LONG STORY SHORT
a Women Writers' Showcase
A Winter Walk.
By Jenny McPhillips

Dull grey clouds lead the way
and my dog and I follow.
Doing the daily walk can be refreshing
in summer, but more of a chore
in the winter’s haze.

I miss the smell of suntan lotion,
but more so, the blue skies and water.
Tourists no longer wander aimlessly
and the promenade seems desolate.
It’s as though the sun took the bustle with her
when she left this town for the year.

I absorb the overall silence,
enjoying the interruptions every so often
made by the soft swish of the waves
as they brush against the shore.
I look up to the dreary sky
and see a synchronised dance in flight.

Two halves of magnificence
swerve slowly in long lines.
They cause a rippling effect
as their movement changes
to match the waves.
Flying just above water,
the leaders twist the teams
in two different directions.

I watch in wonder as they flit together,
before joining in the air to become one.
Soaring in a line of perfection,
they let out a cry in unison.
I’m left breathless…
as their skilled symmetrical charm
guides them gracefully to the shore.


Contact Jenny McPhillips
I started writing poetry, at a serious level,
six months ago.  My dream, of course,
is to be published.  I also write children's
stories and some general fiction.  Being a
mother of two young girls keeps me busy. 
The rabbit, dog and cat help to cause havoc
during the quiet times!

In Praise of the Last Snow of the Year
By Patti J. Kurtz

Breathless with cold,
the lawn glitters with unexpected
whiteness today.

Yesterday was spring,
all sun bright and green-fresh
till the wind breathed on the landscape.

Now my yard glistens
with shards of crushed glass
tinged red by the bleary eyed sun,

Untouched expanse of whiteness,
like the blankness of this page,
awaiting the marks of the day.

Wind has sculpted the drift's edges
into cake frosting swirls,
left writing of its own, unreadable.

I stand near the window with my tea,
my thoughts and my dog,
and smile at the breeze's teasing whisper .

By noon, the brightening sun will turn the whiteness
soggy and dark with stones and dead leaves,
the glittering stillness melting away.

The wind knows it, too and sighs,
but for now, a pinkish light spreads
over a landscape shimmering with fantasy.

Morning holds its breath in awe,
Birds' songs are subdued and hushed,
and the dog and I are at peace.

Winter's last fling.



Patti J. Kurtz teaches creative writing and
composition at Minot State University.  She
has been writing fiction and poetry for more
years than she can count and is in the
process of writing a series of novels for young
adults.  She has been teaching writing at the
college level for 10 years and lives in Sawyer,
ND with her husband Gary and her two dogs,
both of whom are often inspirations for her
poetry. Dr. Patti J. Kurtz, Assistant Professor,
English, Minot State University, Minot, ND 58709

Contact Patti J. Kurtz.


CHRISTMAS EVE
By Gloria Pimentel


On a misty and cold December night
Children laugh and filled with joy
Make angels in the snow.

The songs of Carolers spread good news
While Christ’s love descends on earth
In tiny specks, lacy snow flakes.

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Chimney crackles with orange fire
Giggles and wiggles under the tree
Two little rascals fumble with gifts.

A child of five comes down the stairs
Rubbing sleep-drenched eyes he inquires,
“Isdat baby Jesus under the tree?”


CHRISTMAS DAY

In a damaged world tinged with lies
Rotting trees and poisoned soil
A ray of hope shines like silvery dust.

Compassion is born wrapped in flesh
Love’s greatest gift lies in a manger
In the mist of a cold December day.


Read all about Gloria on our "Meet the Editors' page.

Blue Trees
by Tina Portelli


It’s Fall, and colors change
Wind blows harder
Stark is the bark, black and dark
Limbs naked of orange, brown, and gold

The trees are getting old
Only for the season
With yearly good reason
Oh, so cold

Til Spring
The blues of the trees
Will stay
Til every  leaf
Has blown away

Trees don't be blue
Spring will bring you back
Like new


Contact Tina.

The Day after Thanksgiving
© By Gloria Pimentel – 11-26-04

Shoppers wait in endless lines
Outside departments stores
After Thanksgiving Day
Propelled by bargains.

Some have joined the crowd
Cold, stiff and half starved
Since the strike of midnight;
Winter coats and furry hats

Credit cards drawn like swords
The buyers like hungry wolves
Poised to enter the forest
And devour all before them.

When January arrives
Hands tremble perusing the bill
Useless items no one remembers
Stockpiled in a corner.

A New Year begins
Payments due
Savings account
Steadfastly anorexic.

Read all about Gloria on our "Meet the Editors' page.

Choir
By Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Crimson Santa cap jaunty,
buzzard feather black in the band,
the old hippie clangs his bell
in front of the bank.
Arm pumping up and down with gusto
the thin man with scraggly gray beard
beams through gaps in his teeth,
points at the red kettle.
He wishes the customers
a happy holiday.
Over the brass tones of the bell
his rich baritone voice rises,
sings the first lines
of “Joy to the World.”
Exiting the bank a young man
trim in Nordic sweater, wool slacks,
supplies the words in bass
when the Salvation Army man
sputters la la la.
Spattered with sawdust
a construction worker
squeals his pickup to a stop,
jumps out and adds
his wavering tenor to the mix.
Inside three tellers roll eyes
and smile, slide their sopranos
with Christmas dollars
across the counter.


ANGELS IN OUR MIDST
By Floriana Hall

Celestial mansions notwithstanding,
An angel abides deep within,
Traces of light and understanding,
Words spoken  shimmered on wind.

Voices heard in harmonious song
Making the divine presence known,
A baby's cooing and laughter belong,
A harp's calming tone or horn blown.

The language of angels is a hug and a kiss
Brushing cosmic gap, which brings
A message that reverberates without miss
And finds glory in all things.

