Friday, January 1, 2021

Chris Young: Poet Spotlight





Chris grew up in Springfield, Illinois. A little neighborhood called the cabbage patch because, well it was a cabbage patch that got uprooted to put in housing for people working at Allis Chalmers. It was World War Two and my dad went to the South Pacific and my mom went to factory.

They never left that little house once dad came home.

Chris is the 5th child of 5. His first experience with reading was walking to the library with his mom. He as five years old and it was about a 3 mile walk. He would walk that every week just to keep checking out Where the Wild Things Are. He loved that book. As He got older say 10 or 11 he would sneak the books from mom’s bookshelf he wasn’t supposed to read. He would do that on Sunday morning while his mom and dad were at the bowling alley for an hour and a half. It took him six months to read The Exorcist.

When he became a teen he read voluminously and began to think he could write better than some of the books he was reading. He couldn’t, but he can now. He first realized he could write while in the Navy. He responded to a Dear John letter a friend got. She wrote back and wanted to meet Chris instead of the friend he wrote the letter for.

He has been writing every since for shear pleasure. 7 years in the Navy and 20 years on the road has been a boon to his writing. He continues today.

As for the poem, he loves picture prompts, and this one reminded him of someone special. A couple of someones as these are the kind he is drawn to.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See Chris's Contest Winning Poem Brave



Saturday, December 19, 2020

David Painter: Poet Spotlight

 


David Painter is a Northeast Ohio poet and photographer. His aim is to capture his point of view on the world through nature, culture, architecture and history. 


Dave’s love for photography began in the 1970s with the purchase of his first Minolta SLR camera. Through his keen eye, Dave became a member of the Cleveland Photographic Society and the Chagrin Valley Photography Guild. 


For the last decade, Dave has added poetry to his creative repertoire. Ex-panding his interests to the human condition, fiction and history; his favorite era being the Civil War. Much of Dave’s poetry is inspired by his photography; the perfect marriage of his two passions. 


Dave is a member of many poetry groups including Allegory Alley, Scribbles Writing Organization, Poems and Unpoems, Writers Writing Poems and Out of Your Write Mind. Additionally, he is active in The Pixel Photography Club and his local historical society.


Dave was born and raised in Charleston, W.V. but has made the Greater eveland area his home for the past fifty years. He is married with two kids. 



Twitter

@davepainterphotography



See David's Contest Winning Poem

The Crow and the Man



December 2020 Pictorial Prompt Poetry Contest Winner




 The Crow and the Man

by David Painter





 



I sit for long days on end

Sitting where the nurse places me


It wasn’t always so

once the sun was bright on my shoulder


Briefcase in hand, train to the city


Funny, not ha-ha but funny never the less

how I started to slip

 

like too much rain on a California hill side

or a room full of marbles


Until the asylum of my mind became a silent refuge

and I forgot about you.


