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inspirations: images & words
Now available! The first collection of poetry inspired by the prompts page!
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Annmarie Lockhart to present at HRW Conference 2012
For those of you in Virginia (there are so many of you!) and those of you looking for a getaway, Hampton Roads Writers Conference 2012 is scheduled to take place September 20-22 in Virginia Beach. As if there aren't enough reasons for you to go to this amazing event, here's one more to add to the list: I will be a presenting 3 workshops at the conference this year! And I would love nothing more than to spend some creative time with you there. For more information, visit the Hampton Roads Writers web site. See you in September!
—Annmarie Lockhart
The Ice Decides
A recent Best of the Net nominee, 7-time Pushcart Prize nominee, and National Park Artist-in-Residence, Karla Linn Merrifield has had poetry appear in dozens of publications and anthologies. She has 6 books to her credit, including her new chapbook,The Urn, from Finishing Line Press. She has 2 forthcoming titles: The Ice Decides: Poems of Antarctica(Finishing Line Press) and Athabaskan Fractal and Other Poems of the Far North (Salmon Press). Karla co-edited Liberty's Vigil, The Occupy Anthology: 99 Poets among the 99%, released from FootHills Press in January 2012. She was founding poetry editor of Sea Stories and now reviews books for The Centrifugal Eye and teaches at Writers & Books, Rochester NY. Visit her blog.
The Ice Decides
By Karla Linn Merrifield
The ice decides
where I can go.
The ice divides
life from death,
safe passage from abyss.
But it is the light
on the ice that defines
beauty, terror, silence,
the blue awe of Antarctica.
The ice decides
where I can go.
The ice divides
life from death,
safe passage from abyss.
But it is the light
on the ice that defines
beauty, terror, silence,
the blue awe of Antarctica.
An Addict's Poem
Grace Ames is a freelance writer and poet from Charleston SC. She is currently writing her first novel.
Identity Crisis
Debbie Feller is a former mail lady turned full-time caregiver who blogs daily and has poetry published at Referential Magazine and Unfold.
Identity Crisis
By Debbie Feller
Cut with a child's purple scissors
in an attempt to keep
our identities safe
a hundred tiny squares of paper
blow across the lawns
dropped, spilled, torn
as messy as real life
picked up carefully
with hands, rake and broom
plunged deeper down
into hiding this time
the can lidded tight.
Cut with a child's purple scissors
in an attempt to keep
our identities safe
a hundred tiny squares of paper
blow across the lawns
dropped, spilled, torn
as messy as real life
picked up carefully
with hands, rake and broom
plunged deeper down
into hiding this time
the can lidded tight.
Winter
Bette Hileman's most recent poem to appear here was Peaceable Kingdom (November 2011).
Winter
By Bette Hileman
I know winter is coming
when the cat's long fur
feels warm underneath and cool on top.
I know winter is close
when my feet are cold.
I know winter is approaching
by ringing in my ears
that sounds like distant cicadas
though none are singing.
I know winter is near
when I take an afternoon nap
while the cat snuggles under my arm,
keeping me warm.
I think about getting up and putting on socks,
But fall asleep too fast.
I know winter is coming
when the cat's long fur
feels warm underneath and cool on top.
I know winter is close
when my feet are cold.
I know winter is approaching
by ringing in my ears
that sounds like distant cicadas
though none are singing.
I know winter is near
when I take an afternoon nap
while the cat snuggles under my arm,
keeping me warm.
I think about getting up and putting on socks,
But fall asleep too fast.
Home is far away
Mirza Ahsanul Hossain lives and writes in Bangladesh.
Home is far away
By Mirza Ahsanul Hossain
I went home
But came back
Hoping
Biding time
Thinking you would
Let me in
But there was no answer
When I knocked
This is not what I wanted
I wanted You
Where were you?
Why didn't you answer?
Was it because
You knew it was me?
I went home
But came back
Hoping
Biding time
Thinking you would
Let me in
But there was no answer
When I knocked
This is not what I wanted
I wanted You
Where were you?
