“With the poem, I reach out to an audience equally at odds with official policy, and I celebrate our mutual humanness in an inhuman world.”

- Maxine Kumin
source

~~____________________________________________~~

POEM OF THE MONTH

MY LONGING
by Pijush Kanti Deb

Whenever I am to be made,

May God make me only for her
In every door of my closed fate,
Before my death and thereafter-
May God write her love in my name
And make her heart always same to same.

Whenever I am to be blessed,
May God bless her instead of me,
In every moment--- happy or sad,
In every poem of my anthology
May God write her passion in my name
And make me a winner in the passionate game.

Whenever I am to be gifted,
May God gift her first my ownership,
In the part of my life---the most collocated,
In my journey and in its every trip-
May God write her beauty in my name
And make my home luminous in her flame.

Whenever I am to be departed
May God set her dream in my eye,
Let my prayer be reverberated
In every molecule of air and sky,
My rebirth be written in her name
And her love bird be owned again to tame.

PIJUSH KANTI DEB is a new Indian poet with more than 225 published or accepted poems and haiku in more than 68 national and international magazines and journals [print and online] including Down in the Dirt, Taj Mahal Review, Pennine Ink, Hollow Publishing, Creativica Magazine, Muse India, Teeth Dream Magazine, Hermes Poetry Journal, Medusa’s Kitchen, Grey Borders, Dead Snakes, and Dagda Publishing. His best achievement so far is the publication of his first poetry collection,’’Beneath The Shadow Of A White Pigeon’’ published by Hollow Publishing which is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Contact

~~____________________________________________~~

GOD'S VALENTINE OF LOVE

by Susan Marie Davniero

Valentine's Day so divine

It's God's Valentine

Our gift of life is adored

Belongs to the Holy Lord

We have the love to give

For He gave us everything

Sent by the heavens above

God's Valentine of love

Heart with Cross Drawing by Susan Marie Davniero

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

~~~~~

THE PROUD VIOLET

by Robert L. Martin

My journey through cold

Darkened matter hastened me

To rise and find the sun,

That radiant paradise,

That warm hand that

Stretches through eternity,

Born from ancient visions and

Kept alive through its

Perennial plan

My simple, familiar body

Brags about how I

Can soften hearts and

Adorn empty spaces

My evolving, complex network

Explains how Mother Nature

Is a silent genius that can

Rejuvenate itself as it

Passes through time

Even though I am little

I am an offspring of

Nature’s perpetual stability

ROBERT L. MARTIN lives in Bangor, PA. His writings have appeared in Mature Years, Alive Now, Verse-Virtual, Storyteller, among others. He is also a jazz pianist and the church's organist at First UMC in Wind Gap, PA. Contact

~~~~~

DALLIANCE

by Floriana Hall

Tender are the moments
We share together
Not always on the same page
We are not always the same age
But close in our hearts.
We like each other
Husband or wife,
Mother, father, sister or brother,
Friends or extended family
And that is the key
To continuous harmony.
No relationship is perfect
But is better with respect,
And hearing opinions open-minded
Trying not to outshine or undermine
The rapport which we seek.
We do not have to pretend
That we are just fair weather friends
No matter what, we will stick together
Like glue on an unopened package -
We are the package that is open,
Above board and all together
And we never regret time spent
In relationships where we are content.

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

~~~~~

THE BRIGHT RED BIRD

by Patricia Crandall

The bright red bird

sits upon the swaying branch of a tree.

Tree limb upon limb upon limb

sways with gentle wind.

Pure white snow surrounds the acreage.

The bright red bird

sitting silent, composed

a vivid pleasure to my eye.

His mate

has left his presence

while I admire him.

The bright red bird.

I shall not harm him,

The sun shines fleetly

on snow and the red bird.

He flies away.

In the distance

buff-colored mate

flies with him.

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

~~~~~

TO DIANE

by Fred Leavitt

My violin shrieks

and rends the air with lament

but look who wields the bow

don't blame the instrument

I write ill-matched couplet, tinkly rhyme

but others, with words full-known to me

breathed life to Kubla Khan and Leda's swan

and the fair Lake Isle of Innisfree

My spirit was dormant, uninspired

listlessly played by those I knew

aimless drippings on a cluttered canvas

and then came you

Newfound emotions surged within me

for Gods can be made from fools

I knew beauty, passion, tender love

It's the worker, not the tools.

