LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE: August 2013 Poetry Page

“And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."

- William Shakespeare
source

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POEM OF THE MONTH

AND DOES THE FATHER WHO LIVES IN YOUR DREAMS DIE AGAIN WHEN YOU AWAKEN?

(AFTER NERUDA)

by Lucille Gang Shulklapper

I’m sitting on our red brick stoop,

in the August sun, my father beside me,

trying to learn the multiplication tables

I skipped in 2B. The only numbers I remember

are black, perched on our maple tree, a wobbly:

85-26 Kendrick Place, Jamaica, New York.

And every number times one is the same number.

The sand is hot between my toes, on the soles

of my feet, blackened by tar near the ocean on

Silverpoint Beach. My father’s feet sink

into the shallow water, while he watches me

plunge into the coiled waves.

On the shore, we find broken shells. A multitude

of soft creatures lived inside of them.

That August, my father dies, and a crow

flies into our chimney, trilling as he falls until

silenced. I close his cracked and broken beak.

How it warms to my touch like my father’s multiplication…

Didn’t he say: Every life times itself is the same life,

like the soul of crushed feathers in the heat of August?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This poem was previously published at In The Tunnel

(March Street Press, 2008).

LUCILLE GANG SHULKLAPPER is a widely published poet and fiction writer with work appearing in journals including Long Story Short, Slant, Prose-Poem Project, Red Booth Review, and Consequence, among others, as well as in four poetry chapbooks, the most recent titled In the Tunnel (March Street Press, 2008). She has led poetry workshops for The Florida Center for the Book and those facilitated through the Palm Beach Poetry Festival community outreach program, taught reading K-college, made recordings for the blind, and raised a family. Contact

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SUMMER MUSINGS
by Floriana Hall

When the sun is shining
I gather it in my arms
And praise God for summer days.

When the rain is pouring
I open my umbrella to protect me
And thank God for flowery gaze.

When the stars are twinkling
I look up at constellations
And love God's night at bay.

When the moon is rising
I feel the power of the universe
And mischief that's in play.

When the soft dawn surrounds my world
I am grateful to be alive
And hope that's how I'll stay.

When the sun is on the horizon
I think about the hours of light
And what I'll accomplish today.

FLORIANA HALL was born in 1927 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is a Distinguished Graduate of Cuyahoga Falls High School, Ohio in June 1948, and attended Akron University. She is an author and poet of 17 inspirational books, nonfiction and poetry. All of her books are available on Amazon.com. She has five children, nine grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. She is the founder and coordinator of THE POET'S NOOK at Cuyahoga Falls Library. Contact Website Website

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BEACH AWAKES

by Susan Marie Davniero

Mist of dew
Morning anew
Dawn breaking
Winds shaking
Running tide
Under blue sky
White sand lay
Meets the bay
Beach’s dock
People flock
Silence of day
Taken away
Morning breaks
Beach awakes

Bob and Susan Marie Davniero at Tanner 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

