To melt and be like a running brook
that sings its melody to the night.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving."

- Khalil Gibran

source

~~____________________________________________~~

POEM OF THE MONTH

HEART OF THE WELL

by Debbie Hilbish

When the man came,

needing a place to dwell,

he could look in

and see the depth

of the water in the well.

No doubting

It had been neglected.

The rope was frayed,

bucket weather worn,

wheel a bit squeaky;

but the important thing

the essence was there.

Almost full.

This is a good place,

thought the man.

Joyfully

the well offered up its sustenance

giving freely and often to this new dweller.

Radiating

in the knowledge that its liquid nurtured the man.

Soothed-cleansed-comforted

sustained him.

The man covered the well in winter

to keep it from freezing.

Repaired the bucket

which allowed him to reach what the well had to offer

and

For his survival

he needed.

He oiled the wheel,

repaired the rope

even planted flowers around the well for beauty.

In appreciation

The well swelled and sang

Yes take from me, use me.

I give freely

and give and give for this is my purpose.

A drought came.

The man continued dipping

into the life of the well.

I have no rain,

I have nothing to replace

what is being taken from me

thought the well.

Still, I have faith.

In time the man will realize

I am in need of nurturing.

The drought continued.

The water in the well muddied.

The man continued to take.

The well was patient

continuing to give of itself

even if a bit begrimed

Wanting to believe

somewhere deep inside

surely the man will realize

I must have returned to me

that which I’ve given so freely.

The well’s life substance

ebbed lower and lower.

Who could guess the length of time

the drought would linger?

The well went dry

The man could look in

and saw.............

only dirt.

This is not a good place

thought the man.

Once again

the well was neglected.

The rope frayed,

the bucket became weathered,

the wheel began to squeak.

Drawn into itself

the well had lots of time to reflect.

Perhaps……In gratitude

the man had covered me in winter,

repaired my bucket, oiled my wheel

even planted flowers for beauty.

Perhaps……To serve him

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 hosts an author’s fair for eight weeks (every January and February) at The Reader’s Oasis in Quartzsite, Arizona. Any and all authors are welcome to join us FREE for this event... If interested in this event, please contact Debbie via email. She will send you more info. Contact

~~___________________________________________~~

A BARE AFTERNOON

by T. Wignesan

Waking to a breaking thought

rude warblers in the tree’s dark

contort the image

in the eye

of a sundered dream

into a wholesome bounteous vision

The symphony is expansive

trained to unnatural correctness

alien to the warbler

bends order to

mastered mindfulness

regimental violins

scold and chastise

the senses to D Major

Now the sparrow and Segovia

minuet in the sun

lurk in the veins

clasping word on wing

numbing sense within sound

silenced within windows

the blaring harshness of the warbler

[from the collection: tell them I’m gone. Paris: 1983.]

T. WIGNESAN was born in Malaysia where his parents settled as immigrants, and he worked and studied during most of his teens there. Then, he continued working and studying in London, Heidelberg, West Berlin, Madrid and Paris, as a teacher, journalist, labourer, clerk, and research fellow. He is a published writer in all genres. For a complete list of his published works, please visit his website. Contact

~~~~~

ACROSS THE SMALL VALLEY

Across the small valley
stony faces sleep,
clouds caught in their
juniper brows
and beards.

Pushed back
against warm granite,
a ragged coat
pulled snug around
and up under my chin—
Hanshan
in worn hiking boots.

In the lingering light
I sip twig-fired tea
and enjoy a crust
spread thick with
orange marmalade.
My laugh echoes back
from the slumbering
assembly—

a crazy old man
on a cold mountain.

p.l. wick

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem has appeared previously in bear creek haiku #98. A small, eclectic, publication , bch., one in which my shorter works may often be found.

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

~~~~~

IF WE COULD PICK AND CHOOSE

by Floriana Hall

When an illness or cold strikes

At its very own convenience

And not to our likes

We wish we could pick and choose

The time and place

But we cannot

And life moves on at its own pace.

