Thursday, September 4, 2014

September 2014 Poetry Page






“Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.”

- William Cullen Bryant
source

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POEM OF THE MONTH



OH, THE SPARROW
by Charles Costa Jr.


While perched on a branch I look at the others
All flying around to be proud to their mothers
The Orioles, the Bluebirds, the Cardinals and all
They’re flying around, they all hear their call

And then there’s the Martin with bright purple veil
They all look so lovely, it makes me feel pale
Orioles sit brightly on top of their trees
While Cardinals watch over their ladies with ease

The fluttering Bluebirds, they soar in their beauty
While I just sit here feeling all snooty
Even the Robin that hops on the ground
Prances around like she’s wearing a crown

People don’t notice a Sparrow in flight
I wear these dull colors, a terrible plight
Why weren’t we made with the colors like others
Aren’t we as good as our sisters and brothers?

Hummingbirds hover, and they make me frown
They dash back and forth, even fly upside down
They also have colors, so bright they all are
Beside other birds, they’re always the star.

And then there’s the Eagle, so stately and proud
They brag of their feats, but never out loud.
There’s no need to do that, their acts are enough
To keep them on top of the others with fluff

So wise is the Owl, they look so serene.
They sit on their perch and watch over the scene
When airborne and gliding to pounce on their prey
That mouse never hears her, it is her last day

So why are we Sparrows so plain in our dress
And why do we make oh so ugly a nest
The more that I think, as I sit on this trellis
The deeper I’m saddened and feeling more jealous.

It’s my way of thinking that has to be changed
I’ll start thinking positive, not be deranged
To think of my good traits, while up in the sky
My bobbing and weaving, and how I can fly.

No bird can catch me, no matter how pretty
I bob in the country and weave in the city
I can quickly fly left, and then change it to right
It’s my kind of beauty, I move like a kite.

Let others all fly, while flitting their colors
With empty bravado to show to their mothers
So give them their glamour, their beauty so shallow
But my special pride is to fly like a sparrow.






CHARLES COSTA JR.: After a stint in the US Navy, a short time hair dressing, and fifty years in the bakery business, he is retired now with time to fulfill his many hobbies...the favorite one being writing. He’s written a book, The City Kid, a story of growing up in a big city, and many other short stories, and he is currently working on a book of poetry. Known as the storyteller by family and friends, he is often asked to tell one of his stories at their many social gatherings. Contact


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AT DAWN
by Floriana Hall


Another new day for accomplishment,
Off to work, or taking a day off,
For time to catch up with life,
Or sit back and enjoy the midsummer sun.
A rainy start that seems rather glum
But no power outage like the fate of some
After the storm and lightning early on.
Another new day for little tots
Who start kindergarten this morning,
Will they adjust quickly, or be shy?
All new students to meet -
Hope some do not cry!
Another new day for philanthropists
Who help the unfortunate everywhere
With tender love and tender care.
Another new dawn to welcome peace
Another new morning forgiveness to reach.
The calm before any more storms
Of war in any form.
Let's teach our children to be tranquil
And love one another.


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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ROCK A BYE BIRTHDAYS
by Susan Marie Davniero


Birthdays play hide and seek
Looking into a window to peek
Once upon to visit another time
Of lullabyes and nursery rhymes

It was September 26 before
When Laura was turning four
Rocking Horse given on that day
Today has been packed away

We never have to say goodbye
For birthdays never will die
Rock a Bye birthdays of the past
Maybe some things do last


Laura’s 4th Birthday Rocking Horse, 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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PATRICIA BY THE STREAM
by Debbie Hilbish


I see her through the leaves and mist caught up in a dream
fawn eyes feigning innocence,
Patricia by the stream.

Sun’s rays glistening diamonds
through her raven hair
catching motes of pollen in a rhythm through the air.

Tumbling o’er the rocks and reeds hear the water sing
a mesmerizing melody lulls
Patricia by the stream.

It’s so peaceful by the creekside
lifting worries from her day
like when she’d rock her babies, soon her hips begin to sway

Her world’s content and she’s serene
when
Patricia’s by the stream.


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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THE SWINGING TREE
by Mary Ellen Shaughan 


How many pages of our lives do we
lose to attrition, or to shriveling brain cells?
“Remember the swinging tree?”
my friend asked. “What happened to it?”

