The Voices Project - POETRY LIBRARY

Autumn Reckoning~ By Jacqueline Coleman-Fried

2/16/2023

after Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

Cool air spiced with drying, dying leaves
reminds me of my husband
and a sonnet written by Shakespeare
to his love, likening his dropping hair
to autumn trees and death. A real bear,
my husband has gone to his den, shoulders hunched.
When we met, we fit--
I blotted out the rest.

Illness, that cruel hunter, shot to maim.
He’s like the jeans I pull on every morning--
worn but comfy watching TV together
or walking, alone, on a misty afternoon.
I will cherish each embrace and kiss
which may leave ere long, as Shakespeare wrote.

Author Bio:
For Jacqueline Coleman-Fried, a poet living in Tuckahoe, NY, writing poetry is a way to share experiences, observations, insights and truths. She always had the urge get it all down on paper, but for decades, paid no attention to it. Retiring from the paycheck world five years ago liberated her to focus entirely on studying poetry and writing her own. Ms. Coleman-Fried holds a BA in English and Art History, as well as a Master's of Science in Journalism.

Life In Wonderland~ By Ashley Virginia Matthew

2/15/2023

Did you make it home before the sky went dark?
Did you hear the Bandersnatch and his ferocious bark?
Did you go to sleep with a fairy light on?
Did you play chess with the Queen where you were the pawn?
Did you paint all the roses and the front door red?
Did you say goodnight to the monster hiding under your bed?
Did you finally meet the monster living inside your head?
And did you read enough books to make sure your mind gets fed?
Remember, courage and hope lie on the other side of fear.
But there’s no need to worry when we are all mad here.

Author Bio:
Ashley Virginia Matthew is a graduate of Cedarville University with a degree in Journalism. She currently lives in Fairfield, Ohio and enjoys writing fiction and poetry. Ashley has been writing as a hobby since childhood and enjoys writing on a variety of genres, from fantasy to romance. Her writing is influenced by a vast majority of topics, including sports, personal life events, historical figures and more.

In her spare time, Ashley also enjoys traveling, reading books, blogging and listening to music. Some of Ashley's previous writing experience includes being a staff writer for KayfabeKickout.com, an intern reporter for The Pulse-Journal, a reporter for two collegiate student newspapers and a reporter for her high school student newspaper. Ashley's writing goals include someday being a published novelist and to always strive to improve at her craft for writing.

Love 5X~ By Mary Croy

2/14/2023

the first time I told you
was on the hill
daisies and wasps stood their ground with us

the second time I told you
was on a clear night
and we just caught the Milky Way

the third time was at the hospital
drenched in Lysol and tears

the fourth time, on a street corner
as we waited for the bus
you plucked a maple leaf

the fifth didn’t seem any more hallow
as we descended into the Perfume cave
my voice echoed, a little

Author Bio:
Mary E. Croy lives in Madison, Wisconsin where she works as an administrative assistant. She spent nine years teaching English Language Learners in Ha Noi, Viet Nam. She draws inspiration by participating in two writing groups and by being on the lookout for glistening moments while preparing a cup of coffee or walking to work. During her free time, Mary likes reading poetry and hanging out with her cats, Buster and Gabby. Mary has been published by several online poetry magazines.

It's All About the Lighting~ By Alan Berger

2/9/2023

A mirror in the dark
Has many friends
Standing profile smile or naked stark
Far or close
The stream of admiration never ends

It’s all about the timing and the lighting
The bold and the frightened

Like love
You see what you want to see
And for a while
They become
Who you want them to be

For a while could be a long time
With light at the end of your tunnels
In your private personal coal mines

An accident just waiting to pounce
Weighing in with and regarding
Your every pound and ounce

The mirror in the dark
A time-machine
Of the past future and present
Ready to tell you
How it is
And how it isn’t

Dark mirror
Dead mirror
Don’t yell at me your truth
Don’t look at me
While I am looking at you

And

No matter how soft or hard you look
It will always be the same
If vanity be your name

Drape the mirror
Lighten your load
You still have miles to go
On your lovely beautiful rocky road

Author Bio:
Alan Berger is a writer and director with two films currently on Netflix.