When our car breaks down

Or we are stuck in traffic

There is nothing we can do

But go with the flow

And hope we get to know

Better days, I always say

Sometimes I have it my way.

If the weather is bad

And makes us sad

Ice and snow to stumble over

It seems like an impossible situation

which brings on some frustration

To miss any appointments or fun

So we go anyhow, and then we are done.

If we are pining for love and affection

Who can point in the right direction

Soul mates are not always what they seem

Oh, we can only dream

Of magic in the air

Of challenges we dare

And happy endings we fare.

We can pick and choose

To change bad moods

To see good in others

To forget about our druthers

And to live each day the best we can

It's the most we can ask of woman and man.

FLORIANA HALL is the author of twelve books, six nonfiction and six inspirational poetry books. She and her husband have been married for 63 years and they have five children, nine grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Her nonfiction book, FRANCIS, NOT THE SAINT has recently been translated into Spanish (FRANCISCO, NO EL SANTO). Her poetry book SELECT SANDS OF RHYME AND REASON and young children's book SIMPLE PLEASURES are now available at Cyberwit.net and Amazon.com. She has published two new books including MISS FLOSSIE'S WORLD- Coping with Adversity During The Great Depression Then and the Recession Now (2011) and POEMS OF BEAUTIFUL OHIO - Then and Now (2011) which she compiled for THE POET'S NOOK. All of her books are available on Amazon.com. Floriana teaches poetry at www.LSSWritingSchool.com under YOU, ME, AND POETRY. Contact Website Website

~~~~~

do you know

by Steve Croisant

i have come to know the feeling of the air that is rarefied by your flawless entrance into a room

i have come to know the "dimming of the day" as all light
and every color seek admission to the windows of your soul

i have come to know of no horizon that could bound your wonderment
oh, but that i could be imprisoned in your realm of imagination

i have come to know the insignificance of the moon and stars
after your evening presence diminishes the nighttime sky

i have come to know the sweet addiction of your every song and sound
it is the concert of your voice that could comfort any troubled heart

i have come to know the dance that is your every graceful step
the wake of your peaceful path reveals only consecrated ground

i have come to know the surrender of the hours and days
when time cannot fade your beauty, for your smile fades time itself

i have come to know there are no words which will render your image
for it is your mere existence that redefines all meaning

i will come to know the dreams that will take the place of knowing
and the complexities of protocol will aberrate the sincerest of good intentions

and i wonder, do you know the power you would have
if you were in love

© Steve Croisant 2003

June 7, 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

~~~~~

WHEN I WAS YOUNG AND IN LOVE
by Julia Nadon

When I was young and in love

I lost myself.

