Poetry is the expression of the human experience. Wordsworth defined poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings;" Emily Dickinson said, "If I read a book and it makes my body so cold no fire ever can warm me, I know that is poetry;" and Dylan Thomas defined poetry this way: "Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing."
Poetry is many things to many people. If we narrow it down to its most central characteristics, it is economy of language. It is clean, clear and concise. It's musical and emotive, evocative and surprising, logical and mystical. It is complexity and sophistication. In other words, it is something that is unwilling to be defined. In the end, whether through sound, form, or rhetoric, pattern, beat or rhythm, it is the sharing of what it is to be human.
We are excited to share the Poetry of these talented authors. We applaud all of our contributors and encourage everyone to continue to follow their artistic and literary dreams. For those whose works we’ve selected, we hope this is just the beginning of an illustrious career in the arts.
Honeybee
by Miriam Manglani
You set a marvelous example.
Working your tiny stinger off
in your short five-week lifespan.
Smearing the sun’s gold
on the walls of your safe of wax.
Sweetening our lives by the jar.
Pollinating flowers and plants,
our lives with fruits and vegetables,
getting a buzz from drinking nectar.
We should bow down to your
muted black and yellow coat.
Your extra eyes for navigating life.
Your large translucent wings
dancing in the sun.
Yet, we run away screaming
when you buzz close by.
Danger often lurks
in what is most precious.
BIO: Miriam Manglani lives in Cambridge Massachusetts with her husband and three children. She has a degree in English from Brandeis University. Her poems have been published in Sparks of Calliope, Red Eft Review, One Art, Glacial Hills Review, and Paterson Literary Review. “They’ve Come” was a finalist for the Beals Prize for Poetry. Her poetry chapbook, Ordinary Wonders, is published by Prolific Press.
** The watercolor is by Florence Manglani, a self-taught multi-media artist. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. After years of concentrating on motherhood and a career as a bilingual School Psychologist, she has returned to painting. She works with watercolors, pastels, oils, and acrylics, focusing on botanicals and landscapes.
https://www.florencemanglani.com/
Nature’s Symphony
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
I hike - along the trail by the lake;
gravel crunches under my feet.
I soon reach the wooded area.
The path is wet and muddy;
my feet squish as I move
over decaying leaves and grass.
I come to an open area,
which skirts the lake.
The waves swish in
towards the shore.
Then swoosh out.
A tiny stream gurgles
on its way to the lake.
An eagle soars overhead.
Screeches as it dives
to catch its prey.
Suddenly, the sky darkens.
The wind howls a dirge.
Branches rock violently.
Boughs crash to the ground.
Thunder rumbles
like a chorus of bass drums.
Lightning jags and crackles
across the sky.
Rain drums along the trail.
I shiver, cringe
at the sounds of the storm
I scurry towards home.
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A member of The Manitoba Writers’ Guild (MWG), a long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. She has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her poetry at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
*Photo by Harry C. Hobbs. All rights belong to the photographer.
Lost Dreams
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
parents dead,
house to be cleared,
decisions to be made,
what to take, what to leave,
I walked from room to room.
selecting, picking up, rejecting
in the living room
I came across Mom’s sailboats,
two two-foot-high vessels
with white canvas sails
balanced on either end of a
horizontal bar,
Dad mounted them
on a vertical pole
when the wind blew,
they rotated around
and around, reversed direction,
whirled again
the ships were my vessels,
my teddy bear and I
were pretend sailors on them,
travelling about the globe
in my imagination
Dad took the ships down
when he moved his trailer
onto their site,
never got around
to putting them back
I tried to be logical,
reminded myself
I had no place for them,
left them there,
did the auctioneer sell them?
I never knew because
the house was declared
structurally unsound,
had to be demolished
my teddy bear sits on my bookcase,
but the sailboats exist only in my dreams
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A member of The Manitoba Writers’ Guild (MWG), a long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. She has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her poetry at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
*Picture of Woofie taken by Harry C. Hobbs, then edited using...
How a Poem Happens
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
in the beginning
our imagination
is a vast landscape
of virgin snow or sand,
our senses imprint
their tracks upon
the untouched land,
form patterns of thought
which leads to ideas
arranged as words,
structured or nonstructured,
in special forms,
the imagination works,
that’s how a poem begins
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A member of The Manitoba Writers’ Guild (MWG), a long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. She has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her poetry at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
*Picture created with: photofunia.com/effects/snow_writing
Conspiracy
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
"Dedicated to the memory of Yanni and Blake.
