Friday, March 16, 2018

Home Grown by Stefanie Bennett


The Dust Devil family

Like a top,
Like a mule,
And won’t
Ever forsake
The past
For last...

BiO: Stefanie Bennett, ex-blues singer and musician has published several books of poetry,a novel and a libretto, and works with Arts Action For Peace. Poems have appeared inShot Glass Journal, Poetry Pacific, The Fib Review, Poetic Diversity and others.Stefanie’s most recent titles ‘Black Spring’ – Ginninderra Press; ‘The Vanishing’ WalleahPress and ‘Blanks From The Other World’ [due May – June] are available from Amazon.Of mixed ancestry [Italian/Irish/Paugussett-Shawnee] Stefanie was born in Queensland.Australia.

Thursday, March 8, 2018

December Morn by John Grey

Ice halos every bare bedraggled tree.
Garden withers out of sight.
The box-hedge browns but holds its shape.
Along the fence sprout tiny pines,
all ghosts of Christmas past,
green candles flamed by sun.
Morning rays glisten off snow mounds,
melt the flakes on bedroom windows.
Out of warm flannel sheets,
a family emerges,
a yawning but instructive lesson
in how bodies come to be.
The father wobbles and looms
above all others like a bewhiskered moose.
The mother follows in his shadow,
a trail of trembling bones, chilly breath,
on course for the thermostat.
Children trampoline bounce
to cold, unfriendly floor,
dare the weather to slow their progress.
The life in fields, in woods, is sporadic,
maybe a hare, its coat winter white,
or a squirrel burrowing aimlessly
for its forgotten cache.
But the people lead,
fill the spaces of the house
with cheery voices, clattering kitchen sounds,
the hiss of water boiling,
the rattle and reward of cranked-up radiators.
The scramble for survival is on outside.
Inside, the comfort can barely contain itself.
A woman kisses, a child hugs...
I have this moment on good authority

Wednesday, March 7, 2018

Eighty Days by Michael Ceraolo

               July 14, 1881


I once considered correspondence
to be the great drudgery of my life,
but now my goal is to recover enough
to resume that 'great drudgery'


"When all these matters,
my life,
             my address
get before the public and they know just why
I assassinated the president
there will be a big reaction in my favor
I don't know how long I will have to remain here
It depends on how soon the president dies."

Monday, March 5, 2018

A Taint of Pity by Ken Allen Dronsfield Review

A Taint of Pity is a journey through poetic excellence. Ken Allen Dronsfield is constantly surprising me with his complex works of art. Yes, it is sheer art that when reading it becomes a canvas of words mingling in a masterpiece of truth, wisdom and beauty, This poet exemplifies the craft of poetry with his effortless strokes of ebb and flow. He writes a contemporary message with traditional expertise which is very rare in this day and age. Very few poets have been able to write with these extraordinary qualities. His imagery and story telling is exciting and has you anxiously awaiting the next stanza. His imagery as in the poem Lunatique brings forth the limitless bounds to which he can create these unique poems. Sylvia Plath comes to mind when reading many of his works. Works like Infernal ooze a heartfelt and powerful message with ease and grace. I am a huge fan of Ken's work and when I think about that old saying "You can't improve upon perfection" that saying is wrong. You can and Ken Allen Dronsfield does in all of his poetry. This is a fantastic read by one of my top favorite contemporary poets. Also, the real and heartfelt dedication is emotional and tells a story of his life. Thank you, Ken for always inspiring me. Sammy thanks you too.

For more info, reviews and ordering instructions click here.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

TIDE by Jagari Mukherjee

My passion glows
With crimson tints
Mixed with blue desire –
The blue of the night sky
With a moon shining
Like a firefly.
The tide of the sea
Over my body washes
Leaving crusts of sharp salt crystals
In the roses
To set me free
As the scarlet and gold
Of the setting sun
Shimmers like a satin dress
Over splintered me…

And what about you?
Trying to put the splinters together
You cover yourself
With the moon and the sea.
Brief Bio
Jagari Mukherjee is a bilingual poet from Kolkata, India. She is a gold medalist in English Literature from University of Pune. Her writings have appeared in several newspapers, magazines, anthologies, and blogs. Her first book, a collection of poems entitled Blue Rose, was published in May 2017 by Bhashalipi.

Monday, February 26, 2018

Shakespearean Baseball Sonnet #98 by Michael Ceraolo

Shakespearean Baseball Sonnet #98

From you I have been absent in the spring,
Til Opening Day, dressed in all its trim,
Hath put the spirit of youth in everything.
But my love for you is hardly a whim:
I have missed the ballpark's array of smells
And both teams' uniforms' array of hues;
I have missed the stories that my love tells,
A dazzling selection from which to choose;
I have missed the wonder of the ball's white.
I have missed the wonder of the field's green.
I wonder if the new will be a fright.
I wonder of those who will make the scene.
It seems winter still with the game away,
Until the team comes home ready to play.