I became what I thought you wanted me to be

Do you want quiet, shy and attentive

Maybe someone to laugh at your jokes

I can do that

You need someone to play shortstop on your mixed softball team

Or a good conversationalist to blend into quiet dinners

With important clients and other couples

Or maybe a groupie to follow the band up and down the eastern seaboard

I can do that

You want someone so unsure of who she is

That she’ll try on any persona in order to please you

I can do that

But not anymore

I still can

But I won’t

Something happened along the way

I grew up

Halfway around the world from you

And everything I knew

Free from the entanglement of your far reaching web

I found myself among strangers, odd customs and guttural tongues

When I was young and in love

I lost myself

For years

I held you responsible

But I was the one

Whose grip wasn’t strong enough

Against the pull of your orbit

Decades later

I hold nothing against you

Nor against myself

There is something about aging and losing your eyesight

In exchange for a sense of perspective

Leaning towards forgiveness

When I was young and in love

You were my Sun

And I willingly walked in your shadow

Today

I dwell in a parallel universe

Where I am

My own

Bright

And shining star

JULIA NADON is a ukulele, guitar, and a long neck dulcimer player, educator, ravenous reader, kayak paddler, monarch raising gardener, swimmer, writer and songwriter. Contact

~~~~~

HANGING ON BY A LEAF

by Charlie Cole

Let go, intransigent oak!

Uncloak yourself, once prideful beech!

Your gowns are in tatters.

I’m so worn down,

By your droning prattle,

Your frail resistance

In these February winds,

When everyone else ceased

Fighting months ago.

Surrender; it’s natural.

(And I will join you.)

If you’ll just bequeath me this peace of mind.

CHARLIE COLE loved his undergraduate years at a small, rural Maine college. He has been previously published in Long Story Short, The Blue Crow, The Sandy River Review and The Café Review. He lives with his family in Maine on land once owned by his great-great grandfather. Contact

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BLUE SKY

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Both mother and grandmother

used to exclaim in the waning rain,

Look, there’s enough blue sky

to make a pair of Dutchman’s breeches.

How they knew what yardage

such trousers would take

puzzled me as a child.

I took their omen as truth

and, in truth, the storm was soon over.

Decades later, when gray clouds threaten

to deaden the spirit, weary the soul,

I puzzle my friends

when I scan the sky,

mutter about Dutchmen.

PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has an interest in healing writing and leads the writing program at a Cancer Center. She is widely published in poetry and nonfiction, writes for the review department of Recovering the Self: a journal of hope and healing and has ten chapbooks of poetry. Contact

~~~~~

WILL I FORGET YOU

by Gloria Watts

Did you think I would forget you?

Empty my mind, my heart, my soul

of all those dreams we’d dreamed together,

dearest one, the answer’s no.

Did you think I’d love another?

Let him take my heart, my soul

share my deepest dreams, and more,

dearest one, the answer’s no.

Did you think, I’d pine without you?

Weep each day and waste away

forget that life is made for living,

to live and love another day,

dearest one, the answer’s no.

GLORIA WATTS is a retired Further Education College lecturer, is an active participant in several writing forums, including the Muse Flash Success Board, Muse Prophets and Writing Friend. Her stories have been published at Bewildering Stories, Apollo's-Lyre, The Fiction Flyer, and Long Story Short. When not writing she likes to keep busy. She enjoys watercolour painting, playing piano, gardening and yoga. Contact

~~~~~

3 AM

by Roger Singer

I know the face of 3am.

It pulls tight at the bones of my rest,

unwrapping the scaffolding of my cellophane sleep,

breaking into my room; my eyes open into

a dark sea of nothing.

3am is a black star absent of an orbit,

a horizon fused into the soup of blackness,

absent of shadows or breathing.

I hear the scampering of mice within the wall,

rushing within its confines of night, stopping and then

running again, fading into the apartment below.

I am suspended between worlds, yet I

feel as though I am falling flat to earth like a particle

from the dust pan of a solar wind……

3am owns me.

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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CAVEMAN OF THE TIMES

by Patricia Crandall

He blazes mountain trails
and wilds
bearded, clad in Levi’s,
wandering toward
Green Mountain panorama,
abutting jigsaw puzzle states.
He lives in caves,
sheltered against bitter winds.
The sun is his satellite,
the moon, a guiding star.
All
abjure the spoils within
a conscience smote

by a past debasing.

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

~~~~~

IN VENICE

by Susan Dale

In Venice I saw them
dancing across the spires of sunset
into
a twilight of gray luster lagoons
A couple with
Fred Astaire in his steps
          Ginger Rogers
                dipping and
                         backbends
　
Wayward winds broke into twilight
As they danced above the
dark waters of Othello
         shimmering with halos
                    of Venice chandeliers
                            whispering in the windows

Puddle-lit waters surrounded them
Currents reflected palaces and cathedrals
Sprays and mist kissed our faces
Gondoliers plied the waters
Wakes and swishes
Splashes of a boating song

A lone gent in suit and tie
Sat on a water-logged balcony
Dinning above the fluid poem of Venice
wrinkling the waters

Remembering all
through the fog of time
Shrouds of Venice
rising from the lagoons
Doves with iridescent wings
Ghosts of mist
And palaces swimming through
scrolls of currents

But mostly, from yesterday
they are yet dancing in my mind

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was previously published in Pyrokinection on November 8, 2012.

