Get Me Out Of Here

by Michelle Dennis Evans The music pounding in my head This place too wretched to find a friend I’ll never ever find a place I’ll never ever show my face I’ll let this music blow my mind It’s loud and fierce to steal the time I know and want too much now I won’t find it in this town Just let me head south Words stuck in my mouth I want to scream I scream in my dreams I want to yell at you Don’t tell me what to do How could you misplace me? I tell you and you don’t see I’ll show you I can I’ll go live with my friend I’ll rule my own life I’ll keep out of strife Play this music I feel so sick I’m hiding my emotion I don’t want your attention Get me out of here Never leaving is my fear To you I have nothing to give I want out, I want to live

In Bloom

by Samantha Wisneski

Heavy Memories

by V.J. Maddox You don't even know me. I kinda thought you would... Because if you really loved me, Well then, you really should. It's not hard to know me - I'll truly answer anything. But you never tried, and now... I'm forced to fly with broken wings. I learned about you the hard way - But I did it, all the same. I saw pieces of you, corrupted... The way I saw you changed forever - Weighed down heavily with shame. I tried to stop the downfall... But you, pushed me away. You blocked out every plea I made. You just didn't want to stay. I don't think it sank in... Alone, surrounded by drugs, bottles of booze. Not until the very end - All the things that they made you lose. So every year I visit... Sometimes I wonder why I go. But I lay the flowers on the ground. For my father. I'm the daughter he will never know.

USA

by Jim Wisneski

A Line at a Time (#alaat) #18

It's simple: Look at the picture below and send me the first line that comes to your mind (softwhisperssubmissions@gmail.com). ALL lines will be published on the site and in our monthly issue! (Be sure to include your name and link to Twitter, site, etc.)

Thick scribes of time and name etched forever

Seventeen Syllables - ANTHO AVAILABLE!

Yes, it's here! The Seventeen Syllables anthology is ready and packed with GREAT haikus! Check it out: Seventeen Syllables

Returning Sorrow

by Rebecca Besser I float in a dream, of lightness and freedom. The Earth is below, with all it’s stress and pain. I would stay here, but I know I must return. When I wake up, I will be back once again. To suffer through, all that torments my soul. I feel them pulling, the demons of sorrow past. Shaking me awake, to make me suffer once more. I open my eyes, everything is the same. . .

A Line at a Time (#alaat) #17 - THE RESULTS!

Death awaits in a rusted field No longer useful or needed Rows and rows and rows and rows all churned I trudge through the freshly plowed fields knowing there is much work left for these tired old bones to do The tractor would rust and eventually decay, but she feared the memories never would Not yet ready to be put out to pasture...bitter irony prevails After Ma died, Pa couldn't bring himself to even work the fields; "What's the point?" he asked no one in particular Silent and cold until the heartbeat of Spring green shoots of life will be born anew in spring's splendor...

THE CONTRIBUTORS: Death awaits in a rusted field (Jim Wisneski, www.twitter.com/wisneski) No longer useful or needed (Rebecca Besser) Rows and rows and rows and rows all churned (Michelle Dennis Evans http://michelledevans.blogspot.com) I trudge through the freshly plowed fields knowing there is much work left for these tired old bones to do (Linda Boulanger, www.LindaBoulanger.com) The tractor would rust and eventually decay, but she feared the memories never would (Emily Matthew (http://twitter.com/ImaylimE) Not yet ready to be put out to pasture...bitter irony prevails (Chris Janzen, http://absolutely--positive.blogspot.com/) After Ma died, Pa couldn't bring himself to even work the fields; "What's the point?" he asked no one in particular (Michael J. Solender, http://notfromhereareyou.blogspot.com/) Silent and cold until the heartbeat of Spring (Cari Main) green shoots of life will be born anew in spring's splendor... (Maria Kelly, www.twitter.com/mkelly317)

Poets

by Maria Kelly Poets are like magicians that pull verses out of the air like bouquets, each one as lovely and fragrant as a flower Poets are like mothers in labor to deliver inky black lines; their twitching hands like wombs, birthing rhymes. Poets are both teachers and students of life; their subjects are love and loss and sorrow and joy and strife. Poets are like oysters and their poems are like pearls; the words they hold in their souls change not themselves, but the world. They are all these things, and more, though they may not know it. You can be whatever you like, but for me: I think I’ll be a poet.