Sadly, we have lost them both."
Blake takes over Yanni’s
perch on the penguin
pillow on the couch,
Yanni gives him a disgusted look,
jumps onto the cushion
on the recliner chair,
he feigns sleep,
Blake jumps up
beside his brother,
licks Yanni’s face,
then bites him,
Yanni protests
then returns
to his favourite
penguin pillow perch
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A member of The Manitoba Writers’ Guild (MWG), a long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. She has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her poetry at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
*Photo By Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) titled Blake and Yanni; all rights belong to the author
Empty Mines, Can You Hear Me?
by Gerardine Gail Esterday
From my bedroom window,
I see a silk fish.
Hanging limp and silent against a rotting fence.
Once, Silvanus against the elements
Now, pushing and crawling over your slices.
Once, you prayed with the sky.
With Your lines of communication
set deep in the earth,
until….
For their want of money, space, and what lies beneath,
they came
You set up fear vibrations,
waves of warnings rumbling deep underground.
Screaming saws sliced you into six by six by five-eighths pieces.
Now, you stand like a mannequin, holding up your hand
Wearing someone else's clothes.
Here I sit at my window
Watching…
a windcatcher in front of me,
with all those man-made mines
empty beneath me,
filling with half-truths and cables;
undulating alongside sewer pipes
will my life be jacked to yours in a moment of vibration?
Will I slip into your roots and be on hold forever?
The wind whispers, causing the fish to flap against dead wood.
BIO: Gerardine Gail (Baugh) Esterday is a nomad living in Fairview Heights, Illinois, with her cats. Managing Editor in Poetry for villagesquareliterary.com. She has published poetry on Poemhunter, IWVPA, and her blog: Mywalkingpath.com, and has two chapbooks published: Packing Up The Past, Local Gems Press, 2021; My Skin, Local Gems Press, 2020; and her poetry book, My Walking Path.
*Photo by Gerardine Gail Esterday All rights belong to the photographer
Read more: Empty Mines, Can You Hear Me?
Homograph Poem
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
even though writers
are close to pens,
their thoughts may close
like sheep in a pen,
this may last all the month of May,
a computer invites one to type,
poetry may be the chosen genre type,
get the lead out and lead the way,
maybe you’ll write a novel novel
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A member of The Manitoba Writers’ Guild (MWG), a long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. She has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her poetry at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
*Image created with Microsoft design
It's Always the Kitchen’s Fault
by Gerardine Gail Esterday
It was always the kitchen’s fault.
When I couldn’t keep it perfectly clean.
When the counter space was lacking.
When the toaster seemed to crowd out the mixer.
When cats took over the windowsills.
Or the cabinets just didn’t hold enough of everything.
Drawers stuck.
Doors wouldn’t stay closed.
Fingerprints stood out everywhere
Not one set of dishes ever stayed intact.
So, chips abounded and spoons went missing,
like socks in a washer, and then-
the ants, those ants just ran amuck.
Suddenly, doors stopped being slammed.
Dishes were washed and put away.
Very rarely did a dish get chipped,
and that kitchen was silent.
Children grew up.
The toaster stopped moving around.
Stressors ceased.
Now, the kitchen is too quiet.
Too clean …
Even the ants got bored and moved on.
We all know, it’s always the kitchen's fault.
BIO: Gerardine Gail (Baugh) Esterday is a nomad living in Fairview Heights, Illinois, with her cats. Managing Editor in Poetry for villagesquareliterary.com. She has published poetry on Poemhunter, IWVPA, and her blog: Mywalkingpath.com, and has two chapbooks published: Packing Up The Past, Local Gems Press, 2021; My Skin, Local Gems Press, 2020; and her poetry book, My Walking Path.
*Photo by Gerardine Gail Esterday All rights belong to the photographer
Read more: It's Always the Kitchen’s Fault
For Meno
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
Dedicated to my sister Marilyn Anne Walker Potoski
When I was little,
You were my protector.
I called you Meno
because I could not
pronounce your name.
You took me
to Sunday school
and birthday parties.
We played on the swing
and the teeter totter,
made mud pies.
We helped Mom
with household chores,
cut out cookies,
decorated them with raisins.
We tied rags on our feet
to polish the floors.
You took me to school
on the last Friday of the month.
We pretended to be teachers
and instructed our dolls.
You were always
my big sister.
*Photo is of the author, her sister and parents.