What happened to it, indeed?
And what swinging tree?
Did we have a tree that swung,
or was there a swing in a tree?

And then, with great effort, I dredge up an
image from a distant precipice in my brain,
one on the far side of Ethiopia maybe,
an image of me – or maybe my daughter –

sitting in a swing, small hands
gripping the supporting ropes, eyes
trained on the photographer,
smiling, certain of her own immortality.


MARY ELLEN SHAUGHAN is a native Iowan who now calls Western Massachusetts home. She has been writing, in one genre or another, since childhood. She admits that she often views life through a kaleidoscope, which results in some unusual observations. Her poetry has appeared in Mid-America Poetry Review; Peregrine: The Journal of Amherst Writers & Artists; Foliate Oak; Long Story Short; Daily Palette/Iowa Writes, and other journals. Contact 
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THE BEST CRITIQUE EVER
by Sandra H. Bounds


A quiet, mannerly young man
of fifteen, Will asked his mom’s
permission to post a comment
about his grandmother’s poem
published on the net.

Permission given, he wrote,
“I rate this right up there
with Charlie Pride’s roll on
Mississippi! Enjoyed this poem!”

Even the most skillful critic
cannot top Will’s powerful words,
words that remain forceful enough
to bring joy to the heart and tears
to the eyes of his “Granny”
over and over again.   


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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WAR GIRL
by JD DeHart


the cork-screw ebony curls
we knew when she was young
in the photos on the mantel
have been shaven
her arms now stronger
sinewy
grown into the woman she wanted
to be, the woman we never
expected, the warrior
still the delicate one we knew


JD DEHART is a writer and teacher. His work has previously appeared in Long Story Short, and has also appeared in Eye On Life Magazine and Eunoia Review, among other publications. DeHart's first chapbook will be released Fall 2014. Contact Blog 
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BIRTH OF A RHYME
by James G. Piatt


Fractured ecru shale reaching down into
The languid pond, like a cluttered metaphor
Reaching into the dampness of a poet’s
Cluttered mind: The essence of cool water
With ripples on its skin from the soft
Breath of a fall day’s balmy breeze,
Reaches the shore of his mind; it
Laps at the mossy memories reaching
Into the tangled roots of his soul like
The tangled roots of whispering elms reaching
Into the depths of the pond: Idle thoughts
In the temperate hours of the day shift
Anxiously in the lobes of his brain, as
He gives painful birth to a rhyme.


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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AUTOGRAPH, PLEASE
by Susan Marie Davniero


Autograph, please
A moment to seize
An autograph I take
For my album keepsake 
Turning back a page
Listing autographs’ range
From kids’ TV star Soupy Sales
To Rockefeller campaign trails
Dancing to Jay Black at the disco
To Dean Martin’s Vegas act at casino
Keynote speaker Ms. Gloria Steinem
College lecture teaches “I am Woman”
From Mets box seats at the Shea
The view of Carter and Strawberry
Name-dropping from ‘Who’s Who’
Autograph, please – thank you!



Dean Martin Autograph, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

Jay Black Autograph, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero


Gloria Steinem Autograph, 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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SQUELCH
by Floriana Hall


When poetry grabs the fancy of a child
And reading rhyme makes them smile,
They want to read more books
That give a muse the perfect look.
Parents sometimes promise so nice
They will buy one item at a certain price
While at an arts and craft show featuring poets.
The book is five dollars but they say three -
What on earth purchase can that be?
A bar of scented soap is not the same
As a book of inspirational poetry to soothe the brain.
One can see it in the future poet's eyes
Longing for the ultimate prize,
Returning again and again to stare
At the book they want to share.
Too late for the poet to lower the price
And giving it for free would be so nice,
But a poet rarely gets rich
Even with a super salesperson's pitch.
And it is just another day;
The young poet's dreams do not go away!