Merely Memories

by Estrella Azul I decided to postpone, although delay means forgetfulness. Emotions were lost, inspiration has flown aside, and it was gone. As an aged photograph, a Polaroid, whitish, dusty, like a room lit by sun rays filtered by thick curtains, as diffused light over the city… merely faint memories remained of our life together.

I Want

by Rebecca Besser I want you to hold me, but you never have the time. I want you to see me, but you don’t know I’m alive. I want you to talk to me, but you never say a word. I want you to want me, but your passion can’t be found. I want you to love me, but you never seem to care. I want you here always, even though you cause my despair.

To Give

by Michelle Dennis Evans I want to give An unknown love For love to me Is foreign and distant But one day soon I want to learn How to love The normal way So in time I hope I’ll be able to give Secure reality Unknown feelings Abandoning insecurity

Where Are You

by Cynthia Schuerr

She cared for her With a mother’s heart Though they were only A decade apart They hugged as they slept On one small cot Sharing a pillow and a tear Cringing at the noise Covering their ears Pretending to sleep The words were loud And cut so deep An abusive time With each other’s love They grew close Then life changed New lives began Their paths were severed Moving toward a better day Lives changed forever She laid her head upon The soft mound of fluff That was solely hers And her heart beat alone.

Mix

by

Derian Wisneski / Jim Wisneski

The Falls Rise

by Jack Roth At bottom is where the beginning will reform Your spirit can carry you further than you believe it will You will can be challenged and killed The freedom taken at the sight of some wings Crumbling innocence. . . and ignorance A quick swim in the sorrow can soothe If you let it A locket of heart kept in my mind New eyes to see what’s really become Let the new world in. . . Let them find what’s left behind. . . When the falls rise.

Opulence of Nature

by

Cynthia Schuerr

Gift of Spring

by

Rebecca Besser

A Line at a Time #17

Here's how it works. . . look at the picture below. Think of one line about it. When you have that line send it to softwhisperssubmissions@gmail.com with #alaat in the subject line. Include your line in the body of the email along with your name and/or web site, Twitter, etc. ALL lines will be published on Soft Whispers site AND in the monthly issue!

Death awaits in a rusted field

A Line at a Time #16 - The Results!

Clouds chasing faith, all that awaits - a green field cries. . .

Dark and dreary....a steeple reaches heights unknown

Green fields surround hope as the clouds of doubt cluster

A grace-filled canopy covers our lives---waiting to be recognized---wanted...

In the darkness there may lie something greater

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

Clouds chasing faith, all that awaits - a green field cries. . . (Jim Wisneski, www.twitter.com/wisneski)

Dark and dreary....a steeple reaches heights unknown (Cynthia A. Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

Green fields surround hope as the clouds of doubt cluster. (Aubrie Dionne, http://www.authoraubrie.com)

A grace-filled canopy covers our lives---waiting to be recognized---wanted...(Cindy Antene cindy4books@ameritech.net)

In the darkness there may lie something greater (Jack Roth, http://twitter.com/jack_roth)

The Drift

by Michelle Dennis Evans

There is that point in time. While you lay down to sleep. When you stop thinking. Its before dreaming but after wakefulness. It’s when amazing things happen. It’s … the drift.

It’s when your mind thinks nothing. It’s when you allow the Holy Spirit to minister to your soul. It’s when God reminds you that what He has done is good. The drift is the time that you hear the voice of the spirit saying ‘It was all for you.’ ‘You have been washed clean.’ And there you are, drifting, somewhere in time between being awake and asleep.

