Blog Archives - The Voices Project

Fictitious line~ By Dimitris P. Kraniotis

1/28/2021

Smokes
of cigarettes
and mugs
full of coffee,
next
to the fictitious line
where the eddy
of words
leans against
and nods,
wounded,
to my silence.

Author Bio:
Dimitris P. Kraniotis is an award-winning Greek poet. He was born in 15 July 1966 in Larissa prefecture in Greece and he originates from Stomio (Larissa) in central Greece. He studied Medicine at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. He lives and works as a medical doctor (internal medicine specialist physician) in Larissa (Greece).

He is the author of 9 poetry books: “Traces” (in Greek, Greece 1985), “Clay Faces” (in Greek, Greece 1992), “Fictitious Line” (in Greek, English and French, Greece 2005, “Dunes” (in French and Romanian, Romania 2007), “Endogram” (in Greek, editions Malliaris Paedia, Greece 2010), “Edda” (in French and Romanian, Romania 2010), “Iluzione”(in Albanian, Romania 2010), “Leaves Vowels” (in Italian, Pluriversum Edizioni, Italy 2017) and “Tie of Public Indecency” (in Greek, Kedros Publishers, Greece 2018). Also he is the Editor-in-chief of the international anthology in english “World Poetry 2011” (205 poets from 65 countries). He was invited and he has participated in several International Poetry Festivals. He has won many international awards for his poetry which has been translated in 25 languages and published in books, anthologies & magazines in many countries around the World.

Albescent cerise (Scourge of the living)~ By Michael King

1/27/2021

You are not the cold seed you fear in your nightmares,
not a blind thought, caressing the cloak of the reaper.
As you have gazed at the trees at night, so too
have the creatures in the leaves gazed back at you.

‘We do not worship the dead’ they cried, laughing,
and an echo flows past you, barely heard.

Should you join the ranks of the spirits,
crying out your regret in a vain attempt to be heard?
‘You must rebel against yourself’ the creatures warn,
curious what you will do next.

You search for a soft spot within your own self, but
what is there to feel? The wind, the barrenness?

A searing nova of heat threatens to blind you.
Crackled light, followed by pillars of black static roses.
Nothing left now; nothing left to cling to…
but only if you can reach out, you will find a hand.

Well, a multitude of hands, rising from the ground,
covered in scales and pinions, and red as a crimson sunset.

Voices, screeching from beneath the ground,
telling you unbelievable tales of glory, honour,
asking you to grasp their hands and they would show you;
yes, they would show you the way to their own grave.

‘Then the choice is yours’ the creatures tell you now,
‘live or die. We are only eyes waiting for the sun’.

Choices… always a decision to burden you again,
but this is an easy one if you would look inside your mind.
Live or die, walk or fall, strength or tears. Fear is your enemy
in the end. The running ruin of scattered thoughts

Invest yourself in my sneer, if only for a little while.
Maybe you will fade away, and truly know the scourge of living.

Author Bio:
Born in Dublin, Ireland. Michael King has been writing since the age of sixteen. He likes to research anything to do with poetry, in any form, and because of this, his style has become very refined.

Wow (An Acrostic)~ By Wendy Gist

1/26/2021

When an unforeseen inciting incident!!!!!
Occurs to cast its spell:
What the hell?

Author Bio:
Wendy Gist was raised in the forest of the Southwest on the outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in For Women Who Roar, Fourth River, Galway Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, New Plains Review, Oyez Review, Rio Grande Review, Soundings Review, St. Austin Review and other fine journals. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of the chapbook Moods of the Dream Fog (Finishing Line Press, 2016). She was named semifinalist for The Best Small Fictions, 2017.

A Sadness to Lean On~ By Elijah Frounger

1/21/2021

My Dear friend Sadie,
a sadness to lean on.
She's always there for me when I need to talk,
my dear friend Sadie.
Never late, always on time
no matter the time, no matter the place.
My dear friend Sadie is always there,
my sadness to lean on.

Author Bio:
Elijah is from Oakland CA. His poetry is a reflection of his feelings and life experiences, which is what "Sadie" represents.

The River Otter~ By Holly Day

1/19/2021

The otter sleeps in the river, wrapped
in duckweed and watercress, tiny paws folded
over its chest. I resign myself to stretching out
in the sun-warmed shallows, hands spread out in the water
determined to catch vestiges of the river otter’s dreams.

In fairy tales, this would be the time when the river otter
would wake and swim out to me to speak
of wishes and promises and secret treasures and marriage
emerge a prince from the water, dripping jewels and starlight
instead, tiny, unbidden ripples
spread across the water from where I lay
to where the otter sleeps, don’t, won’t stop

until the animal wakes and swims away.

Author Bio:
Holly Day has been a writing instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and Harvard Review, and her newest poetry collections are Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press), and Book of Beasts (Weasel Press).

Our Deeds Shall Purpose Either Peace or Strife~ By Walid Boureghda

1/19/2021

A Clare Sonnet

Life’s a battlefield of guns and roses;
One can live or die where hope reposes.

Only love gives after death a rebirth
Like a magic kiss gives a moment of mirth.

Life is just an insignificant tale,
A sea across which we’re condemned to sail.

So many waves playing rash games with us
That we cannot ignore and be bruised thus.

A breezy wind may send us to the shore,
Helping us quiver our wings more and more.

We’re here as stupid actors of a play,
Who like jesting and praising through the bay.

