Friday, May 28, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
by Rebecca Besser I walk in silence, where there once was, laughter and friendship. My heart is bound, with memories gone by, knowing that I miss you. I’ve locked my soul, inside a dark little box, trying to forget how I fell. Tomorrow is the same, another day battling, wondering if you’ve forgotten. Once I existed to you, you could see the real me, but you forget I’m still here.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
by Maria Kelly There are definitely monsters under the bed and in the closet. But, they are terrified of grown-ups. If you see one, call a grown-up immediately. When you are sick, learn the art of waiting. I know it's hard to stay still with that thermometer in your mouth for so long, but, believe me, the alternative is worse. Bumblebees, though brightly-colored and pretty, do not like to be petted. If you insist, they will make you go “Ouch” and you will cry. A lot. Cats are not dogs. They do not like to be picked up and forced to sit on your lap. They will not allow it, actually. Mommy and Daddy can not be with you all of the time. Either learn to get yourself out of jams or do not get yourself in them in the first place. God is bigger than the bogeyman. And a lot nicer. So remember to say your prayers at night, every night of your life. You can't be everything to everyone. You can only be the best 'you' that you can be for whoever needs you at the moment. Not everyone you meet will be nice to you. Someone will call you names. Don't retaliate. They are probably hurting inside. Someone will break your heart. Don't stop loving people Instead, love them more. Someone will betray your trust. Keep on trusting, but be smart about it. Eventually, someone else will earn your trust again. Scraped elbows, skinned knees, cut fingertips and stubbed toes, heal more quickly than bruised egos, wounded pride, and broken hearts, and they hurt a whole lot less. Someone you love will leave you. Forever. Let your grief wash over you for a time, then, carry your memories like a light inside you and they will make you happy when nothing else can. It's okay to fail. Wisdom is born from failures. It's not okay not to try. Eventually, you will get older, frailer, sicker. There is nothing you can do about it. Eventually, God will call you to come home. This doesn't have to be scary. There are many other things I'd like to tell you, many other lessons you will learn They will be your lessons, unique to you Trust your instincts. Follow your heart. And when you have learned something useful, pass your knowledge along to someone else who needs it as they walk on the road to wisdom. For the road is long and we only stop learning when we reach the end of it.
Monday, May 24, 2010
by Mike Berger Looking back--- when did our love turn toxic? I should have known it wouldn't work out. She was fun and giddy but without any substance. Drawn to her and her coquettish ways, I fell in love with a wisp of smoke. Those flashing eyes now drip hate. She doesn't talk any more; she snarls. She detests it when I read. She must be the center of attention. There are things in this world beyond the mental cubicle where she resides. Blinded by a desire to have her, I couldn't see that the whole world revolved around her. It was I, I, I and never we. I refuse to fight anymore, so I'll turn and walk away.
It's simple: Look at the picture below and send me the first line that comes to your mind (firstname.lastname@example.org). 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.)
