Poetry

Shaky all day

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

I ambled into the hospice shop,

hoped to find a table

for the new guest room.

At the end of a rack of clothing

lurked a special rack of better things –

four of Roy's summer shirts ($3 each)

and the red plaid flannel ($4)

he wore the week he died.

Those shirts, empty of life,

draped listless on hangers.

I stumbled around in tears,

got out of there.

Shook for the rest of the day.

JOURNEY LIKE A RIVER FLOWS

Who is this old woman that I see?

Not the pretty young girl who used to be!

She is wrinkled and her hair is starting to gray

But there’s a twinkle in her eyes

which was always that way.

She walks more slowly than in days of yore

But her heart is full of love evermore

For God and family and mortals in need

Of compassion and prayer, and extra good deeds.

She’s learned and she’s grown

in understanding;

smiles and tears she has known.

Precious memories of fun times and places,

Beautiful babies, children’s, grandchildren’s faces.

Her life has been channeled

Like rivers that flow, each town passing by,

Currents rising or calm round the bend,

Traumatic turns and trickles to transcend.

Days of peace and contentment

She longs for at last,

One day at a time, the future has passed.

But she will enjoy living and loving

Until her last breath,

And do what she can not to hasten her death.

At the end of her journey,

Be it walking or gurney,

She’ll be ready for the heavens to greet her

And God and His Angels to finally meet her.

Published in The Ferment of Images, 2004, India]

Floriana Hall

LE TROPHÉE DES ALPES À LA TURBIE

(written while visiting the

Trophy of Augustus Caesar

in the town of La Turbie, France)

by Raymond Gallucci

While ice sheets crack, they answer back,

"More evidence we need."

Rainforests burn, and yet they spurn

What any fool can heed.

"It's inconclusive if abusive

We've been to our earth.

Our oceans can absorb what man expels,

Whole planet's worth."

Though global warming's long been forming,

Still demand more proof.

Until both Poles turn plains to shoals

They'll smugly stay aloof.

"Disease may spread, but years ahead

Ere problems manifest."

Meanwhile pretend will never end

This climate oh so blest.

El Niños come -- they're not much fun

And only getting worse.

Heat waves, monsoons, droughts and typhoons --

We're making our own curse.

Yet scientists recite their lists

Of reasons to ignore.

Give politicians ammunition

To delay still more.

Don't be surprised come some July

Great Plains to desert yield.

And come December you'll remember

Snow once covered fields.

UNCERTAIN SEASON

(Previously published in

TAJ MAHAL REVIEW, Dec. 2007, INDIA)

When weeping cherry bushes

in white crowning blooms

Spring is on its way.

When sturdy hosta haste

and suddenly zoom

Spring is on its way.

When intermittent rain and chill is weather story,

dark clouds loom

Spring is on its way.

When bright sun comes out to shine in glory

warming the room

Spring is on its way.

When hot pink azalea spread their pretty petals,

take away gloom

Spring is on its way.

When irises burst into effervescent settle,

gardens colorful costume

Spring is on its way.

When lilacs flourish pale purple hue

wafting fragrant perfume

Spring is on its way.

When tea roses open buds in morning dew,

spring mushrooms --

Suddenly it’s summer.

Floriana Hall - May 28, 2005

LE TROPHÉE DES ALPES À LA TURBIE

(written while visiting the

Trophy of Augustus Caesar

in the town of La Turbie, France)

By Raymond Gallucci

Although you've passed, your legend lasts

Upon this conquered hill --

The Gallic fight to lands unite,

Preserved in granite still.

Though now unknown who chiseled stone

Or carved the words of praise,

We still can read of every deed

From those pre-Christian days.

What ancient hands applied the sands

That smoothed these very rocks?

Can we extract those memories packed

Into these silent clocks?

Augustus "Great" (so say the Fates),

Imperator of all,

You stood alone atop of Rome.

Could not conceive its fall.

We still return, and of you learn,

Two-thousand years since then.

And how we marvel at your marble

Speaking without end.

THE REWARD OF BEING ACCEPTED AND PUBLISHED

By Kristen Howe

To see them smile was my reward, even if it's in copy, pay or no pay,

Just to see my poetry published in print, online, and paid for,

Or to see my short stories have the same effect,

My list of publication credits started to grow in poetry.

