Blog Archives - The Voices Project

Butterfly Board~ By Angelina Chartrand

11/30/2021

It seems cruel,
The old-fashioned art of pinning up butterflies on a board.
Perhaps it is still in fashion,
Though I wonder if it is not ironic,
For we people do the same.
We plaster others for their beauty on whichever things,
To immortalize them.
But often not for themselves, but for us –
To admire, desire, and above all, envy.
Creating a spectacle out of them.
To analyze, examine, to understand:
Why do we not look the same?
Ah yes, butterflies on a board and people are much the same,
Hung up, left to dust.
To wither away over what they were once valued for.

Author Bio:
Angelina Chartrand developed a passion for writing ever since she was young, finding a love and admiration of written form to convey and cultivate her creative ideas, which range anywhere from the surrealistic to the macabre.

HOVEL OF HEAVEN (library of Congress)~ By Dennis Reed

11/23/2021

I have found another sanctuary
amid Congress,

Democratic art
beautiful hips

Capital Hill women
walking to the subway

for walk,
their hands, at their sides,

waving goodbye.
there is a slight

breeze this morning
as I sit among

the great philosophers,
champions of imagination

and thought,
one wonders

what I am doing here
in this august hall?

writing tales
of those that died on the corner,

voluntary suicides,
shadows

that will not heal
or move away,

where else should I
be, again at the seat

of government
power,

scribbling poems while
Governors are pontificating

repeating words
under emblems,

He did not want to say
anything too authentic

correct but not the
speech I wrote for

Martin Luther King week, at Virginia Union University
“the speech was eloquent/and you are fired.”

endure America,
they take our little

droplets of blood
killing us

with what we do not know,
like the thousands of

death threats
for Lt. Governor Wilder

I saw them one day,
on a pristine mahgony table

stacked neatly
ungrammatical threats

of taking him “behind the tool shed
and doin to him what he did to white girls like Klugie.”

there is always
ugly underbelly,

stinking, threatening
destroy

the sweet scents
of progress,

from destroying
flowers, children

everything above
people need sanctuaries,

places where there
is nothing

thought and air,
allowing ideas

to somersault
replace Gothic images

of houses without doors,
hinges without foundations.

Author Bio:
In a few months, OLYMPIA press will publish SELL THE TEAM, a critique of the last twenty one years of the New York Knicks. Next year, OLMPIA press will publish GUERILLA WARFARE, a novel by Mr. Reed. His memoir, MIGRATION MEMORIES was awarded the NORTH STREET/BOOK OF THE YEAR/ Honorable Mention Award this year and has a semi-finalist in the NCTE/NORMAN MAILER High School Teachers' Non-Fiction Award. Born in Manhattan, New York, attended NYC Public Schools and was awarded the Jean S. Grossinger Award for the best English student in middle school. Graduate of Long Island University in Journalism, VCU, an M.A. in English/English Education and doctoral work in contemporary drama at Georgia State University.

Bullies~ By Wendy Gist

11/18/2021

Bastards of Battle-axe deal
Underhanded blows
Like a chorus of lyre snakes
Leering with sneers.
Irascible unclean spirits,
Elated by inflated egos:
Schemes belittle the besmirched.

Author Bio:
Wendy Gist's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in For Women Who Roar, Fourth River, Galway Review, Grey Sparrow Journal, New Plains Review, Oyez Review, Poetry Pacific, Rio Grande Review, Soundings Review, St. Austin Review and other fine journals. Gist has worked as a professional contributing writer for many leading publications. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of the chapbook Moods of the Dream Fog (Finishing Line Press, 2016). Gist was named semifinalist for The Best Small Fictions, 2017.

Warm Bread At Morning~ By Tom Squitieri

11/17/2021

Now I am greeted with secret skies
Bond of loyalty
Panoply of reflection
The blue egg

Only when into the torrid maelstrom outside
Is footing found
With the warmth of morning bread

Far off the gunfire still strikes
New faces grow old as they tell us the tales
That so many quickly forget

But beaten bodies often become stronger
Memories sharpen
As you pull her from the mob
And two days later
She walks through the hazy Haitian day
To kiss you in thanks
And within 24 hours
Names for future children

I see eyes that look to those new directions
capture me fully
you leave but linger in me
foundation gets stronger, wiser
languid now you wait
Knowing the ticktock of teasing
Of the telltale taste of trembling hearts

