Robert Wooten recently published his second chapbook, Famous Last Words, a collection of twenty poems--19 previously published, by In His Steps Publishing (2007). It was a finalist in the 2007 competition for the Bright Hill Press Poetry Chapbook Award. E-mail him.
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors.
In Death Ne'er Do Us Part
by D. R. Smith
Grieving for his soul mate, he set her urn adrift
Upon Atlantic Ocean surging ‘neath the cliff.
From whence a mystic image sang from briny deep;
A lovely flaxen visage, begged his faith to keep.
Her soothing song spiraled o’er Fundy’s tidal surf,
Consoling heavy heart in waves of rhythmic verse.
“O’ husband, dear husband,” whooshed the ocean roil,
Tamed by time-worn boulders bracing Scotia’s soil.
A breeze bore her gentle kiss blown thru golden locks,
Twisting tawny sea foam, her curls amidst the rocks.
Supernal words continued chanting to his heart,
“Fear not my love, we mate etern’, ne’er do us part.”
Closing eyes when bidding true love’s divine farewells,
His soul mate’s apparitions faded from the swells.
“I shall e’er be with you,” he answered tenderly,
And watched the phantom vision slip beneath the sea.
Eyes filled with lonely tears in sorrowful retreat,
Yet a parting whisper, her last rose from the deep.
For he heard her promise in final words sublime:
“We shall meet again my love, somewhere else in time.”
D.R. SMITH is a pseudonym the author uses in honor of his grandfather, Daldry Roy, who helped raise him. He grew up on the coast of New England, made Chicago home for most of his business life, and now resides in Kentucky to build ambrex.org. His first published work, released in August, is entitled BEACHES OF BELMONT. It is a fictional anthology anchored on a WWII novella about the uncanny parallel between new recruits facing the D-Day invasion vis a vis the Triple Crown of 1944. He has two additional novels in progress: an epic entitled “Tree of the Great Long Leaves” whose multi-layered theme addresses the powers of human bonding. The second, entitled “Dante’s Threshold”, unveils an arcane twist to mankind’s perception of the prophetic apocalypse... "It's not what most people think," he says.Contact DR Smith.
MOTHER, EDITH, at 98
by Michael Lee Johnson
Edith, in this nursing home
blinded with macular degeneration,
I come to you with your blurry
eyes, crystal sharp mind,
your countenance of grace--
as yesterday's winds
I have chosen to consume you
and take you away.
"Oh, where did Jesus disappear
to, she murmured,
over and over again,"
in a low voice
dripping words
like a leaking faucet:
"Oh, there He is,
Angel of the coming."
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON is a poet and freelance writer from Itasca, Illinois. He is the author of The Lost American: from Exile to Freedom, http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-46091-7. He has also published two chapbooks of poetry and is presently looking for a publisher for two more. He has been published in over 240 publications in USA, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, Scotland, Turkey, Fiji, Nigeria, Algeria, Africa, India, United Kingdom, Republic of Sierra Leone, Nepal, Thailand, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Finland, as well as Poland internet radio. Audio MP3 of poems are available on request. He is also publisher and editor of four poetry flash fiction sites--all presently open for submission. Author website: http://poetryman.mysite.com/ Contact Michael.
CHRISTMAS MORNING, 1970
by SuzAnne C. Cole
So this is it, she thinks, surveying
tree, Santa gifts, beribboned parcels,
but mostly her sons—the eldest, three,
careening around the living room
on a sugar high, candy cane clutched
in one hand, cookie in the other,
shouting, “Is it time? Is it time?
Santa came. Can we do presents now?”
The toddler, barely past his first birthday,
snatches the excitement, tugs her robe
with hopeful hands, “Mine? Mine?”
She sits, transfers the ten-day old son
snug in her arms to her shoulder,
pulls the toddler to her, wipes his nose.
“Soon,” she says, “soon.”
Milk fever flushes her cheeks, so
for just a moment more, she sits.
Three healthy boys. Our family.
No matter the sex, she and her
husband had agreed before this birth,
three children are enough.
For just a moment, though, she imagines
brushing the curls of a blue-eyed
daughter, sewing spangles on dance
costumes, then shakes away the still-born dreams.
In days still too distant for her to picture,
daughters-in-law, maybe even granddaughters.
Smiling now, she rises, cradles the infant,
gathers the other two for hugs.
“Christmas is here,” she says, “and
you three boys are my best gift.”
