Soft Whispers

THE GIFT OF INNOCENCE, THE TRAGEDY OF IGNORANCE...

2010-10-22T05:15:00.000-07:00

...James Conway

(part 5 of 5 of feature week!)

Boon looked down at his fellow Maerrisian, who was strapping him into the small interior of the drop pod. Unlike him, Krogna was born a low-line blood, thus was small, skinny, and weak. Despite this, Krogna had brains, discipline, and a good heart. Today Boon thought it was oddly cold. It was a big day for the Outer Alliance. A decision was going to be made after all the years of sluggish debate.

He noticed Krogna was looking up at him with those small, dark, deep-set eyes. It was often hard knowing what was going on when someone was a third of your height. Krogna looked concerned.

"Munalie ecca unno," said the small grey creature peering up at him. There was ice in his voice, and he was most certainly pushing it hard today.

"Munalie ecca unno," he repeated, this time kicking Boon on the shin.

"Ourg, ourg," Boon pleaded, before pressing a small green button on a collar around his neck, which lit up a few shades brighter than his natural skin tone.

The grey waited before he clicked his fingers frantically. "Doo doo, faryoup."

"Maips taka," whispered Boon.

The grey slapped his forehead-loud enough for others in the distance to hear. "Faryoup, faryoup, FAROUP," shouted Krogna, before he kicked the large green once again, this time with real anger. "Mok tabooplu, faryoup."

Boon sighed with relief, pressing the green button until it turned dark once more. Then he pressed an amber button near the green instead. It lit up brightly, lighting the small interior of his pod. He cleared his throat.

"You . . . hear . . . me?"

Krogna smiled before pressing his own amber button. "Yes, you speak Earthling. Question is, you understand it?"

Boon nodded. "Yes."

"Good, good." He pulled out a data pad and began pressing symbols with his three long slender fingers until the screen flashed red. "You know procedure, yes?"

"Yes," Boon grunted

Krogna pressed a button inside the interior and suddenly dozens of large rope membranes came from holes in the sides, wrapping around Boon, steadying him upright, tightly. A soft, large metallic hose hovered over the green, and wavered above his lips before pushing forward and down his throat, which he accepted. A yellow looking substance slowly filled his lungs.

"Good luck, friend," Krogna said, and pressed another button, shutting and sealing the pod's doors. He punched a code from the outside, then looked through a small window where he watched the interior fill up with thick red gel. Moments later a deep noise rattled throughout the ship. The pod slid from its cradle, suction pulled the tear shaped craft through a tunnel carved deep within. The pod followed its path, picking up speed before being shot into space, toward that always debatable lonely blue and green gem known as Earth.

Even with his lungs filled with breathable liquid and surrounded by cold, shock absorbing gel, Boon was going to be conscious for the duration of the short trip.

The journey from the Maerrisian Battleship to Earth would be fairly simple. The Battleship itself was in sync with its surroundings-creating perfect cloaking. Earthlings were probably another century away from figuring out they had been watched by such a vessel for centuries. But, by then, it would be too late.

The pod, which was only a few meters larger than Boon himself, would look like a falling star, a purple one in fact. The impact was not going to be fun-a dry landing, impacting the Earth at around five hundred miles per hour. At its peak speed, the pod would travel close to seventeen hundred, but thrusters would kick in a mile out, and hopefully the gel would be bound properly by the time impact occurred. The pod was designed to hit at its point, where large fiber-like tentacles would harpoon out and grasp objects, preventing the craft from lodging too far into whatever lay below. The drop-pod started to rock heavily, and Boon went over the basics of the plan to settle his nerves.

The Maerrisian's had decided to keep watch over the ever advancing Earth for nearly six hundred years, and had recently discovered that conflicts on the pretty planet were not going so well. Intelligence was gathering hard facts over eighteen Earth months, and as much as everyone wanted to dismiss it, governments were well on their way to beginning what they would call 'World War III'. The council agreed this would not be allowed. Losing humanity was acceptable, but the Earth itself was one of a kind. The human weapons were advancing far to fast, and another World War would only advance this further. Today a decision would be made. Should the planet itself be saved now?

Other species over the decades had tried communicating with humanity, but everything so far had been swiftly swatted by governments. The Maerrisian were a different matter for the humans, for they were the first, and they had created The Outer Rim Alliance. What they decided, all others followed. His initial objective was to make first contact. From there, word was to spread so that, in time, talking to the governments would be possible, but only after word had gotten out to enough people. If this objective was compromised, he was to make contact with the Battleship where Maerrisian Cruisers were waiting in deep space to play their role, a more sinister one, for humans. The planet would benefit much more if it came to the later, Boon figured.

The pod shot through the atmosphere with a purple trail arcing behind it. The thrusters engaged one mile out, and the red and orange membrane tentacles homed in on everything surrounding the landing site, attaching to trees, rocks, a scarecrow, and dozens of other structures. The pod kissed the Earth. Dirt, rocks, and parts of a tree sprang hundreds of meters into the air.