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. Glennis published in various anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her at gwalkerhobbs.angelfire.com and on Amazon.
Springtime in the Valley
by Frankie Colton
When it’s springtime in the Valley
Here is my advice to you
Stay inside, the wind is blowing
It will ruin your hairdo.
To the west the sky is dusty
Tie the trash can to the post
If you venture to the mailbox
Grab your hat before it’s lost.
Wind is howling, windows rattle
Twigs are blowing off the trees
When it’s springtime in the Valley
Let me stay inside, oh please.
Bio: Frankie Colton is a storyteller who loves to write. After retirement as a library teacher, she returned to live in the San Luis Valley in Colorado near Mt. Blanca and the Great Sand Dunes. She loves her family, her pets, and nature. Her writing has been featured in the Willow Creek Journal, Messages from the Hidden Lake, SLV Trout Unlimited newsletter, and The Circle Book: A Conejos County Anthology.
*This photo was taken by Frankie Colton. In the photo, you can see Mount Blanc and the Great Sand Dunes, which were formed by blowing winds.
Read more: Springtime in the Valley
Stranded
by David Yerex Williamson
Airport runway lights
smashed again
we wait
for the sun
cold coffee in paper cups
torn night
draped in two windows
a layer of moon
on the lake
Bio: David Yerex Williamson is an instructor and poet living in Treaty V territory in northern Manitoba, Canada. His recent works have appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Aesthetica, Prairie Fire, The New Quarterly and Prairie Journal of Literature. David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Through Disassembled Houses of Perfect Stones is his first full length poetry collection, released by At Bay Press in April, 2022. When not teaching, writing or drawing, David chases his dogs along the Nelson River.
A Haibun
by Louise E. Sawyer
In our Japanese Poetic Forms class, we studied the haibun form. It is an inspiring event in the poet’s life and it is followed by a haiku. The haibun tells a story, including a person or pet or maybe a flower in shortened, clipped sentences. There are different kinds, such as nature haibun, travel haibun, and fiction haibun. But always there is a personal connection for the poet, whether with nature, a pet, experiences, or imagination. Although the words are minimal, often the haibun includes figurative language. It exhibits emotion.
The haiku at the end provides insight about the haibun or it may extend the story. The haiku picks up on the emotion in the haibun and focuses on one specific feeling, such as moodiness, desolation, joy, presence, appreciation, or comfort.
Here is a haibun and haiku sequence of my own:
Guinea Pigs are Not Allowed Chocolate
Midnight, Guinea pig companion, turned five two weeks ago. He lost weight, visited his vet doctor. Soon he was gobbling food, piling on grams, teasing me, running through a tunnel. He prefers human food—“rabbit food”—cucumber, zucchini, carrot, lettuce. a grape, a piece of papaya. Oats in moderation. He’s not so keen about hay or pellets. He likes garden parsley, grass, and dandelion leaves.
I pick up crumbs of chocolate off my bed before he can snatch them. I don’t want a sick or dying Guinea pig. I’m grateful for his new lease on life, stroke his head, and listen to him...
Sonnet for Yanni
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
Yanni’s my black and white tuxedo cat.
He’s christened after Uncle John, our friend.
He supervises birds from windows that
have perches for his naps and time to spend.
He likes to greet our guests at the front door.
He rubs against their legs, meows, and purrs.
He stretches his fur body along the floor,
then swiftly thumps his tail so fast it blurs.
He likes to play with his young brother Blake.
They fight over the scratcher and the chair.
When feeding time comes, Blake’s the first awake,
But the tuxedo cat’s the first for food there.
At the day’s end, when all is said and done,
I can’t commence to count the hearts he’s won.
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. Glennis has published in various anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her at Angelfire and on Amazon.
*The photo was taken by Harry C. Hobbs All rights belong to the photographer.
The Hundred Stairs
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
The practical reason for building
the Hundred Stairs
was to create a shortcut
between Third Avenue and uptown Flin Flon.
The big rock beneath it
was too big to blast away
without damaging
buildings uptown,
but other plans were made.
In the meantime,
the favourite game in town
becomes guessing how many
steps there really are:
101, 100, 99, 97?
It becomes an eternal dilemma.
Other plans are made for the rock.
A tunnel is built through it.
It can’t be a shortcut to uptown.
It may be a secret tunnel to a gold mine.
It may be a bomb shelter for protection
in case of a nuclear attack.
Perhaps it leads
to a gangster’s hideaway.