SUSAN DALE’s poems and fiction are on Eastown Fiction, Tryst 3, Word Salad, Pens On Fire, Ken *Again, Hackwriters, Penwood Review, and Pyrokinection. In 2007, she won the grand prize for poetry from Oneswan. Contact

~~~~~

AS WE DRIFT

by Stacy Maddox

I found you gently floating

On a sea of broken dreams

One lost soul to another

I saw your beauty there inside

It lies in the haunted depths

Buried in the very essence of you

You took my hand to hold and love

Softly, cherishing every moment

Bringing my heart back to life

You let me be, who I need to be

Riding on the wind, grounded in earth

Hot as flame that burns with bright fire

You pulled me in to the shore

Whispering words of hope all along

Nestled in the safety of your warmth

My fears rest in a safe haven

You left no stone unturned

As we drift, under the moon and stars.

STACY MADDOX lives, dreams and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, Kansas. When she is not writing poems, songs and stories or taking photographs, she is tending her garden, cooking and spending time with her family and two children. She loves to soak up the sun by the river and feel the rush of water over her feet. Stacy has been published in Shades Of Expression by Gerl Publishing, The Medulla Project, Daily Love and Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review and has won several writing contests. She has been passionate about poetry, photography, music, quotes and stories for over 30 years. Contact

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LASTING IMPRESSIONS

by Kathie Turner

One by one items stream down a conveyer belt while
beeps invade the ears of all who are within
range… beep… beep… beep.

A humble stare, an exchange of words, and an occasional
compliment interchanges two strangers;
now they are acquaintances.

Two souls uniting for mere minutes in the name of a sale,
yet their words and gestures leave
lasting impressions.

KATHIE TURNER is currently working toward a nursing degree, yet she has a profound love for writing. During her spring 2012 semester, Kathie was given the opportunity to intern for Referential Magazine. In doing so, she was given a broader view of the writing and publishing world, which was a truly cherished experience. You can also find her work published in The Rainbow Rose and Welcome to Wherever. Kathie lives in Concord, North Carolina with her wonderful husband, and their precious daughter. Contact

~~~~~

JOURNEY

Beneath clasped fingers of

attending aspens

in the silence of the dark

—this last hushed pause—

before your spirit travels home.

I offer this prayer,

for your eternal rest

beyond the grasp of loneliness

and the cold embrace of strife—

carried aloft on tearful spirals

of sweet-sage smoke—

beyond the river of stars

p.l. wick

~~~~~

FOREVER, A MEMORY

by -J

a sliver of time, a grain of

sand in the hourglass, an eternity
elapsed in a mere second,
a lifetime frozen
in a touch,
a whisper,
a kiss

immortality
wrapped in my arms;
silken brunette hair spread across
the pillow of my chest, our hearts
beating in unison, our souls
joined as one before the universe of
stars reflecting down upon us

you are mine, and I yours, forever
and always;
forever,
in this moment
beneath the silver orb glowing
in the night sky, trickling
pale lunar raindrops
upon the water’s surface like
a thousand sparkling gems

I know in the morning, in the blinding light of
dreary dawn, you will be whisked away on
the white bird's thunderous wings, carrying
you home to your friends, your
loved ones, your country

but perhaps
days, weeks, months,
years from now,
though oceans and continents apart,
when you stare into the
silver star in the blue-black heavens
you'll see the reflection of
my soul, remember the
beating of our hearts, and we'll be
together,
forever...
...in memories

-J is a well-renowned weirdo and self-proclaimed "misanthrope" who resides in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina in a roach-infested duplex where he aspires to greatness. Contact

~~~~~

A DAY OF REFLECTION
by Floriana Hall

At the end of each day

Did you ever ask yourself
What did I accomplish?
Did I show love for others
And experience
A bit of heaven on earth
By being understanding
And less than selfish?