Long, strong legs purr as they yearn for receiving
Desires dream quietly and through a glance
They hear each other’s dares
And behest to what demands

Wrapped and opened, together and in want
All the mountains unite
Guiding the storm to open
providing the upstairs path

At dusk, it is warm bread
As Kabul quiets
Another day on the cusp closes
Dice waiting to be rolled again at sunrise

Shrapnel still smirks
Whenever it wishes
Reminds you
Who is boss

Author Bio:
Tom Squitieri, an award-winning war correspondent, is blessed to have his poetry appear in several publications, the book "Put Into Words My Love,” the art exhibition Color: Story2020, and the film “Fate’s Shadow: The Whole Story.” He writes mostly while parallel parking or walking his dogs, Topsie and Batman.

Away in the Country~ By Subir Kumar Sen

11/16/2021

When the child in him to the elder queried
What to him did pleasure mean
The last mentioned had for the reply
Brooks, rivers, daisies and hollyhocks
The mild mildews, the violets subdued
The deafening roar of the boulders loose
Which in heaps did pile up alongside
Nimble-footed frolic
Skipping in dales and vales wherein
The country inn which boasted of
Spicy, nut brown ale brought
In a carriage carted to a horse
Screeching to a halt besides a
Thicket embedding crickets aloud
Did dawn upon the man
The who did sit under the sun, bright aflame.

Author Bio:
Born one fine Indian midsummer in the walled city of Delhi, Subir Kumar Sen had spent his childhood, in awe of the splendid red sandstone fort, sprawling gardens, and lofty minarets in close proximity. There were bazaars of archaic ways boasting of all kind of antique wares which would carry one away to lands of fantasy. He was interested in poetry since childhood. He was inspired to write what went on within him, his mind and heart. He wanted to portray what all he went through, what all he had seen and could imagine. He had read poems written by the great masters, and was inspired to portray in his own small way. He holds a degree in English and has also studied Italian at the Italian Embassy and is a professional Italian translator. He is multilingual and is well versed in Hindi and Bengali, too. He currently stays on the outskirts of Delhi.

He tries to be very honest with his poems and writes what he sincerely feels. He loves to play with words because they are the ones which ultimately stir the senses.

Lost Soul Rising~ By Susan Surette

11/11/2021

years of dark storms
in between fragments of life
stalked by murky shadows
lost in a mire of mistakes
a weary pilgrim of the pavement
journey etched upon face in
scars the color of old teeth

home is unashamed alley
redolent of unforgiving refuse
whose tenants shun daylight
and well-meaning strangers

night settles under a dark blanket
filmy barred windows cast suspicious eyes
at one enfolded in pungent old flannel
skin layers marinated in cheap wine
experiencing sensations like shaken seltzer
dropping an emaciated frame heavily
upon stained unforgiving corrugated
life teetering between breath and heartbeat
with dreams awash in pulsating technicolor

morning pulls itself awake
sodden brain struggles through slow
series of jolts like a cranky engine
preparing to stall as life halfheartedly
stumbles to alive

one more start...

Author Bio:
Susan Surette is an avid traveler, bibliophile, grandmother, hand drummer, and yogi with work accepted in the U.S. and UK. Retired on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, she discovered an interest in poetry after attending a creative writing program. Later she founded the Not Yet Dead Poets Society. As a volunteer leader opening the door to poetry for senior citizens, she is gratified to discover the depths of emotion and human
nature that comes to the surface when tapped.

Her poetry has been published in The Curlew, Westward Quarterly, The Avocet, Nine Muses Poetry, Eskimo Pie-Ceremony Journal of Poetry and Cape Cod Times.

he’d trekked towards the drone~ By Elder Gideon

11/10/2021

he’d trekked towards the drone dead grasses iridesced
with cricket songs parted in the field where he lay

with his back to the dry ground beneath stars he awoke
to all of the reasons he loathed himself aligned in an influx

like lightning
is not a line but a suture

inside the dome skull of sky
broken open but snaps back shut
the instant it’s perceived

he bolted upright knowing
all in a moment why gays threaten men

egos without children
family names that end

for being oblivion
even alien

suddenly the crickets ceased

the ground quivered grasses broke
behind him another breathed

his hair jolted his pores gasped for air
tapered his heart beat his head

he turned to see a daunting silhouette blocking stars two horns
as long as the horizon the beast’s mass dense as adamantine stone