The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone
Fill the life, the glass, the lies... In temptation you drink and swallow the bitterness Floating on illusions What's your pleasure - half full, half empty, doubles are on special The reflection of tears and moments gone by Erase the heartbreak in his eyes Sweet lies tricking from your treacherous lips
THE CONTRIBUTORS: Fill the life, the glass, the lies... (Jim Wisneski, www.twitter.com/wisneski) In temptation you drink and swallow the bitterness (Michelle Dennis Evans, michelledevans.blogspot.com) Floating on illusions (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com) What's your pleasure - half full, half empty, doubles are on special (cari Main) The reflection of tears and moments gone by (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com) Erase the heartbreak in his eyes (Katrina DeLallo,www.kdelallo.webs.com) Sweet lies tricking from your treacherous lips (Maria Kelly, www.twitter.com/mkelly317)
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
by Jack Roth The darkness that becomes The rotten tide that stings my toes The burning sky The shards of ground that cut The slivers of wood that penetrate The falling hope The rising sorrow welcomed The ever changing eyes The... this... is... nothing.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
by Jim Wisneski They greeted me with smiles – I with regret. I felt the soft touch on my cheek- Welcomed her future. The line appeared endless- Reflections growing darker (seemingly meaner) A thousand wounds bleeding from me- As I deserved. They all shared the same- As I. The color of their eyes- Their hair so… (how can they be happy?) More they come- The more I began to realize. All actions serve purpose- As time stands still.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Yes, you read that title right... this one is pretty sweet... but please note, this is NOT hosted by Soft Whispers... this anthology is in PRINT and is hosted by the awesome Living Dead Press and the editor is one of Soft Whispers biggest contributors, Rebecca Besser. When I heard about this one, not only did I start writing a story, but I told Becca I'd plug the anthology for her... I mean, come on, AN APOCALYPTIC ANTHOLOGY!!!!! Can't get much better than that! Anyways, here is what Becca asked me to say... Rebecca Besser is the editor for End of Days 4: An Apocalyptic Anthology by Living Dead Press, and she would like to invite anyone who is interested in submitting a story about the end of the world to check out the guidelines at: http://www.rebeccabesser.com/album1_006 My advice to anyone reading this? Check out the guidelines and get writing... -Jim-
by Rebecca Besser Thoughts of you flood my mind. Peace and rest, I can not find. I left the house, to seek relief. You torment my soul beyond belief. A happy dawn, my heart seeks. My mind of your ignorance reeks. You are callous to other’s pain. Full of yourself, pompous and vain. I wish I'd never heard your voice. If only I could change that single choice. My life would be better, without you. Your rudeness infects like the Swine Flu. You stretch out your hand to a friend. Only later, their life you will end. I walk for awhile and find peace. All thoughts of you, I finally release. I walk back to the house, finally free. As a beautiful dawn breaks over the sea.
Friday, May 14, 2010
by Michelle Dennis Evans Have you ever stopped to ponder? On the beauty of a rainbow Have you ever found your way? On the he path to that rainbow When you arrived, was it there? The mysterious pot of gold Was it shining and sparkling It’s in those fairytales? Or when you got there Was there nothing to be seen? Or was it the colours Of the rainbow - and You Have you ever stopped to ponder? On the light show of a rainbow What if you could make a rainbow? Imagine if when you became extremely excited The colours of a rainbow flowed from you And at the end of the rainbow was success- your pot of gold Would you chase that rainbow? Would you climb what others may not be able to see? Then if you reached the top the hard work would be over Then you could slide down the other side And it would be yours, Your pot of gold Your success. Imagination wild and vivid I stop and ponder reality The truth, the promise All the beauty of a rainbow So much beauty Delivered from God A promise – a gift
Thursday, May 13, 2010
*What inspired the story (other than the picture)?* I love the romance of covered bridges, always have. The true inspiration, however, was the movie, The Bridges of Madison County, starring Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood. I have always had a soft spot for lovers who were meant to be, but just couldn't seem to make it work. In my story, The Bridge of Dreams and Choices, my characters do make it work. Maybe, I am finally maturing. :-) *How long did it take to write?* I wrote it longhand, in roughly an hour. It wasn't until the next morning that I typed it up and gave it a final edit. *Have you had anything else published? If so, where?* Yes, I have a short story published in The Twelve Days of Christmas 2009 Anthology, a short story called, To Catch A Glimpse and many poems within the first four issues of Soft Whispers. I also have my Haiku published in the Soft Whispers Haiku Anthology. *Do you have a site? Facebook? Twitter? How can people follow you?* I do, Jim, thanks for asking! You can find me at http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com/. I am also on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/cindyschuerr and twitter http://www.twitter.com/cswriter59. *What are your plans for 2010?* My plans are to keep writing. I have a trilogy that I am working on called, A Sentimental Journey. I am planning to have Book One published in the fall of this year. Wish me luck!:-)
You can read Cindy's winning story, The Bridge of Dreams and Choices here!