Why didn't you answer?
Was it because
You knew it was me?
The Clouds
Danica Green lives in England. Cloud watching inspires all kinds of writing. Have you ever written a poem about something you saw in the clouds?
The Clouds
By Danica Green
The clouds peel away as I watch,
Layers that open to expose blue souls,
The large chasing the small and merging
Themselves as one.
A community that lives far above us.
White and grey and black, thin wisps
Like smoke, fat cotton bubbles that
Cloak the eastern sky.
Some bring the rains,
Or snow, trembling storms and
Electric crackles,
While many are content just to sit and be,
Filled up with fresh air and nothingness.
They revel in variety,
Lonely in their portion of the sky,
Dulcet companionship as
Their paths cross and their
Sapphire souls meet seamlessly
In the daylight.
I applaud them,
Send the thoughts of a peaceful mind
Up to dance among them,
Smile unfettered as they pass me by
And the sunlight reaches down
From the shining heart
That all the clouds share.
The clouds peel away as I watch,
Layers that open to expose blue souls,
The large chasing the small and merging
Themselves as one.
A community that lives far above us.
White and grey and black, thin wisps
Like smoke, fat cotton bubbles that
Cloak the eastern sky.
Some bring the rains,
Or snow, trembling storms and
Electric crackles,
While many are content just to sit and be,
Filled up with fresh air and nothingness.
They revel in variety,
Lonely in their portion of the sky,
Dulcet companionship as
Their paths cross and their
Sapphire souls meet seamlessly
In the daylight.
I applaud them,
Send the thoughts of a peaceful mind
Up to dance among them,
Smile unfettered as they pass me by
And the sunlight reaches down
From the shining heart
That all the clouds share.
Storm Over North Africa
JB Hogan was nominated for a 2010 Pushcart Prize for his story "Kerosene Heat." His dystopian novel New Columbia was published in Aphelion and his prize-winning e-book Near Love Stories is online at Cervena Barva Press. His stories and poems appear in journals such as Cynic Online Magazine, Istanbul Literary Review, Every Day Poets, Ranfurly Review, and The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. His work has been anthologized in Flash of Aphelion and is forthcoming in Best of Tales from the South: Volume 6. He lives in Fayetteville AR.
Love in Bohemia
Ben Nardolilli's most recent poem to appear here was Supernatural As (November 2011).
Love in Bohemia
By Ben Nardolilli
I've given you
All the darkness I have,
Now I'm empty for real,
Give me some of your light,
It must be there,
I followed you all these days
And miles, hoping for a spark,
We managed fires without them,
But I'm tired of rubbing sticks,
I just want the flames, this time
Without all the burning.
I've given you
All the darkness I have,
Now I'm empty for real,
Give me some of your light,
It must be there,
I followed you all these days
And miles, hoping for a spark,
We managed fires without them,
But I'm tired of rubbing sticks,
I just want the flames, this time
Without all the burning.
Yellowed Jar
Marcus Closen is a poet from Winnipeg (in Canada) where he studies English literature and film studies at the University of Manitoba. Follow him on twitter @marcusmicropoem.
Yellowed Jar
By Marcus Closen
You showed me a shelf of wonders
in your study.
Jars you had cleaned and
filled with interesting things
a pig kidney
a sparrow brain
I laughed—what else can one do
in the face of an eerie collection—
but you, I liked.
My heart rests now on that shelf.
You took it from me
and placed it in a jar
glass tinted yellow
like the goldenrod that suffocated me
the day you stole my heart.
You showed me a shelf of wonders
in your study.
Jars you had cleaned and
filled with interesting things
a pig kidney
a sparrow brain
I laughed—what else can one do
in the face of an eerie collection—
but you, I liked.
My heart rests now on that shelf.
You took it from me
and placed it in a jar
glass tinted yellow
like the goldenrod that suffocated me
the day you stole my heart.
