Sunday, January 4, 2015

January 2015 Poetry Page






“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.”


- Carl Sandburg
source

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The editors of Long Story Short are proud to announce that “TEACH ME” by James G. Piatt has been selected the LSS Poem of the Year. Congratulations, James!



POEM OF THE YEAR



TEACH ME
by James G. Piatt

the mermaid's song, to understand the laughter of a child, decode the
Zephyr's windy messages, the sun's heated voice, and the moon's cool
rhythms as they cover my soul, to savor the herb's spicy tang, the
sweet taste of cool water after a long trek, the soothing grace of a
soft pillow at night, and the orange dawn when I arise, teach me how
to remember the sound of honest laughter, forget the voices of
avarice, the beauty of colorful flowers, the mightiness of towering
pines, to love the unlovable, and care for those in need, teach me the
essence of the silent lake, the still pond, and the whistling of Birch
trees bending in the wind, to grasp the essence of the rumbling sound
of waterfalls, and the soft murmuring of the dark earth, teach me to
remember the rhythm of peaceful times, and forget the tempo of bloody
wars, the cadence of our short life, and to appreciate calm and quiet
days, teach me to savor each hour, and have dignity among the
undignified, to bend when I wish to stand rigid, and to listen to
those of contrary hearts, to hear choirs of angels, and the thunderous
poems of an ocean's rushing tide, teach me not to wallow in my own
misfortunes, but help me to give solace to those who have real
misfortunes, to be that which I can be, and forgo that, which I
cannot, to accept success with humility, and failure with elegance, to
take the road less traveled, and not the treacherous path of pride,
teach me to love the truth, and shun that which is not, to embrace
righteous souls and avoid false voices, to comprehend the artist's
mind, the poet's soul and the writer's skill, to desire fewer things,
to be satisfied with less, and enjoy simple Wednesdays, teach me the
way to create serenity in a world filled with the din of war and terror, not to fear the darkness of the tomb or the crackling of my
aging bones, but especially how to take your hand, and listen closely
to your voice.


JAMES G. PIATT: Dr. Piatt a retired professor, poet and writer, is the author of two poetry books, “The Silent Pond,” (2012) and “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014), his third poetry book will be released in 2015. He has had over 585 published. His poem, “The Night Frog” was nominated for best of web 2013, his poem, “In The Meadow,” was selected as one of the 100 best poems of 2014, his poem, “I Am” was nominated for a 2014 Pushcart award, and his poem, “Teach Me” was selected as the Poem of the Year at Long Story Short. His books are available on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble. Contact




Congratulations to James who will receive a $25 prize in honor of former Poetry Editor, Sue Scott, and congratulations to all of the “Poets of the Month” for your fine work. We look forward to reading your poems in the New Year!


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POEM OF THE MONTH




MEMOIRS OF LIFE
by Debbie Hilbish


Not even back to where we were
just lacing the outskirts of thirty-six years past.
Strange,
always change,
still enough remains to cause memories
like loose cannonballs to come slamming through
my brain.
The kids, ninety miles just one way to school.
Right now
where we are 
only marking the half way of their five day a week
life
plus Saturday sports events trips,
If it was a home game.
There,
at Stateline,
we’d come sixty miles for pizza,
just a jaunt in our relative world.
The rackety trap restaurant
not even there now
but the one
the only hot spot of its time.
Real People featured Amargosa Opera House.
Real People no longer airing
but
the Opera House 
It’s still standing,
is Marta Becket?
Frail tiny self-imposed city outcast
creating a place to be remembered for herself
her ballet her painting her love of cats 
and vagabonds.
Tiny thin slices of the past
that’s all I want.
This very moment is also busy creating new memories
to pull out on occasion.


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 





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IT'S COLD OUTSIDE
by Floriana Hall


Little baby, it's cold outside -
You take it all in stride
Strapped in your car seat
To travel to places Mom has to go
Every school day of the week.
With a smile on your face
When from slumber you wake
To take your brother and sister
To their destination,
There is no hesitation
Your pleasant disposition shines through
Wherever you go, like a new
Toy brings laughter and grins,
The baby doll spins
In the stroller you push
Or the little vacuum to swish,
During the cold months of winter
You'll still be a winner
With the pleasure you bring
And the twitch of your nose
As fresh snow falls these days
And cold wind turns rain to ice
Everything is still nice in your world
With that smile on your face!