Just something. . .

by Jim Wisneski I just checked the Soft Whispers calendar and there is nothing scheduled today! Oh no! No worries, it was all planned. I wanted to take the time to make a few announcements about some changes for Soft Whispers. It’s nothing big nor bad, but just little thing to hopefully help everyone enjoy the site more. I’ve realized that through my travels as Jim the writer, Jim the musician, and Jim “whatever I am that day” that I have met some great people and spoke with most of them. . . those who know me know how I am, know what I want, and know how I do thing. But those of you who don’t know me may not understand Soft Whispers and the projects I have here. And that is shame. . . but I’m going to fix it. Right now. For Soft Whispers, we have poetry, art, pictures, poetic fiction, A Line at a Time, Pic 1 k, and anthologies. Why so much? So everyone has something to submit to! Poetry is poetry. Write it. Send it. Art is art. Draw it. Send it. Pictures. . . just send them! Poetic fiction is fiction less than 100 words and doesn’t have names. Just a quick tidbit of a life. A Line at a Time – I post a picture and you think of a line and email it to me. Nobody see’s anyone else’s line(s) until the poem is released on the site. Pic 1 k – I post another picture and you write a 1,000 word or less story about the picture. Antho’s. . . are antho’s. Okay. That’s the quick run down. Now for the changes. . . or reminders. For Pic 1 k. I am going to expand this as of RIGHT NOW. I will accept poetry based on the picture posted. I want you to see the picture and then write something. ANYTHING. One line. One page. One thousand words. Also. . . ALL submissions will be put on the Soft Whispers site and most will be in the monthly issue. So have fun and experiment! Submissions open the 1st of every month and close on the 20th. Click here to go to April's Pic 1 k! I’ve been getting some emails asking about what I am looking for. This is my answer: ANYTHING! The purpose of Soft Whispers is to share our work with each and the world. I don’t care what it is. . . poetry, pictures, art, quick stories. JUST SEND IT! If by some chance it doesn’t fit or work, I’ll tell you. I’m always open for something new and different. And for the biggest news and/or reminder. . . YOU RETAIN ALL RIGHTS. I’m not sure if I cleared this up in the submissions part of the site or not (and if I didn’t I apologize) but you NEVER EVER lose your rights, not for one second. If you send me a poem and I put it on the site and then you send it off to someone else and they say it can’t be published elsewhere, tell me and I will remove your poem. If you have your poetry (or anything else) published elsewhere and you have the rights and want to share it on Soft Whispers, send it! I’m not greedy, I promise! I don’t want anyone to hesitate to send something and share it. I will not steal your rights. I will not force you to mention Soft Whispers if your work gets published elsewhere. And I will NEVER hold your work hostage! It’s your work and I just want to help you share it. That’s it. So, with that said, I want everyone to start sending away! Ready? GO! Oh, and before I sign out here. . . I want everyone to know that my Inbox is always open for comments and suggestions. See something you like? Tell me. See something you don’t like? Tell me. Want to just say hello and how cool I am? Tell me! :) Have a great weekend everyone! And keep writing! Jim

Current Regard for the Newly Not-so-Rich

by KJ Hannah Greenberg Wayfarers dismiss all manners of crossings, Involving gees, separate voices, Or the wealthy, dispossessed. Wanderers’ tough, social fabric, Taunt against recessions, Hedge off perdition successfully. That more moneyed souls, likewise, Are fenced from happy bog or fern Breaks no hobo’s diatribe. Further, those “sagacious” politicians Yet fail to share oil drum fires Around which simple men heat. Today’s trash out of McMansions All empty ice cream cartons, Inveterated backyard swimming pools, Dusty chandeliers, maybe hand-sewn carpets, Beats tom-toms taunt Against a unified presence. The middle class’ mourning song, too, Brooks no space for seasoned itinerates. Learning from the rich customs of the destitute, Not to make room for social “treasures,” The average Joe rejects Citizens with louche taste.