After years of speculation,
the truth comes out:
it’s really a passageway
for sewer pipes.
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. Glennis has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She has published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her at Angelfire and Amazon.
Septembering
by David Yerex Williamson
Half-way through
the old argument I study the recipe
on the Pacific Evaporated Milk can
harvest milk and honey chicken
the moon tires, we tire
radio plays, a drop
of blue sky in a bowl
the window tires
ten people we never met are dead
a famous woman we never met is dead
the argument tires
there is honey in the pantry
ingredients
what a day might bring
poetry a diary
of what we wish for
and what we get
Bio: David Yerex Williamson is an instructor and poet living in Treaty V territory in northern Manitoba, Canada. His recent works have appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Aesthetica, Prairie Fire, The New Quarterly and Prairie Journal of Literature. David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Through Disassembled Houses of Perfect Stones is his first full length poetry collection, released by At Bay Press in April, 2022. When not teaching, writing or drawing, David chases his dogs along the Nelson River.
The Living
by David Yerex Williamson
If you want to learn to live
truly
fall in love
with one who is dying.
Make space for ghosts
who visit, leave but remain.
Learn the full depths
the long seconds
of one today.
Dust off the nows
and the thens
but mostly the nows.
Learn the forgetfulness
of faith, flesh
but never of memory
the shape of a voice
small but whole.
Bio: David Yerex Williamson is an instructor and poet living in Treaty V territory in northern Manitoba, Canada. His recent works have appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Aesthetica, Prairie Fire, The New Quarterly and Prairie Journal of Literature. David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Through Disassembled Houses of Perfect Stones is his first full length poetry collection, released by At Bay Press in April, 2022. When not teaching, writing or drawing, David chases his dogs along the Nelson River.
The Guardian
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
The lone poplar tree has watched over
the back yard for fifty years.
It has been a haven for cats
chased by neighbourhood dogs.
Toby, the grey and white, pink-nosed cat,
climbed the poplar, jumped up to the shed roof
to survey his neighbourhood kingdom.
Jonine, the silver-grey kitten,
and Nicolas, the black kitten,
chased each other around the base.
A few years later, Nicolas, now senior cat,
supervised the orange tabby
and black-orange-brown tortie kittens
from his place on the deck,
inspected the yard, meowed me a report.
Black ants invaded the base of the tree.
Black and white Downy woodpeckers
hammered at the bark in search of food.
Torrential rain from the thunderstorm
ripped branches from the trunk,
caused others to sag
against the neighbour’s roof.
We discovered my tree was decaying,
needed to be cut down,
like the execution of a giant.
The tree surgeon came this morning.
He toiled two long hours
to amputate the trunk and branches.
Now only a stump remains,
like a giant’s crumbled headstone.
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian writer. A long-time member of WVU, Word Weavers and Julia Cameron study groups, she has a Certificate of Creative Writing and is working on her MFA Certificate in Poetry. Glennis has published in anthologies, e-zines, and Village Square. She published fourteen books of poetry and seven chapbooks. You can find her at Angelfire and Amazon.
*The photo was taken by Harry C. Hobbs All...
Overheard
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
as I ride the elevator, the door opens,
two men, one grey-haired, the other red-haired,
dressed in immaculate business suits,
quickly rush into the car, look at their watches,
I mentally christen one Grandpa, the other Red,
I cannot help but overhear their conversation
Red claims that cyanide is quicker,
can kill a person within ten minutes,
Grandpa argues it turns nails blue,
adds “arsenic is better,
you can put it in a drink and
it’s not detectable by the victim,
antifreeze in booze is also good,
sends a person into a fatal sleep”
“on the other hand,” Grandpa continues,
“a sharp icicle could be ‘picked’
in the winter, frozen and in July
driven into a jugular vein,
the ice will melt, dry up;
it’s the perfect murder weapon,
won’t be found on the body”
my heart drums in my ears,
my teeth chatter, I shiver,
Red changes his mind:
“no, if you inject potassium chloride
under the victim’s tongue,
it will show up as a heart attack”
as I scurry off the elevator,
the two men follow me,
am I their intended target?
I reach the door of the conference room
with the two men still behind me
I dive into the ladies’ washroom,
splash cold water on my face,
inhale, exhale very deeply,
manage to calm myself
I return to the meeting room,
I hear thunderous applause,
on no! the two men sit at a table
the MC greets the audience, announces
“please welcome our two...
