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Dancing the Fire~ By Suzanne Stauss

12/31/2013

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Sparks crackle
fly disappear.
Seductive hissing deep
in its blue-hot center.

The fire leaps
takes light
takes life.
Roars,
she does and dances.
Oh, she dances.

All merry weightlessness and blur.
Stomping jangling feet
barely touch the sky.
Arms aloft -
Every quiver tremor dance
from fingers eyebrows
shoulders hips.

Slipping hipping sweet release
around the crackle sparks hiss.

Moves the very air, she does.
Waver shudder bend.

And heat and joy
and fear and love are one.

Bound in elemental delight
waggling fingers, pointed toes.

Bend and sway and hair and lips
that curve and sweat
and sweet, secret smile.
She's come to dance
the fire again.


Author Bio:
Suzanne Stauss is a writer of lyrical non-fiction and poetry. She has been featured various places online and in the book of short poetry, "A Blackbird Sings". 

She's traveled the world and finally settled in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two monkeys, where she writes, she knits, she volunteers, she putters and she dances. Sometimes she's a formidable PTA mom, too. 


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Amazonian~ By Silvia Angulo

12/30/2013

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I was the ancient demised
Amazon

Tall six foot
antiquated sisters of mine
drifted in barbaric spirit
of forgotten wisdom

Along with them
I stomped
fertile lands
designing temples
so tough and monumental

all to call upon
the name

Mother!
Gaia Goddess…

I ravaged
weak grounds
taking them
as my own 

carving homes
in stone
with titillating tools
formed brazen
by my bones

I cut my breast
as a symbol
of feminine
strength
and cunningness

becoming a better
huntress

tracking faster
aiming arrows
in the dark
to kill game

I took men
at night’s keep
then disposed of them
when the moon peaked

refusing male forms
of masculine only
I solely
sought pleasure 

filling myself
with life
continued…

But my lineage
slipped cliffs…

I aimed
high
chanting
to make
shelters shaped
of warrior women wombs

all to leave them behind
like tombs

beaten to be removed
by history’s
suppression 
destruction promoted
by patriarchy’s
oppression


Author Bio:
Silvia is Creative Writing MFA student and feminist who has also been published in Haggard & Halloo Literary Magazine. She currently resides in Queens NY.  
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Eternity~ By Ute Carson

12/28/2013

3 Comments

 
Amidst life’s clamor
I cannot imagine the silence
that will one day surround me.
I will not hear the footfalls above me
nor feel the rain weeping on my grave.
I will not be able to thank a grandson
for bringing me flowers
or wipe away a granddaughter’s tears
as she kisses the stone face
on which my name is engraved.

But within earshot of my lover
I fervently hope
that my whispers will meet his
through the roots and tendrils
of porous earth
and we will gurgle and murmur
like two underground streams
which know nothing of endings.


Author Bio:
A writer from youth, German-born Ute Carson’s first story was published in 1977. Her story “The Fall” won the Grand Prize for Prose and was published in the short story and poetry anthology, A Walk Through My Garden, Outrider Press, Chicago 2007. Her novel “Colt Tailing,” was published in September 2004 and was a finalist for the Peter Taylor Book Award Prize for the Novel. Her second novel “In Transit” was published in 2008. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals and magazines here and abroad. Carson’s poetry was featured on the televised Spoken Word Showcase 2009 and 2010, 2011 Channel Austin, TX. Her poetry collection “Just a Few Feathers” was published in 2011. Her poem “A Tangled Nest of Moments” won second place in the Eleventh International Poetry Competition 2012. Her poetry chapbook “Folding Washing” has been published in 2013 by the Willet Press.

An Advanced Certified Clinical Hypnotist, Ute Carson resides in Austin, TX with her husband. They have three daughters, five grandchildren, two horses and a number of cats.

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First Love~ BY Erica Seiler

12/27/2013

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He didn’t mean it, really. He didn’t.

We were just talking by the bleachers,
and I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t say anything.
Who says something at a time like that?

It wasn’t the same,
as our chats and texts,
he was on me. His eyes were right on me.

Foamy breath
and rough wrapped fingers,
bruised my left biscuit.

He felt really bad. Really.
He is such a good guy,
we held hands and prayed after. 