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GOING RENEGADE BASHO

morning headache

empty bottle of plum wine—

no haiku

let us doze instead

and journey tomorrow

midst butterscotch pine

p.l. wick

variously published in: bch, Hwy. 395,

Leaves from Bear Creek

p.l. wick: a versifier, never a “poet”—a writer, busy having a good time writing... Contact

~~~~~

THE ARTIST'S DREAM COMES TRUE

by Patricia Landi-Zippilli

After the painting

"The Rehearsal"
by Edgar Degas

I was on the floor

tying my ribbons

when I first saw you

descending a spiral staircase

with a top hat

in your left hand.

The other girls whispered,

"It's Monsieur Degas!"

You were observing the dancers.

I was told you observed often.

Isabella took a step forward

in her multi-colored tutu

and pink scarf tied

around her shoulders.

She wanted you to see her.

You walked past the other girls

practicing in the back

and nodded.

They all curtsied at different levels.

Leslie was wearing a thin black

ribbon around her neck.

Madam and the Ballet Master

never said anything

when you looked at us

so attentively...

as you walked around the room.

Madam was always so strict,

and never let us out of the studio.

I said, "Isabella, which one

do you think he will paint?"

You overheard me,

and I lowered my head.

You stood for a moment

then said, "All of you...

I will paint all of you."

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

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YOU NEVER SEE A MOROSE SQUIRREL AND THE THEORY OF HAPPINESS

by David Fraser

You never see a morose squirrel

unless it is stiff as cardboard.

You simply have to keep busy,

in all directions, like a particle

moving in the universe.

You can walk down a path

wobbling and turning back and forth

and the earth spins on its axis,

revolves around the sun

and the solar system moves

within its galaxy, and that Milky Way

that looks so constant as we

look out at its one vast wing

on a summer night, it too moves

outward toward somewhere

we do not know and as you sit

beneath the August sky, fireworks

and all the familiar shapes, you know

you just have to keep busy.

DAVID FRASER lives in Nanoose Bay, on Vancouver Island. He is the founder and editor of AscentAspirations 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

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FINALLY FOUND GOD

by Douglas Ellington

When I look into the mirror,

I see darkness in my eyes, and

In my head I hear nothing but cries.

Because all my life I have lived nothing

but lies.

So I keep the light out, and

The dark inside,

So I will have a place to hide.

Because voices are what I hear,

Saying why did you strike me,

With all that fear.

When I just tried to be your friend,

But when I called,

You pushed end.

So now it’s time to let go,

Because I am no longer walking with

the devil,

So I need to stay on track, and

Keep my life level.

Now I am finally here,

Even though it took me a while,

To run that first mile,

But now I know that he is there for me, and

That he will set me free.

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

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DIATELLE

by Floriana Hall

air

gentle

flexible

breezes, wind gusts

causing tornadoes, floods

knocking on doors around the world

destroying homes, property, and some trees

even uprooting giant elm, maple, birch, fir, oak

people leave the shores for safer high ground

where meadows are spacious and firm

where they can live, not fret

watch Big Dipper

grow lilac

berries

food

~~~~~

FEAST, UNEXPECTED

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Bill keeps the produce

sparkling fresh at our market,

steers me to the day’s specials,

wraps up goodies he knows I’ll like.

Today, in the middle

of our chat about cherries,

he broke in to ask did I like crab.

Love crab, I assured him,

and he hustled off in mid-word.

He returned bearing a superior gift—

one fresh-caught, fresh-cooked,

multi-clawed creature from Trinidad Bay.

He even had one of the guys in the back

break it apart, flush it with water.

Jenny joined me for her first crab fest,

my table spread with newspapers.

We cracked and picked,

dipped sweet morsels of meat

in melted butter and lemon.

We nibbled a huge green salad,

rinsed our palates with Pinot Grigio,

topped everything off with cherries and plums.

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

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ABUNDANCE

by Jody McKinnon

The weed ingeniously makes acquaintance with the flower,

It is unequivalently diminishing.

The gloriousness of all things abundant.

The green pastures present themselves,

Quite unanimously clinging to the silk bed.

With the outskirts of the shadows pulling them into the sky,

A romantic breeze carries its way to the onlookers,

Awaiting for the gates to open to claim what is theirs.

With it too,

Bringing peace in the heart of the savage.

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

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REMOTENESS LOVE

by Jennifer Nam

Knowing you're all mine

Constantly keeps me dreamin'

All that is left is time

Infatuation of you is what I'm feelin'

So far in distance, close in heart

Many obstacles come between us

Feels like a million miles apart

Our relationship is built on trust

I'm grateful for when we met

It's been about two years already

You are one thing I don't regret

Let's keep what we have steady

Everything you do, I admire

Intoxicated by your love and grace

It's like a burning fire

My heart is running out of space

Can't wait to see you again

I know it’s worth the wait

My feelings will remain the same now and then

Because I know you're my soul mate

JENNIFER NAM is currently a senior in high school. She is a Muay Thai Kickboxer, and enjoys writing. She is a caregiver, and also loves to help others. Contact

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INFINITY (Cinquain)
by Patricia Crandall

Passage
In drifting waves
A jewel of a lake
Unable to rein in my gaze
Earth…sky

PATRICIA CRANDALL has three books in print: a thriller, THE DOG MEN, a historical volume, MELROSE: THEN AND NOW, and a poetry book, I PASSED THIS WAY. She is currently working on an adventure/thriller novel and a book of bottle mining adventures. She lives with her husband on a lake in the Grafton Mountains in upstate New York. Contact Website

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FLIGHTS OF FANCY

by Sandra H. Bounds

Myriads of tiny mushrooms

just everywhere on the lawn,

an enchanted kingdom,

perfect for elves, gnomes, and leprechauns.

Just everywhere on the lawn,

fragile little tan toadstools

shaped like wee umbrellas,

an enchanted kingdom

conjured in a daughter’s imagination

when she spied the tiny fungi

perfect for elves, gnomes, and leprechauns

to hide under and to romp and play among,

perfect for enticing flights of fancy.