Eyes behold what they have not seen
Putting vanity and pride aside,
Love is more than just a sweet dream,
On wings of angels we can ride.

Heavenly nature of angels is here
On earth embedded in the heart
Of wisdom, kindness, comfort, help so dear,
Angels familiar, not set apart.

Voices of angels are yours and mine
Breathing like dawn's dew on a leaf,
Angels emerge with pure peace of mind,
Eternal guidance sensed with belief.

In touch with serenity, joy is felt
Looking for the angels in others,
A blanket before ice and snow melt,
Earth angels, our sisters and brothers.


THE ANGEL INSIDE
By Floriana Hall

Does an angel dwell within your heart?
Do you feel the flutter of tiny wings
When you reach out to help someone,
Or just listen to soulful murmurings?
In the silence of quiet spaces,
In the stillness of winter,
Do you hear the angels without faces?
Love that overcomes hatred,
Compassion touching another's heart
Beating calmly,
Bringing many graces
To seek one's higher self.
Can you look through the window
And hear an angel singing --
A robin, sweetly, in the tree?
Are flowers touched by an angel's bringing
Magic in a dewdrop glistening celestially?
Does an angel whisper in your soul
The voice of joy in simple things?
Essence of intuition, serenity restored,
The best in us is what an angel brings.
Cherish the angel who lifts you up,
Wings spreading seeds of love,
Follow the flickering light in the darkness,
Ask your angel to soar above.


Award winning poem—also published in
her book titled – “The Sands of Rhyme.
PS  My story A TIME FOR CARING was
inspirational story of the month in July.





Ultimate Adult Marshmallow
By Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Marty finds her fun
in the kitchen. Her homemade
marshmallows win blue ribbons
at the county fair. Last year’s win
was almond-hinted, topped
with toasted coconut, dipped
in semi-sweet chocolate.
The judges swooned
in sugar-sweet collapse.

Marty dreams of “adult”
marshmallows, the right spike
of liquor, dash of spice.
She stirs amaretto in hefty dollops
into the pot. Although the alcohol
evaporates not long after it appears,
the marshmallows soak up flavors
of almond and cherry.

Her eye on the purple ribbon,
champion of the candy division,
Marty now weaves fantasies
of marshmallows doused with Grand Marnier
or tongue-melting puffs of Kahlua
and crème de cacao.

If Marty invites you in
some raw winter day
for hot chocolate
or the ambrosia-like float
of her special marshmallows
on warm milk, be sure you go!

END


Patricia Wellingham-Jones
PWJ Publishing
http://www.snowcrest.net/pamelaj/wellinghamjones/home.htm
pwj@wellinghamjones.com

BIO: Former psychology researcher, writer, editor, lecturer Patricia Wellingham-Jones has most recently been published in Tiger’s Eye, Möbius, The Pedestal Magazine, Liberty Hill Poetry Review, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Edifice Wrecked and Niederngasse. She is author of the Long Story Short series “Getting Published”, won the 2003 Reuben Rose International Poetry Prize (Israel) and is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee.



You Bake Cookies
By Patricia Wellingham-Jones

I visit for the smell
of your kitchen,
the bustle of a real Christmas
built around a true family,
one set of traditions
handed down over time
instead of my fractured handful
from a life lived on the run.
Mostly I wouldn't change things
but today, your kitchen
feels like home.
CHRISTMAS
JOYFUL, PEACEFUL
LAUGHING, HUGGING, SHARING
A TIME TO REMEMBER OUR LORD
GOD’S LOVE

by Michaela Gee

Michaela is an active member of our writing forum, My Writing Friend.
OUR POEM OF THE MONTH

CHRISTMAS LOVE
By Floriana Hall

Pristine white snow falls and carpets the ground,
Spills tufts on windows with nary a sound,
Christmas dawns in 2004
A peaceful scene as ever before.

Candlelight flickers, dances on walls
Holly brightens the rooms and halls.
The Christmas tree blinks its vivid lights
Over gifts and toys, to children's delight.

Church bells echo calling all to praise
Sweet baby Jesus born on this day
To please His Father up above
And change the world from hate to love.

Christmas is a day of celebration
For family, friends and many nations,
Turmoil, transgressions, not even war
Can deter the Magi from the Star.

Gifts are given as in days of yore,
Love for mankind, helping the poor,
Angels sing songs, their halos aglow,
Noel blessings fall with the snow.

Youngsters skating on the pond outside
Shout, "Merry Christmas, Happy Yuletide."
Baby gleefully hugs her soft teddy bear,
Grandma and Grandpa fall asleep in their chairs.

Daylight slowly becomes nightfall,
Wishes of peace and good will to all,
May the love of this holy day revive
Each peaceful day in 2005.

Floriana Hall, b. 10/2/27, Pgh Pa., graduate of
Cuyahoga Falls High School, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, 
attended Akron University, married Robert Hall 55
years, five children, nine grandchildren, author/editor
of six nonfiction/inspirational books, SMALL CHANGE,
THE SANDS OF RHYME, DADDY WAS A BAD BOY, OUT
OF THE ORDINARY SHORT STORIES. 
Founder/coordinator of the Poet'sNook  at Cuyahoga
Falls Library, Editor of  The Poet's Nook's two books,
THROUGH OUR EYES, POEMS OF BEAUTIFUL
NORTHEAST OHIO, AND POET'S NOOK POTPOURRI. 
Winner of many poetry contests.WHO'S WHO IN US
WRITERS, EDITORS AND POETS, WHO'S WHO IN
INTERNATIONAL POETRY, MARQUIS WHO'S WHO
IN AMERICA. Works compared to  Poe and Hawthorne
style by Taj Mahal Review.  Check Google and website: 
www.expage.com/flossiesbooknook.
Contact Floriana.