March 1st at Lochside Drive
by Louise E. Sawyer
I crunch my boots into the snow,
stare at the daffodil shoots,
which struggle to bloom soon,
attempt to push my walker
this afternoon through the slush
down the driveway to the world.
Midnight, my Guinea pig companion,
chews hay and vitamin C tablet,
snuggles in his purple carrier
on my walker. We wake up
from a type of hibernation,
exhilarated to be outside.
The cars speed by on the highway,
Lochside Drive, as they journey
from Victoria to Sidney.
Reaching the bottom of the driveway,
I look both ways, wondering whether
to risk the hazards of jaywalking.
A man walking on the other side
of the highway becomes a crossing
guard on my behalf. He steps out into
the street, puts his hands in the air
blocks the traffic, as if he is a pro,
even though he has no yellow vest.
Midnight and I cross to the other side,
with a close-up view of beach,
logs, stones, shells, and a distant
scene of offshore islands, topped by
a sky painting of shades of grey,
blue openings, white clouds.
The waves gently caress the beach
at Bazan Bay near the Lochside Trail.
They invite me to dream of Spring
poems, stories, as the water expands
unto the hills of our neighbour,
the United States of America.
BIO: Louise E. Sawyer lives with her Guinea pig Midnight on Vancouver Island. She is working on the Nonfiction MFA certificate and the Poetry MFA certificate. Her poetry chapbooks are ...
Read more: March 1st at Lochside Drive
Kisikisotowaw Awasisak
by David Yerex Williamson
breeze over empty shoes
whispers stories from those
who the land gave
lowered flags on stone buildings
hush
who buried you
no ancestor’s language
supports narrow shoulders
little bones do not sleep
under stones
articles stained, collect
on shelves addressed by Others
silence those who were then
whisper stories
of those who are now
near the fence
even the birches wear orange
you cannot walk your path
we cannot walk your path
so we will carry your song
a little longer down the road
breeze over empty shoes
carries whispers deep from the land
lowered flags on stone buildings
hush
who buried you
Bio: David Yerex Williamson is an instructor and poet living in Treaty V territory in northern Manitoba, Canada. His recent works have appeared in The Dalhousie Review, Aesthetica, Prairie Fire, The New Quarterly and Prairie Journal of Literature. David is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Through Disassembled Houses of Perfect Stones is his first full length poetry collection, released by At Bay Press in April, 2022. When not teaching, writing or drawing, David chases his dogs along the Nelson River.
* Kisikisotowaw awasisak is the Ininimowin (Swampy Cree) phrase for “remember the children.”
Read more: Kisikisotowaw Awasisak
Why Can’t I Be Happy With How I Look?
by Gerardine Gail Esterday
Why can’t I be happy with how I look?
Why do I wish for her perky-round breasts or his thick wavy hair?
Why are my nostrils two different sizes?
Why am I not softer or rounder or heavier or thinner?
Why aren’t my eyes perfect?
I want to have a style without looking like I care to have a style.
Why can’t I see I am unique?
I am a snowflake that farts loudly,
I can’t dance with two left feet,
and my voice is painfully off-key,
— I am so embarrassed.
I want to be taller to get things from the top-shelf, and shorter when the room demands.
I can’t swim! I can’t fly! — I guess that rules out ever being a bird or a fish.
I am unique under my not-perfect skin, an impressive snowflake.
I know that to be true — really, I do.
Why do I beat myself up for being different?
too sick, — too allergic, — too itchy, — too fat, — too skinny, — too old.
Why can’t I be happy with how I look?
Why do I want something I am not?
Why can’t I be happy with me?
Imperfection here — when I look in a mirror — why can't I see me?
BIO: Gerardine Gail (Baugh) Esterday is a nomad living for the moment in Fairview Heights, Illinois, with her cats. Managing Editor in Poetry for Village Square Literary Journal. ...
Read more: Why Can’t I Be Happy With How I Look?
The Cat Days of Summer
by Daniel Novak and Gerardine Gail Esterday
The long, slow climb to the highest branches stretching into an open sky.
Focusing on the ground, a cat, gray and white tiger-striped
Languid and lazy, sprawled across the golden rays
Slinking along the forest’s edge of gravel green
Alongside a gray and black, orange and white tiptoeing Tortie
Sun King, a golden avatar gracing the heavens
High above the humming metal boxes that lay scattered about the landscape.