FRED LEAVITT was born in Brooklyn, New York, to homemaker Goldie and poet and teacher Ezekiel Leavitt. He has virtually no memories of his father, who died when he was four. He started his collegiate studies at 16 at the City College of New York, dropped out, went to Brooklyn College, dropped out, and randomly chose Eastern New Mexico University where he graduated with a B.S. in 1964. He received his Ph.D. degree in psychopharmacology in 1968 from the University of Michigan and did post-graduate doctorate work at the University of California, Berkeley 1968-1969. Leavitt has been on the faculty at California State University, East Bay, California almost all his adult life. He also has taught for one or more semesters at Williams College; Northern Arizona University; the University of British Columbia; the University of Hawaii; the United States International University (in both Kenya and the United Kingdom); the University of Utrecht (Netherlands); Bogazici University (in Turkey); Massey University (in New Zealand); and National University of Singapore (Singapore). Leavitt gives occasional talks to medical doctors for their continuing medical education requirements. In 1964 he married Diane Bright. The Leavitts live in Oakland, California, and have two married daughters and two grandchildren. Contact

~~~~~

THE WAY WE WERE

by Shirley Securro

The way we were

The best for sure

The times were good

and we all could

be happy and dream

reach goals it seemed

Things were pure

and we had a cure

Times were slow

in rain or snow

when people cared;

they loved and shared

The comfort of my home

it seemed

Was all that I had ever

dreamed!

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

~~~~~

MY ROCK AND ROLL DAYS

by Susan Marie Davniero

I look back rather to find

My youth left far behind
When record discs spun around

Dancing about to the rockin’ sound

Songs that spoke of peace and love

This teenage girl found plenty of

And when self could do no wrong

I listen silently to a ballad song

Musical score records my fate

The songs play on to future dates

Bade farewell to carefree ways

To my early Rock and Roll days

Yet when act two comes along

I find the music still rocks on

Songs that I didn’t forget

The party isn’t over yet!

~~~~~

UNITED

by JD DeHart

I want to spell united, but

too frequently spell untied,

the ends never quite looping

together. There is no fork

sticking out of this situation,

for sure. I once thought I was

perfect, but it turns out I was

wrong. I used to think utopia

was around the corner,

but the only utopia I have met

was a girl who left quickly.

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 The Truth About Snails was released in Fall 2014. Contact Blog

~~~~~

MISSING OF THE BIRDS

by Michael Lee Johnson

Keep my journal short.

Just review January through March.

Life is a dig deep snow on my sorrow.

Bare bones of naked sparrows,

beneath my balcony, lie lifeless.

The few survivors huddle in bushes.

Gone, gone is kitchen bowl that holds the seeds.

Sparrows cannot get inside my refrigerator door

nor shop late at Wal-Mart during winter hours−

get away with it.

I drink dated milk. I host rehearsals of childhood.

Sip Mogen David Concord Wine with Diet 7Up.

Down sweet molasses and pancake butter.

I give in to condominium Polish demands.

My neighbor's parties, loud blast language.

I am weak in the Jesus feeding of the poor.

I now merge day with night and sleep

avoid my shame and guilt.

I try clean, my thoughts of shell spotted snow.
I see fragments, no more feeding of the birds.

MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era: now known as the Illinois poet, from Itasca, IL. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, photographer who experiments with poetography (blending poetry with photography), and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois, who has been published in more than 875 small press magazines in 27 countries, he edits 9 poetry sites. Michael is the author of The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom which is available at Amazon and iUniverse (136 pages book), several chapbooks of poetry, including “From Which Place the Morning Rises” and “Challenge of Night and Day,” and “Chicago Poems.” He also has over 71 poetry videos on YouTube. Contact Website Website

~~~~~

FERRIS WHEEL

by Ginny Cope

I'm listening to the sound of chairs a riding,

The cranking of the wheels of bright light.

Slowly falling round and round

Rising to turn and turn hitting the ground.

You never know how you might be stuck,

Here on the top or at the bottom

I'm a senior citizen on this old ride

A simply delightful Ferris wheel

This indeed is the bright ride,

I cover my eyes as we go in the air

Miles away you see the steel lights

Strollers below look upward with delight

The grinding after being greased,

My pleasure in riding is my relief.

Locking the bar between us is neat

Age is endless for those who like to swing their feet

GINNY COPE was born in Silver Springs, Maryland and she was raised in Fort Worth, Texas. She is now married and a housewife. Her hobbies include art, music, singing, writing, poetry, short stories, short plays, and short screenplays. She has received two awards from the Famous Poets Society in Talent, Oregon. These include the Editor’s Choice Awards in two anthology books. She is a VIP Alumni. She plans on continuing writing poetry, short stories, short plays and short screen plays for journal magazines such as the Poet’s Market. She has had one other poetry magazine called Write On! Poetry Magazette publish four of her poems from the Poet’s Market in Fairfield, Utah.