by Cynthia Schuerr Ouch! I still remember that certain day When my brothers and I wanted to play Inside the house we ran and yelled Hi ‘O Silver and then I fell. I tripped over the wire that ran across the floor And hit my head on the molding of the door The blood poured out as my brothers scattered Dad came running to see “What’s the matter”. He picked me up; Carried me through the door To the doctor’s office, for he was sure I would bleed to death, his little girl. Ice and a butterfly bandage was all it took To bring all of this to a halt Still, years later, I have that scar But, all I can remember is being Daddy’s Star.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
by Angie Capzello One day, the earth looked up at the heavens and asked, “Who does the sky love best? “ The grass answered “I am the sky’s beloved. I look up, and I see him covered in brilliant blue. He moves over me like water, whispers through my leaves. And I sing love songs to him as my leaves brush together. Each year I go to sleep, yet he is always there when I wake, waiting for me, his one true love. The stream burbled as it laughed at the grass. “You are wrong, for I am the one the sky loves best. You say he moves like water, but he is hot and bright. He shines like the gold that lies hidden in my depths, and I reflect back all his warmth in glittering rainbows. No matter where I go, anywhere in the world, he is there waiting, all for the love of me. The tree shook her leafy head at the folly of her neighbors. “I am the one the sky holds dear. Soft and grey, he sends down the rain. I breath him in through my leaves, I drink him through my roots. Each spring I meet him in a gown of verdant green, and each autumn I wear scarlet, and together we dance through the seasons. In the winter he covers me in robes of purest white, for I am the one he loves best. Then the earth heaved and groaned, in a terrible torment. “I knew he would leave me, for I am old and worn. The years have passed since we first met, in a fire of passion. Now I have cooled, and he has forgotten our love.” The earth’s weeping shook the trees, the stream spilled from its banks and buried the grass in mud. Then night fell, and the sky came down and wrapped the earth in a cloak of sable and stars. “Hush, my love, be still. Do you not know that I love you? All that you see here is my gift to you. The love songs that whisper through the grass are my songs, the water shines for you like jewels. I garb you in colors each season, with all the life of the world. Even though you do not see me, I reach down to you, I am all around you every hour of every day. I am yours, beloved, from now until the world ends. It has always been you that I love best.” The tree covered them in a blanket of leaves, the grass made a soft place for them to rest, and the water serenaded them throughout the night. The earth sighed and settled down, wrapped in the arms of the sky, and there they lay together to watch the sun rise.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
It's simple: Look at the picture below and send me the first line that comes to your mind (email@example.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.)
Fill the life, the glass, the lies...
P.J. is a former information technology professional turned stay-at-home mom/aspiring writer. She and her husband live in Hoboken, New Jersey and have two young children. She can be found on Twitter @doublelattemama and her fiction can be found at http://www.inspiredbyreallife.com.