Bio:  "Michael Ceraolo is a retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had one full-length book (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press) and a few chapbooks published (among the chapbooks is Cleveland Haiku, from Green Panda Press). He has a second full-length book, Euclid Creek Book Two, forthcoming from unbound content press, and is continually working on new and existing poetry projects."

Sunday, February 25, 2018

If Not For You By Grant Guy

If Not For You

If not for you I would be a happy man
If not for you I would be a sad man
That is the arc of love I walk along
It is not your fault It is not my fault
The fault lies in the stars and in the composition of love

When caught up in the eddy of love
I lose my oars and rudders 
And flow along the crimson river to its source
And back again over rapids and angelic pools
I am not captains of my charts
I am the wind blowing against rock and silk

If not for love I would not be human
If not for you I would not exist

BIO: Grant Guy is a Winnipeg, Canada, poet, writer and playwright. His poems and short stories have been published in Canada and Internationally. He has three books published: Open Fragments (Lives of Dogs), On the Bright Side of Down and Bus Stop Bus Stop (Red Dashboard). His plays include an adaptation of Paradise Lost and the Grand Inquisitor. He was the 2004 recipient of the Manitoba Arts Council’s 2004 Award of Distinction and the 2017 recipient of the Winnipeg Arts Council’s Making A Difference Award.

Saturday, February 24, 2018

A Mother’s Love by Stephens Jeremiah

A Mother’s Love

Of men I cannot tell
But of my mother I know very well
A love so pure and true
An affection so caring and graceful too
My mother is the best so far
A heart of Love but painted with gold
Such lips of flesh but coated with care
Beauty beyond measure
 Of such I treasure
My mum is the best so far
Her smile gladdens my eyes
Her laughter are melodies to my ears
Her touch warms my sense of cold
In her bosom lies good doctrines
And her hands carry wisdom
She chastises and corrects
But her love is the best of all…

BIO: My name is Stephens Jeremiah, I am a Nigerian, I am a student who appreciates the work

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, poet and fabulist originally from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of  Oklahoma. His work can be found in magazines, journals, reviews and anthologies. He has two poetry books, "The Cellaring" a collection of 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work. His newest book, "A Taint of Pity: Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection just released on He is a three time Pushcart Prize and twice Best of the Net Nominee for 2016-2017. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy. 

Adrift into a Snow Globe

As I gaze through the glass of the old snow globe.
My mind drifts off and I find myself there skating.
Through the snow flakes, and the bonfire's glow
mugs of cocoa with tiny marshmallows waiting.

The vision of my girl, wearing her long red coat 
with faux fur around the hood and white mittens,
knitted hat and long white scarf cover her throat
skating along the pond, her blond hair in ribbons.

Moving along with grace in my old black skates
I race along the pond, trying to catch up with her
finally getting close, I call out, then she hesitates
I fly on, trip, land on my dignity, hitting with a blur

I can hear her giggling with glee from behind me,

but I suddenly wake from my daydream visions
still standing there, globe in hand, i lrave it be,
smiling, thankful for loves adoration

Friday, February 23, 2018

April Blue by Joan McNerney

April Blue

 This is when we search for

color to transform cold grey.

Rainfall begins its magic

high lighting sky blue.


We see stacks of luminous clouds

as plants pop out and forsythia

bursts into sparkling yellow stalks.

Just today a breath of warmth

brought alive crepe myrtle buds.


Aromatic lilac bushes cluster in

soft bunches while birds and bugs

encircle them.  Ten pretty trees

all dressed up in lustrous greens

boogie through noontime breezes.


Get ready for this blast-off of spring!

 Bio: Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary zines such as Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Halcyon Days and included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane Press and Poppy Road Review anthologies. She has been nominated four times for Best of the Net. 

Check Your Price Tag Baby by Desiree Cady

Visit Desiree Cadys page at:

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

What Do You Feel? By Joanne Olivieri

What Do You Feel?
A poem for my Sammers
By Joanne Olivieri

What do you see?
My little guy
When seeing the sunrise
Outside the window
Hearing birds calling
And butterflies flitting
Amongst the flowers.

What do you see?
My little guy
When dreaming at twilight
Through dull shadows
Seeing green forests
And gallant trees
Amongst natures path.

What do you feel?
My little guy
When playtime begins
From dusk till dawn
Hearing beautiful melodies
And jazzy beats
Dancing and singing.

I hope you feel
The love I hold
In my heart
For you.