Wisdom told him breathe--

in the fear is focus

he did not move neither did the bull

his face turned inward in degrees

until fully forward unwavering in skin he fit

in his abode

he abode the presence of the bull
in night and time’s release

Author Bio:
Elder Gideon is the author of “Aegis of Waves” (Atmosphere, 2021) and co-author with Tau Malachi of “Gnosis of Guadalupe (EPS Press, 2017). He’s an alumnus of the 2021 Community of Writers, directed by Brenda Hillman and showing sculpture this fall with Verge Gallery’s Open Studio Tour in Sacramento. A veteran English teacher-activist and leader of a gnostic tradition, Gideon lives from metaphysical urgency. He is queer.

Eighth Month~ By Juanita Rey

11/9/2021

Eight months and, surprisingly,
nothing has been ruptured,
twisted into a knot, shredded.
The body has survived
even as the child takes over.

There’s been pain, cramping,
an overall strangeness
as if my insides and I
were no longer in synch.
But no hemorrhaging.
No overloaded heartbeat.

There’s been a kick or two
but nothing beyond that.
The baby makes no demands.
There’ll be time enough for that
from all I hear.

Yes, it does feel like a sickness.
But not a dying.
And no cure is necessary.
But I’ll take it when it comes.

Author Bio:
Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.

Paradise Lost Blues~ By P.J. Lenox

11/5/2021

Adam was cruisin’ one morning,
In the heart of the Spring,
The flowers were blooming,
And Eve was floatin’ free.

She said “Maybe you can take a little
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

Eve said give me your hand,
Gentle as you may,
Feel my skin softly,
It’s enough to make you pray.

She said “Maybe you can take a little
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

She showed him a rose,
Put it in a rope,
He gave it a tug,
Then the stem broke.

She said “Maybe you can take a little
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

Adam turned to her,
Told her knowledge is king,
When Paradise is lost,
We can rewrite everything.

He said “Maybe you can take a little
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

Bear to bare,
Bee to be,
Never mind our nature,
You can buy yourself free.

He said “Maybe you can take a little
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

He pulled Eve’s ear and whispered,
What’s the cost of your mind?
He took a bite of a snake,
Told her it’s sweet as apple pie.

He said “Maybe you can take a little,
Drive with me,
Your nature can be mine.”

Author Bio:
P.J. Lenox started writing poetry at the age of 12 after an English teacher brought a cassette tape to class of Langston Hughes reading his poetry. He was moved and struck by the flow, imagery, and emotion of the jazz and blues based writing style. This style, as well as topics ranging from politics to nature still continue to influence his writing style today. He frequently finds inspiration for writing while watching birds, bees, fishermen on the beach, and sunsets in his garden. His Bachelor's degree in psychology enhances the cultural and social topics often found in his poetry. P.J. has had one poem, "Thought is a Mailbox" published and is currently working on a volume of poetry "Your Nature Can Be Mine" to be published in the distant future.

The Emancipation of Emma~ By Ellen A. Grazioso

11/4/2021

Raven-haired Emma sits for a portrait
attired in haute couture, dark eyes wistful
beneath a lace parasol, a demure young wife
weary of the pose.

The burgeoning century features drawings
of "the new independent woman," but
their famous illustrator does not sketch Emma.
She typifies "the cult of true womanhood."
Still, Emma longs to stand with informed women
rather than behind her boorish spouse.
His library denied, she enjoys china-painting
and collectibles, doting on delicate snow globes
she imagines house couples living as equals.

Elsewhere in smoky parlors men tipple and rail
against a woman's right to vote.

Under night's cover Emma studies Black's Law
until an angry cue stick sweeps, smashing rows
of snow globes like billiard balls.
An aggrieved Emma paces in the moonlight.

Morning waits to reveal her first silver curl.
Soon she will leave in a simple white dress
to join the women's cause, carrying a sign
instead of a parasol.

Author Bio:
Ellen currently teaches literature at a public high school in New Jersey. In her younger years, she performed folk songs in smoky clubs and coffeehouses. Her love of folk music has remained strong, and its storytelling character continues to influence her poetic style. Her most recent publication appears in The Raven Review, Volume 1, Issue IV, (2020). Ellen's poems have also appeared in The Paterson Literary Review, Issue 48, (2020), The Voices Project (January, 2020), Red Flag Poetry in its Poetry Express venue (2017) and Madness Muse Magazine, its final issue.