by PJ Kaiser Every time I drive to town on County Road 142, I have to pass it. I try to keep my eyes on the road, but they have a mind of their own and they stick on that covered bridge off to the side of the road as I go by. The memories all flood back to me and a single tear — sometimes more — trickles down my cheek. Now the bridge is a pathetic sight. The wood has aged and it’s ashen gray now. Pieces of the red tin roof have loosened and heaven help you if you were standing on that bridge in a rain storm. The bridge used to span Duncan’s Creek but now it hovers above an overgrown runoff ditch from the local farms. County Road 142 didn’t even exist in those days; the only way to get to the bridge was along the dirt wagon path that we took into town. I used to spend the summer, along with my brothers, Joe and Bill, at the foot of that bridge. We stood on the bank of the stream in our bare feet and cutoff pants and fished with homemade poles. After catching enough fish, we would chase the crawdads and once we caught them we’d throw them back in the water and watch them wiggle. Then, although ma said not to, we’d always go for a swim. There were plenty of rocks and roots to hold onto so we didn’t get swept away. We had to lay in the tall grass staring at the clouds and dry off before heading back home so ma never knew we went swimming. That’s how we spent our summers. Then the war came and my brothers and I did our patriotic duty. I left my right arm behind in France. Joe and Bill never returned. Too old to play in the stream any more, I took girls on walks to that bridge and we’d kiss, shielded from the stars. Too many girls to count. But then came your mother. She was the only one who wouldn’t kiss me on that bridge and that just made me yearn for her even more. Finally, after too many moonlit walks, I proposed to your mother on that bridge. After she said “yes” and the ring was on her finger, I looked out at the water rushing under the bridge and thought of my brothers. They would’ve been proud of me. Your mother was a fine catch. That night was the first time she kissed me on that bridge. Then we stood in the moonlight at the foot of the bridge and your mother picked some wildflowers and tossed them into the stream. We watched them vanish into the inky water. You know the rest of the story. You were born, and your sisters, too. When you were only eight, of course, we lost her. The cancer crept into her bones and she was gone in a few short months. I don’t know where it came from, because she had the most beautiful bones of anybody I have ever known. You were old enough to remember when we scattered her ashes from that covered bridge. The wind and the stream reclaimed the last essence of her. That’s the way she wanted it. When they decided a few years later to build County Road 142, I tried to lobby against it. That bridge should be left in peace. It doesn’t need to have all of our cars rushing past it every day. I don’t like having everybody’s eyes on it, either. But now it’s the only way to get to town. Well, I suppose we could take County Road 79, but that would add another twenty minutes. So now everybody has a front row seat to the decay of that old bridge and I suppose one of these days some righteous councilman will want to tear it down. “Safety hazard,” they’ll say. “What if somebody falls through the rotten floorboards?” So that’s why I need your help. I can’t bear to watch that covered bridge fall apart. Or get torn down. It wasn’t easy, but I got enough kerosene to burn that bridge to the ground. I figure we can soak the bridge in kerosene and then toss a match from the foot of the bridge. Why are your eyes getting big? It’ll be a cinch. Technically the bridge belongs to old man Nelson and he’s been hoping to get rid of it for years. We’ll be doing him a favor. So, what do you say, are you with me?
I sat across the river from the old covered bridge and admired the quaint beauty of it. As I lay back propped up on my elbows, the lush green grass tickled my bare legs. Spring was finally here. The trees were budding, but an overcast sky loomed, as if rain were on its way. The scent of the air revived my thoughts of last summer. It was stifling hot and muggy the day I first met him. He stood at the entrance of the bridge peering out at the landscape around him. I watched him as he sipped water from a bottle and then poured it over his head to cool himself. He wore a pair of jean cutoffs and his bronze muscular upper body glistened as the water trickled over his chest. I felt the need to touch him, to slip my hands over his moist shoulders and down across his frame. His eyes begged for my body to press against his and my mouth watered for the softness of his lips. “Liza,” I heard him shout. I whipped my head around toward the house. The spell was broken. My husband returned from the supply store and all at once, my dream had ended. I looked back to the bridge, but it stood empty and alone…..and so did I. Richard and I emptied the truck, putting the supplies in the barn. The horses neighed as we passed each stall. I could only picture the bronze, shirtless man on the bridge. His golden hair and sea mist green eyes etched in my memory, forever. I was sure Richard noticed the flush of my cheeks….the guilt in my heart. “Let’s go inside and I’ll make us some dinner.” He smiled, nodded and said he would help. We chatted about the day and the chores that we had accomplished. I mentioned how the weather co-operated with us today; no rain after all. God, we’ve resorted to talking about the weather. After dinner, Richard and I sat on the porch swing, both using our feet