“I grew up in this town, my poetry was
born between the hill and the river, it took
its voice from the rain, and like the timber,
it steeped itself in the forests."
POEM OF THE MONTH
MY COUNTRY
by Shirley Securro
The United States of America is the best place to be
It’s the home of the brave and the land of the free!
We have freedom of speech and security too
It’s the best place to be and I hope that you
Will take advantage of each and every day
Whether at school or work or play
To be the best that you can be
For all the other countries to see
We have high morals and character too
And try to show it in everything we do
We honor God in all of His glory
He will honor us if we do and that is the story
We pray for our President; our military too
All heroes who fight fire and policemen in blue
Our doctors, our nurses, our teachers, wherever
We pray and ask God to make things better
For us and our future whatever to hold
The land of the free and the home of the bold
This country was founded on
Godly principles you see
Godly principles you see
And that is the reason that we can be free
To choose our President, the church of our choice
To work, to play, and to have a voice
The United States of America is where I want to be
The home of the brave and the land of the free!
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was previously
published in AMERICA "Let Freedom
Reign" OUR SACRIFICES OUR HEROES by Bear House Publishing in 2012.
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
JULY, SAN GABRIEL RIVER
Relaxed,
in the sun
I
stretch out full length
on
a smooth-worn sycamore log.
Face
down,
my arms dangle tranquil and loose imperceptibly pulsing with
the
water’s life-beat in
tourmaline
river pool coolness.
After
a short while, I am visited
by
a venerable, gray-speckled trout;
many
suspicious years wise
and
covered with wild clusters
of
billowing tobacco-brown moss.
He
circles cautiously; observing—
yet,
this old man of the river
still
chooses
bravado
swimming
with slow deliberation,
plaiting,
languid pattern repeats,
pressing
against my hand,
inviting
me to scratch his disheveled,
festooned
sides and back.
p.l. wick
variation: PSC Showcase 2k8
~~~~~
AWAKENING
by Jody McKinnon
Mysterious rivers of life
flow through,
The beauty of all things
shift and change,
but remain the same,
but remain the same,
Certainness in
uncertainty,
Answers seeking questions,
Responsiveness in still
air,
Laughter at the backstage
of the tears,
Forgiveness, the North
Star to the lost traveler,
Life awaits the feel of
death,
The honey awaiting the
bee, “you see”?
The knowing, waiting for
awakening.
JODY MCKINNON lives in a
small town in Southern Maine and is a mom of four beautiful boys. Jody has
had a love for poetry since her early teens and continues to fall in love over
and over again. It’s a large part of who she is. She really would like to share
her thoughts with the world and spread the love. Contact
~~~~~
SUMMER'S ESCAPE
by Susan Marie Davniero
Mid-morning sun deceit
Days long of heat
The air had died
Stillness survived
Relaxing on the beach
Blue sky within reach
Sun burns aglow
Humid days follow
Fear we will miss
The days of bliss
Days in wait
Summer’s escape
~~~~~
THE SEA OF LIFE
by Floriana Hall
The boat is rocking on an unknown sea
The captain of the ship is still trying to be
In charge of the steering, port and aft.
The rain is drenching the rollicking waters
The days of cruising have suddenly been altered
By design of the Maker of the craft.
The channel is deep, the ocean bottom in sight
The captain is fighting with all his might
His courage noted by all his staff.
The clipper is flipping, but stays the course
For all past transgressions, there is remorse
Seeping through the piled up stacks.
The schooner is weaving to and fro
Getting back on course, though very slow
Steady there, mates, strength coming back.
In charge of every movement, he takes the wheel
To balance the ship on an even keel
The storm is over, now he can laugh.