The Giants are Coming

by Michelle Dennis Evans The giants are coming Bashing down the door Getting into my head Pounding at my brain The giants are coming Smashing down the houses Tearing apart the streets Destruction all around The giants are coming Run for cover Guard yourself Flee for your life

Simply Beauty

by

Maria Kelly

the dewdrops arrive and linger on the petals of the morning glories; their bright faces cerulean like a sky, unspoiled by clouds. the trees are calling each rustling leaf like a sigh of a wood fairy gently drifting; sweetly on the breeze at the edge of dreams, untroubled by time. the streams are singing asking me to stop and listen: a half-remembered song; to look and wonder, to pause and consider, beauty in simplicity.

And the winner for March 2010 Pic 1 k is. . .

Michelle Dennis Evans!

Her story titled SULLEN has been declared March's winner. And now Michelle took a few minutes to talk to me:

What was the inspiration for the story (besides the picture)?

A couple of days before I wrote this, a friend found a girl collapsed in the toilets at a shopping centre, my friend alerted paramedics and security just in time. Girls and women who are suffering are often on my mind. I love to see women move from life of despair and depression to a life of joy and happiness. It’s one of the reasons why I’m doing the ‘Live Free’ 5 km walk for Teen Challenge, to raise money to build a home for young women recovering from life changing circumstances. I’d love more sponsors … there’s a donation box on my blog http://michelledevans.blogspot.com/2010/03/live-free-walk-please-sponsor.html

How long did it take to write the story?

15 minutes max!

Did you know the story would be so short or did it just happen?

After I wrote the first 3 sentences story wrote it self and I was a little shocked that it ended so quickly and had so much mystery. Truth is I really don’t know what had happened to this woman – I just felt her pain.

Do you have anything else published?

After 6 years of studying and fine tuning my craft I declared 2010 as my year of getting published. My story ‘9 Ladies Dancing’ was published in 12 Days plus my regular poetry spot here on Soft Whispers. I have 2 stories about to be published, ‘River Storm’ in The Best of 2009 FridayFlash Anthology, and ‘DIVE!’ in the April edition of Eclectic Flash.

What are your plans for 2010?

I have so many plans! I hope to finish editing my 2009 NaNoWriMo novel and submit it. I’m anticipating acceptance letters arriving soon, writing, lots of writing, while I balance study, home educating 4 children, family, church commitments and hubby.

Freedom

by

Rebecca Besser

Small Victories

by Jodi Milner Sam checked to see if the hall was clear before darting behind the raspberry colored door. The old janitor's closet wasn't used during the day, no one would find her there. The smell of window cleaner, bleach, and wet mop head made her nose wrinkle. She wriggled past the mop bucket and metal garbage can to the supply shelf stuffed to overflowing with toilet paper rolls and aerosol cans. By the light of the dingy skylight she climbed to the top shelf where she kept a shoe box hidden. As the tiniest girl in the fifth grade, Sam was often teased. It didn't help that she couldn't pronouncing her S's either, they came out as a toothy hiss instead of a crisp 'Ess'. The tall and popular Tessa came up with a new taunt that morning, it still echoed inside Sam's head, “Hey Sprout, did your Momma forget to water you?” All the kids had laughed at the joke and at first recess one of the boys dumped a cup of water over her head. Her T-shirt was still damp. She laughed it off and immediately began plotting her revenge. Knowing she could strike back made school days bearable. All of Sam's trophies hid safely inside the box. Her first was Blake's shirt button, secretly snipped off after he had picked on her during dodge ball. It wasn't much, just enough to help her keep her head held high. He didn't even notice the loss. Next was Tyson's shoelace, teased from his favorite sneakers during a science film, a far more difficult feat requiring time and a careful touch. He had taken her sandwich at lunch insisting that bigger people needed to eat more. He had actually cried when he realized the lace was gone. That kept her smiling for a solid two weeks. There was Cindy's lip gloss taken straight from her pocket after Sam heard her making midget jokes in the girls bathroom. Jessica's earring, Ben's Zippo lighter, Jill's purple ball point pen, all taken in revenge. She was never caught, was too smart for that. Each taking was planned and calculated down to the last detail. The tiny Sam with a lisp was never suspected. Her latest conquest topped them all. As her riskiest achievement yet, the thought of this taking made her heart pound in her chest. She looked at her watch, the loss would be noticed any minute. Sure enough from the playground a series of screams erupted. The double doors leading to the school yard burst open bringing the sounds of a girl wailing and the frantic chatter of those following in her wake. Sam had to hold her mouth shut with both hands to keep from laughing out loud. From her jacket pocket she pulled the long blond braided pigtail, severed from Tessa's head. She coiled it into the box along with the pair of sharp scissors. After returning the box to the top shelf she slipped into the hall with the others to enjoy the show.