~~~~~

WOMAN IN PORCELAIN

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

She glows

female mystery

in white porcelain

slender

elongated

face nose throat

delicate

in feature

in feeling

lips sensitive

slim neck carved

in symbols

of her tribe

female

mystery

eternal

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

~~~~~

FRESH AS A DAISY
by Floriana Hall

It's crisp and fresh each morning,
Our new fallen snow.
It is white but has no odor
Unlike daisies I know.

To gaze at dazzling white
Is a rather pretty sight for the eyes, except
I'd rather it be out of sight, out of mind,
Not out my front and back door.

The snow turns to ice with zero degrees
Don't mind the cold, but don't like the freeze!
When winter blues or blahs are here
Life can still be a blast.

With birthday parties,
Valentine's Day, President's Day,
Any sunny day,
Those are things that will last.

~~~~~

SEALED WITH A KISS – SWAK

by Susan Marie Davniero

At eighteen I vacation away from home
On the roadway free to roam
Pack luggage with best friend Marge
Destination was Florida at large
Mom's loving letters from home wrote
Writing "SWAK" on her envelopes
Another love letter meant more to me
Sent by Bob, my husband to be
Bob's words of love spoke
"Marry Me?" - was all he wrote

Mom’s SWAK Envelope, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

~~~~~

UNEXPECTED PLEASURE

by Patricia Crandall

The delicate ting-a-ling

of breaking ice

as the lake dispels winter

~~~~~

SUN SET

by Debbie Hilbish

It is a ritual I perform, trying to steal glances

With… almost timid anticipation.

Though even I am not naive enough

to believe

the interlude is for me alone,

for one moment,

I pretend;

hues of barely there random pinks

beginning

to whisper softly against the blues,

azure to powder,

is for my eyes only.

No room for jealousy

at the infinite lovers before

and even now,

whose breath quickens

as does mine,

experiencing

oranges with subtle entry

exploding

into a panorama of purple-red

bursting fire

to spark the soul

and ignite a passion

so intense it’s taking breath away.

The high low sharp intake

of mountain range

mimics the quickening of the heart

in silhouette.

Reaching

a climax and still

proclaiming subtle reluctance to end too quickly

the sun sets gently

ushering in the night sky

and I sigh

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

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

february celebrity poet

Maxine Kumin

(1925 – 2014)

nationality: American

Maxine Kumin – Credit: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike

source

Photo Source Note: "Maxine Kumin in 1974" by Marthe Willendyck (mother of Thierry Bingen at English Wikipedia) - It was taken by her friend Marthe Willendyck, my mother, at her home.. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via WikimediaCommons.

LOOKING BACK IN MY EIGHTY-FIRST YEAR

How did we get to be old ladies—

my grandmother’s job—when we

were the long-leggèd girls?

— Hilma Wolitzer

Instead of marrying the day after graduation,

in spite of freezing on my father’s arm as

here comes the bride struck up,

saying, I’m not sure I want to do this,

I should have taken that fellowship

to the University of Grenoble to examine

the original manuscript

of Stendhal’s unfinished Lucien Leuwen,

I, who had never been west of the Mississippi,

should have crossed the ocean

in third class on the Cunard White Star,

the war just over, the Second World War

when Kilroy was here, that innocent graffito,

two eyes and a nose draped over

a fence line. How could I go?

Passion had locked us together.

Sixty years my lover,

he says he would have waited.

He says he would have sat

where the steamship docked

till the last of the pursers

decamped, and I rushed back

littering the runway with carbon paper . . .

Why didn’t I go? It was fated.

Marriage dizzied us. Hand over hand,

flesh against flesh for the final haul,

we tugged our lifeline through limestone and sand,

lover and long-leggèd girl.

Read the entire poem at:

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/looking-back-my-eighty-first-year

For the poet’s biography, see:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/maxine-w-kumin

Quoted for educational purposes only.

All work the copyright of the respective authors.

~~_______________________________________~~

BACK TO

LONG STORY SHORT

VOTED ONE OF WRITER'S DIGEST'S

101 BEST WEBSITES FOR WRITERS

FOR NINE CONSECUTIVE YEARS!

Vote for us again this year

THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

February 2015 Poetry Page

“With the poem, I reach out to an audience equally at odds with official policy, and I celebrate our mutual humanness in an inhuman world.”