to push off and swing us. We were so, out of sync, that the task became difficult. Richard stopped the motion with his foot, abruptly stood up and walked over to the Adirondack to sit on, leaving me to swing freely. I didn’t know what to say, so we both sat silent. I am sad for us. Why is it, we can’t find what we once had? Richard is a wonderful man, a great provider……I have a barn with my horses, which I’ve always dreamed of and he gave that to me. Maybe, if we had bore children. Would we feel closer? I had hoped, waking to a new day, would bring different emotions. But, no, just more of the same. Richard and I went to the barn to feed the horses and clean up the stalls. At least, we still did that together. But, all I kept thinking about was the man on the bridge. I began to saddle up Whisper. “I’ll go with you.” “No!” I blurted out. The way I reacted must have felt like a kick to his stomach. “Didn’t you plan to replace that broken lath on the porch step?” I smiled at him hoping to soften the blow. “We really need to get that done today before one of us falls through and breaks a leg.” “Yeah, I guess your right. Have a nice ride.” Everything I said to Richard, lately, riddled me with guilt. I intended, however, to ride away those feelings on Whisper. I gripped her with my thighs and kicked her side until I could feel the wind wash away the guilt and free my heart. The trees whipped by and I hung on to the reins, closed my eyes and gave control to Whisper. She knew where I wanted to be. As I rode, I could only think of him. The electrifying zap I felt when he touched my skin. Life became real with him and I’d breathed heavier than I’d ever without him. My lungs filled with lust. The soft cotton T-shirt tightened against my breasts and massaged them as Whisper’s motion carried me. I opened my eyes. I was in my favorite place, the old covered bridge. He watched, as I cantered and my body moved to the rhythm of the horse. I could see his breathing quicken. I stopped, and sat atop Whisper. Slowly, he walked toward me, naked, except for his cutoffs. He put his hands around my calf. He removed my boot and I lifted the other leg over so he could remove that one, too. With his arms waiting for me, I leaned over and slowly, with his guidance, my body skimmed his, on the way down. Paralyzed, except for breathing, we searched each other’s eyes. He took my hand and led me to a blanket he’d laid out for us. I wanted him to go on and thought I would bake in the heat between us. He kissed my ear and then my neck. I felt his hand on the small of my back…….and then a coolness. “Hey, are you OK, Liza?” It was Richard’s voice. I opened my eyes and glanced around me as I sat up. “Yes, yes, I’m OK. I must have dozed off out here. What time is it?” “Well, it’s 1:30 already. When you didn’t come back for lunch, I got worried.” “I’m sorry I worried you. I don’t know what’s going on with me lately.” “There is nothing wrong with you, Liza. It’s me. I don’t give you the attention you deserve. But, I’m gonna change that right now.” He knelt down next to me, swept the hair from my eyes and kissed my lips. He told me he loved me. He said he wanted me. We chose to fall in love again and we did. “I think this old bridge needs a fresh coat of paint. What do you think?” “Whatever, you say, Richard.”
Thick scribes of time and name etched forever My name has been covered and you've "moved on" to another The cutting started simply, but then I needed to see their names Layers of lives, each hidden by the next Everyone I've ever known is carved into my skin Words come, words go, words to endure, words to cherish Words surround us; floating past. Some forgotten, many too-long remembered. Forming the script of our lives. A blending of people, a meshing of fate
THE CONTRIBUTORS: Thick scribes of time and name etched forever (Jim Wisneski, www.twitter.com/wisneski) My name has been covered and you've "moved on" to another (Cari Main) The cutting started simply, but then I needed to see their names (Mahalia Solages, http://stores.lulu.com/mahalias) Layers of lives, each hidden by the next (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com) Everyone I've ever known is carved into my skin (Angel Zapata, http://arageofangel.blogspot.com/) Words come, words go, words to endure, words to cherish (Michelle Dennis Evans, http://michelledevans.blogspot.com) Words surround us; floating past. Some forgotten, many too-long remembered. Forming the script of our lives. (Cindy Antene, firstname.lastname@example.org) A blending of people, a meshing of fate (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)
by Rebecca Besser I hold your hand, sitting beside your bed. They tell me that is hours you’ll be dead. I close my eyes and pray for you. I wish I could take this journey too. What will I do without you here? Will I drown all my sorrow with beer? We have made such a wonderful life. You are my soul, my beautiful wife. Breathing in, breathing out. I feel so much fear and doubt. Look at me. I won’t leave. I am here. Our silence shared with a single tear. Whatever happens right here, we’ll share it together, my dear. One moment, time stood still. It must have been an act of will. A gasping breath, eyes of shock. Death’s grip she no longer mocked. She left me then, gone somewhere. Without even a glimpse of a scare. That moment, I lost the love of my life. That intimate moment, I lost my wife.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Yes, the site is backed up just a little. BUT, there's a good reason... on Sunday at 10:29am, my wife and I welcomed our second son, Chase Adler Wisneski, into the world.