Chosen By She

by

Rebecca Besser

The vent in the downstairs hallway always made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was the story that the old man had told me, or maybe it was a sense of self preservation that comes with instinct. I really don’t know. I just always gave it a wide berth, walking on the other side of the hall. That night was no different. I automatically veered for the far side of the hallway, but someone was coming the other way and I stepped to the side, unknowingly coming close to the dreaded vent. I jumped back as something icy grazed my ankle. It felt like frozen fingers reaching out to grab me. I swore I heard a disappointed sigh come from the vent. Quickly I stepped back to the far side of the hall. I glanced back at the vent as I rushed up the few stairs to the landing in front of the elevators. Nothing was behind me. As I rode up to the fifth floor I convinced myself that nothing had happened, that it was all in my head. That night I had nightmares. They swirled through me in realistic detail. I woke many times in a cold sweat, expecting Her to be standing at the foot of my bed. She was never there, but I still felt like She was watching me. The next morning, I made my way down to 2B. I had to talk to Old Man Withers. I needed to hear the story again. I thought if I listen to his deep voice tell the tale my brain would be able to rationalize what was real and what was my imagination. Knocking on the door I waited for Withers to answer. It usually took him awhile. He was in his nineties and didn’t move very fast. Today he must have been close to the door. I only had to bang on it once before it was pulled open by a stooped over old man. “Ah, hey,” Withers said in his deep raspy voice. “I had a feeling you would stop by today.” “Really?” I asked, stepping inside. “What gave you that feeling?” “She visited me last night,” Wither replied. “Came to me in a dream.” A chill went right through me. My throat clenched and I had difficulty swallowing. “She?” I asked. “Yes, She. The unfortunately young woman who was murdered.” I laughed nervously. “That’s crazy.” “Crazy it may be,” Wither said as he shuffled to his old recliner. “But, true it is.” I sat on the couch. “Actually, I had some dreams last night too.” Withers nodded. “I wondered about that. She kept laughing and saying your name.” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “I guess I just need to hear the story again. To rationalize things.” Old Man Withers laughed. “You can’t rationalize away the truth. The poor woman died here. Nothing anyone can do about that.” “Just tell me the story again,” I begged. “Please.” Withers sighed and closed his eyes. “All right. It was a long time ago, when I was still young. There was a beautiful young woman that lived on the first floor. Every man who lived here asked Her out, but She always said no. One day a man moved in with Her. We don’t know where he came from, but he made us all uncomfortable. He only ever wore black.” I sat back and watched Withers as he talked. “It wasn’t long before we didn’t see Her around anymore. If anyone asked the strange man where She was, he would say he was working the night shift and slept during the day. What was strange though, was the smell that came from the apartment. Like something had died and was wasting away. We didn’t know until weeks later that it was exactly that. The man had killed Her, chopped Her into pieces, and stuffed Her into the vents of the apartment. “They discovered Her after he was found by the police and arrested for an outstanding warrant. It was said he had gotten into some trouble being involved in the occult. “They found strange symbols burned into the poor woman’s skin. No one ever figured out what they meant.” “But why is She here now?” I asked. Withers opened his eyes and looked at me. “Some say She is looking for help. Other say She is looking for a man to love her. Regardless, I stay away from the vent in the hall ever since I almost got dragged in by freezing cold hands that I couldn’t see. I still have the claw marks on my legs.” Withers pulled up his pant leg to reveal scars on his calf. “If I were you, I’d think about moving. Since She has chosen you.” I swallowed hard. “Chosen me?” “She said in my dream that you were the one.” “The one for what?” I asked anxiously. “She didn’t say,” he said with a yawn. “Do you need to know anything else? It’s my nap time.” “No,” I said, and headed for the door. “Have a nice nap.” I let myself out and went upstairs to my apartment. There was a chill in the air as I went inside. Closing the door behind me, I glanced into the hall mirror. She was there. Staring at me. She was beautiful. I was entranced by her big blue eyes. She smiled sweetly and beckoned for me to come closer. Without thinking I stepped closer to the mirror. Before I knew what was happening I felt icy fingers wrap around my throat, strangling me. She yanked me forward. My head slammed into the mirror, shattering it. A sheering pain emitted from my right temple. Everything went black. When I woke up, She was holding my head in her lap, smiling down at me. “Will you love me?” She asked. I smiled back. “Yes.” Together we haunt this apartment building. But now we share our peace and love with the residence. For eternity.