Silence slowly returned to the land, which was mostly in darkness. Fingers of orange and purple crept across the horizon from the east. Roosters in the distance announcing the awakening of a new day.

Time passed, and the first rays of light brushed upon the ivory colored pod. A small, soft click came and steam poured forth. A door popped out slightly, and red ooze gushed out from within. Moments later, another hiss and the door slid completely open, light penetrating the interior, dampening the purple and blue flashing lights.

Boon leaped out, hunching, whist covering his eye, protecting them from the sudden glare. He felt the red ooze on his body crystallize as the sunlight washed over him, which he dusted off. He heard a chirp, most likely a bird, and then stood up straight, rising to his full height of fifteen feet. He stretched out the aches that had spread throughout his one ton frame, all ripping muscle.

He started walking, but stopped. "Stupid!"

　

He backtracked to the craft, reached inside, and grabbed a large object. A massive, dull ebony and silver sword, which was ten feet long with a blade that, at the base, was six inches thick. It was big, and it was for the strong-bad ass and unbreakable-unlike those it chose to greet. He slipped it into the holster over his back, where it hung diagonally.

Boon licked his lips and spat on his green grubby hands. He wiped them over two, large black ridged horns rising out just above his forehead, and twisting back over his head. They gleamed slightly. It was a sign of respect to keep your horns wet and gleaming.

On his left arm, Boon had a touch-screen-data-pad plugged in. The information told him he was five human miles away from the nearest town-a small village by the looks of it, with few people. This, he thought, was a good start.

Just a few miles into the trek, he stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead. It was running down his back in large globs. Earth was much cooler than his home world, but the gravity was heavier. It could have been due to ten years planted on that stinking observation battleship, now that he thought about it. How he hoped this mission wouldn't take long . . .

As he was nearing the town, a small amber dot appeared on the screen. Someone was close. This was it.

Around him hundreds of colorful trees stood only slightly taller than his huge frame. They were full of round berries, or seeds, or maybe fruit. Human ecology was a weak point, which he cared little for. Boon liked meat, greasy meat, full of dripping fat.

The monitor said the human was only twenty meters away. He walked toward a bigger tree-a much larger one, without the round things, just lots of shade. He hid behind it, or as much as a one ton, fifteen foot alien that looked half human and half bull could.

Peering around the trunk, he was somewhat bemused. The human was small. It was very small, Boon thought, has to be a child. He really wished he had Krogna's brain, or had at least paid attention in class.

　

The child was sitting on the ground playing with some toys that were made in the image of a human. The child was too busy to notice anything else. It was talking to the toys in a high-pitched voice, and then talking back in a deeper one. Were humans really this odd? It looked so strange-long, curly black locks hung to its shoulders. It had fluffy pink cheeks, huge blue eyes, and it must like meat as well, because Boon could see it had many teeth missing. It was wearing a white sleeveless dress with blue flowers. The mud on the ground had stained its knees and dress.

If he wanted to complete the mission, he had to find an elder. He stepped around the tree, slowly walking so the little human would not look up from its activity. Underfoot a thick fallen tree branch snapped beneath Boon's left foot. "Great," he muttered under his breath.

The little one saw him. He was sure it would run off screaming. This was not going to plan.

The child looked at its two toy Earthlings and said, "Look, look, another friend for your wedding." It placed the toys in the mud, got up clumsily, and rushed toward Boon with an odd looking expression-a smile.

This was unexpected, he thought.

The little one walked up to him, in his shadow, standing not much taller than his knee. It bent its neck back, and the child's blue eyes stared deep into his own.

"Wowwy, you sure are big," it said as it cocked its head to the side, "and green."

Boon wriggled his snout and snorted. It smelt . . . off.

The child laughed, whilst covering its mouth.

"Will you come to their wedding?" it asked, pointing to the lifeless toys laying face down in the mud. "Please, please, please?"

Boon turned his head, hoping maybe the child would get bored. It walked around until it was in his vision again, than waved.

　

It covered its eyes, blocking the bright morning sun "Hello."

"Human."

It laughed again. "You talk funny."

He snorted again. "You look stupid, and smell strange."

The child placed its hand on its hips and frowned. "How rude," then it laughed. "Mummy would think so. She always says that to daddy, but he's not, daddy's funny."

"I must talk to an Elder, child. Important."

The child's smile fell away before it pulled something out of a pocket in the dress. It was round and pink. He had seen them on the trees.

"At least have an apple, they're super yummy, double even." It stretched an arm out which still didn't reach his waist. "Just don't eat too many. Your tummy will hurt." It strained on its tippy-toes and thrust the apple toward him, until it was making strange gasping sounds.

He sighed, bent down, and with his finger tips, grasped the small apple from its hand.

"Try it, try it."

He placed it in his mouth and barely tasted it-so small it could have got stuck between his teeth. He thought he tasted something sweet, maybe.

"Will you be my friend?" the child suddenly asked.

He snorted as he often did when confused. "Sure, but . . . "

The child placed a hand around one of his fingers, or tried to, and then tried to pull him over to the toys. "Come on, just for a while. Please, please."