SUZANNE C. COLE writes from a studio in the woods in the Texas Hill Country. She’s published more than 350 poems, essays, short stories and articles in commercial and literary magazines, anthologies, and newspapers and is pleased to have had short stories and an essay published in Long Story Short. Contact Suzanne.
CHOCOLATE MOMENTS
by Floriana Hall
A sudden urge comes upon me,
I need some chocolate!
That dark elixir so sweet to senses.
The aroma, taste I crave
And smack my lips to savor.
Elixir of the gods --
Creative liquor of daily dancing,
Diminishes cares of the day
As the syrup hardens around me
Like a block of ecstasy surrounds.
Every bite chock-full of perks
A daily delicious decadent delight,
Cherished chewy morsels in cookies
Or hot brew of nurturing.
It may be true I am addicted,
Anything chocolate is not restricted!
If you want to make me happy
Give me my palate’s passion,
No brouhaha about it
Just anything chocolate!
To taste, to sip, to soothe, to obliterate
Whatever negative happens today!
From GATHERING GRACES.
FLORIANA BERDYCK HALL was born in 1927 in Pittsburgh, PA, She is a Distinguished Alumna of Cuyahoga Falls High School, OH and attended Akron U. She has been married to Robert for 59 years. They have five children, nine grandchildren, one great-granddaughter. She is author/editor of ten nonfiction inspirational books, SMALL CHANGE, self published; THE ADVENTURES OF FLOSSIE, ROBBIE, AND JUNEY During The Great Depression (2006); THE SANDS OF RHYME, poetry; DADDY WAS A BAD BOY; OUT OF THE ORDINARY SHORT STORIES; HEARTS ON THE MEND (2006); FRANCIS, NOT THE SAINT (2008) and GATHERING GRACES, poetry (2008). Founder/coordinator of the Poet’s Nook at Cuyahoga Falls Library, Floriana is Editor of the group’s three books, THROUGH OUR EYES: Poems of Beautiful Northeast Ohio, POET’S NOOK POTPOURRI, and TOUCHING THE HEARTS OF GENERATIONS. She is the winner of many poetry contests and mentioned in WHO’S WHO IN US WRITERS, EDITORS AND POETS, WHO’S WHO IN INTERNATIONAL POETRY, MARQUIS WHO’S WHO IN AMERICA. She has been published in the US, UK, France and India and is a Poetry teacher, YOU, ME, AND POETRY, at www.LssWritingSchool.com. Contact Floriana.
Born and raised in New York City, MARGARET FIELAND has been around art and music all her life. She is the mother of three grown sons, an accomplished flute and piccolo player and the daughter of a painter. Her poems, articles and children's stories have appeared in, among others, Main Channel Voices, Echolocation, and Stories for Children Magazine. You'll find her website at www.margaretfieland.com . Contact Margaret.
PICASSO IN A STORMY SEASON
by Earl J. Wilcox
One reads recent New Yorker cartoons.
One works a difficult crossword puzzle.
The two are folded in chairs inside a
pastel blue-walled hallway, floor covered
with green floral rug. Slightly askew on
the walls Picasso’s dog, rooster, camel,
plus a portrait, need adjustment. Between
the couple their shivering pet---upset,
bewildered. Masters are out of place here.
They belong in sunroom, near her bed,
food and water pan. Thunder rumbles doors.
Dogs, camel, and rooster rearrange again.
Shards of lightning pierce a nearby patio,
clanging wind chimes warn: impending hail,
heavy rain, gale winds strong enough to
toss all into the next county or kingdom
come. The two feel their faux façade of leisure
can be erased faster than Picasso sketched
curves of his lady in the print on the wall.
One says: need a four-letter word for destiny.
EARL J. WILCOX began writing at age 71, about four years ago. Since first publishing a poem in 2004, he has published more than 60 poems on baseball, aging, birds, literary personalities, and Southern culture. He lives in South Carolina. Contact Earl.
MY DEAR
by Adelina Vartolomei
Let's nap together on the grass
And wake up to the sound of waves
The cigarette lit in your mouth
And Wilde is leaning on my knees.
The trivial makes us so happy.
Let's dance together a slow move.
The light falls down across our lips
You bow your head to look at me.
I close my eyes and feel your thoughts.
I think about you all the time
Thinking about me daily.
You're like a ghost haunting my mind
I cannot keep my hands stand still.
My eyes are looking for your eyes
Searching for rapturous delight.
I find redemption in your gaze,
I find I can be pure and kind.