Sullen

by Michelle Dennis Evans What’s happened? What’s going on? I can’t move. ‘Hello! Is anyone upstairs?’ ‘Hello! Can anyone hear me through this grill?’ Nothing is working but my voice. Oh no I’m going to be sick. She vomited and lay there, pulling her face back from the mess she’d spewed out. Calling out over and over. Hearing silence in return. Removing herself from all feeling, all emotion she wept. And then – she slept.

A Need

by Daniel Gallik “Nothing will ache in my world.” Jessie was looking at the massive ice cycles hanging from her roof. A two story duplex. They were touching the snow on the ground. Jessie had gotten fired. Her boss, “something about the poor economy, the business cycles, my boss and his moods.” Jessie was taking a walk. Kent, OH was looking gray and grim. Mike had left last week. Something like, “I have other territories to conquer.” Her mom was still an asshole. Her dad was still dead. “I think your Dad just wore out. Don’t worry honey.” Then, Jess saw this guy wearing an Ipod, on Water St. singing out loud, “Your love is all you breathe!”

Issue Three - NOW AVAILABLE!

Yes, it is available. . . a little late, but available! :) Enjoy: Issue Three

3am

by

Nishi

3am The streetlights gleam Raindrop bokeh On my windowpane I hide under the sheets, Afraid to close my eyes A shadow passes beyond And I watch I wonder Is it you again Come back to haunt me? . I can see sometimes That the stars shine Through raging thunderclouds Are these raindrops? Are these my tears? . The lights Have abandoned me I stumble Over broken glass and dreams A black fog Fills this gutter I fell into Is it you Reaching out to me? The light blinds me Again. . Wiping grime off my face And blood off my fingers My gloves are ripped My hands dirty I look back Is it you there? A shadow follows me As I stagger away . I feel your heart stop under my fingers Your breath was lost a long time ago Sirens cut through The cold night air Crawls up my skin Paralyses my chest Fills me with silent screams . Despair I tried I believed I gave you everything I had I did this for you Now I am empty And lost . 3am And I hide under the weight Of misplaced dreams Raindrops Hit my window There are no streetlights A shadow Follows me Holds me close We have met before I pretend to sleep Away This life Where you and I Were never meant to be.

Pic 1 k - April 2010

Here's the deal. . . look at this picture and write a story 1,000 words or less and send it to me! Remember: "A picture it worth a thousand words!" - SO PROVE IT! Check out the Submissions page for more details. ALL stories will appear on Soft Whispers site and some will appear the in monthly issue and the winning story's author will be interview and the interview will be posted on the site.

April 2010:

And a BIG thank you to Rebecca Besser for allowing Soft Whispers to use her picture for the Pic 1 k program! :)