Works from Poetry Friends…
I am proud to introduce poetry from some incredible writing friends. The authors are listed alphabetically, as to show no favoritism, because they are each unique and worthy poets. I can’t thank them enough for sharing their work.
Pamela Hobart Carter
Clare Glynn Chitan
Jenny Ni Ruiseil
Ann Christine Tabaka
I See Faces, by Yvonne Brewer
For as long
as I’ve known
I see faces
in a fallen tree
Yvonne Brewer is originally from County Offaly and lives in Cork, Ireland and has had poetry published since 2014 with Women’s Spiritual Poetry, including in their fourth anthology “Goddess: When She Rules: Expressions of Contemporary Women”. (Dec 2017) Motherhood has taken her down a very creative path and her writing is greatly influenced by her children, her dreams, nature and fairies.
In 2013 Yvonne self published an e-book called “Breathe and Bloom. Soul Mother Meditations”
She also has had poetry published with the Blue Nib and her poetry has been read on several audio poetry radio shows of American poet Tamara Miles “Where the Light Most Falls” broadcast by SpiritPlantsRadio.com
Yvonne’s Website: https://www.facebook.com/yswords/
Soothing Perspectives, by Pamela Hobart Carter
I like the idea
that we’re seeing
into a parallel universe
when we imagine things.
I’ve had that
as a working theory
for a while now.
some of the agita
from this world.
I always wonder
what of the things
we see in fiction
are really true
My other trick
is scale–to think
of myself as
a small animal
on a spinning globe. Yes.
The universe is
much bigger than
any transitory issues here.
Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.
https://thebasiloflaherty.weebly.com/pamela-hobart-carter.html My most recent poems.
Image Link: https://pinterst.com/macgma/art-jamie-heiden/
Frosty Night, by Clare Glynn Chitan
I greet the changing seasons of the year
That hoary frost that leaves a silvery tear
Foggy clouds that rest on trees
Moisture slowly dripping in the breeze
While droplets glisten in the air
The cold that seeps and permeates the earth
Put seeds to sleep until the warmer light
A wolf she howls and chills the bones of night
The silvery ghost of winter nights
Her gown glistening in bright light
As moonbeams move in elegant delight
Hail to the moon that walks the night
And covers all she sees in silver light
Writing poetry and prose has immersed me in occupation. I have no time to grow old; I am too busy, now that the floodgates have opened. I have dipped my toe in the waters of creativity. I can see creativity all around. The one who paints the nails in imaginative ways ,styles hair in exotica. Groups putting the world to right, craftsmen in their trade. Dentist creating a new smile. We are all creative; some have not recognised it as yet.
Clare Glynn Chitan’s Website: https://chitanclare.wixsite.com/mysite
Image Link: https://wallup.net/nature-landscape-mountain-forest-clouds-mist-fall-yellow-trees-sky-overcast/
Before the Storm, by Martha Maria
Over cast, heavy
and damp, the morning sky rides
the tawny backs of
Too silent the birds
too still the woods; nary a
breath stirs lank leaves; not
a lizard or bug to be seen
the sole sound
my feet striking ground
as I traipse the valley alone
Martha lives in a small white house in the woods in the shadow of the Cumberland Mountains, in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. That little white house is also where most of her music is produced and recorded. When she’s not playing music, she’s wife to Bob and mother to Joseph and Walker.
Martha Maria’s website: http://www.dogwooddaughter.com/
The Haunting Happens at Certain Times…
by Tamara Miles (Irish and English Translation)
The following poems are “found poems,” in the sense that all Irish Gaelic phrases are borrowed from the Foras na Gaeilge‘s New English-Irish Dictionary and then built and shaped into poetry in various combinations in English. I am not a native speaker of Irish Gaelic, but I am an interested learner, and have traveled to that beautiful green country in October, 2017 to give a poetry reading (in English). Using simple phrases without the option of greater sentence variety/structure has taught me to contain the essence of what I want to say in a tighter, more succinct, yet vivid manner. The poem is presented first in Irish Gaelic, followed by the English version. The Irish poems have little punctuation or capitalization, following the form in which they are found in the original format. Foras na Gaeilge has provided permissions for use of the phrases.