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
DAVID FRASER lives in Nanoose Bay, on Vancouver Island. He is the founder and editor of Ascent
Aspirations Magazine, since 1997. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in many journals and anthologies, including Rocksalt, An Anthology of Contemporary BC Poetry. He has published four collections of poetry; Going to the Well, 2004, Running Down the Wind, 2007, No Way Easy, 2010, Caught in My Throat, 2011 and, Paper Boats, 2012 and a collection of short fiction, Dark Side of the Billboard, 2006. In addition David has co-authored with Naomi Beth Wakan, On Poetry an inspirational book on poetics and poetry. To keep out of trouble he helps develop Nanaimo's spoken-word series, WordStorm. In October 2009 and 2010 he participated in Random Acts of Poetry, a national poetry program that brings poetry to the streets of Canada. David is a full member of the League of Canadian Poets and is available for performances and readings via funding with LCP. Contact
AUTHOR WANNABE
by Mary M. Perry
I have something to say.
Pen to paper I write.
Words flow. Story explodes.
I worry the grammar is not
quite right.
Scraps of paper here and there
note cards everywhere.
From mouth to pen my story
expands. I could really use a hand.
I'm not sure how this writer thing works.
I just don't want to look like a jerk.
Many words I write. The pages fly by.
Type I try. Not trained am I.
Hunt, peck and delete is what I do.
Formatting, spacing, is crazy editor
Voodoo.
There is a story that needs to come out.
Making me crazy can't you see? Writing poems
about writer wannabes.
Nothing to do now but, find a 12-step writers group
and an editor wannabe sponsor just for me.
Summer
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
~~~~~
YOUR INTERVAL
by David Fraser
by David Fraser
How do you spend
the interval from dawn to
dusk?
How do you spend
that floating time from
dusk to dawn?
Let us go then to the pool
beneath the willow
where Buddha waits.
Let us find a stillness
far from the stress of
tires,
the snake-buzz of power
lines.
There are certain paths
we haven’t walked
that lead us here
before the soft trickle
of the night appears.
Come spend this interval
watching dragonflies,
listening to the frantic
hum
of bees, busy on the lilac
blooms,
in the white dome of Hebe,
or
the silent bells of Fuchsia.
Notice the hummingbird
dipping his body as he
feeds
on foxglove and the yellow
rose.
Come tell me how you’ll
spend this gift
before you’re carried off
to the sweat-drenched
cloak of night,
where no reluctant morning
can suck you back from the
black
root-tangled earth of
dreams.
~~~~~
AUTHOR WANNABE
by Mary M. Perry
I have something to say.
Pen to paper I write.
Words flow. Story explodes.
I worry the grammar is not
quite right.
Scraps of paper here and there
note cards everywhere.
From mouth to pen my story
expands. I could really use a hand.
I'm not sure how this writer thing works.
I just don't want to look like a jerk.
Many words I write. The pages fly by.
Type I try. Not trained am I.
Hunt, peck and delete is what I do.
Formatting, spacing, is crazy editor
Voodoo.
There is a story that needs to come out.
Making me crazy can't you see? Writing poems
about writer wannabes.
Nothing to do now but, find a 12-step writers group
and an editor wannabe sponsor just for me.
MARY M. PERRY retired in 2012 and is a
Vietnam Era Veteran. She has a Second Degree Black Belt in Taekwondo, and
enjoys cooking, reading, and hiking. Contact
~~~~~
HER DREAM
by Patricia
Wellingham-Jones
A boat that doesn’t sleep
many
Sails to raise in perfect
weather
Gear to keep them dry and
safe
when seas are stormy
Fishing rods for
ocean-fresh dinners
A deck for sunning,
dining, repairs
Charts and maps and
electronic gadgets
to get them to
tree-studded islands
The expertise to share
boat-handling
Time away from time to
travel
The health to sail away
from teeming continents
and stay gone
Days and nights on a
spreading sea
with the option to return
home
This dream has filled her
sleep
for most of her life
PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES
is a former psychology researcher and writer/editor with an interest in
healing writing and the benefits of writing and reading work together. Widely published in poetry
and nonfiction, she writes for the review department of
Recovering the Self: a journal of hope and healing and has ten chapbooks of poetry. Contact
~~~~~
SEAGULLS BY THE BAY
by Susan Marie Davniero
Visit Long Island dock
Where seagulls flock
I ponder and mull
Home of the Seagull
Behold the sight
Seagulls take flight
To soar from within
Adrift with the wind
The seagulls race
Call out their place
Navigate and glide
Alive in the sky
Wings span
Like a white fan
All kinds of weather
Birds of a feather
Day or night
Scavengers in flight
Seagulls come near
Perch on the pier
I lay bits of bread
Seagulls are fed
Calm waters today
Seagulls by the bay
 |
Bob and Susan Marie Davniero at Bergen Point Park in Long Island, NY
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
~~~~~
ENDLESS ARE SUMMER DAYS
by Patricia CrandallSummer
is not as exhilarating
as
Spring, nor
virtually inspiring as
Winter,
and apple-tart as
Autumn,
June, July and August
are crowned by a
cerise sun
whose face rises early
and retires late.