They sat for almost an hour. Apparently the white doll, named Lisa, was marrying the ebony doll, Gregory. After the wedding, he sat and pretended to drink champagne out of a white plastic teacup. The girl child told him how Mummy was always nagging Daddy, and making him mad. She told him how Daddy was always working, and she told him how a boy called Dale had kissed her behind the barn last week on her sixth birthday. It was gross apparently.

"Mary," a voice called out in the distance. "Mary, where are you?" It sounded worried.

"Mummy," the girl cried out in response. She grabbed his finger again. "Come, lets go meet the adults now."

"You are sure?"

She nodded. "Hurry though, Mummy hates waiting."

Together they got up. She handed him Lisa and Gregory while she wiped dirt off her skirt and knees. "Follow me." She kept a hold of his finger and tried to skip along.

They reached the end of the line of trees, coming to a field which was open. A hundred yards away was a small white house, in between stood some bigger humans. Perfect, Boon thought, Elders.

Mary ran toward her mother. "Mummy, Mummy. Look at my new friend . . . "

Mary's mother screamed. "Mary, get over here now, get over here." She ran toward the child, grabbing her arm. She let out another blood curdling scream when she saw how close she was to it.

"A monster!" she screamed. "Martin, get the gun! Now! Fast! Hurry!" Her words were a blur in the haste of panic.

She dragged Mary by the arm and ran. Mary cried with pain. "Mummy he's my friend," she said. "Ouch! Mummy, that hurts. Mummy!"

The child's mother let go of her Mary's arm and looked down with a snarl. She swung her hand, slapping her daughter hard across the face. It sounded like the large branch Boon had snapped under his foot earlier "How dare you? How dare you be so reckless?"

A bunch of men came running-all holding what Boon figured were weapons. He looked at Mary, crying with a large red hand print on her face.

How could this have gone wrong so fast.

"What the hell is that?" screamed one man with a strange straw hat on.

"Oh my god!" screamed another

"Good Lord, what the hell?" exclaimed the last of the three men-a smoke hanging from his lips.

"Shoot it, shoot it," pleaded the woman.

Boon stepped forward. "Please humans, we talk . . . "

They either didn't hear, or didn't care. The three men aimed their guns toward the green creature and pulled their triggers. He was shot in the chest, legs, and arms. None of the shots were critical, or even close to being so. One thing Maerrisian's had was muscle, and tough skin. As weak as the bullets may have been, dark blue blood dribbled down from the wounds where the bullets lodged. Another round of shots came his way with more shots hitting-one in the mouth. It hurt. His body started to feel itchy, sore even. He didn't like this. Nobody was listening to him or wanted to.

"Leave him alone!" cried Mary. She dropped Lisa and Gregory and ran toward her new friend. She ran as fast as her legs would allow her.

The girl had only crossed half the distance between the two before her body twisted in funny directions-her mouth opening up before a scream escaped. She fell awkwardly to the ground.

The mother screamed as well, but silenced when the monster rushed toward Mary, picking her up. "Leave my daughter alone, you beast!" she yelled.

Boon looked at the girl who was on her back, sobbing. Her white dress with the delicate blue flower pattern was now blooming red buds. He bent down, picking her up, watching the buds turn into rose petals. He ignored the older humans' cries and ran back toward the line of trees as fast as he could, with the child cradled on his arm. He had to cover some distance, and fast.

Every once in awhile, he looked down at the child to make sure she was still breathing. After ten minutes of running, he had left the humans well and truly behind. He stopped, sat down, and lifted his hands to get a closer look of Mary.

The red flowers that had appeared were now one giant flower on Mary's chest. It had spread out with ribbons of crimson, now running down her left arm, and out the corner of her mouth. She coughed and the flow became stronger.

"Mummy," she whispered, then shook her head. "No, it's you." Her eyes swam in happiness.

Boon snorted. "It's me. It's Boon."

The girl tried to smile. "You'll be my friend always, won't you?"

Boon felt an odd pain in his chest. "Forever and ever, little human." It felt so tight, so hard to breathe.

Something inside his chest ached and his eyes stung. He didn't know what was wrong, but he couldn't stop snorting. He had never felt a pain like this in his entire life.

He wanted to say more, but when he looked down, the girl's arm fell off his hand, limply-her eyes open, but lifeless. Boon knew she was dead.

He placed her on the ground gently before punching the nearest tree as hard as he could, almost tearing it from the earth, letting out a deafening roar of anger. Birds in the distance took flight, unhappy to be startled.

Time passed-he wasn't sure how long-but the sun rose well over his head and started to lower again, on the other side. His mind felt numb. He no longer knew what to do. He wanted humans to suffer so badly, but allowing this would mean girls like Mary would never have the chance to live. He stroked Mary's cold cheek. "Someone else's decision. No longer Boon's."

He waited until he heard voices. It was dark now and he could see light flashing through the distant trees. He no longer cared. As horrid as humans were, they had given him something-anger, rage. He didn't care anymore. Life felt different-meanings no longer the same.