I watch as a crow lands with his road kill

and picks at the dead carcass


pulling off bits of flesh and

swallowing them whole


I feel as if it is my mind you know.




~~~~~~~~~~



Read more about David Painter





Friday, February 8, 2019

Pictorial Poetry Prompt Contest Winner: Colin Palmer



All By Myself

Colin Palmer 



Asear didn’t know what it was 
 The climb was clear, air like silk
The roaring waves
Steps of foam
Pounding only in her head. 
 Ticking, a constant annoyance
But no hesitation, 
A desperate desire to roam.

The first tentative step
Unleashed a flow of  
Forward momentum, up, 
The only way to go.
The obscure wreckage 
 An inanimate distraction,
Simple to ignore
Obviously not foe.

She paused only that once 
 At the first step,
Life will be better, anywhere,
Her own voices said. 
 Mired now with confidence
Internal heart of steel 
 Onward she went, and upward,
Following her head.

Almost half-way, memories, 
 Dread, thoughts and fears
Horrors from before
Crossed her mind. 
She did not falter, lost in 
 Visions of ogres, monsters,
Terrors she’d escaped, 
 That of the human kind.

A loathing so deep
No hate has surpassed,
Of parents manipulating
Their one and only child.
Asear was so fair,
Her mother grotesque,
Father the leader 
A pack worse than wild. 

 Regular, daily, unholy demands,
No child should be wounded
By those that should Love and respect.
Suffer she did, every day
At times so bad,
Leaving the home,
An impossible prospect.

Lest those outside
Should see her scars,
Ask questions
For which she could not respond. 
 Always the threat hung near,
Inside her pretty head,
Impossible to forget --
Never tell, never abscond. 

 Her last birthday,
A fleeting memory
Of happiness for a brief time,
Until the monsters acted.
She’d run to her room,
Short elation dissolved
Celebrations over,
Worst fears protracted.

The abuse, the beatings
Went on for years.
Not a single kind soul 
 Sort to interfere.
The escape unplanned,
For self-preservation,
From pure clarity of thought
She forever strove to hear.

And now, as those
Final steps loomed, 
The bouncing hands of time
Annointed her presence.
Faster and faster they spun,
Asking questions, giving choice, 
Wanting answers, 
Providing acceptance.

Asear announced her desire
Poised on the top step,
The spinning hands propped,
 A doorway appeared. 
 “Come home,” the vile voices
From behind, inside her laughter,
Followed by screams and threats --
Her inner strength persevered.

She stepped through the door
Nary a look at what might follow,
In front was life’s colours
Behind was only black.
“Welcome, welcome,”
A new sing-song voice intervened,
The doorway closed,
Sealing off her flashbacks.

Wide eyes full of wonder
A delight never before shared
Of comfort and warmth,
No more despair.
She grew accustomed to 
 Her new surrounds 
 But stood still, trembling, a little, 
All was new here.

A giant green panda waddled past
Glanced at her face
Laughed with glee!
Then to her surprise,
Approached and spoke
But not aloud 
 Inside her head,
The umbilical eyes.

Not a trace of fear
Did she feel 
As she slid into the 
 Friendly embrace,
Of her new, furry green friend
One of many to come 
Here, in her new home,  
Her new safe place.

The panda, his name was Joel,
Flopped down in a funny motion 
 Gestured for her to follow
So he could give her the juice.
He swept his paws often
To make a point But never once asked
About her abuse.

It seemed like days passed
As Joel talked and talked
His questions about desires and dreams,
Not where she came from.
 When finally she voice
Why he didn’t ask of the past,
He winked and sang, 
“of glum we are numb.”

Accept and move on
Forever forward, his lesson --
Do what you can
Always remain positive.
With new found delight
She hugged him with glee
Thankful for his
Formative, forgiving, narrative.

A generation, more,
Millennia went by,
Asear lived her life happy
Completely obliterating the past.
She swam in warm waters
Coddled by fairy-tale creatures
Always smiling in return
Confident at last.

Behind her neon world,
Behind the loving beasts of 
 Heavenly nature,
Behind the clock of spinning despair. 
Behind the wreckage,
The surging, tugging surf,
Behind the steps she’d taken,
The climb up the stairs.

Behind, the light above 
 The prostrate form of a little girl,
Lay in coma 
 In a hospital room.
Six months they had waited
For her to pull through,
Then extracted the baby
From her near lifeless womb.

The excuse from the fleeing pair,
Monsters of her past,
Never to be known.
A lesson for their new prey --
Act sooner than her mother did
Or perhaps her birth mother
Shall awaken, or return,
Neither best not delay.

In the hospital bed
Pupils crawl behind tight eyes,
In the other neon world
She goes on, reality in abeyance.
Inside, a slight stirring
Of recognition
Of loss and regret
But no time for patience.

The years go on
The baby of course grows,
And one night, fueled on alcohol,
The ogres overwhelmingly react.
The girl in the hospital room
Pulls herself erect,