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

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RIDING AGAIN
by Joanna M. Weston

my jacket
wings out
as I fly
down the hill

feet free
of pedals
hands ready
to brake

hair blows back
as speed carries
me down
to steep turn

which I miss
slide
into bushes
bike on top

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

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SERENDIPITY

by Cheryl A. Van Beek

Your eyes are not engulfing, tempestuous oceans,

but ponds, that clarify

the green and brown earth,

a reflection that sails to me on a breeze of
Arabian Jasmine

from a white-petaled pinwheel.

You are the mica glinting in the pebbles

that hint at the life teeming below.

Your light shimmers ripples

reveals depth in successive surprises

like a nesting doll.

You transform trials into trails,

elucidate pathways,

enlighten branches,

paint the wings of the crested Bluebird.

You always know when to come.

You are the periphery of glowing clouds, rushing to meet my edges.

CHERYL A. VAN BEEK has had two poems published in Sandhill Review, a Saint Leo University publication and is a member of the Saint Leo Writers’ Circle. She has also written for a local newspaper. She is a caregiver for her mother and lives with her husband and two cats in Florida. Contact

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THE RAINBOW PATH

by Floriana Hall

When we follow Jesus, we follow a rainbow path
No matter what storms leave as an aftermath
The colors of the rainbow leave a lasting impression
Of the peace of creation and God's lasting correction.
The rainbow lasts only a short while
But its lovely colors make us smile
An event like this is God's work of art
And helps us keep hope and faith in our heart.
A sign from above that restores mankind
To understand what He had in mind
He wants us to keep on the straight and narrow
And not be pierced by any foe's arrow.
When clouds return after the rainbow
We have the chance to live and to grow
As we follow the path He has taken
To help our lives soar and awaken.

~~~~~

A MAGICAL MOMENT

by Barbara Irvin

They lie on the beach.

He kisses her tenderly.

They look at the stars.

BARBARA IRVIN is just starting out in literary magazines. She has previously written for newspapers and newsletters. Contact

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AUGUST SWINGS

by Susan Marie Davniero

Rise with the morning sun

Day of leisure has begun

Unwrapping what the day brings

When August swings

Treasure of this season's time

Uncover the blooming, shade and shine

Listen to the summer wind sings,

When August swings

Until the fall of dusk sends

Us on a vacation trip to end,

Goodbye to summer’s fling
When August swings

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

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GOOD-BYE SUMMER

An elegant repast laid out so fine:
Pine nuts, green willow
and dandelion wine
sipped from Pasque Flowers—
that wild meadow zin’,
With mushrooms and berries
in a sardine tin.
Tanglewood mother
gathers her kits close around,
Singing: wee muskrat children,
good-bye summer time.

Good-bye to the
succulent reed and cat tail,
The Loosestrife leaves
now wilted and pale.
Farewell Bittercress,
Watercress, violet Dayflower,
This is to be our
last streamside hour;
Then my babes, you are off
into the unknown—
to dark wood, culvert,
and marsh pond travail.

Keep your eye to the tree-line,
up to the sky;
Come the red fox,
Come the kestrel on
whose wings death does fly.
Man’s leg-holds and poisons
are laid for your doom—
youth soon is passed,
the harsh end comes too soon.

Stay deep in bank shadows
’neath alder and grass,
And keep me in mem’ry
should you swim on past.
Please keep me in mem’ry—
my small ones good-bye.

p.l. wick

p.l. wick: a versifier, never a “poet”—a writer, busy having a good time writing... Contact

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

august celebrity poet

James Whitcomb Riley

(1849 – 1916)

nationality: American

James Whitcomb Riley, c. 1913 – Credit: Public Domain

source

A SUMMER AFTERNOON

A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,
With labored respiration, moves the wheat
From distant reaches, till the golden seas
Break in crisp whispers at my feet.

My book, neglected of an idle mind,
Hides for a moment from the eyes of men;
Or lightly opened by a critic wind,
Affrightedly reviews itself again.

Off through the haze that dances in the shine
The warm sun showers in the open glade,
The forest lies, a silhouette design
Dimmed through and through with shade.

A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie
At anchor from all storms of mental strain;
With absent vision, gazing at the sky,
"Like one that hears it rain."

The Katydid, so boisterous last night,
Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise,
Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite
If "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise.

The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird
That checks the song abruptly at the sound,
And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred,
Sink into silence, all the more profound.

And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain
Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keep
My heavy eyelids--there it is again--
"Coo-coo!"--I mustn't--"Coo-coo!"--fall asleep!

Read the entire poem at:

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/james_whitcomb_riley/poems/18696.html

For the poet’s biography, see:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Whitcomb_Riley