He walked toward the lights where one beam finally struck him. "Over there, OVER THERE!" A loud machine rattling noise exploded around him, dozens of them, followed by pain all over. He ran near a cluster of three lights, stomping until they went away and voices screamed in agony.

There was nothing more he could do. More lights came forth, dozens and dozens, so many voices, so much hate. He didn't care though, it was surprising, he thought. He sank to his knees as hundreds of bullets penetrated his skin, and eventually deeper within. His vision became dark. The world became silent. He fell forward-from his knees, onto the earth. For a second he heard cheers of victory around him. His last thought was what everything intelligent, and stupid alike, in the universe thinks at some point in their life. Why?

Somewhere in the lands we all shall come to know one day, a human girl named Mary, and a Maerrisian known as Boon, danced in God's embrace as one, where they were friends forever and ever.

Untitled Picture #2...

2010-10-21T05:45:00.001-07:00

...by James Conway

(part 4 of 5 for feature week!)

Untitled Picture #1...

2010-10-20T06:40:00.000-07:00

...by James Conway

(part 3 of 5 for feature week)

Our Eden...

2010-10-19T05:24:00.001-07:00

...by James Conway

(part 2 of 5 for feature week!)

Lost in the darkness of my mind

Believing I would never walk again in light

My world had crumbled leaving me exposed

Black feathered beasts circled, picking at my bones

I turned around to find you were still smiling

An angel's light to save me from my blindness

Fresh wounds making it hard to stop the bleeding

You took me away to heal in your Eden

The miles we swiftly put behind us

And I will never forget that act of kindness

As the days passed I began to feel stronger

The black cloud hanging over me no longer

I am sorry for every minute I was away

For every second I didn't truly see your face

Or the pain that was growing in your eyes

As you were forced to watch my spirit die

I love you my love, more than I can say

And I promise to treasure every day

And every breath, and every season

Knowing one day we will return to our Eden.

Lights Out...

2010-10-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

...by James Conway

(day 1 of 5 for feature week!)

I lock the door behind me, privacy aplenty.

No Angels welcome here, only the demon from within.

I turn the tap, a loud hiss arguing against it's will.

Warmth of the water fills the room.

Reflecting into the mirror like yesterdays past, I see nothing I care for today.

Eons pass while the tomb fills up completely.

I wait.

One last drag from the cigarette, my only honest friend at this hour.

Time for bravery to take the call, no more failed promises.

No more waiting.

Steam releases toward the ceiling.

Stupid tears fall's from blackness within.

A window fogs up, God wants no part in this.

The metal feels hot between my fevering and cursed fingers.

The silence is almost deafening apart from the beat in my chest, which pleas for mercy.

Surprisingly, pain is minimal, nothing like I would imagine.

Warm ribbons of red roll down the last of my mortality, licking at my fingers

I match the other, as dozen's of streams run down in race.

Bombs drop forth and splash into the coffin, flowering like crimson rose's.

I close my eyes, slide deeper into the fading warmth

The amber from the cigarette goes out

I follow.

Soul's Rebirth...

2010-10-08T06:29:00.001-07:00

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 5 of 5 for feature week!)

If I were a thread, what could I weave?

Would it be anything that you would believe?

There is a sky. There is an earth.

Is there any more to this existence's berth?

Life expands. It reaches out.

Harboring, within and without, a field of doubt.

Deeper and farther, I seek to go.

What I am seeking is more than I know.

I seek the stars. I leave the earth.

In you, God, I find my soul's rebirth.

Take my life, take my all.

I will trust in you, and I will never fall.

Break the Thread...

2010-10-07T06:00:00.001-07:00

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 4 of 5 for feature week!)

In and out we weave, we weave.

Ourselves and other we deceive, deceive.

Lies we are taught to believe, believe.

Original thought not free to conceive, conceive.

People all want to control, control.

Tell you what to put in your bowl, bowl.

Tell you what to believe in your soul, soul.

Until they bury you in a hole, hole.

Will you break the thread, thread?

The one that controls your head, head.

When you’re laying alone in your bed, bed.

Thinking of what others have said, said.

Beyond what you now know, know.

There is information to show, show.

It tells you where you will go, go.

To Heaven or Hell by what you sow, sow.

Quality Time...

2010-10-05T07:01:00.001-07:00

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 2 of 5 of her feature week!)

I Miss You...

2010-10-04T09:20:00.000-07:00

...by Rebecca Besser

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)

Six more days,

and I would have

held you in my arms.

                                         I

hate that I lost you.

I never got to know

you, so how can I

                                        miss

you so very much?

My special baby boy,

no one else can be

                                     you.

I held you in the

hospital. Even though

you didn’t move in

                                       my

arms. I kissed you

even though you

couldn’t feel my

                                      love.

You will be part

of me forever. I’ll

always remember you,

                                       and

will always hold you

in a special place in

my heart. Love will

                                       always

be a part of my

memories of you.

I miss you, and always

                                         will.

Time vs. Life...

2010-09-24T07:17:00.000-07:00

...by Claudette Young

(part 5 of 5 for feature week)

Experts say that time is without

measure, infinite. I cannot argue with

Logic that can’t be disputed.