ADELINA VARTOLOMEI was born in Romania, 1986. She recently graduated from the University of Letters there and will follow an MA in Cultural Studies. Since attending a course in creative writing, she has, in her words, "... been trying to improve myself and submitting my works." Contact Adelina.
EXCUSES
by Pavelle Wesser
Meaningless pastel shades against
a backdrop black and white.
Yes or no: Soft and fuzzy. Has your
Vision faded or have you become
blind-sighted by all that the passing
years have failed to offer you.
Pavelle Wesser's fiction and poetry has appeared in various webzines, including "Flash Shot" and "Silverthought." She teaches English in Connecticut, where she lives with her husband and two children.
PATRICIA CRANDALL was born in Bennington, Vermont. In her early years, she also lived in Rhode Island, New Jersey and New York. She currently lives with her husband, Art, in the Grafton Mountains near Petersburgh, NY, with her extended family living nearby. Patricia devotes her time to community work. She enjoys reading, skiing, golfing, knitting, walking/hiking, swimming, exercising and traveling. She has won a number of poetry awards and has had numerous articles and short stories published in small press magazines and newspapers. She has two books in print, Melrose: Then and Now, a historical volume, and I Passed This Way, containing poetry. Contact Patricia.
CHOCOLATE
by Mary Pacifico Curtis
She jumps up drawing out the leash
knowing it’s her time to walk.
She’s waited for this -
our time - hers with me
mine with her, leash in hand,
I pull my brown one
from passing dogs,
keeping her close and then
she walks, a shadow,
alongside a trench
full of water a soul lingering,
loving me, close dark
brown hoping for water, sniffing
for the hand that says jump in.
MARY PACIFICO CURTIS is CEO of Pacifico Inc., a Silicon Valley advertising and public relations firm. A graduate of Northwestern University, Mary currently serves on the board of the Children’s Musical Theater, as an Arts Commissioner for the Town of Los Gatos and on the founding advisory committee for San Jose Rocks. A recipient of the American Advertising Federation’s Silver Medal Award recognizing excellence in the industry and social responsibility, Mary is a frequent speaker on topics pertaining to branding and marketing. Pacifico participates actively in a number of professional organizations and is a member of the Public Relations Society of America, and the Business Marketing Association. Mary has recently taken the time to pursue a lifelong passion for creative writing. Contact Mary.
POEM OF THE MONTH
THE POET LOSES
by Nikolai von Keller
The poet loses
in chess to generals and in checkers
to ancient black men,
loses his way
on the backroads from Roanoke
where colonial surveyors left
the streets unpaved and humble,
and the sky is as blue as a gown,
loses his keys
to a ravenous unmended pocket,
loses his voice
in seat 217C during double overtime,
loses face.
But the poet, nonplussed, knows
all great poetry is about loss –
the mailbox that shouldn't be empty,
the unoccupied heart –
and every lost sentence
will eventually wander home,
like daughters ashamed
at the vastness of their need.
NICKOLAI VON KELLER is a 2007 Bowdoin College graduate who recently returned to the U.S. from a year-long Watson Fellowship studying the effect of native culture and landscape upon Japanese, South American, and Caribbean poetic traditions. He has been published in the Albion Review and USC's Lettered Olive. He has also been awarded the Forbes Rickard Poetry Prize and the Nathalie Walker Llewellyn Poetry Prize, and placed third in the Dehn Poetry Competition. Contact Nickolai.
CLOCK
by Marie Delgado Travis
I felt I needed time
To distance myself...
And finally picture him
In someone else's arms.
But the clock's steady
Tic toc
Tic toc
Mimics the
Rhythms of
My Heart...
Marks marks
Mocks mocks
As long as
Time exists,
You will be his.
MARIE DELGADO TRAVIS is an award-winning writer. She writes poetry and prose in English and Spanish. Visit her website at www.mariedelgadotravis.com
CHRISTMAS QUESTION
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Why do I send
hundreds of dollars
to my forty-year-old son?
Maybe because he'll wind up
taking care of me?
I don't think so. Yet
when I sign the check,
tuck it in the card,
with love from Mum
I picture my father
saying year after year
to my resistant mother,
She's my daughter.
I want her to have it.
That's why.
PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has written DON'T TURN AWAY: Poems About Breast Cancer and END-CYCLE: Poems about care giving, among others. She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee and her work is published in numerous anthologies, journals and Internet magazines. Patricia has a longtime interest in 'healing writing' and the benefits people gain from writing and reading their work together. Her website is www.wellinghamjones.com