PATRICIA CRANDALL has three books in print: a thriller, THE DOG MEN, a historical volume, MELROSE: THEN AND NOW, and a poetry book, I PASSED THIS WAY. She is currently working on an adventure/thriller novel and a book of bottle mining adventures. She lives with her husband on a lake in the Grafton Mountains in upstate New York. Contact Website
~~~~~
THE GIRL IN THE HELIOTROPE HAT
by Floriana Hall
There's a portrait on my bedroom wall,
Not too big, not too small
That takes me to faraway places,
A window is open to see the horizon,
I imagine myself in one of the faces.
Beyond the scenic lake, there are two hills
Above which the morning sun is rising,
A slender girl sitting at the window sill,
A wistful girl wearing a large heliotrope hat,
A composite uncompromising.
She gently tosses some seed to feed four birds
Who approach their feast unflinching
To land nearby her hand, ever closer inching.
The harmony of this spectacle engrosses me
With a feeling of overwhelming serenity, bewitching.
Each dawn when I awaken, I gaze at the picture
The beauty of humanity and nature acting in concert,
The girl with fresh picked flowers across one arm -
And suddenly I project myself so that
I become the girl in the heliotrope hat!
~~~~~
EVER YOU
by Gloria Watts
Your hair,
a frame of golden
sunlight,
your eyes
blue as summer’s skies,
soft your touch,
a silken glove
that strokes and smoothes
my darkest night
Your smile,
a beaming beacon bright,
your laugh
a melody that sings,
soft your arms
an enthermal thread
that holds and binds
me with delight
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
THE PATH
THE SUN BOWNED DOWN
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 the annual eight week Author's Fair at The Reader’s Oasis bookstore in Quartzsite, Arizona 2008-2012 years. She is presently working on her first novel. Contact
~~~~~
THE PATH
by Sandra H. Bounds
A narrow path, worn
bare of grass,
descends to my
sister’s house next door.
Free to come and go as
the grandchildren please,
three sturdy pairs of
little feet
follow that path there
every day.
Sometimes one storms
off home,
declaring in childish
outrage
that she is never
coming back.
Quickly forgetting her
anger,
she soon runs down the
path again,
sure of a warm
welcome,
certain that love
waits at its end.
SANDRA H.
BOUNDS has a Master of Arts in English and has taught in both high
school and community college. An active member of the Mississippi Poetry
Society, she was its 2005 Poet of the Year, and MPS published a chapbook of her
poetry to honor that selection. She has won many awards in the annual contests
sponsored by MPS, and she has been published in such journals as ART GULF
COAST, THE LYRIC, THE ROAD NOT TAKEN, SHARING, THE WELL-TEMPERED
SONNET, and WESTWARD QUARTERLY. Contact
~~~~~
LEGENDARY CATFISH
by Ronald Charles Epstein
Jonathan Yardley,
seafood enthusiast,
visits "The End Zone,"
down in Detroit,
known for their "Legendary Catfish."
Disappointed, he discovers
that the touted fish
was merely a legend
seafood enthusiast,
visits "The End Zone,"
down in Detroit,
known for their "Legendary Catfish."
Disappointed, he discovers
that the touted fish
was merely a legend
in its own mind.