Nevertheless, time is measured in

Days, and months, and years; a

Situation which should never have

Arisen. Time should be measured

In the amount of life one can

Capture within a single breath.

Life and living is all that time

For us entails. So many people live

For tomorrow without realizing

That one lives only today since

Tomorrow can never reach the

Doorstep of the midnight sun.

However, the question of what is

Life rears up, causing a certain

Stir of confusion. I can only

Answer the question by saying...

Life is a baby’s smile or cry.

It watches a child’s first step

Toward understanding. It

Surrounds one’s mind with all the

Knowledge it can hold. Life sees a

Flower bloom and the rainbow

After a summer shower. It learns

To cry in compassion for

Fellow men. Life learns to love

Deeply and quietly within

The mind and soul without

Asking for return of that love.

Life hears the wails of pain

From those who starve and thirst

From loneliness. Life kisses

And caresses a loved one.

Life touches an elder.

It is love, peace, and honor. But

Above all else, life is God, for

He alone was the unknown genius

Who created its body.

These occurrences are life –

All of which can be contained

Within a sunbeam. Because of what

Life is, time and all its measurements

Are unimportant, irrelevant and

Totally immaterial. Because, you see,

One experiences Life, not Time.

Cycles...

2010-09-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

...by Claudette Young

(part 4 of 5 of feature week)

Time measures

Life’s pleasures,

Gentle birth

Less Death’s mirth.

Walking tall

Seeing small.

Man arises

Time chastises.

Spirit Walk...

2010-09-22T07:04:00.001-07:00

...by Claudette Young

(part 3 of 5 for feature week)

Walking paths of shadow

Timeless in my effort,

Gliding along, hearing

The wind rustle grasses

In fields waiting fallow.

Gently do I wander,

Trails of dimmer needing,

A hunter among masses.

Voices...

2010-09-21T05:30:00.001-07:00

...by Claudette Young

(part 2 of 5 for feature week)

Enshrouding mist of dream time

Whisper secrets never heard,

Give pause to thought more sublime

Of roofless palaces unlearned

Waiting, breathless, listening

To sighs teaching lessons real,

Heart’s demands always demanding

Desires fulfilled, needs repeal

Illusion, leaving behind pleasure

In shifting sands under sky’s azure.

Big Bang...

2010-09-20T02:56:00.000-07:00

...by Claudette Young

(part 1 of 5 for her feature week!)

Ending here, ending now,

Finish truth but how

The void fills the soul,

Atoms create the whole

Energy sparks abound,

Breeding, feeding, profound.

Resurrection...

2010-09-10T05:18:00.000-07:00

...by Jim Bronyaur & Laura Ebohon

(final day of feature week!)

(Jim Bronyaur)

…do they come back?

Inked letters –

hacked to paper

what story do they carry… tell…

Does a softer ground mean more

- than a frozen one?

Is it a misty thought

(or spirit)

That comes…

A soft touch on the back of your neck

or the lost wandering up a cement drive…

I’m back. I’m here. I’m ready.

(Laura Ebohon)

Layers of tainted skin

like gathered fabric

pleated by time into ruffles of sin,

where guilt slowly infiltrated

subtle, endless needles

sewing yarn of sorrow and regrets...

Fragile conscience,

Blind to the spiritual nature

of forgiveness,

Holy gift of departing memories from pain

Looking for the guidance of divine power

holding on to the belief that beyond Life

on the other side of these walls of Time,

over the bridge of Death,

under these dark tunnels of crimes,

through the maze of convictions,

there are eternal flames of Love,

and the possibility of Salvation...

In an ethereal journey back to Life

running through green fields of peace

swimming in calm seas of wonder

passing by streets of celestial calm

where we talk without words

we see the invisible

we breath eternity

In the screaming light of Resurrection!

Life...

2010-09-09T04:49:00.000-07:00

...by Jim Bronyaur

(part 4 of 5 of feature week with Laura Ebohon)

Awake!

Begin!

(to understand all that will remain unknown).

The time has started…

(it’s also losing breath by breath –

and someday you’ll learn to appreciate that –

once you get closer to that last one…)

Yes, the blood may be existed

but it’s the celebration of innocence.

(and innocent).

It’s the fresh eyes of the “new” –

those too (two) are in such a way given life.

(again).

The sounds outside –

and inside –

they all add up to something greater than we can ever understand.

Like the changing winds that push and pull seasons

Like the rolling clouds bringing picture and thunder

Like the other skies… long fingers spin and big eyes mean.

But this… only this… just this…

This… this is life.

Life...

2010-09-08T06:10:00.001-07:00

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 3 of 5 of the feature week with Jim Bronyaur)

Growth of tissues

covered in a membrane of surreal events,

mother cell of multicellular layers

procreation of reflections,

vegetative production of wishes...