In this kingdom of heaven
Did my body's food desires
Overcome bread for my mind
And soul filled meditation?
We are nurtured
By God's symbolic teachings
To share what we have
To be considerate and kind.

Can we be Christ for others?
If we can answer positively
We are on our way to the glory
Of the most wonderful event
In our lives with the steady
Stream of compassion
And help we give -
It's the reward for our story.

~~~~~

THIS VALENTINE'S DAY

by Susan Marie Davniero

This Valentine’s Day

A heartfelt way

To unwrap a surprise

The love underlies

A gift of gold

Embrace to hold

Love confess

Is so priceless

A loving touch

None too much

A glance will play

Upon you to say

Words to be true

Say I love you

Valentine Cat - Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

AUTHOR’S NOTE: For Valentine's Day I drew a cat illustration holding a heart sending the message of love. As a cat lover, cats hold one's heart. The subject is love. Cat lovers and all lovers unite. Happy Valentine's Day to all!

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

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

february celebrity poet

Khalil Gibran

(1883 – 1931)

nationality: Lebanese-American

Khalil Gibran – Credit: Public Domain

source

A LOVER'S CALL XXVII

Where are you, my beloved? Are you in that little

Paradise, watering the flowers who look upon you
As infants look upon the breast of their mothers?

Or are you in your chamber where the shrine of
Virtue has been placed in your honor, and upon
Which you offer my heart and soul as sacrifice?

Or amongst the books, seeking human knowledge,
While you are replete with heavenly wisdom?

Oh companion of my soul, where are you? Are you
Praying in the temple? Or calling Nature in the
Field, haven of your dreams?

Are you in the huts of the poor, consoling the
Broken-hearted with the sweetness of your soul, and
Filling their hands with your bounty?

You are God's spirit everywhere;
You are stronger than the ages.

Do you have memory of the day we met, when the halo of
You spirit surrounded us, and the Angels of Love
Floated about, singing the praise of the soul's deed?

Do you recollect our sitting in the shade of the
Branches, sheltering ourselves from Humanity, as the ribs
Protect the divine secret of the heart from injury?

Remember you the trails and forest we walked, with hands
Joined, and our heads leaning against each other, as if
We were hiding ourselves within ourselves?

Recall you the hour I bade you farewell,
And the Maritime kiss you placed on my lips?
That kiss taught me that joining of lips in Love
Reveals heavenly secrets which the tongue cannot utter!

That kiss was introduction to a great sigh,
Like the Almighty's breath that turned earth into man.

That sigh led my way into the spiritual world,
Announcing the glory of my soul; and there
It shall perpetuate until again we meet.

I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,
With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,
"Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,
And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.

"But the spirit remains joined safely in the hands of
Love, until death arrives and takes joined souls to God.

"Go, my beloved; Love has chosen you her delegate;
Over her, for she is Beauty who offers to her follower
The cup of the sweetness of life.
As for my own empty arms, your love shall remain my
Comforting groom; you memory, my Eternal wedding."

Where are you now, my other self? Are you awake in
The silence of the night? Let the clean breeze convey
To you my heart's every beat and affection.

Are you fondling my face in your memory? That image
Is no longer my own, for Sorrow has dropped his
Shadow on my happy countenance of the past.

Sobs have withered my eyes which reflected your beauty
And dried my lips which you sweetened with kisses.

Where are you, my beloved? Do you hear my weeping
From beyond the ocean? Do you understand my need?
Do you know the greatness of my patience?

Is there any spirit in the air capable of conveying
To you the breath of this dying youth? Is there any
Secret communication between angels that will carry to
You my complaint?

Where are you, my beautiful star? The obscurity of life
Has cast me upon its bosom; sorrow has conquered me.

Sail your smile into the air; it will reach and enliven me!
Breathe your fragrance into the air; it will sustain me!

Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!