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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THE GIFT    
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones   


Every autumn this gift,
the first sign of salmon
heading up the creek. The leap,
wriggle through rocks, thrashing
across sand bars.
I’m always wide-eyed,
feel a frisson up my spine,
watching these thespians
of the shallows.
I can hardly grasp
the labor involved for each
infinitesimal inch forward,
the biological urge that whispers
‘home’ in each salmon
body and brain,
the fatal, glorious journey.
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 with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). 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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HIS LOVE
by Shirley Securro


Nurture his love and it will grow
diminishing darkness it will glow
A gift from God to overcome
so that we are not overrun
with our hurt, our pain, our grief
he's given his love for our relief

His unfailing love protects all around
It's strong, it's sincere, and so sound
With his love comes joy and peace
allowing bitterness to be released
His love heals all wounds and pride
completeness needed to abide

Beside our shepherd every day
as his love guides us all the way
His promise of reward will be great
when we reach that pearly gate. 
Psalm 118:1: “His love endures forever” 
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was published in the OUR 100 FAMOUS POETS anthology.
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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CHAMELEON
by Patricia Crandall


Changing, endless beauty
slips from one season
to the next
like the first breath
of a wetted fawn.
Crystal-like snow
weaves a winter pattern.
Spring's mossy carpets,
and summer pastels
blend a commensurable
autumn tapestry.



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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PARTING TWINS
(Dedicated to Susan and Laura)
by Susan Marie Davniero


Twins switch
Which is which
From the very start
Can’t tell them apart

Yet on some days
Twins part ways
After marriage comes
Living in separate homes

Susan’s a spendthrift
Laura’s generous gifts
Susan’s words slip
Laura’s loose lips

Both petite and smaller
But Susan’s an inch taller
Laura likes to roam
Susan’s happy at home

But we always come
 Where we started from
Back together again
After all, we’re twins!



Laura & Susan- September Twins, 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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A NEW VERSION
by Floriana Hall

The old September song that was written long ago
Does not relate to all of our country this year 
For days were mostly filled with pitter-patter
Of raindrops falling on our heads,
Of floods, tornadoes, hurricanes
All of them to dread.

It's still a long way from May to December,
Dry days too short to try to remember
But the sun found a way to peek through
A cold June, July, and August
And here it is September!

The children are back in school
The neighborhoods are quiet
Time to relax in the old familiar routine
While leaves turn to flame
And we again play the waiting game.

Waiting for next spring
Through snow, ice, and frolicking
While enjoying the December song
And being thankful we all belong
To a peaceful part of the world.


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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september celebrity poet 

William Cullen Bryant
(1794 – 1878) 

nationality: American


William Cullen Bryant – Credit: Public Domain





THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE


COME let us plant the apple-tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made;
There gently lay the roots and there
Sift the dark mould with kindly care  
And press it o'er them tenderly 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle sheet;
So plant we the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?  
Buds which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush with crimson breast 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest;
We plant upon the sunny lea  
A shadow for the noontide hour 
A shelter from the summer shower 
When we plant the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs  
To load the May-wind's restless wings 
When from the orchard row he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room  
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom 
We plant with the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree!
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June 
And redden in the August noon  
And drop when gentle airs come by 
That fan the blue September sky 
While children come with cries of glee 
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass  
At the foot of the apple-tree.

And when above this apple-tree  
The winter stars are quivering bright 
And winds go howling through the night 
Girls whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth  
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth 
And guests in prouder homes shall see 
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine
And golden orange of the line 
The fruit of the apple-tree.  

The fruitage of this apple-tree
Winds and our flag of stripe and star
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar 
Where men shall wonder at the view 
And ask in what fair groves they grew;  
And sojourners beyond the sea
Shall think of childhood's careless day
And long long hours of summer play 
In the shade of the apple-tree.

Each year shall give this apple-tree  
A broader flush of roseate bloom 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom 
And loosen when the frost-clouds lower 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower;
The years shall come and pass but we  
Shall hear no longer where we lie 
The summer's songs the autumn's sigh 
In the boughs of the apple-tree.

And time shall waste this apple-tree.
Oh when its aged branches throw  
Thin shadows on the ground below 
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
What shall the tasks of mercy be 
Amid the toils the strifes the tears  
Of those who live when length of years
Is wasting this little apple-tree?

Who planted this old apple-tree? 
The children of that distant day
Thus to some aged man shall say;  
And gazing on its mossy stem 
The gray-haired man shall answer them:
A poet of the land was he,
Born in the rude but good old times;
'T is said he made some quaint old rhymes  
On planting the apple-tree.  




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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