In that room

suspended between life and whispers,

surrounded by cell walls,

beating of hearts and pulsing of souls,

through the net of little holes of hope

thick thread-like organisms,

Breaths and a feverish search for happiness

anxiously determined by the conjectures of time

when pain strikes like poison

relentlessly,

locking doors,

relegating desires,

creating divisions.

Like a deep chasm between conscious being

and unconscious dreaming

connecting again

through the bridge of destiny,

eye lids shut

freezing images

in departments of never.

Coincidences

missed opportunities

and the strongest will

to see tomorrow's colorful rainbows

through rain drops of doubts

and whistling of winds...

Tilting against windmills!

Death...

2010-09-06T18:15:00.000-07:00

...by Jim Bronyaur
(part 2 of 5 of feature week w/ Laura Ebohon)

It’s been a good run…

As if bubbly rusted holes tear flesh away

As if the engine won’t start –

and all the little pieces break and shatter.

When the passing time deals its final winning hand

you aren’t the only one with fuzzy eyes…

but you do get the answer to the biggest mystery…

(what’s next?)

I can only imagine how feeble the feeling of failing must be –

to know IT’s coming… any second…

(breath in, breath out, breath in, breath…)

There is the trickster lurking –

the more evil hands of the clock

(the ones rubbing together –

creating sweat in the small lines of the hands –

as they reach for your neck…)

It happens more than you think.

(but so does good things…)

It happens more than you have ever thought about.

(it does.)

There will be a last good morning

There will be a last good night

There will be a last bloomed flower

- a last kiss

- a last moment you will never have back

I don’t make the rules.

I can only follow.

I am the piece of paper in the wind.

I am the autumn leaf that makes it through winter.

I am the blade of grass that will not be cut.

But no matter what I am or what I try

(or you)

Everything will end. Yes –

it will.

Death...

2010-09-05T17:14:00.000-07:00

...by Laura Ebohon

(part 1 of 5 for the feature week)

Curtains drop shut on this stage,

without the anticipation of a closing scene,

no hints, no premonitions...

A simple termination of all biological functions,

no words, no gestures

definitive extinction of breaths and hopes,

destruction of plans

left to blow in the wind of never.

Looking from the other side of consciousness

through holes in the wall of time

everything seems so small...

light, paper thin...

Tears are dry,

hands are cold,

Unknown voices all around

whispering secrets

no wish, no desire,

no saviour, no sin...

Immense space of nothing

only flashbacks of padded images and colors

without memory

wandering through dreams and reality

It all seems so far away,

existence and essence

ideas and abstractions.

Trying to reach those fields of colors,

getting caught by a lightning,

finding you,

entering the walls of your heart

where death dies again

it dissolves in the endless spirals of your embrace.

The Request

2010-08-17T05:34:00.000-07:00

by
P.J. Kaiser

Leonard’s car tires crunched in the gravel driveway. He got out of the car, climbed the porch stairs and knocked. Viv’s blue eyes appeared at the window cutout. She flipped on the porch light, opened the door and took him by the hand into the living room where her father sat reading a magazine. Viv winked at Leonard and slipped out of the room. Leonard and Mr. Baldwin exchanged pleasantries, then Leonard got to the point.

“Well, sir -” Leonard nervously laced his fingers together and squeezed. “I’d like to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”

Mr. Baldwin set his jaw off to one side. “Oh, is that so?”

Leonard nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ve been dating for a year now and I’ve got a good job down at the plant -”

“Look, Leonard. I like you and your family. But I’ve got reservations about you marrying my daughter.”

So his suspicions were true. Viv had said it would be easy, but Leonard wasn’t so sure. “What sort of reservations, sir?”

Mr. Baldwin leaned back in his chair. “Well, it seems to me you have trouble with follow-thru, son. You were on the varsity football team in high school and quit halfway through the season. You got a good job at the bank after graduation and left there after only four months. How do I know that a year from now you won’t change your mind about Viv?”

With each accusation, Leonard held his head a bit lower. “Sir, with all due respect. I had to quit the football team because I had a stress fracture in my shin. I left the bank because they didn’t fulfill their commitment to move me into a teller position after three months even though I was doing a good job for them. I am very trustworthy and I will take good care of Viv. I love her more than the moon and the stars.”

Mr. Baldwin shook his head. “Leonard, I just need some time to think about this. I don’t think I can give you my blessing right now.”

With the back of his hand, Leonard wiped at a tear running from the corner of his eye. He struggled to keep his voice steady. “Sir, with all due respect. I’m not leaving until you give us your blessing.”

Mr. Baldwin rose from his chair. “Well, I am certainly not going to physically throw you out of our home, but I think it would be prudent for you to go now.”

Leonard looked up at Mr. Baldwin and pushed himself up off of the couch. “OK, Mr. Baldwin. I’ll wait on the front porch until you change your mind.” He took a few steps towards the door.

“Don’t be silly, Leonard. It’s cold outside. No, you head on home and we’ll talk again in a few days.”

Leonard turned towards Mr. Baldwin and shook his head. “No, sir. I came to get your blessing on my marriage to your daughter and I’m here to prove to you that my intentions are honest.” Leonard strode out the door and settled himself into the adirondack chair on the porch.