Eulogy to a Friend~ By Ahmed Mehdi

2/8/2023

An endearing Dove would from early morn
Sing a series of soft, sublime ditties,
Comforting the needy and the forlorn
In remote communes and unfriendly cities.
Without expecting praises in return,
She would kindheartedly help her fellows.
Munificence being her sole concern,
Be it healing wounds or appeasing woes.
On beholding a heaven-bound shadow,
Soaring against the orange -tinted skies,
I was overwhelmed with angst and sorrow
That I could neither deny nor disguise.
With an utmost chagrin did I surmise
The empathetic Dove met her demise.

Author Bio:
Ahmed Mehdi is an EFL teacher from Sfax, Tunisia. He has been writing poetry as a hobby, including Shakespearean sonnets, for the last 16 years. He firmly believes that poetry is, to some extent, articulation and perception, but it is essentially, and above all, inspiration!

And the two new tuxedo cats~ By Emalisa Rose

2/7/2023

It won’t be the one car garage,
the multiplex deck we never did
build, the shutters, the awnings
or aluminum siding.

And hardly the cobblestone streets
round the circuit of cookie cut homes
on the cul-de-sac, in the meet and greet

“hiya Jane, hiya Joe, see ya at the
block party on Saturday.”

It will be the assortment of critters that’s
always found their way to the yard;

the squirrels, the rabbits, the songbirds
that sang to the sycamores and the two
stray tux tuxedo cats that I’ll miss.

I hope the new owners will continue
to feed them. (now that we’re leaving.)

Author Bio:
When not writing, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame. She walks with a birding group on the weekends. She lives by the beach, which provides much of the inspiration for her art. She volunteers in animal rescue tending to cat colonies. Her work has appeared in Mad Swirl, Ariel Chart, The Voices Project and other grand places. Her latest collection is "On the whims of the crosscurrents," published by Red Wolf Editions.

plymouth, rock~ By Elizabeth Hashimura

2/2/2023

I was not the first place
you landed.
Further north, across the bay, where that spit of land
curls in on itself.
A primordial fist clawing
back at the sea.

Protective, yet fierce.
Protective yet--
fierce.

I was never meant to be--
here.
I am a glacial erratic.
Born of Gondwana, carried by Pangea;
A cruel whimsy of the epochs deposited me here--
elsewhere.
Waiting to be exposed.
I am glacial, erratic.

I was whole; for a time,
for millennia.
Laid bare but not yet trespassed upon.
Until you wrenched me from my foundations
of sand.

Paraded through the town, first riven in two and then slowly abraded.
One piece of me found its way into a home as a doorstop. A door,
stop.
Another to the Smithsonian, branded with the inscription “Broken off from the Mother Rock.”
Broken,
off from the mother.

I was never meant to be revealed, to be revered.
But you erected a baldaquin over me.
Not to enshrine but to entomb.
A mordant gate at my base keeps the sea from rushing in to engulf me.
To envelop me. To absolve me.

They were always meant to come.
To gaze down upon me, mouths slack-jawed in disappointment and regret.
“I came all this way for that?”

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.

I came all this way--
for that.

Author Bio:
Elizabeth Hashimura is a translator living and working in rural southwestern Japan. Originally from Massachusetts, she has called Japan home for the past 20 years. Her translation work focuses on advocacy and visibility projects for international aid agencies. She holds an MPhil in linguistic anthropology and a BA in Japanese.

The Mayor and Mort~ By Hoyt Rogers

2/1/2023

The Mayor, a pink, puffed-up toad,
receives me grandly at Hamlet Hall.
I was in Mumbai last year,
he intones. Drill for water,
and all you find is fire.
In Greenland, only ice.

Is this science? I wonder.
No, you mean melted ice:
that’s our crisis right now.

He barrels on, declaiming
from his script: Oh, y’all
may be in danger, on islands
and down by the shore. Drill,
and you’ll tap the sea.
First the fish come up,
then the dolphins and sharks,
the whale-sharks and whales…

The Leviathan, too, I laugh.
Why not? I stare into his eyes:
they’re a low-watt, empty blue.
Hey, there’s a wheel I can turn!
No, he objects. You’re a wimp.
But I’ve got the dude you need,
the boy who lives next door.
Only he can master the flow.

