A poem for my wife
To tell her how amazing she is
For giving birth and looking after our daughter
Whilst battling with Covid

The birth was actually an inspiration
How to nail hypnobirthing
Despite not being told the birthing centre was closed
And you even tolerated my driving

You made a mid-wife cry
And they said you were too calm to be in labour
We’ve got through a tough time
With some hard work, an amazing mum and baby, and a lovely neighbour

I know we’ve been emotional
And with lack of sleep things have been said
But I already feel this has made us stronger
Who needs sleep when we’ve got Liv, we can sleep when we’re dead.

You’re an amazing mummy
And I’m sorry if I’ve upset you
All I can do is my best and will always give my opinion
But I don’t mean to second guess you

Am sure some difficult times to come
But let’s just do our best
To walk away and chat later
Will be my biggest test

We are both strong
And therefore sometimes clash
At least I’m not like some husbands
Who don’t take an interest and are always working or on the lash

Livvy’s going to be a legend
Having bits of me and you
Hopefully she’ll be a world record holder
By the age of 2

Me, you, Liv and Charlie
We’ve made a bad ass tribe
Let’s try not to get caught up on the little things
And do better than survive, let’s as always thrive

Wife & Daughter was written shortly after Simon’s baby daughter was born and he and his wife were getting to grips with the massive change in their life and relationship that having a baby brings. Simon hoped this may resonate with some readers that are new parents and never know what may help.

If I went left would things have changed?

Would it have even mattered?

If swerved, would I wish I went right?

I can’t stop wondering…

Did I take a wrong turn, or was I supposed to get lost?

Am I even lost?

If I ever find my way, will I drive myself crazy looking for a way back

here?

Angela Moore currently works at Yale University in the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library. She enjoys writing poetry, illustrating comics and relaxing with adult coloring books.

Not Far from Here

Not far from here a farmer likes to hunt.
The carcasses he cleans and skins himself
(but not until he hangs them out to dry,
to season them I think’s the reason why).

If only he could add a hint of grace
to his front-yard-deer-carcass-hanging place;
please, neighbors, won’t you all impress on him
not to use his children’s jungle gym. 

Broken Glass

What could be sadder than a place
where death rolled through, a ton
of hurtling steel into the sun,
where racing blindness met disgrace

and two young children playing there
are now replaced by nothing we
may recognize with certainty
but broken glass and blank despair?

It took composer and college teacher Donald Wheelock forty years of writing formal poetry to reach the stage of submitting his favorites for publication. Formal poetry, once relegated to second fiddle in a career of writing chamber, vocal and orchestral music, has now demanded equal time. Indeed, it has taken over his life. He is trying to place two full-length books of his poems. He lives with his wife Anne at the edge of a Hayfield in Whately, Massachusetts.

I analyze and evaluate to reach a conclusion.
Into the equation I input the known facts,
after calculating some variables to see how that acts,
I process all the information.
There upon I make my decision.

I look at everyday people in just such a way,
while I try not to let bias or prejudice come into play.
I do my very best not to fudge,
and for Heaven’s sake, I never judge.

I call them like I see them, and I see pretty well.
I can spot a phony a country mile away pray tell.
But I can see the good in people in the people that are good.
I’m not judging them, I never would,
I’m just sorting them out, the good from the bad,
the happy from the sad.

After a successful career as a Senior Designer working with international mining companies, William David is retired now and living in Tucson, Az. He likes spending time now devoted to his passion: writing poetry. William writes for his pleasure and for the pleasure of those who might read his poems.

Out of nowhere
my husband took over feeding Izzy.
Can you believe it?
He said I fed her too much.
What nerve.
I like a fat cat.
Give me a fat cat any day.
A cat that dines on cream and sardines
suits me.
I don’t want a lean and ravenous squirrely kind of cat
prowling and lurking and hunting scraps.
I don’t trust those skinny cats.
They would just as soon suck the breath out of you
as look you in the eye.

Karen Miller is a 76 year old retired lawyer living on Lake Champlain in Vermont with her cranky but lovable husband and Izzy the cat. In the summer she gardens and swims. In the winter she looks out the window.

a soft, slight flicker of hope today
touched lightly near my soul

strangely filled an emptiness
—then quickly by me stole.

a certain awareness startled me
—I knew you once before,

a promise, not quite legible
surged in me once more.

yesterday stirred as tomorrow
splashed across your eyes

and something echoed infinity
and long-ago goodbyes.

a welcome fleeting moment,
a microscopic glance,

today our paths converged to bring
reunion—quite by chance.

Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and marketing materials. She authored “Chinese Herbs,” and has written for various magazines and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase (TSWHV), Scarlet Leaf Review, and Rue Scribe have selected her work for publication.

The whales smile
as still crews gaze
with lowered sails while
the whale calf plays.

Paulette Callen has returned to her home state of South Dakota in retirement, after 30+ years in New York City. Varying degrees of culture shock in both directions — but always, the space she returned to has been made home by a dog.

the mind gathers truth
catalogues it
and keeps an access file.

such truths shape beliefs
guide actions
weigh in on decisions.

some truths are written
some inherited
some discovered in solitude.

truth is passionately defended
so staunchly argued that
somewhere, someone is dying for truth.

why then is my perception of truth
not the same as yours,
If truth is truth?

Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and marketing materials. She authored “Chinese Herbs,” and has written for various magazines and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase (TSWHV), Scarlet Leaf Review, and Rue Scribe have selected her work for publication.

Quelle demoiselle the man next to me says. He
keeps the rhythm with one hand, taps his foot.
Want to dance? he asks me. I quake

with passion unspooling.
No, I say I don’t dance, don’t
think, don’t blink.

I take a sip of tipple to the music.
Are you here for me? dapple
my hips and smile,

Let’s ride the pony the appaloosa the
stallion I say, let’s play the beast
with two backs. He says, do you want to pavane waltz

rhumba with me, I will dip you trip
you. Kiss you. We Spanish flu flamingo,
Malaysian gavotte tie the knot, Viennese cakewalk.

Karen Miller is a 76 year old retired lawyer living on Lake Champlain in Vermont with her cranky but lovable husband and Izzy the cat. In the summer she gardens and swims. In the winter she looks out the window.