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

The Wishing Fountain by Angelica Lee

The Wishing Fountain

It was a foggy morning as we walked around
In the big city of San Francisco when we found
A wishing fountain with a bright white trim
Crystal clear water filling it to the brim
And, oh dear, circles of silver and brown
Which made me and my child frown

As a penny disturbed the water
I was asked by my dear daughter
“Why would you throw away money
With which you could buy a bunny?
Mommy, if you were to make a wish
Would you ask for a pretty goldfish?”

I looked down at her with a smile
And said, “Honey, it may take awhile
For everyone to realize what we sorely need
Is a leader who will plant the seed
Of world peace. Someone to encourage unity
Among the people of our large community

If I were to rule the world, I would make it
A place where no one feels like a misfit
Where there would be no bullying or fights
And no criminals to roam the streets at night
So whether it be a wishing fountain or a shooting star
I would wish for world peace, or maybe a candy bar.”

BIO: My name is Angelica Grace Lee and I am a senior at Lowell High School. I am passionate about giving back to my community and would like to major in cognitive science, psychology, or legal studies in college. Currently I am a San Francisco Police Activities League Senior Cadet Sergeant as well as an intern for SFPD's CSI Unit. In my spare time I run a Facebook group called "Kindness in the Darkness" where I share heartwarming acts of kindness in hopes of brightening the days of those who may be suffering dark times. I have been the creator and administrator of “Kindness in the Darkness” since 2011. I also enjoy writing poetry and composing song lyrics. 

Monday, February 19, 2018

Earth Chanting by Colleen Ann Traphagen

From the archives of YaSou! Ezine

A Reflection of Grace by Joanne Olivieri

A Reflection of Grace fine art literature prints by Joanne Olivieri

The Golden Anniversary:  A Dual Monologue By Michael Ceraolo

The Golden Anniversary:  A Dual Monologue

         Monticello, Virginia
         July 4, 1826 12:50 PM

Last night I said
"No, doctor, nothing more"
These would be my last recorded words,
but not the last words I would say
Around 4 AM I called my house-slaves
to my room, including Sally,
told them to prepare for my death
These words weren't recorded by history
even almost two hundred years later
one historian would call the slaves servants;
it's time to be honest now)
I woke again around 10,
unable to speak,
died a few hours later

        Quincy, Massachusetts
        July 4, 1826  6:20 PM

Four days ago
a local delegation of dignitaries
asked for a proclamation
for the upcoming anniversary,
and though unable to issue
a lengthy proclamation
I obliged the with the words
"Independence Forever!"

When I awoke today,
having achieved my aim
of making it to the anniversary,
I said simply
"It's a great and glorious day"
I knew it would be my last day on this Earth

As you may know I was a great hater,
and even as the end approaches
there are some I am unable to forgive,
such as the West Indian bastard
(bastard in every sense of the word),
but I am immensely happy that
Mr. Jefferson and I reconciled years ago:
earlier this afternoon I said
"Thomas Jefferson survives"
(though I would discover very soon
I had been mistaken about that)

In the early evening
I said to my granddaughter Susanna
"Help me, child, help me"
there was nothing she could do
and I died shortly thereafter


In my diary entry
for November 26, 1825,
concerning discussion about
the upcoming State of the Union message
at that day's Cabinet meeting,
I wrote
            "The plant may come late
though the seen should be sown early"
and in the message I sent
on December 6, 1825
I planted a seed,
                         calling for
"provision for the support of an astronomer"
"throughout the whole American hemisphere
there is not one" observatory
(I note with a sense of staisfaction
that almost two hundred years later
there are over three hundred fifty
in the United States alone)
In calling for such observatories to be built
I used the metaphor
"light-houses of the skies"
the metaphor and the idea itself
were roundly mocked by Jackson
and other non-intellectuals
who didn't see the benefit of science
(I see that hasn't changed much today)

The seeds would grow slowly:
it would take two decades
for the Naval Observatory to be built
And at the ceremony
to lay the first cornerstone
for a private observatory in Cincinnati
on November 9, 1843
I made a long speech,
my last public one,
mercifully will not be repeated 
here in its entirety
An excerpt, true then and now:

"The earth beneath his feet,
and the vault of heaven over his head, . . .
force themselves upon his observation,

and invite him to contemplation"

Sunday, February 18, 2018

Daginne Aignend Digital Art Photography

Gold Rock




Cycle of Life


Daginne Aignend is a pseudonym for the Dutch writer, poetess, photographic artist Inge Wesdijk. She likes hardrock music, fantasy books, is a vegetarian who loves her animals. She's the Poetry Editor of Whispers and has been published in many poetry journals, magazines and anthologies. She has a fun project