LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE: July 2014 Poetry Page

“To desire and strive to be of some service to the world, to aim at doing something which shall really increase the happiness and welfare and virtue of mankind - this is a choice which is possible for all of us; and surely it is a good haven to sail for.”

- Henry van Dyke
source

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POEM OF THE MONTH

TEACH ME

by James G. Piatt

the mermaid's song, to understand the laughter of a child, decode the Zephyr's windy messages, the sun's heated voice, and the moon's cool rhythms as they cover my soul, to savor the herb's spicy tang, the sweet taste of cool water after a long trek, the soothing grace of a soft pillow at night, and the orange dawn when I arise, teach me how to remember the sound of honest laughter, forget the voices of avarice, the beauty of colorful flowers, the mightiness of towering pines, to love the unlovable, and care for those in need, teach me the essence of the silent lake, the still pond, and the whistling of Birch trees bending in the wind, to grasp the essence of the rumbling sound of waterfalls, and the soft murmuring of the dark earth, teach me to remember the rhythm of peaceful times, and forget the tempo of bloody wars, the cadence of our short life, and to appreciate calm and quiet days, teach me to savor each hour, and have dignity among the undignified, to bend when I wish to stand rigid, and to listen to those of contrary hearts, to hear choirs of angels, and the thunderous poems of an ocean's rushing tide, teach me not to wallow in my own misfortunes, but help me to give solace to those who have real misfortunes, to be that which I can be, and forgo that, which I cannot, to accept success with humility, and failure with elegance, to take the road less traveled, and not the treacherous path of pride,
teach me to love the truth, and shun that which is not, to embrace righteous souls and avoid false voices, to comprehend the artist's mind, the poet's soul and the writer's skill, to desire fewer things,
to be satisfied with less, and enjoy simple Wednesdays, teach me the way to create serenity in a world filled with the din of war and terror,

not to fear the darkness of the tomb or the crackling of my aging bones, but especially how to take your hand, and listen closely to your voice.

JAMES G. PIATT: Dr. Piatt is a retired professor, writer, and poet. He is the author of two poetry books “The Silent Pond,” and “Ancient Rhythms.” His third poetry book is scheduled for released in late 2014. He is also the author of 2 novels (“The Ideal Society” & “The Monk”), over 535 poems, 33 short stories, and 7 essays. His poem, “The Night Frog,” was recently nominated for best of web 2013. His books are available on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble. Contact

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ATTENTION - AT EASE

by Floriana Hall

As soldiers train, the call is made
Attention! At Ease!
It's the same in the big parade
For spectators young or grayed.

Hands over chests as we stand
In honor of our Veterans marching
Carrying our country's flag
The pride of our freedom land.

Passing bands get our hands clapping
Happiness for days of sun
And music, candy, such fun!

The Fourth of July is patriotic awareness
Of sacrifice and preparedness
To keep our domain free from war -
Those who fought, heroes they are!

A day to remember how lucky we were born
Free citizens, but also to mourn
And honor those who gave their lives for us.

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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LET'S GO METS!

by Susan Marie Davniero

Baseball season begins

Cheering Mets on to win

Bob and Susan at Opening Day

Let’s go Mets all the way

Stadium fans cheer and roar

Run the bases and score

Teams in field line up by name

To play the baseball game

It’s a pitch and hit to home

Under the stadium dome

By a swing not allowed

The ball is tossed to foul

Suddenly Bob stands up tall

Bob catches the foul ball

Bob’s lucky catch took aim

As the Mets won the game

Bob & Susan Davniero at Shea Stadium, 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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IN YOUTH

by Roger Singer

In youth, muscles are wings

shaping limitless places with blocks

of living dreams.

Youth never feigns at death or

ill comforting places tight on time.

Bold with thunder passes

quickly overhead, releasing dark skies

and stars without names.

Summers are the blood of youth, never ending and

never counting, the loves of whispered names.