Author Bio:
Erica Seiler manages the brand for a Fortune 500 company where she teaches writers how to master tone-of-voice and messaging. She is pursuing an MA in Creative Writing at Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio, TX and has published work in advertising and journalism.
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Grief Healing~ By Rachel Strong

12/26/2013

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As is the night falling
A deepening sadness
Lowering me to leafy mulch
Floor of the well I'm arriving

Surprised I hear soft music
Stroking my brow
A Helper watching over me
His arms collect me ere I drown

The Rescuer lifts me
Flying towards the stars on ink
Laid on a pillow and bed
Healing hands tend my heart

'No more sinking and dying, He says
'I will love you always,
and never let you down.'
I have his promise I believe

Breathing in, breathing out
Rest upon his warmth
Bad dreams into his care I give
Release to him the thorny torments

Breathing in
Breathing out
Smile at him
Who breathes life


Author Bio:
I am an amateur writer and I have been involved in a writer’s group called Quirky Quills for the past four years. I have had devotionals published in an anthology, Penned from the Heart and the Footprints magazine, plus a travel article published in the Sunday Mail newspaper. I recently had a poem entitled ‘Suicide’ published in The Mozzie anthology.

Many of my poems are cathartic or helpful to others relating to my background of severe abuse. As a Christian, I believe God has healed me of torture and trauma. I hope by writing to encourage other women to believe that healing is possible and that life is worth living. Overcoming the past has been a long journey for me. I am currently preparing to present a short play this Christmas. Playwriting is one of my goals and I hope to continue learning all I can to improve my writerly prowess.

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No in My Noel~ By Clinton Van Inman

12/24/2013

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I learned at an early age
What happens to all snowmen,
Why the fake beards
 
As I sat upon his lap
And took his hard candy.
Now there only no in my noel.

But I fooled them in my
Berry reds and holly greens
Perpetual as prize ribbons

New Year breaks with bad breath
While the world awaits with
Its perfect white teeth
I run like a gnome.



Author Bio:
I was born in Walton-on-Thames, England in 1945,  graduated from San Diego State University in 1977 BA in Philosophy, have been an educator most of my life and currently a high school teacher (planning to retire this year) in Tampa Bay where I live with my wife, Elba.            
 

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By the Grace of God Go Eye~ By Fiona Linday

12/23/2013

3 Comments

 
In my countryside I enjoy the panorama over large swaying fields, where rays of colour rise after a storm. At first, emerging from the grey comes reassuring blue sky; a promise of hope. The ladder quickly extends in an arc of technicolour glory. I dare not blink or else, I’ll miss the watercolour progress. A bright glow inflicts a squint but can’t stop the colourwash grow. A palette of reds, oranges, greens and purples overlap blues and yellows, in meticulous order. I’m grateful for my boost of aerial vitamin C; smiles that set me up for the sunshine ahead. However, mostly I cherish distinguishing the faces of family and friends. These precious gems twinkle throughout my day. They lift my heart to a giggle. So, that’s why I’m grateful for the gift of sight. Lately, through tears in my left retina, those colours risked falling away.

I was warned, ‘You’ll get square eyes!’ from sitting too near the telly or at the computer screen for days. When the disco in my head first began, I put it down to such; doing the blaming thing. Whilst panicking allowed a headache with nausea to invade, a whole army of headlights marched across my vision. My pressing dilemma was how to stop it, despite eyes shutting. Alarmingly, repeat high-visual performances occurred regularly, albeit slightly lower key. What followed was a medical emergency. A promised laser surgery! My salvation involved some eye-watering technology that prevented sight loss.

His timely healthcare restored a vibrant rainbow.


Author Bio:
I’m an East Midland’s writer who took up the challenge of writing, having completed a Certificate in Creative Writing at Lancaster University. In 2009, after twenty years supporting literacy in schools, I wrote my debut novel for the young adult market. Get Over It, adventures were published by Onwards and Upwards. That sensitively covered adjustment to life without Mum.

Before that, my prize-winning short story, Off the Beaten Track, was published on the web. It raised awareness of child abuse and challenged attitudes to gypsies. I’m passionate about contemporary issues and a young person advocate. This was recently published in an ebook anthology of short stories, called The Heavenly Road Trip with Help For Writers. The remaining stories are hopeful and futuristic.

For 2010, a Unique Writing Publications Short Story win with some lifewriting entitled Love ( a cathartic tale for adults about surviving a miscarriage). Now in an American anthology called Spiritual Awakenings.

From delivering creative writing workshops in schools, I’ve branched out into lifelong learning as a practitioner. For the third year I’ve enjoyed tutoring at Embrace Arts, Leicester University. Finally, I’m a member of the National Association of Writers in Education, for which I’ve written magazine articles.

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Turning to Dark~ By Satish Verma

12/19/2013

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I believe in you, O tidal
mouth, where the salt
meets the stream. 
I never had any God
to put the fish in desert to swim,
and someone can write a poem.

I am not different
beyond the unwritten
miracles. I cannot undo a cliché.

It is still my dharma ―
to listen to unheard cosmic
chants of blue birds.
And I reached the emptiness
of a vessel, which had
spilled over the milk of seeds.