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





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SNOW BIRDS
by Susan Marie Davniero

Snow birds escape
Fly away to the cape
Unwrap the cold
Winter's on hold
Southern retreat
Welcome to the heat
Melting ice floats
Unbutton the coats
Taking the seasonal run
Until the winter is done
Suddenly spring is found
Flying north on the rebound
Home until next winter days
Snow birds fly the other way



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



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BUZZER BEATER
by Michael Ceraolo


The six-ten center
is bouncing the ball at the top of the key
as time counts down,
his team trailing by two in the first overtime
He goes around
his man too easily given the game situation,
goes to the basket,
finger r  o  o  o  o  o  l  l  l  l  l s
the ball in
off the backboard as the buzzer sounds
Replay confirms
a second overtime will need to be played


MICHAEL CERAOLO is a 56-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had one full-length book (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press) and a few shorter-length books published, plus numerous magazine publications. Contact 



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SOMETIMES I MOURN THE LOSS OF FOG
by Nancy Haskett


which hung like a curtain
outside winter windows;
not transparent sheers,
but thick gray-white drapes
that obstructed views,
closed us in,
muffled sounds,
hid the nearby orchards and vineyards
transformed, now,
into neighborhoods
which cover the soil,
hold on to sunlight and heat,
suck up moisture,
repel vapor.
In its way,
that fog was reassuring,
whispering the message
that, although we lived
with the usual creature comforts,
we were still close to the earth
somehow,
not just one more subdivision
amid suburban sprawl


NANCY HASKETT is a retired educator who lives in Modesto, CA. Her poetry has won numerous awards and has been printed in many places such as the collected anthology More than Soil, More than Sky; Stanislaus Connections; National League of American Penwomen website; Long Story Short ezine; Medusa's Kitchen website; Song of the San Joaquin, Iodine Journal, Penumbra and many more. When she's not writing poetry, Nancy enjoys reading, traveling, going to the gym and spending time with three grandchildren! Contact 




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BIRCH TREES
by Patricia Crandall


White bark
peeling.
Birch trees
leaning.
An old man's
wintered face.
White-haired men
lean too.



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 



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ALONE
by Floriana Hall

I came into this world alone
To join a family 
Who bonded. 
I became a teen 
Struck out on my own 
While in high school, 
Worked after days of learning 
Helped support my family 
Until my brothers were grown. 
Met my future husband 
We were not alone, 
We had each other and five offspring 
It was a beautiful thing. 
Now our children are grandparents 
My husband is in a care home 
And I am all alone. 
But I am never really alone 
I have God in my life 
And beautiful great-grandchildren 
Yes, we come into this world alone 
A diversified journey. 
When we leave, we expire alone 
That is our fate 
Will we meet in heaven? 
We will not be alone.


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




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COOKING UP WISHES
by Susan Marie Davniero


My cooking days from the past
Learning basics in Homemaking class
When I was a high school cook 
Cooking family dinners when Mom would work
Assistant Manager at the bank
At home I was Mom's assistant cook 
With each of the family dishes
I was cooking up wishes
Pitch of love, a kiss of this
All went into the loving mix
Recipe’s a taste from the past 
Season with a lot of love to last 
Nowadays when my family comes over
I serve the past recipe leftovers



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



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                    WINGS
             by C. David Hay


Oh, to catch the winds of flight
And soar where eagles go,
To leave the woes of troubled souls
Behind me far below.
I'd listen to the song of birds
And sail in endless flight,
Then chase the sun through cloudy paths
And play with stars at night.

The boundless heavens for my home,
The breeze to lift me high,
To rise above my mortal bonds
And never have to die;
Knowing I had found the way
To trails where angels trod,
And when my wings could fly no more -
I'd take the hand of God!


C. DAVID HAY is a retired dentist residing in Indiana. He is a graduate of Indiana University and IU School of Dentistry. He is the author of five books of poetry. He has been widely published and has had his poetry read on the British Broadcasting Channel. Dr. Hay has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry and is recipient of the Ordo Honoris award from Kappa Delta Rho. He received the Distinguished Alumnus Award from IUSD. He is an avid scholar and collector of Native American artifacts. Contact 



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DEAD GREY WOLF SKINS
(Tribute to Aldo Leopold)
by Michael Lee Johnson



INTRODUCTION:  Aldo Leopold (January 11, 1887 – April 21, 1948) was an American author, scientist, ecologist, forester, environmentalist, and conservationist. In the 1920-1930 eras, he moved to the Baraboo, Wisconsin area. The grey wolf was viewed as a predator, to be killed and sold for their skins. Even then, the grey wolf population was diminishing. Leopold helped restore the value and dignity of the grey wolf to Wisconsin farmers and residents. Musical credit on YouTube: Sound Of The Wolves - Music and Nature Sounds For Relaxation.


1935.
Dead grey wolf skins hang
on white clotheslines across Baraboo, Wisconsin
the dark surface, dirty old shack, side of the moon,
that only exists in memories hung high, long before.
Hunters in the past did their job well,
sold skins, collected a few bucks,
increased deer for hunting, saved cattle,
decreased fear, told tales, short stories, adventures.

The grey wolf face now emergent,
opens his mouth wide in the safety
open in blue sky.
Shows his white teeth against
background of black sky, shadow,
hears thunder again, releases
fireflies at night, monarch butterflies
during the day, guts down pine tree spikes.
He walks once again over landscapes of turquoises.
He consumes dirt road dust, tracks trails, 114.4 miles from Milwaukee to Baraboo.
His keen eyes are sharp for growth of skyscraper, Pabst brewery building.
Traveling side roads over many years brings him to the present.
No more violators, hunters with guns, 
fake Jesus people
slender in His bathrobe Christ repeats two fishes, 
5 loaves and the wolf survives.