The Haunting Happens at Certain Times…
Bionn taibhsi ann ag amanna ar…
scal solas na gréine ar an gcnoc
pictiúr d’ábhar neamhbheo
bláthanna teach téacháin
thit scáil ar an doras
bhuail ga gréine an bord
fear atá tógtha san fhuil
uisce beatha te
maidhm charraige le fána
tuile agus trá na taoide
thosaigh sé ag cogarnach
lagaigh an ghaoth
The Haunting Happens at Certain Times
sunlight fell on the hill –
a still life painting,
hothouse flowers –
a shadow fell over the doorway,
a ray of sunlight fell across the table —
a hot-blooded man,
a fall of rocks down the slope,
the rise and fall of the tide,
a closely guarded secret.
His voice fell to a whisper.
The wind fell.
Tamara Miles teaches college English and Humanities. Her poetry has appeared in Fall Lines; Pantheon; O’Bheal Five Words, Tishman Review; Animal; Obra/Artifact; Rush; Apricity; Snapdragon; Crosswinds Poetry Journal; Whatever Our Souls, Cenacle, and Oyster River Pages. A 2016 contributor at the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and a resident at Rivendell Writers Colony in August, 2017. She has an audio poetry journal/radio show at SpiritPlantsRadio.com called “Where the Most Light Falls.”
Tamara Miles Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/tamaramiles.poet/
Image Link: https://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g60640-i42046777-Hoolehua_Molokai_Hawaii.html
Poem by Jenny Ní Ruiséil
A cycle complete
From its unconscious beginnings,
to the inklings of awareness;
Some heeded, some hindered.
Some hauled mercilessly into the open;
here, we no longer hide.
Baring all a constant discovery.
Creation, destruction, layer by layer sinking teeth into that which we once
forbade ourselves to touch,
Spices of what we’re made of – sweet, sour, bitter, pungent – sprinklings of
antidotes to simmer down and regroup.
Each feeling is a flavour.
Tasting it all – full nourishment, full circle, full embodiment, light and laughter.
Toes disappearing into sand –
the waves above a salty reminder of humanity
and the minute blip of this
Single, solitary cycle.
Returning to the shore,
We start again.
Hi there – my name is Jenny!
I’m primarily a Yoga teacher, writer, and musician, yet I try to include creative aspects to all of my work and everyday life – no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I believe that as creative beings, we humans have the responsibility and power to continuously redefine, create and manifest our ideal lives. The healing and empowering properties of the ancient Hatha Yoga practices are something which have helped me in this area, aiding in my recovery from and management of anxiety and other mental health issues, and inspiring me to start sharing some of these skills, observations and techniques with the world.
Jenny Ni Ruiseil’s Website: https://manifest-yoga.com/
The Wooing, by Melissa Steffy
Heavy boxwood perfume
untouched by the brisk winds
flitting amongst updrafts
I love you dear
tinsel and twigs
bottle caps and grass sprigs
can’t you see
sing my best
how much I love thee
Melissa Steffy is a person, like many on this planet, and yet unique, as we all are. She hopes for better for her children, for humanity and for this place that we call home. Her words come from things she’s seen, good and bad. Thank you for reading her words, for feeling whatever feeling they bring for you. Perhaps you have your own story to write.
Waiting, by Ann Christine Tabaka
Hard back wooden chairs
dull pale green walls
minutes morph into hours
thoughts rush forward then retreat
racing back into the blackness
Outside, morning rain falls softly
reminiscent of an old song
with emotions rising to the tune
like so many smoke clouds
evaporating into the atmosphere
Poppy seed salad dressing
added to the grocery list
phone calls need to be returned
the black cat on the video cries
bringing reality back in focus
Time has no master but itself
and so the day continues
like a ping pong game of the mind
where no one loses
and no one wins
Notebook resting on a lap
words written on a page
conclude the next chapter
all the while sitting
in a hard back wooden chair
*Published in Quail Bell Magazine, http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal/poem-waiting-by-ann-christine-tabaka
Ann Christine Tabaka is a nominee for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She placed Third in Vita Brevis Best Poem Contest both January & February 2018. Her Interview on Spillwords was voted Publication for the Month for March 2018. She was selected as Poet of the Month for January 2018 and interviewed by Kingdoms in the Wild. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Bindweed Magazine, The Metaworker, Raven, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review. *(a complete list of publications is available upon request)
Pumpkin Spice Latte, by April Thompson
Autumn breeze runs through leaves
On trees of changing color
Swooping strands of hair let down
Wearing my favorite sweater
Chilly hands embrace my cup
Of aromatic bliss
Taste of Fall, sweet creamy spice
Feels heavenly and indulgent
The seasons warmth flows through each sip
And fills me with enchantment