RONALD CHARLES EPSTEIN was born in Bogota, Colombia in 1956 and has lived in Toronto, Ontario since 1959. His first publication appeared in Piedmont Literary Review in 1982. He has also been published in Harvard Review, The Antigonish Review, The Toronto Star and Expresso Tilt. Ronald has several DVD reviews published in VIDEOSCOPE and his latest book review appears on the PRAIRIE FIRE REVIEW OF BOOKS website. Contact
RONALD CHARLES EPSTEIN was born in Bogota, Colombia in 1956 and has lived in Toronto, Ontario since 1959. His first publication appeared in Piedmont Literary Review in 1982. He has also been published in Harvard Review, The Antigonish Review, The Toronto Star and Expresso Tilt. Ronald has several DVD reviews published in VIDEOSCOPE and his latest book review appears on the PRAIRIE FIRE REVIEW OF BOOKS website. Contact
~~~~~
by Debbie Hilbish
Beyond the water’s lapping
shore,
blue heron stood;
accepting
patience
‘til
beak caught dinner
breaking the surface
in a flamboyant arch
of mid air rainbow.
Summer's light
cascaded
in waves
choreographed
with sandhill cranes
coo-trilling
in flight
across the tawny sky.
Fanned wings framed
heron’s
slight neck,
extended
in his ballet full of grace.
And the valley
was pregnant with reverence
as the sun bowed down.
blue heron stood;
accepting
patience
‘til
beak caught dinner
breaking the surface
in a flamboyant arch
of mid air rainbow.
Summer's light
cascaded
in waves
choreographed
with sandhill cranes
coo-trilling
in flight
across the tawny sky.
Fanned wings framed
heron’s
slight neck,
extended
in his ballet full of grace.
And the valley
was pregnant with reverence
as the sun bowed down.
~~~~~
PURE PARADISE
by Barbara Irvin
by Barbara Irvin
I glide in the sand.
My long hair blows in
the wind.
The beach is my bliss.
BARBARA IRVIN is just starting out in literary
magazines. She has previously written for newspapers and newsletters. Contact
~~~~~
GRANT ME ONE LAST SUMMER
running, tumbling without care—
endless abandon at
the ocean’s door—
where we, just you and I,
may hide away from destinyand not be found.
Warm wind blown scents
from far, far lands
to carry us
in sun drenched dreams
beyond this world we know
to where there are
no sad goodbyes
to where there is
a beach for you and me—
a beach that waits
for you and me.
p.l. wick
p.l. wick: a versifier, never a “poet”—a writer, busy having a good time writing... Contact
~~~~~
BEING THERE
by Floriana Hall
Watching fireworks is exciting
On any patriotic occasion
But nothing is as much fun
As being there.
Visiting places in your imagination
Or in geography books, or any situation
Suffices, but nothing is as thrilling
As being there.
Talking to your loved ones
By email or telephone is comforting
But nothing is as nurturing
As being there.
Feeling homesick is devastating
In the pit of your stomach
Pictures are nice, but not as pleasant
As being there.
Reminiscing is like a dream
Life fleeting by as if on a screen
Past tribulations and triumphs not the same
As being there.
Be with me today, the only day that counts
As being here.
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
~~~~~
HOMEWARD TO AMERICA
by Susan Marie Davniero
Voyagers march has begun
New beginnings to come
From across the sea
They came to be free
No looking back
Onward passage track
Landscape on sight
Await their flight
Hopes of stories told
Streets paved with gold
Their unseen destiny
In the land of the free
No longer to roam
America is home
SUSAN MARIE DAVNIERO is a published poet listed in "The Poet's Market 2011." She writes in traditional rhyme verse and has been published in various publications including Pancakes in Heaven, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Long Short Story, Great South Bay Magazine, Write On, The Poet's Art, Creations, Poetic Matrix, Pink Chameleon, Shemom, and others. She has also written essays and letters published in newspapers and magazines including the New York Times, Daily News, Newsday, Ladies Home Journal, and Saturday Evening Post. Her blog “Susan Marie” is her writing history. They don't know her; yet, by way of writing they might. She is never at a loss of words. She has found her place as a writer and a poet. With every poem published she is inspired to write more. Writing feeds her soul - literally food for thought. Contact
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
july celebrity poet
Pablo Neruda
(1904 – 1973)
nationality: Chilean
POETRY
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
Read the entire poem at:
For the poet’s biography, see:
Quoted for educational purposes only.
All work the copyright of the respective authors.
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