Aldo Leopold feeding inmate in small jail cells only kills a few wolves for research.
Aldo a Saint of conservation a consumer of cigarettes and butts,
heart wings of doves attached, broken, stroke fire, 
a neighbor field
heart stroke drops into history.


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 





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WONDERFUL KITE SHOW
by Pijush Kanti Deb


It’s to be believed or not
but a human body is to be flown
like a kite in the sky
caused by the restlessness of brain 
and its tumbling down to knee 
making head blank and weightless 
and body light to float in the air 
in quest of something more. 
It may be the sign of abnormality 
yet eyes are indifferent to the symptoms- 
reflected from the wonderful kite show 
exhibited in the open sky of hunger 
where all go as they like 
as hands start beating their own drums 
guarding their own ears 
from the invasion of others’ beating, 
feet run faster than the mind 
to reach “El Dorado” - the golden dreamland 
trampling others’ feet, 
heart hides again and again 
in the pools of the clouds 
and makes itself more mysterious, 
but the old soul looks thoughtful and disturbed 
before going for long hibernation 
wishing “safe flying” to the floating body.


PIJUSH KANTI DEB is a new Indian poet with more than 180 poems and haiku accepted or published by Indian and international publishers since June 2013. He is an Associate Professor in Economics. Contact 



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CELEBRATION DINNER
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones


We linger around the table
no longer tempted to nibble,
talk interrupted by contented sighs,
occasional belch.

We applaud the cook for her meal
pulled off with nary a glitch.
Aromas of bread and cinnamon
perfume the house.

We admire the bouquet I remembered
to bring, how the white lilies
and chrysanthemums are perfect
with the sprays of red.

The hostess enjoys stirring things up
with talk of politics and local events
but we’ve loosened our belts,
too sated to engage.

The chat turns to murmurs,
people gather themselves,
the hostess refuses kitchen aid
so I slide through the door,
gill-stuffed and guilt-free.


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 



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TAPESTRY OF FAITH
by Susan Marie Davniero


Tapestry of faith glory
Weaves pattern of life story
Divinely woven by God’s hands
That only He shall understand
Paragon in shades of glorious hue
From glistening gold to silver blue
When the life story comes to end
Aging colors fade and suspend
Alas, the unraveling will begin
and it’s only just wool again



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



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MOCK WINTER STORM
by Patricia Crandall


A squall is a facsimile
of winter's harshness.
Winds howl while birds perch
on trees, unintimidated.
Square flakes accumulate
on window ledges, obliterating
frozen scenery. Within
a northern home, an orange fire
twists and burns
in a blackened hearth.
A blue sky unfolds
over the dark mountains.



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 



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HURRY ON BY, JANUARY
by Floriana Hall


Here it is the month of January
Already?
Christmas and New Year's are over
Such fun with family!
Let's see, what is there to do now?
Perhaps get caught up with chores
Left over from all the celebrations.
The thank you notes are written
But the sidewalks, porch and driveway
Are full of piled up snow
And, lo, it is still falling!
Guess that's what January is about,
Kind of pretty to view
With a hot cup of cocoa or tea.
Wait, there are bills to be paid,
Future plans to be made,
There's really plenty to do
With boots and snowshoes.
Get out the shovel,
No need to grovel,
Baby winter is here
So get up and cheer
For blessings of this season
For good health, we always pray
For spring to come soon, we say
So hurry on by, January
Let the fun begin.


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











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january celebrity poet 

Carl Sandburg
(1878 – 1967) 

nationality: American


Carl Sandburg – Credit: Public Domain





INTERIOR

In the cool of the night time
The clocks pick off the points
And the mainsprings loosen.
They will need winding.
One of these days…
they will need winding.

Rabelais in red boards,
Walt Whitman in green,
Hugo in ten-cent paper covers,
Here they stand on shelves
In the cool of the night time
And there is nothing…
To be said against them…
Or for them…
In the cool of the night time
And the clocks.

A man in pigeon-gray pyjamas.
The open window begins at his feet
And goes taller than his head.
Eight feet high is the pattern.

Moon and mist make an oblong layout.
Silver at the man’s bare feet.
He swings one foot in a moon silver.
And it costs nothing.

One more day of bread and work.
One more day … so much rags…
The man barefoot in moon silver
Mutters “You” and “You”
To things hidden
In the cool of the night time,
In Rabelais, Whitman, Hugo,
In an oblong of moon mist.

Out from the window … prairielands.
Moon mist whitens a golf ground.
Whiter yet is a limestone quarry.
The crickets keep on chirring.

Switch engines of the Great Western
Sidetrack box cars, make up trains
For Weehawken, Oskaloosa, Saskatchewan;
The cattle, the coal, the corn, must go
In the night … on the prairielands.

Chuff-chuff go the pulses.
They beat in the cool of the night time.
Chuff-chuff and chuff-chuff…
These heartbeats travel the night a mile
And touch the moon silver at the window
And the bones of the man.
It costs nothing.

Rabelais in red boards,
Whitman in green,
Hugo in ten-cent paper covers,
Here they stand on shelves
In the cool of the night time
And the clocks.





For the poet’s biography, see: 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Sandburg
























Quoted for educational purposes only. 
All work the copyright of the respective authors.

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!


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