Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in many literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Poet Warriors, Blueline, and Halcyon Days. Four Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Spectrum Publications have accepted her work. Her latest title, The Muse In Miniature, is available on Amazon.com and Cyberwit.net (the link is to the Amazon listing). She has four Best of the Net nominations.
They dot the backyards
of late summer
with their feeble presences full of joy
and cheerful cries.
They chase each other and fight
and then hold hands.
They do not know any malice or deception,
blindly believe in tomorrow
in a world that will welcome them
and offer them all that they treasure
in their dreams.
through the backyards at dusk
under a late summer sky
They glow like crazy fireflies,
unaware of the fake lights of a future
hanging just around the corner.
Claudia Messelodi lives in Italy where she works as a foreign language teacher at a secondary school. She is married and has three children. She is the author of nine poetry collections written both in Italian and English. She particularly loves writing haiku and short forms of poetry. Her poems have appeared in several anthologies and publications since 2010 and many of them were honoured with literary awards.
At a group house down the block from the old stables,
a shambles, derelict— gentrification a long way off—
You said you grew up on an island. I said
my city was full of dying steel mills and railroads.
When the flu had you down for weeks,
I figured you lost my number,
You recovered, you relapsed.
My friends said he’s not healthy enough for you.
You mailed me a ticket to a baseball game, said to meet you there.
I made coffee in my galley kitchen Sunday morning.
We went to the movies, to a bar, had a couple of pints,
went to my place, made a frittata with artichokes.
I stood behind you, watched you wash the dishes.
When the door closed behind you I couldn’t believe my luck.
I recalled the feeling of your hands firm around my lower ribs,
like you were pressing my heart upwards so you might take it.
Lynne Viti, a senior lecturer emerita at Wellesley College, is the author of Baltimore Girls (2017) and The Glamorganshire Bible (2018 ) (Finishing Line Press), and the forthcoming Dancing at Lake Montebello (Apprentice House Press).
In the barnyard, be careful where you step.
Feathers are being preened,
colors shine brightly.
In the early morning hours,
a rooster crows outside my window.
A new day begins.
Some Information About This Poem:
This poem reminds me of life on the farm, where you don’t need an alarm clock. When I was little, I would dive under the pillows and try to sleep a little longer after our rooster crowed waking up the household.
Mary’s poems have recently been published at Family Friend Poems, Vita Brevis Press and Literary Librarian Pantheon of Poesy.
I danced with God last night –
A swanky party, smart guests,
I felt tense, bit shy, so to break the ice
I asked him what he thought of the moon:
‘She’s nice, he said, ‘bit fickle maybe,
To every gazer a different stare,
Don’t you think so?’
To be honest I’ve always seen her true to herself,
So I politely begged to differ –
See what happens then, in the next round
The moon asked me to dance,
Now I was eager, wasn’t I, to know
What she thought of God so I asked her –
Was I being too nosey and bold perhaps?
You never know with those people from the sky,
Such an ilk apart –
‘He’s great, she said, ‘bit slow maybe
When choosing the new furniture,
The sky badly needs sprucing up,
Don’t you think so?’
Actually the sky looks fine by me,
So I politely begged to differ –
At home now, a blue sky against the ice white and a missing teacher,
But I can’t run away, who’s there to feed my garden
And I’m shoeless, but wasn’t that party
Such great blast, after bloody August
When I lay snared among seaweeds, corals, sea stars
And kept knocking on the door for shelter and fire –
Of course to no avail, the fire gone missing,
Radiance never hits the water and where are they now?
Let’s keep cool, a look at the bright side might do:
The water I’m drinking tastes harsh, fine, OK,
Water is life they say and she even had the guts
Of screaming she’s been dirtied from day one:
Over five nights birth loomed over two young lovers –
A force to be reckoned with?
Who bloody cares, so are the veils that hide my skies
And a name starting with G.
Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo;” “L’inverno di vetro;” “Di altre stelle polari;” “Blue branches;” and “A Blue Soul.”
Accompanying her submission of this poem was the sentence: “…warmest wishes from Italy, where, courtesy of Coronavirus, we live in a pitch-black limbo, an endless tunnel.”
Our best wishes and prayers for Italy; our best wishes and prayers for the world…
~ Amarine Rose Ravenwood/aka Nina Hall/The Literary Librarian.
Till last fine month
I was poising firm,
Aloft those giggling waters
that often went wild.
Taking pride of
my sinewy timbers,
As brimming loads of
endless desires passed by.
In my days of youth
Condoned the avid,
Drudgery and ambitious,
For years having allured
many adorable twosomes,
Charming familiar faces
grew up in grace.
Now shattered I lie
Beneath that aqua,
As feral waves caress
my deep wounds,
My tears sinking
Tranquil to river bed.
Lost to negligence
my soul kept calling,
As soaked in edacity
you chose to be careless.
Once reckoning picturesque
was my enticing chemistry,
Amidst blooming greens
my stunning brown woodland.
Too late the realm
Severed beyond mend,
Now me, the covered bridge
be commemorated in history
and missed in panorama.
Passion for poetry can turn anyone crazy, Dr. Upma A. Sharma has proved this so well. She finds time from her busy schedule to satiate her appetite for words, words that rhyme with her heart. She feels that nothing in this world happens without a reason and so is poetry. This indeed is a purposeful expression of emotions and thoughts that are well oxygenated before putting them into circulation, and positive words certainly are a way to serenity.
Meeting you in life was an absolute delight;
Hearts rhymed perfect and eyes were bright,
Glow of a red blush on my face;
With your every blazing fiery embrace.
When souls took a far off flight;
There was a beauty even in the murky sight,
A tender heartache and you were there;
Those days certainly are lost somewhere.
Shunning the present and living in past;
Misery that would move the most obdurate heart,
No mold can shape as I quiver molten;
Memories of best times are frigid frozen.
Illusions of your breath every moment;
Diving deep into heart, flowing torrent,
Red running in my veins has turned auburn;
Frozen embers in my heart still slowly burn.
Passion for poetry can turn anyone crazy, and Dr. Upma A. Sharma has proved this so well. She finds time from her busy schedule to satiate her appetite for words; words that rhyme with her heart. She feels that nothing in this world happens without a reason and that this is true for poetry as well as life. This, indeed, is a purposeful expression of emotions and thoughts that are well-oxygenated before putting them into circulation, and positive words certainly are a way to serenity. More of Dr. Sharma’s writing can be found at PoetrySoup and at Whispers in the Wind.