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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WHEN WHALES

by Danae Ellwood

Leagues ago, hot sun baking hard the land,

two-legged beasts sought cool water

And tiny fishes for food. Mammoth size dark

On the surface, scaring prey away.
Until that day, one day –

While tiny legs still pulled to shore, one,

Ahead of her time, stayed back in sea’s embrace,

And floating felt the comfort. Until that one day

When, with wake fanned out and trailing,

She lives that moment, one moment

Of flight beneath the waves –

And stays, to seek another.

For water washes clear desire,

upbraids rocks into sand for travel,

Rules the land locked and two-legged –

Yet frees the one with legs tucked in,
as she escapes

Gravity, loosed and weightless in her wingless glide,

free flying.

DANAE ELLWOOD makes her living in Portland, Oregon. She loves exploring the impossible to tame Columbia River and spends as much time floating, swimming, and paddling on it as she can. Contact

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PARADE DAY

by Joanna M. Weston

pink balloons float
from scooter handles

ribbons stream across traffic
while a choir practices

in the parking lot

no room for cars
amongst massed bands
marching between motorbikes

four girls spin batons
heads duck a dog barks
a clown somersaults

I try to find a parking space
so I can leave books
at the library
am directed to stop
deliver and go

weave slowly between drummers
bagpipers trick cyclists
taking in the dazzle
of this sunlit parade

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 eBooks can be found at her blog. Contact

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TRAVEL-WEARY

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

No matter how provocative

the foreign moon

with its long slide into alien sea

or how seductive

the star-brushed nights,

there comes a time

when I get exasperated

with wrapping my tongue

around unpronounceable words,

exotic foods – no matter how succulent –

and being constantly nice.

I yearn then for my own home –

even the basement looks good –

and long to melt my bones

into my own mattress.

PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES is a former psychology researcher and writer/editor with poetry widely published in journals, anthologies and Internet magazines. She has a special interest in healing writing, leads a cancer center writing group, and has work in several anthologies on related subjects. Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew. Contact

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OUR 25^th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY

(July 1)

by Susan Marie Davniero

Our 25th Wedding Anniversary

It’s our marriage history

When on July 1st we renew

Our wedding vows saying “I do”

At Our Lady of Perpetual Church

Draw near to arrive we approach

Blissfully we come and smile

Holding hands to walk down the aisle

Renewed commitment to each other

After 25 years, we’re still together

Susan & Bob Davniero Renewing Their Wedding Vows
at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

Susan & Bob Davniero on their 25^th Wedding Anniversary
Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

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CRICKET UNDER THE STOVE

by Richard Holleman

My wife believes it comes from the stove.

Tuesday she saw a white cricket

pop under the electric stove.

(I want to name him “George The First”)

Perhaps a misses waited for him

and he commuted home, skipping

through traffic of stomping sandals.

My wife programmed the stove, 400,

to burn them out like Arizona;

The cricketing stopped… then resumed.

George is loud and not welcomed here.

But I don’t worry. I’m pretty sure

he and the misses are outside,

camping the red berry bushes,

not fretting little moochers.

P.S.
“George” was a bachelorette
under the stove in San Diego.

RICHARD HOLLEMAN is a computer programmer in his early forties although he originally studied English Literature at the University of Oregon. After graduation he married his soul mate who remains with him to this day. He has been published in Awakenings Review (Spring 2011), Midstream (March 1995), and Pacifica (1996). Contact

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MY PLEA

by Shirley Securro

Bring our troops home is “My Plea”

They all have friends or a family

Loved ones to pray for them each day

They’ve been sent so far away

They need to love, to laugh, to enjoy

Their babies born after their deploy

Give them the opportunity to see

Their offspring; their genealogy

Hearts broken and losses galore

Our troops are scattered shore to shore

It’s time to bring them home

I know that they’re feeling so alone

Lord, keep them safe till their return

The key thing that we have learned:

They’ve suffered so much for you and me

Bring them home is “My Plea”