Propping his feet up on the footstool, he listened to the autumn night sounds: leaves crunching under the feet of passing animals and the occasional car going by. In the darkness, his mind’s eye saw the small ravine behind the house and the next ridge blanketed in trees and bushes. Leonard and Viv had spent many hours sitting on that porch during their courtship and had hiked many miles through the woods behind the Baldwin house.

Leonard pulled his coat closer and wrapped his arms around himself to keep the warmth in. He just started to drop off to sleep when he heard the door open and Viv slipped out. She wore her coat over a long robe and set a small tray on the table next to Leonard’s chair.

Leonard smiled as he saw steam rising from a bowl and a mug.

“Are you really staying out here all night, Leonard? You’ll freeze.”

“No, Viv. I’ll be just fine. I’ve got my heavy coat. And now it looks like I have some delicious soup and tea as well.”

She grinned at him. “Papa doesn’t know I’ve come out. I just wanted to give you some food and this…” Viv leaned down and kissed him. Her lips warmed Leonard to the tips of his toes. He reached out to pull her to him, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go in.” Just before she slipped through the door, she mouthed, “I love you.” And then she disappeared.

He savored the soup and tea and drifted off to sleep before he became chilled again. He awoke several times at the sound of a passing animal and each time had more difficulty getting back to sleep as the cold seeped into his bones. One time he awoke and moved his hand to scratch the side of his face only to discover that a warm woolen blanket covered him. He smiled, pulled the blanket closer and dropped off to sleep.

In the early morning hours, he awoke to the discovery that the porch faced due east. The first rays of dawn shone into his squinting eyes. The sun sat behind the next hill directly behind the largest tree on the hillside. The light filtered through the trees and bushes into the ravine and cast ethereal gray shadows on the ground in the morning mist. Leonard knew that this was the light of tomorrow. Of his new life with Viv.

He enjoyed this spectacular light show until the sun rose above the tree and filled the valley with bright light. The birds woke and chirped their own songs to meet the day. Leonard, distracted by the spectacle playing out before him, didn’t hear the door open. Mr. Baldwin stepped out and sank into the chair next to Leonard.

Leonard turned and said, “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Leonard. I’m surprised to see you still here. Were you cold last night?”

“No, sir. Not very. I had good thoughts to keep me warm.” Leonard smiled.

“You seem very optimistic, Leonard. Maybe too optimistic given that you asked me last night for my daughter’s hand in marriage and I said ‘no.’”

Leonard’s smile faded. “Yes, I suppose that’s so.” He turned his gaze back towards the view. “The sunrise from this porch is amazing. Have you seen how the light seems to drift down into the ravine like a river? It’s really an incredible sight.”

Mr. Baldwin nodded slowly and looked out over the valley. “Yes, I have seen it. I frequently come out here before the sunrise to enjoy it.”

“It’s quite a show.” Both men fixed their gaze on the trees on the next ridge as the silence settled between them.

Some minutes later, Mr. Baldwin broke the stillness. “Leonard, I’ve changed my mind. I give you my blessing. I admire your optimism and I know that you’ll take good care of my Viv.”

Leonard nodded and grinned a confident smile. “Thank you, sir.”

BIO: P.J. is a former information technology professional turned stay-at-home mom/aspiring writer. She and her husband have two young children and live in Hoboken, New Jersey. http://inspiredbyreallife.com/

(Want to part of the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k? Click here!)

Autumn Rain

2010-08-17T05:25:00.000-07:00

Katrina DeLallo

An autumn rain falls, kindling the world.

The golden sunset, caught in boughs of trees,
Darts through like arrow-shots of flaming dusk,
Illuminating autumn’s rushing breeze.
An evening mist lies o’er the shadowed field,
Shot through with spears of sunlight’s waning flame
A wind sings through the boughs of dark-cast pines,
And on its flowing song I hear your name.
A drizzling rain, like autumn turning white,
Cries from the clouds and frosts the meadow grass.
The oak tree shreds the sunset into flags,
And transforms shards of mist to sunset glass.
The gloaming dusk and mist conceal the ground,
My eyes are further blinded by my tears.
We only had a summer, you and I,
I’d wagered we’d have half a hundred years.
The oak tree stands, a sentinel for your grave,
And nothing that I do can ease my pain.
We’d plans and dreams, for children, love, and life,
But now I’ve nothing, only autumn rain.

(Want to part of the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k? Click here!)

Pic 1 k (Aug & Sept)

2010-08-17T05:21:00.000-07:00

Here is the picture for the Aug & Sept Pic 1 k. The rules are simple - write a poem and/or story about this picture. When you're done, email it to SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com with PIC 1 K in the subject line. If accepted, the poem and/or story will be posted on the Soft Whispers site. Read the submissions for more details!

...And we're back!