Mortimer… just “Mort” to us
in our plush retirement home.
Dirty glasses, orange shorts.
He smiles as we walk away.
The guy’s a moron, man.
You can turn that wheel,
same as me. But as soon as
you do, the world will drop
down a sinkhole, and it’ll seem
to be your fault. — Why seem?
I badger him... Why
no more than seem?

Author Bio:
Hoyt Rogers is a poet, writer, and translator. He translates from the French, German, Italian, and Spanish; he is known for his English versions of Bonnefoy, du Bouchet, and Borges. He has published many books; he has contributed poetry, fiction, essays, and translations to a wide variety of periodicals. His edition of Yves Bonnefoy’s Rome, 1630 received the 2021 Translation Prize from the French-American Foundation. His forthcoming works include a poetry collection, Thresholds (MadHat Press), the novel Sailing to Noon (book one of The Caribbean Trilogy), and a translation of Bonnefoy’s The Wandering Life (Seagull Books). For more information, please visit his website, hoytrogers.com

When You’re Born with a Female Body~ By Elizabeth “Liz” Enochs

1/31/2023

The thing no one tells you when you’re born with a female body is how often that body is likely to absorb the violence of men and boys, and I don’t just mean in the obvious ways. I don’t just mean your body may be assaulted or abused, perhaps many times. What I mean is: you may find your body holding secrets, like the one about the boy knocking you down during backyard baseball and then screaming at you for making him do it. Like the one about your uncle, pastor, coach, friend, boyfriend, husband. What I mean is: you may find your body on your parents’ porch, pinned against house siding by a young man you thought you had a crush on, begging for mercy, apologizing profusely for some perceived insult, praying to be set free before your dad and brother — visible through the window, sharing a laugh near the dining room table where a rifle sits mid-cleaning — look your way and come running. What I mean is: you may find your body being pushed down repeatedly by your boyfriend — in the presence of another man, his best friend — and even then your body won’t cry for salvation, she won’t ask Best Friend to do what he eventually does, won’t ask him to shove your boyfriend’s body so hard the wall receiving him shivers. What I mean is, this is the thing no one tells you about being born with a female body: when home is the body of a girl, a woman, home is often standing between boys and men, arms outstretched, bracing for impact.

Author Bio:
Elizabeth “Liz” Enochs is a queer writer from southeast Missouri. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in English, Liz spent most of her twenties working as a journalist, essayist, and occasional travel writer. Now, she writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction in her spare time. Liz has been writing since the day her mother gave her a blank notebook and told her to fill it up with stories. Liz’s cup runneth over with delightful femmes and coffee and cats. More often than not, you'll find her in the woods. You can check out Liz’s writings on her website: http://elizabethenochs.com/.

in the bewitched aviary~ By Pawel Markiewicz

1/26/2023

In the bewitched aviary.
The sonnet according to Mr. Shakespeare

Helots muse about moony Golden Fleece of the condor.
Drudges think of the dreamy eternal dew of the hen.
Philosophers ponder on winged fantasy of the crow.
Kings ruminate on a picturesque gold of the jay.

Priests contemplate the dreamed, soft, meek weird of the woodpecker.
Masters daydream about nice marvelous songs of the tern.
Soothsayers dream of fulfilled gold of the yellowhammer.
Knights philosophize about poetic dawn of the wren.

Hoplites fantasize about a red sky of the sparrow.
Athletes describe the most tender treasure-charm of the snipe.
Gods remember an enchanted, dear temple of the seagull.
Goddesses recall fairytale-like heroes of the kite.

Poets commemorate the elves-like heaven of the owl.
Bards reflect on most amazing dreamery of the rook.

soothsayer – fortuneteller

Author Bio:
Paweł Markiewicz was born 1983 in Siemiatycze in Poland. He is poet who lives in Bielsk Podlaski and writes tender poems, haiku as well as long poem.