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

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BY CHANCE

by Debbie Hilbish

When first I caught

a glimpse of you

from the corner of my eye

I thought of peaches

clean sweet smelling

soft to the touch juicy peaches

I wanted to squeeze you

idly

wishing my skin was half as firm

my essence half as sweet

seeming all

I had managed to retain

was the bruises and fuzz

When first we met you offered

to share a bit of yourself with me

to enrich me with antics

so clever and seemingly

owned only by youth

at the peak of cleverness

indeed it brought a

sense

of rain to a dry desert

allowing the cracked dry earth

moisture enough to bloom again

with memory

wisps of forgotten capers

Sharing of secrets

not happening overnight

like the age

creeping over my flesh

which mostly

I don’t mind

nor the questions I see

burning

that do not transpire between us

no sharing of clucking tongues

judging the peach judging the desert

You being at the beginning

of journeys and I at the end

DEBBIE HILBISH has been writing poetry since she was a young teen. Her first book of poetry was published in 2007, followed by a published chapbook in 2010. Debbie has held poetry readings throughout the southwest and had seminars, sponsored by Arizona and New Mexico libraries, on poetry appreciation for young adults. She also hosted an eight week author’s fair at The Reader’s Oasis bookstore in Quartzsite, Arizona from 2008 through 2012. She is presently directing her energy towards working on her first novel. Contact

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DANDELION

by Kristin M. Morris

At the end of my long green

Slender stalk and jagged leaves

A pop pop poppus

With its delicate, whimsical

Magical strands

Your great grandmother used to make

Soup from my stems

Just one sip would bring forth

Sweet dreams and good luck

Gently lift my tiny, white

Soft seeds to your lips

Exhale...wish

KRISTIN M. MORRIS is a writer of fiction and poetry. She is currently at work on her first young adult novel, an audience in which she is most familiar with as she is a mom of teen twin boys and spends her days as a Spanish middle school teacher. When not at work on her Chromebook with a new poem or story, Kristin can be found concocting something new in the kitchen or driving around all that New England has to offer. Contact

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AFTER THE RAIN

by Patricia Crandall

Gold cones

on pine trees

hang

like prisms

in a painted lady’s ear

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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RED, WHITE, & BLUE

by Shirley Securro

Red, white, and blue

Our flag so free

Courage and bravery

Strength unfold

Ever so bold

Red, white, and blue

Ever so true!

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SUMMER SUN

by Floriana Hall

It seems forever to actually arrive

After the rain and chill of spring

Temperatures suddenly rise many degrees

In the warmth of the summer sun.

There’s no other season’s solar shine

That fills love and life with glee

Of just being here to absorb the joy

In the warmth of the summer sun.

The summer sun means cookouts

Swimming and playing outdoor sports

Children and adults riding bicycles

In the warmth of the summer sun.

Hiking in the woods where the wildflowers bloom

Walking down the street with a lover,

Babies content in strollers go to sleep

In the warmth of the summer sun.

Summer, please don’t pass so fast

We need a long reprieve

From winter’s gloom that seems to last

Till the warmth of the summer sun.

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YANKEE DOODLE DAYS

AT JONES BEACH

by Susan Marie Davniero

It was the Fourth of July

Looking back for a while

Family holiday at Jones Beach

Childhood memories within reach

July 4^th on the past calendar page

Debuting on the boardwalk stage

Dance of my sisters and I parading

Yankee Doodle Dandy song serenading

Taking patriotism all the way home

No matter wherever I roam

My Yankee Doodle Days preach

Don’t leave patriotism at the beach

Bob and Susan Davniero at Bergen Point Park in Long Island, NY
Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

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july celebrity poet

Henry van Dyke

(1852 – 1933)

nationality: American

Henry van Dyke – Credit: Wikimedia Commons

source

AMERICA FOR ME

'Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown,
To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings
But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.

So it's home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;
And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;
And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome;
But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods in green battalions drilled;
I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing foutains filled;
But, oh, to take your had, my dear, and ramble for a day
In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her sway!

I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems to lack!
The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.
But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free-
We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!
I want a ship that's westward bound to plough the rolling sea,
To the blessed Land of Room Enough, beyond the ocean bars,
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.