Stopping, staring, a snake and bug wrestle just off the road
Bestowing red, orange, and golden yellow warmth gently down the patchwork of branches, Tiger tripping past, pouncing, and missing a mole
Flowing heat, flowing passion that melts as it touches the cold ground
Intent on the snake, intent on the wasp;
Intent on dinner, All separate. No one eats.
Swirling among the bursting flowers frozen in worship
Seeing a mask under the leaves. I hold back food,
Green, blue, and purple fields of vibrant lucidity stretching into the distance
Melting dreams, melting time, the cat wakes
Setting out a spoonful of potato salad ~
BIOs: Daniel George Novak (Dan Novak) is an American vrăjitor. Dan was born and raised in Chicagoland and now lives with his wife and children in Boulder County Colorado. His arguably relevant inquiries enable lucidity. However, Dan has no other currently published works. He spends most of his free time pulling on loose threads in the thin air. You can find Dan at craftersgate.com
Gerardine Gail (Baugh) Esterday is a nomad living for...
Read more: The Cat Days of Summer
Lynn’s Tree
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
Lynn’s maple tree
was always the last to emerge
from winter’s sleep,
when it burst into leaf,
the neighbourhood knew
spring had truly arrived
in September, the maple tree
was the first to change
its leaves to yellow
and fall to the ground
yesterday the tree still had its leaves,
Lynn died this afternoon,
the maple is now turning yellow,
it, too, mourns for her
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian poet and writer. She
graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Winnipeg, helped
found a local Writers Guild, and currently serves as its secretary. A member of Writers Village University and co-moderator of Word Weavers Poetry Group, she has a Certificate in Creative Writing and is working on her MFA in Poetry. She has published thirteen books of poetry; and has prose and poetry published in various anthologies and e-zines. She currently has two poetry books and two novels in progress
*The photograph is the artistic property of Harry C. Hobbs
ARS Poetica
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
I paint with words
I see
the pink tinge of fluffy white clouds
at sunset
I see
my neighbour raking her lawn
with her granddaughter’s help
I see
my tuxedo cat curled up on the couch
resting his head on its arm
I see
green maple leaves waving in triumph
after a long, harsh winter
I see
the waters of Ross Lake lapping
against the Boardwalk along the shoreline
everywhere I look
I see images of life
I paint with words
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian poet and writer. She graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Winnipeg, helped found a local Writers Guild, and currently serves as its secretary. A member of Writers Village University and co-moderator of Word Weavers Poetry Group, she has a Certificate in Creative Writing and is working on her MFA in Poetry. She has published thirteen books of poetry; and has prose and poetry published in various anthologies and e-zines. She currently has two poetry books and two novels in progress.
*The photo was taken by John Weller and we have permission to use it.
Haunted House
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
a grey woodsy coloured house
stands abandoned
in the midst of a haunted wood,
its windows are broken,
the roof sags,
its black shingles curl up,
bats fly around the chimney,
an owl hoots from a tree,
its yellow eyes glow in the dark
inside the house, floors sag,
creak when walked across,
a white-sheeted figure
floats around the room,
skeletons dangle from the ceiling,
grinning in the dark,
a curved staircase
leads to the second floor,
doors squeak, slam shut
wart-nosed witches flying on brooms,
accompanied by their black cats,
arrive for a banquet of eyeballs,
deviled eggs, pumpkin pie
and dead velvet cake,
celebrate Halloween
in the haunted house
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian poet and writer. She graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Winnipeg, helped found a local Writers Guild, and currently serves as its secretary. A member of Writers Village University and co-moderator of Word Weavers Poetry Group, she has a Certificate in Creative Writing and is working on her MFA in Poetry. She has published thirteen books of poetry; and has prose and poetry published in various anthologies and e-zines. She currently has two poetry books and two novels in progress.
Lake Katherine
by Glenda Walker-Hobbs
turquoise water of the lake
stretches for miles,
as far as the eye can see
two spruces wave
at the tiny black trees
on the horizon
fluffy white clouds
sail across the sky
gulls soar across the sky
and fly into infinity
BIO: Glenda Walker-Hobbs (Glennis Hobbs) is a Canadian poet and writer. She graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Winnipeg, helped found a local Writers Guild, and currently serves as its secretary. A member of Writers Village University and co-moderator of Word Weavers Poetry Group, she has a Certificate in Creative Writing and is working on her MFA in Poetry. She has published thirteen books of poetry; and has prose and poetry published in various anthologies and e-zines. She currently has two poetry books and two novels in progress.
*Photo was taken by Glenda Walker-Hobbs.