Author Bio:
Satish Verma is ferociously original. You feel resentment, outrage and violence, cannot pin it down but wonderfully spin your brain. Satish has the greatest sensibility which sweetly exploits the delicacies of human conflicts. You are taken aback. This is magic, profoundly soulful. In a lone, long journey Satish Verma is still discovering himself. Beaten, betrayed, felled, he comes back with fierce velocity. His childhood was traumatized by Indiaʼs partition. Terror, violence and death were witnessed which built the morals of poet. Becoming defiantly recluse Satish Verma pursued his value based life on the path of truth. Teaching Botany for 35 years he was writing poetry, privately and solemnly and published twelve collections. Worked silently with social causes. His scions, doctors and engineers are living in USA. He chose to live back in his beloved country and resides in Ajmer (INDIA) with his spouse Kanta running the Charitable Holistic Institute of SEWA MANDIR FOUNDATION. He can also be reached at kantasatish@gmail.com. 

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A City~ By Airica Parker

12/18/2013

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Guate! Guaaaaaaa   te!  He yells over my shoulder
to people swarming around the parking lot that
serves  as a bus station.  He carries my backpack
past the  awkward moment  when we both hold 
a strap, negotiating fare. His old school bus from
The States is modified.  Narrow aisle, wide seats
crammed full, full until I am not sure which arm
is mine. When we untangle into Guate’s  streets,
I wait for a green light with a goat herder and
his nine  goats.  I count  them  twice.  The owner
of the hotel cooks banana bread and keeps an
assortment of singing birds caged in the lobby.
It smells and sounds  like a jungle.  My window
has  thick  shutters and no screen.  I sleep late
without  realizing it,  shower with sandals, filter
water, check my compass. Out on the pavement,  
a Mayan woman is dressed as colorfully as the
cut-open  mangos and  papayas she sells.  Fused
by hues, she grows out of her booth, fusses over
it like protective shade.  She’s lovely.  I want
to tell her,  but I don’t know how to  form words
in her language, and I’m unsure of my language.
The common ground is a mango.  I buy one
with centavos, wishing I could wash her feet
instead. Stepping in fluid, I discern the dividers
on metal poles as   urinals. A  man  glares  at me.
Oops, I’m gawking.  Along the sidewalk’s edge,
piss eddies.  Unfiltered fumes from buses and
cars are dizzying. I tie a sweater around my nose
and mouth.  But I want to smile back, so I put it
away. Two days later, my left eye is infected,
and my snot is black. I need  to  buy  medicine.   
I ask the owner of the hotel if she has centavos
 with the tree.
                                From a glass jar, she pours out
a quetzal’s worth.

NOTE: "A City" calls for social change on global and environmental scales. Quetzals are rare tropical birds with stunning feathers. The quetzal is also the currency of Guatemala.  "Centavos" is a Spanish word for coins or cents. 


Author Bio:
Airica Parker’s words appear most recently in The Fiddlehead, Lalitamba, Mountain Gazette, Antipodes, and Skidrow Penthouse. The Poetry Foundation selected her as a 2011 finalist for a Ruth Lilly Fellowship. "The City" comes from Body Bridge, poems that seek common ground between external and internal worlds.Author, performer, instructor, and healing artist, Airica makes her home in Colorado. Learn more at airicaparker.com.
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Empowerment~ By K.D. Rose

12/17/2013

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For you or the woman on your left.
Power.
The very core
Of what it means to be a woman.
Sometimes what it means to be human.
But not always.

Finding your tribe can be a powerful thing.
Finding your individuality is a unique endeavor.
Thank you to things that make us feel
Tough.Props.
Just remember what they are.
(Props).
Or they become your weakness.

Look in my eyes.
Are they static?


Author Bio:
K.D. Rose is a poet and author and currently has "Heavy Bags of Soul", "Inside Sorrow" and “I AM”, three books of poetry with a kick, on sale at Amazon.com. Look for The Erasing Series, Book One-“Erasing: Shadows”, the first of a seven book New Adult Paranormal Series on sale in December, 2013!

K.D. is now also an author with Lycaon Press and Breathless Press. Just like her books, KD Rose is edgy, hits you in the gut, and gives you the education you never knew you needed. Writing with irony, truth, and a spiked pen, she takes you past the self into self-evolution.

K.D. has an eclectic mind and loves language, physics, philosophy, photography, design, art of all kinds, writing of all kinds, symbolism, semiotics, spirituality, and Dr. Who.

K.D. Rose values the question more than the answer and loves creativity and innovation. KD is an avid supporter of music, the arts, cutting edge science, technology, and creativity in all forms that encourage us to expand and explore past the artificial limits we often set for ourselves, in order to see the everyday connections that exist among all things.

Social Media:
Blog: http://www.kdroseauthortales.com
Twitter: @kdrose1
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/K.D.RoseWriter
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6038789.K_D_Rose
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