Original version published at LauraHird.com (June, 2006); then at AlongStoryShort.net (August, 2006).
Another life
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
I’m called to drop back
into a former life
where advanced degree
and detailed graphs
chart somebody else’s path
through a quagmire of words
I confess to a zing
in my midsection
at being invited
So I scan the paper
send it back with the comment
that I’m retired
live in the country
but I am not brain-dead yet
and write new poems
every day
Babysitting
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
She carries the baby tucked
in an elbow crooked from a lifetime
of toting children, chats
with the small granddaughter
dawdling at her side.
In the brisk breeze coming off the mountain
she drops to denimed knees,
clutches the child’s pink sweatshirt
in one hand. The other hand
releases the infant, lets it slide
down her arm to land
head banging the ground.
My horrified gasp
flies to her well-tuned ear
and she grins.
Only then do I realize
the baby is a doll.
Patricia Wellingham-Jones, a former psychology researcher and writer/editor, is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast Cancer (PWJ Publishing) and Hormone Stew (Snark Publishing). She won the Palabra Productions Chapbook Contest 2006 with End-Cycle, poems about caregiving. Her website is www.wellinghamjones.com.
A QUIRKY VISIT
By Hugh Jones
There upon my
hometown trip,
a diddle-do down
Green Street,
Years ago through
half-drawn blinds
an old frame house,
the second floor,
Late one night I
saw a fanny
panties pink,
a faintish glow.
This long past
I buzz her bell,
so sweet she smiles,
awaits my stammer:
'Cute the bottom
seen of when,
away back then~'
"You're not the first
to ring my door!
Now how can I
help you more?"
MEASURE OF SUCCESS
By Floriana Hall
Success can mean so many things,
Diplomas high school and college bring.
A job obtained, a job well done
Means satisfaction for everyone.
A chance meeting, the person of your dreams
A happy ending to any schemes,
A perfect party without any glitches,
A singing voice without stray pitches.
Putting puzzles together with all the pieces,
Solving a problem, war that ceases,
Listening to others with empathy,
Saying right words of sympathy,
Smiles as warm as the sun above,
Hugs and kisses to show true love.
A pleasant greeting, a pleasant time
Though there are many mountains to climb.
Success is meeting opportunity half way,
Doing your best, with dues to pay.
A prayer answered, return to health,
Making ends meet, spiritual wealth.
Success is coping despite adversity,
Making the most of diversity.
Success can come to everyone
Like sleep refreshes when day is done.
LONELINESS
By Susan Garner
Loneliness is a black hole consuming my existence.
It swirls around me unceasingly and without invitation.
My thoughts and desires suffocate in its circular path,
And I am left with a hollow emptiness of feeling,
The shallow grave called depression, now familiar.
I recognize these feelings and realize my dislike.
I bid them farewell and send them on their way.
I reach for happiness, searching for a morsel of sun.
I ponder my existence and find a happy thought.
I clench it close to my heart and smile for awhile,
Grateful for the opportunity to win my private battle,
Once again cheating that cruel hand of its' quest
To rob my soul of happiness and dreams,
As it replaces them with the dark void of
LONELINESS.
My past careers include training in social work and various types of nursing, the most rewarding being the field of hospice nursing. I am now enjoying searching out ways to share with and educate the world through my writing. I presently reside in the Sikeston, MO area of the Missouri Bootheel. Please visit my webpage at http://medicinemawwrites.tripod.com.
COWARDICE RULES
By Clifford K. Watkins, Jr.
fiends encircling fire
desperate liars bound by futility
drinking from a single jar
escaping reality
pretending to know everything
anything beyond their limited minds
laughing at danger
as cowardice rules
dancing like bird-people
waiting for a vision of truth
to assuage worried minds
witnessing the moon through new eyes
still no less blind
Clifford K. Watkins, Jr., is a thirty-two-year old writer/lyricist originally from High Point, North Carolina. He's been published by Underground Window, Ygdrasil, Prism Quarterly, Seeker Magazine, Poetic Voices, Poetry Stop, Poet's Haven, Muscadine Lines, Oracular Tree, Cynic Magazine, Winamop,
Wildchild Publishing, Endzville, and Infinite Glass. He currently lives in Jacksonville, Florida.