Things will be back to normal around Soft Whispers within the next week... I promise... but until then... meet Chase (with Daddy)!
by VJ Maddox I've been bending over backwards... And I just heard something break. I realize it's my heart, but too late. I can't rectify this mistake. The mistake of loving you, When you love yourself - so much more. I'm disgusted with myself... From all I chose to endure. The lies and infidelity - Everything hidden behind your smile. I ignored the whispers, the rumors... Sinking in the quicksand that was my denial. I don't know how long it really lasted - My ignorance... my bliss. I awoke from the dream, astonished. The truth concealed inside your kiss. The lips that touched mine were cold... Your passion gone - you were lamely automated. I stood there with the ghost of you, And felt tears fall - as all my dreams faded.
Friday, May 7, 2010
by Jack Roth Safe. Like the rattle of the chain as it taps the door As it fits so nice in the groove... It'll hold out the bad The ugly The mean The truth that's coming The chain chipped the wood It moves so smooth Back and forth Keeping you... Safe.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
by BD Hudison Door to door - soul to soul. Travelling without asking, the seeker of searching. The creator of moments, good and bad. The provider for time, take it or leave it. Light footsteps move with ease on the rough ground. What comes from sight and touch can come from what's inside. To burn is to live, to shiver is to die. To wait... is simply life. For the traveler will always come, but will always go.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
by Nishi There is a rift In reality A mirror forms.. Instead of me I see you A glass pane of swirling illusions Missing hours Forsaken moments Water turns to gold As time dissipates You stand on the other side Reaching out Stepping back Running away Glass shards fall Brambles twine Around my feet I hear your voice Whisper Into my skin How is this? I remember your touch When it was not mine Warmth It lingers Long lost on my lips Your name The mirror cracks The edges burn I tear away from your gaze You still look at me Come to me You seek A name A face But it is not me Yet.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
With a little change...
In case you havn't heard yet, we have expanded Pic 1 k into poetry. So here's the idea - you look at the picture below... write a story about it in less than a 1,000 words OR write a poem about the picture in less than a 1,000 words.
Remember the saying "A picture is worth a thousand words?" Well, prove it!
BUT there's more!
Normally the winner of Pic 1 k gets a nice interview the site but I've decided to spice things up a little... this month I am offering as follows:
ANY submission that I like will be posted on Soft Whispers site and in the monthly issue
2nd place author will receive an interview on the site to brag about ANYTHING they want!
1st place will recieve an interview PLUS a $5 giftcard from either Barnes & Noble or Amazon - their choice.
(Yes, I know that $5 isn't much but I don't have much so to me it's like giving a lot!)
When your story or poem is finished email it to SoftWhispersSubmissions@gmail.com with PIC 1 K in the subject. Make sure you include a bio! And please, no formatting or crazy fonts. I'm a boring guy - I prefer 12pt Times New Roman.
Winners will be anounce by June 5th and the giftcard will be mailed by June 10th.
Okay, so with this all said... check out this month's Pic 1 k and GET WRITING!