Life lies in death, so does death lie in life;
Our deeds shall purpose either peace or strife.

Written by Walid Boureghda
© All Rights Reserved

Author Bio:
Walid Boureghda is a 41-year-old Algerian poet, working as an Administrative Executive at Sonatrach-ENI Group. He holds a B.A degree in the English Language and Literature from the University of BATNA in Algeria. He draws inspiration for his poetry from his unceasing love of his beloved wife. He also writes about spreading peace over the world and dispelling hatred and bigotry.

Thunderclap Night~ By Danielle Dayney

1/14/2021

Ethereal love races
through electric fingertips.
Satin sound
whispers to the deepest soul parts.
Iridescent lightning
brightens darkened hearts.
All in a single kiss.

Author Bio:
Born and raised in Ohio, Danielle Dayney got her start writing rock concert reviews for a Toledo-based music magazine, THE GLASS EYE. Today, her work has appeared in the FREDERICKSBURG LITERARY AND ART REVIEW, online at HUFFINGTON POST, DEAD HOUSEKEEPING and THE MINDFUL WORD, and in several anthologies. Other than her writing, you can mostly find her chasing her kids and furbabies somewhere in the rolling hills of Virginia, or occasionally online at https://danielledayney.com. Her book is forthcoming from Brandylane Publishers in 2021.

Winter in America~ By Dennis Reed

1/13/2021

My wife sleeping,
as the day opens

blue sky behind the
Venetian blinds

Alexa getting the songs wrong
while I dream

of a response
to books I have written,

but it is the time
of Covid19

everything is desolate
strange

streets are bald
as my neighbor

no one
is going

anywhere
we have points of

destination and departure,
yet no way of getting there

the air has no force,
and we twirl

in the air
unable to use

mouths to tell
child why

there are so many people
dying, in a country

with so many scientific brains,
led by a destructive

devil with bad hair
without a human bone

anywhere.

Author Bio:
Dennis Reed is a native New Yorker, proud father of two wonderful women and the super-grandad of two beautiful children. He is a National Endowment Winner; awards include Eminent Scholar from Norfolk University, Distinguished Teaching Award from Morehouse College, a UNCF Faculty Development Award and a travel study tour at the University of Ghana.

Dennis Reed's work has appeared in ESSENCE, STYLE, BLACK SCHOLAR, CLA, and many other journals.

I Am Old~ By Sharon Lopez Mooney

1/12/2021

I am an old woman
swaggering in the statement,
my meaning changing with each encounter
not by me, but you who stand in your own
notions and assumptions circling age
like dark clouds surrounding sunshine.

We are old
we who have grey, white, and purple hair,
who stoop or hold our bodies in rigid postures
moving along sidewalks and through doorways,
independent, weak, strong, formed, still
birthing new selves, opinionated, open
minded, educated, sheltered, ignorant and hip.

We are old, I tell you
you can never know the meaning years have down
in gut and memory banks, how pain becomes your familiar
because it’s there and tells you so still are you.
Magic of age is camouflaged by skin and bone
by reflex, speech and texture, the internal richness
unavailable to your sight.

I am old
it is easy to see me as a spunky exception
but I am still part of that decaying of age
and visage that fools you into your sense of what
it means to be limited by our body’s diminishment,
to need your help and patience, once given
still cannot hide the challenge we cause your pace
and movement through your life. We know this
in spite of how you turn back to us, kind or harsh.

We are old
some really sick or not able, some still running
races at 103 – she’s not really running, it is whispered.
A few need help and others refuse, we resist ripping
up our driver’s license, fight to stay in our nests against
the pull of emergencies and staying engaged. You can
never know the ravishment of losses like those, you
must get here yourself, my friend, and let go into being old.

Author Bio:
Sharon Lopez Mooney has written all her adult life. She was human communication specialist in her earlier career, and an Interfaith Minister in the death and dying field for the latter; now retired, she lives in Mexico and spends holidays with family in California.

Mooney is an old crone, writing poetry because words are where she comes from; telling stories, talking about death and aging, witnessing our misguided culture, sharing her gained wisdom and putting her shoulder to the wheel of change and hope with everything she writes.

She has received a California Arts Council Grant to establish a rural poetry series; co-published a small regional arts journal; was an owner of Straight Talk Distributing, an alternative literature service; produced poetry readings and performances. Her poems have been included in the journals: The MacGuffin, Fallow Deer, Medical Self Care, and the anthologies: Calyx: Women and Aging, an anthology by women; Songs to the Sun, a poetry anthology; Poetry is a Mountain, An Anthology; The Wide Open Sky, anthology; Smoke & Myrrors, poetry anthology (UK).

The Sparks There Are~ By Maria Pilar Lorenzo

1/8/2021

The sparks there are
Sizzling and somersaulting
Points, springboard and departure
The sibilance around us

The wealth that wells up within
It is not only a matter of style

The fireworks that dazzle
There are too many
Pleasing but fleeting
Don’t even bother

That is to say, it is not physical
Metaphysical, it may be

And the sparks showing off
That come to the fore
Point and find their boarding
They may be too many to count

But what is life
If it can be counted?

Author Bio:
Maria Pilar Lorenzo is a researcher who has published on governance and development issues. Recently, she has tried going back to her literary side. Apart from doing research, her interests include reading, writing, playing music, making art, fashion, nature trips, point-and-shoot photography, and conversations with different sorts of people.