BABY STEPS TO LOVE
by Floriana Hall
From the time a wee baby is born
Until the age of no return
A baby needs attention and love.
The baby grows into a toddler
Who needs constant supervision
Hugs, attention and love.
The toddler becomes of school age
Needs rules to follow, learns to respect
But still needs hugs, attention and love.
The youngster becomes a preteen
Who needs a little freedom
But mostly needs attention and love.
The preteen becomes a teen
Who wants to become independent
But needs more rules, attention, and love.
The teen becomes an adult
Who has learned the way to live
Giving back hugs, attention and love.
The adult reaches middle age
Sometimes looks for something more
Wants more interest and love.
Middle age to old age
Nothing has changed
Demands hugs, attention, and love.
Old age steps to a higher level
Gives more hugs, praise, attention and love.
Having learned the importance of giving.
Floriana Hall, born 10/2/27 in Pittsburgh, Pa., June 1945 graduate and Distinguished Alumna of Cuyahoga Falls High School, attended Akron University Business school; wrote poetry as a child, and columns for high school newspaper. Married Robert E. Hall in 1948, five children and nine grandchildren. Author of four inspirational books, SMALL CHANGE, DADDY WAS A BAD BOY, THE SANDS OF RHYME, and OUT OF THE ORDINARY Short Stories; at least 500 poems published in U.S., England, and India, winner of many poetry prizes. Floriana founded the Poet's Nook at Cuyahoga Falls Library (Ohio) seven years ago and coordinates it monthly. She edited and published The Poet's Nook's two previous books, THROUGH OUR EYES, Poems of Beautiful Northeast Ohio, and POET'S NOOK POTPOURRI, and is in the process of publishing another poetry book, titled TOUCHING THE HEARTS OF GENERATIONS, and another nonfiction book, HEARTS ON THE MEND. She feels blessed that God has inspired her to keep on writing. WHO'S WHO IN INTERNATIONAL POETRY, WHO'S WHO IN US AUTHORS, EDITORS, AND POETS, MARQUIS WHO'S WHO IN AMERICA.
GATHER THEIR FACES
By Clifford K. Watkins, Jr.
fleshy creatures flaunting
wanting today
they gather their faces
and drool in the mirror
tracing their faults
and grow inferior
severed trees
angry
descending as everyone
threatening clouds roll in unison
creating for all intents
and purposes
a world undone
special rays bent on lunacy
drowning in that foul
urchin-wombed reality
who hasn't groveled in futility
it appears so dim
staring into the sky
maybe we expect too much from him
PAST SEASONS
By Hugh Jones
We grew lonely
so we sought out
old street friends
for proof that
Ouch, we still had
songs unsung within.
Boogied we until
our bums ached,
telling most of
Us high-stepping
xerox-copy
candy-chews
those gals with smaller
bottoms fared the best
that we had now
somehow outgrown
our overheated egos.
Hugh: My wife and I live in southern Indiana, although I grew up in Wyoming. We are both grads of Indiana University in Music; I'm a pianist and she teaches Suzuki Method violin. Her day job is as a cleric at IU. Contact Hugh.
PELICAN PARADE
By Barbara Lauderdale Hearn
Flying in a V shape,
the pelicans
glide and coast
to their next destination.
Peaceful and in great number
they frequent
the clear blue sky.
In rhythm with the cool breeze
the tranquil birds
paint
a pleasant, beautiful scene
at their home,
the beach.
Barbara Lauderdale Hearn's poetry about parenting was recently published on My Mommy Central and Awesome Moms Network e-zines. Her poems have appeared in Lone Stars Magazine, The Pegasus Review, SheMom, and Poetic License Magazine. She lives in Tennessee with her teenage son, hedgehog and two cats. She can be contacted at blhkimp@comcast.net.