The other girl in her neon world
Suddenly, aspires to go back.

Joel is full of sympathy
And heady, straight advice
Plus warnings of more literal kind,
That she cannot return.
Once gone is gone,
But he understands, and 
 Lies prone her to mount --
Speed he must burn. 

 “What of you?” Asear asks.
Her immediate concern 
 That Joel should get back safely --
In her world he’d be at risk.
His permanent smile appraised her
Friendly grin suggesting jest
“Do not be afraid, 
 Put your mind at rest.”

Asear hugged him
Warm tears of gratitude,
Then leapt upon his furry green back
Clutching desperately to his pelt.
A tear splashed down,
His green did dissolve
To her horror, his jerky reaction
Showed he had felt.

She dismounted quickly
Before Joel came to stride,
Cupped his huge woolly face
With the permanent grin.
“I’m killing you with my tears,
This cannot be, I love you,
I will not see you hurt,”
Asear sobbed to him. 

 “Nonsense, my dear”
Joel did smile,
“climb aboard, 
 We have no time for this --
In dire need is your child.”
Asear’s tears flowed at Joel’s kind words.
He went on, 
 “Hurry sweet girl, hurry,
We’ve no time to bide.”

He lurched and sprang
With Asear safely hitched,
They streaked like a green cloud
Trailed by green mist,
Across the neon lands they soared
Through the clock of despair,
The stairs in one leap, 
The crashing waves a mere tryst.

Only seconds passed
But Asear felt the change
As her adroit mind began
To open, her body grew.
She glanced down in awe
Saw two legs that were not hers,
The legs of an adult
As her reality broke through.

Their arrival at her
Home from the dark past,
Coincided with a young woman
Who smiled, “together at last.” 
 The two halves co-joined,
Combined to make one whole,
An impervious, maternal blend 
 That knew to act fast.

With Joel at their shoulder
His coat half green and half white
They thundered inside
Not a moment too soon.
Their young daughter did they snatch
From the arms of their dark papa
The glare of their monstrous mama
They faced off the mismatched.

The father roared, made a 
 Desperate dive, not wanting to
Lose his prize.
No recognition
Of the daughter he’d abused
And forever lost.
“Who are you? Give her back,”
He yelled from screwed face,
Not opposed to using fear as a ruse.

Asear quickly swivelled,
Shielded her girl,
Lifting one arm to fend
Off the advance.
But Joel leapt forward
Propped between she and he,
Opened his gigantic maw
Negating any chance. 

Father halted, shock at
This green and white monstrosity
That could not be real,
Absolutely no possibility.
He darted and lunged, and yelled,
His triumph premature
As Joel swallowed him whole
Like some delicacy.

To the mother Joel faced,
Her terror and fear etched
Into her hideous features but
Asear stepped forward.
She intervened, cradling her dear
Child in protective arms
Studying her once mother --
A monster now cornered.

She turned her back
On the slinking woman
And spoke instead to
Her child and Joel, 
“We have a place, a home,
With safety and warmth,
Leave this wretched thing,
I’ll not be so cruel.”

Joel’s grin never faded
As he nodded assent,
Asear, without a glance,
Walked out, expecting he’d follow.
She cupped her girl’s arms,
Let her slide to the ground,
Saw her own face,
Cheeks sunken and hollow.

“I’m you’re mama, sweet girl,
Did those, those monsters
Give you a name?”
The little girl nodded.
Her soft voice cooed,
“I am Claudia, 
We are one and the same,” --
Asear was besotted.

 “It’s true my sweet Claudia,
We are more than just one.”
Then frowned as she realised
Joel had not come.
She spun around,
The door stood ajar.
No sound came to her,
From inside the slum.

At the same time her mind 
 Was asking her this:
A green panda?
Surely, Surely you jest?
No warm waters,
Friendly, furry beasts
No spinning clock
No steps on the beach.

She looked back at her child
Her frown disappeared
The innocence of youth
So appealing and fresh.
Asear held out her hand,
An invitation Claudia did not miss.
Home sweet home
A family refreshed.

They walked together inside
Comfortable with their kin,
Closed the door on their
New, special beginning.
Mother and child
Separate once but whole again, 
No trace of the horror
That once was within.

In a far away place,
A strange big green bear
With huge white splotches
In his mangy fur,
Stood over the cringing
Form of a desperate
Crying woman, pleading
For the bear’s succour.

“Not a single chance,”
The bear grinned at her,
“You will be my meal
Forever more.”
She dropped her arms
As the bear leaped,
Mouth agape, teeth bared,
This daily encore.

The next day was the same,
And again after that,
Forever waiting, knowing 
 Yesterday, today, tomorrow her fate.
Because she failed in her duties 
To her daughter in need,
The trial, her punishment, her 
Daily death she must meet.

Asear and Claudia, mother and
Child lived full happy lives,
With no recollection of
What passed before.
Except now and then both
Share a shining dream, 
A smiling green panda, a clock, 
And strange stairs on a seashore.