To be accepted than rejected was a great deal,

For my nonfiction researched articles with interviews to make a difference,

Or to finally finish a novel, which took a long time, and with Writer's Block,

I persevered and never gave up or gave in or quit.

For a publisher to print it, and an agent to represent me,

These are my dreams I have for my writing career,

I'm only getting started in poetry, and hope to get there soon,

Started as a hobby, especially in fiction and nonfiction, and someday

with novels.

My poetry has appeared in Associated Content, Blazevox, Blue Fog Journal, Ceremony, Current Accounts, Down in the Dirt, Fullosia Press, The Funny Paper, Hummingbird, Illogical Muse (spring/summer 2008), Languageandculture.net (6/2008), Long Story Short, Love’s Chance, The Magical Blog, Mid-America Poetry Review, Nomad’s Choir, the Oak, Pink Chameleon Online, Poetic Hours, Poet’s Haven, Poet’s Pen, Pulse, Purple Dream, Quantum Leap (5/2008), Redbridge Review (twice), Remark, Ribbons, Sage of Consciousness, The Shepherd, Silver Wings, (twice-one coming in future), Stellar Showcase Journal (twice), Soul Fountain, (twice), Speedpoets, (Australian market), Storyteller, Victory News, Wanderings, Westward Quarterly, Women of the Cross.

While I devote my time to poetry (both reading and writing), I'm looking for FT office work, which inspires in me more poetry than you might imagine.

POEM OF THE MONTH

ELUSIVE REALITY

By DR. THOLANA ASHOK CHAKRAVARTHY, Litt.D

From playful age to youthful stage

On life's page, it's an exotic rage;

If youthful life scripts ongoing page

Pleasures sail smoothly with the age.

The ever-luring gaze of gazes

At life's fickle-twinkling mirages,

Often drive us into spell-bound craze

Stirring the cozy nest of gushing age.

The ever- diminishing life's seasons

The ever-rekindling new aspirations,

Provoke us with ever-new sensations

To chase the ever-elusive joy's horizon.

Once and for all, when reality dawns

Doused in realism, every heart mourns,

Yet, out from the mire, a lotus crowns

While the impatient future tries to shun.

In solitude, past keeps reeling before

And life's ocean fails to find a shore,

Into vacuum, if helplessly we stare

Can damp hopes find a spark to flare?

From playful age to youthful rage

On life's page, it's an exotic stage,

If mid-life defaces the future's page?

Can we believe, life's too takes revenge?

Memories

By Amit Parmessur

There are spaces between

our fingers.

Stop. And think.

Why?

There are spaces between

our fingers

so that a woman may come

and fill them with

her fingers.

So that memories may come

and fill them

in a dream of

holding hands.

This world fulfils sincerity

With bad actions.

It fulfils bad actions

with sincerity.

My hands now are

So empty.

If this vast sky can see itself

in a pond,

why cannot the small pond

see itself in the sky?

The sky is selfish.

Are memories selfish?

Memories are about seeing

the beauty of the past.

The despair

of excessive sincerity.

Don’t stop. Don’t think.

Born in 1983. Won the Scooptheloot Short Humour contest in November 2003. One of the regular contributors to The Short Humour Site. Had the poem The Tear of a Woman recently published by Orchard Press Mysteries. Also just published The Words I Loved back here in Mauritius as my first personal anthology. Published several times in local youth collections.

THE RIPE TIME

By DR. THOLANA ASHOK CHAKRAVARTHY, Litt.D

Wherever harmony is nourished

Peace in abundance has flourished,

Irrespective of caste, religion or race

Pigeons of peace lovingly adorn the skies.

Every dawn looks a peaceful marvel

Every place resembles a delightful dazzle;

The pleasing nature and beautiful birds

Enthrall our hearts with ever-new bonds.

Neither an iota of hatred nor any grudge

The iota of enmity, with harmony merge,

Clouds of distrust disappear out of sight

Assuring peace and upholding human rights.

The hours of distrust become trust-worthy

New dawns usher, with pleasures-worthy,

With hand in hand, time is ripe to sow

The most sought-after seeds of peace, now.

Plowing the very soil of harmonious living

Individual mind, if made fertile and loving

The catastrophic clouds of impending wars

Forever can be defaced of the war-torn scars.

Regarding myself, I am a poet & Review Writer having

the privilege of composing 1200 poems during the past 25 years, several of which appeared in magazines,

e-zines, journals, anthologies, newspapers etc.