Road Kill
by Carl Palmer
down past the empty tan trailer
FOR SALE sign in the yard
plastic flowers on a styrofoam cross
propped against the single oak tree
blue, red and green
faded gray as the cross
unseen by passing drivers
stirring up dust from the dry dirt road
causing my aged eyes to burn
rubbing tears from my wrinkled cheeks
I walk from the site where
dreams of tomorrow died
price paid by time in jail
my sentence for life begins
Carl Palmer, author of "Telling Stories", a collection of flash fiction and poetry from his appearances at open mic events in the Puget Sound region of the Pacific Northwest, enjoys the good life in University Place WA. He has works published in England, Scotland, Germany, Australia, Canada, and of course, the United States, with selected poetry translated into French and Arabic. Carl is a member of The Puget Sound Poetry Connection, Striped Water poets of Auburn, The Writers Roundtable, Tacoma Writers Club, New Poets of Lakewood and The Dreamweavers Critique Group. He enjoys hearing from his readers. Contact Carl.
Trouble with Dates
By Carl Palmer
Judy asked this morning,
“Do you remember what today is?”
“Saturday?” I guessed.
“Yes, but what’s the date?”
After a long hesitation,
she tells me, “November 19th.”
After more thought on the matter,
“Ron’s birthday?”
“No,
five years ago today.”
“Oh, yeah,” suddenly ashamed,
the day my mom died.
I forgot the date,
but not my mom.
Her New Room
By Carl Palmer
The house was small
where she raised her five children,
but not as small as her new room.
She lived in her house fifty-two years,
but only for a couple of months now
in her new room.
She loomed large in her small house,
yet now seems so tiny
in the corner of her new room.
Her house held the aroma of flower sachet
with smells of delicious wonderment
flowing warmly from her kitchen.
Her new room has the reek of medicine
with an underlying odor
of pine oil disinfectant.
She seemed to know everyone
wherever she went
and everyone knew her.
Today she needed to be reminded
of her daughter’s name
as Judy sat there holding her mother’s hand.
Waiting in her new room
she asks once more
if it’s time to go back home.
POEM OF THE MONTH
COME ALL GOOD THINGS
By Aaron Edward Avis
Emotional overload
Of unbearable pleasure.
Happiness becomes torture.
Souls once filled
Now drown in oceans of tears.
Come,
All good things.
Beginnings perspectives
haded with joy.
Truth is lost amongst
Smiles and heart beats.
Sighs whisper loudly-
Come,
All good things.
Repetitious sunrises,
The dawn of heaven
Stiffed,
By the dusk of hell.
Come,
All good things.
Passion and pleasure
Become
Routine and procedure.
De-evolving devotion.
Come,
All good things.
Uncompleted completion.
A rest stop on the path
Of discovery.
Search a new trick to turn,
A new cliche to grasp.
Come,
All good things.
Gone.
Forever lost.
Destination nowhere
Never found.
Come.
I must confess it has been years since I have submitted any type of writing since my high school years I have been alone with my writing, letting few read anything. My poems deal with relationships which know no gender bias.
Dao: The Elusive One
byTony Zurlo
consumes scholars
in missions of the mind,
convinced they can analyze
and split it like an atom,
attracts philosophers
like gravity, confident
they will tame it with
syllogisms and logic,
lures pilgrims to mountain tops,
guided by monks who promise
paradise to all who yield
to the scripture of bliss.
They litter the universe with
rumors and theories, then disappear
into the dark matter between stars,
the emptiness that is the cosmos.
Tony’s poetry and short fiction have appeared in dozens of print and online journals, including recent issues of Red River Review, November 3rd Club, Open Window, All Info About Poetry, erbSap ,Humdinger, and in The Cynic. He also has published books on Vietnam, China, Hong Kong, Japan, Japanese Americans, West Africa, Algeria, and Syria. Contact Tony.