~~~~~~~~~


Read more about Colin Palmer




Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Out of Isolation


by: Nessa Zisman




Contained in the isolation of my contentment, doing what brings one happiness and savagely bruises the egos of those who wrote the fictional scenes in which I conform to such rules and regulations given in borrowed speculations.

There...There where the nails divy themselves through splintered wood passing through this heart as it screams for individualized characteristics to set one apart from the shepherds herd.

Eyes sewn shut in passive aggressive opinions that sight is what is seen reflected in my blue ignorance.

Imagination trumps the weight of blindness forced upon me at birth, I see more than meets the judging eye, but all that is hidden in the space between the soils of the burdened and the untouchable depths of the heartless.

Could be the infinite fire that toasts the forest trees from beneath the mask of bark shielding the blind that believe they have seen all able to be seen.

Feel it...Feel the breeze grow warm in the brewing pot of gurgling slop fed to us on silver spoons to choke upon.

Choke up these words in haste as they search for the pages that rewrite the ending they created, as an army sets forth to stand against all that I mold into their imprint, disfiguring the image they have in mind.

Cut loose these fraying ropes tying me to this hole in midst of fictional stories they repeat in my ears as would a taunting lover, hoping to caress me with falsified promises to submission in protecting arms.

No hold is needed for I cloak myself in these lines, baring this flesh to the world to be scorned for the evil doings of brilliance inked in the blood of the mocking voices in my head at all times.

Aim to cut through this barrier, to relinquish the walls around me to ash at the feet of the defeated and walk among the lilies, basking in the sunlight rehearsing mornings in a glance.

The dew sticks to my skin, feel the perspiration of new days flood this sight with vengeance. Seek out I do, what truth lies in the no man's lands of these corridors that allow me venture in thought...

Carry on this walk...feed me all that is and quench my thirst in the notion that there is always more than is presented in a meeting.

Kissed the clouds in their ever changing, ever tricking the eye appearance, knowing at second glance they be untouched, newly formed desires to drink of.

Spun a web to catch the insults that haunt the throned surface of my walk under the moon in all its glory, overshadowed by this ever-bending branch I lay to dream, to bed.

Where one rests a weary head, the mind sleeps never reinventing the second hand striking time pass by the minutes of breath to weave.

Reconstructed criticism overheard and this pen shakes in pain, in loss of the unrequitted, unraveled mystery it fights to bring life.

Rituals be mere burdens, lighting candles to consummate this moment in bask of shadows on the walls of my sub conscious swaying undirectional in this rendition of spasms as they claw and mark the memory at the clocks hour.

Soured are the fruits of cunning tongues preaching their disillusion within the winded speech. As long as this air flows least a bit, long live the words on my pages. Even in fires dwindling to soot beneath the mantle, my picture holds a pen to continue the scrawl...though the canvas has aged, though skin bare the life lines, though death move closer with every moment, my ink seeps through the years....

Cursing all in the memory of the day the barriers burned in my fire.
And those that dare see, leave me to wake again to feed their desire....

Desire is need and I need for everything, but nothing.

Writer's Choice Poetry Contest Winner

Out of Isolation
by Nessa Zisman



What​ ​genre(s)​ ​do​ ​you​ ​write? 
Non fiction, poetry, Sci-fi, psychological thrillers.

Which​ ​do​ ​you​ ​prefer​ ​to​ ​write:​ ​short​ ​stories,​ ​poetry,​ ​novellas,​ ​novels,​ ​essays,​ ​nonfiction… ?
Poetry, Novels.

What​ ​genre(s)​ ​do​ ​you​ ​read? 
I try to keep an open mind, but am typically drawn to the horror genre.

What​ ​made​ ​you​ ​want​ ​to​ ​become​ ​a​ ​writer? 
Writing has always been a big part of who I am, I picked up my pen at 7 year's old and felt at home and free to express myself or escape into my own creations, for me it was better then facing reality at times.

What​ ​is​ ​your​ ​first​ ​memory​ ​of​ ​writing? 
I remember writing fairy tales (imagine that) For my younger sister when we were growing up, we would often turn them into plays and act them out for our parents at bedtime (embarrassing)

What​ ​and​ ​/or​ ​Who​ ​inspires​ ​you​r ​writing? My kids are by far my biggest inspirations.

What​ ​is​ ​your​ ​favorite​ ​book?  
100 love sonnets by Pablo Neruda

What​ ​turns​ ​you​ ​away​ ​from​ ​a​ ​book? 
Flaws in a plot line

Who​ ​is​ ​your​ ​favorite​ ​author(s)? 
Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Pablo Neruda

Are​ ​you​ ​a​ ​published​ ​writer?​ ​If​ ​so,​ ​what​ ​have​ ​you​ ​published?​ ​If​ ​not,​ ​are​ ​you​ ​planning​ ​to publish​ ​or​ ​is​ ​writing​ ​simply​ ​for​ ​pleasure? No, I am currently in the final stages of publishing my first novel Children's Books Shouldn't Be Written, a psychological thriller set for release April 3rd.

Learn more about Nessa Zisman: The Writing Wench
Read her winning poem: Out of Isolation

Tuesday, January 16, 2018

Rabbit Hole Prompt Contest Winner

Fucking Love Yourself   

All the best people—think they're crazy.
All the normal people—aren’t.

Which side of the looking glass is real?
Which side is not? 

Butterflies and birds
Bats and mosquitoes,
They fly.
They fly above all,

First and foremost,
Forget questioning.


~ CL Steele~