2010-08-17T05:11:00.000-07:00

Yup, just like that... the site is ready to go. Like the minor updates to the look? I do. AND, I've made some changes to submissions because, well, the other submissions page was just plain crazy. Too many rules for a simple e-zine in my opinion. Not to repeat everything on the submissions page, but here is an idea of what has changed:

Soft Whispers will be doing feature weeks (biweekly) instead of posting things everyday. Feature weeks will be one or two authors sharing five pieces of work throughout the week. Poetry. Art. Short stories. Pictures.

Pic 1 k will be bimonthly with submissions being posted right to the Soft Whispers site.

A Line at a Time will be monthly instead of biweekly.

Please be sure to read the submissions page before submitting. And as always, if you have questions... bother me. I love it. Oh, that reminds me too - there's a new email address - SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com AND we are starting our mailing list again. Sign up! First and foremost, the Pic 1 k will start today and end September 30, 2010. We're starting where we left off of last month since there were already two entries, you'll get an idea of what we're looking for. For the first feature week, it will be September 6 - 10 featuring myself and my dear friend from Italy, Laura Mercurio Ebohon. We are going to write poetry about the words LIFE, DEATH, and RESSURECTION. (You don't want to miss it!) With that said, submissions are open... flood the inbox! J

Join our mailing list!

2010-08-16T07:18:00.000-07:00

Check this out... If you want to stay up to date with Soft Whispers, then sign up below. We will email about new feature weeks, author information, programs, contests, and anthologies. Trust us... you don't want to be left out!

Stay tuned...

2010-08-05T07:10:00.001-07:00

First and foremost, I deeply apologize for the delay and lack of activity here in the past week or two. Life has been a tad bit busy, Blogger's new features are driving me crazy, and to top it all off, something happened with the Soft Whispers gmail account.

I am also in the process of restructuring the site a little bit with different projects, submissions, etc. I'm trying to find a way to make it exciting and actually use Blogger's new features... which means I have to *gulp* read instructions.

I just wanted to let everyone know that #sw isn't going anywhere. Stay tuned and stay put. And for those who had submitted stuff in the past three weeks, please resubmit to our new email address at SoftWhispersStuff@gmail.com.

I'm going to change things such as having the A Line at a Time project be a full month thing instead of bi-weekly. The Pic 1 k will be changed a little bit too. Also, I'm going to propose and look for "feature weeks" featuring one or two people with just their work all week long. Trust me, the changes will be sweet.

Thanks for hanging in there and like I said, stay put. It'll be worth it.

Love and Wine in the Afternoon

2010-07-28T06:03:00.001-07:00

by
Rosalyn H. Marhatta

She traces the rim of the wineglass
with her index finger
feeling the tune it plays as the air shivers
around the table of sparkling expectations.

Tilting the glass to her lips,
she blows a melody into the red liquid of dreams
and stares across the table at him, watching
as he folds the napkin into his lap for the third time
to cover his thoughts
of her closeness
and what would happen after dinner.

He adjusts his collar and pulls at it
before he leans
into her aura
to touch the air closest to her with his lips
and feel the heat of her breath that shimmers with the scent of rose petals
and lemon drops.

Her eyelashes flutter like hummingbird wings
as she screens her emotions with the care of
a surgeon making his first cut.

Never the gambler, the wine emboldens her
and she throws her emotional dice
on the table and swallows the last of her reserve
before drinking in his desire
and tasting the wine of her future
after dinner.

On the Air

2010-07-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

by
Maria Kelly

the Breath of the World is not

stoppered in a jar,

or produced with a machine.

the Wind whispers on its way

from Here to Somewhere Else:

it is Nature’s greatest contradiction.

it is neither close nor far.

it is invisible,

and is as unknowable

as the hour of one’s Death.

it is as fleeting and as constant

and as precious as Life.

it moves---and lives:

with everything,

through everything,

in Everything.

Polar Melt

2010-07-26T05:34:00.001-07:00

by
Gary Beck

Sea ice in the Arctic,
habitat for polar bears,
is melting so quickly
that bears are losing their homes
and must swim for their lives
in a desperate attempt
to reach the polar ice edge,
so far away most won't arrive.
Since we won't stop climate change,
perhaps President Obama
should order the construction
of artificial ice floes
to house an endangered species.

Pink Tree

2010-07-22T06:10:00.001-07:00

by
Rebecca Besser

Triumpant

2010-07-21T03:52:00.000-07:00

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Fearlessly flying

Freedom flourishing

Boasting and cheering

It’s done, complete

The winner you meet

It’s all because of defeat

The high mountain

The ridge sharp

Balance required

The prize of great worth

Taken

Triumphant

A Line at a Time #24

2010-07-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

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.)

The rusted points... aimed at my heart

A Line at a Time #23 - THE RESULTS

2010-07-19T06:22:00.000-07:00

The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire

The golden gleam of life....desire

I look into the brilliance, and inside the golden fire I see your face

And my soul rejoices with the light...

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)

The golden gleam of life....desire (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

I look into the brilliance, and inside the golden fire I see your face (Katrina DeLallo)

And my soul rejoices with the light... (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

Untitled Picture (1)

2010-07-19T04:41:00.000-07:00

by
Maria Kelly

Untitled (2)

2010-07-14T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Cynthia Schuerr

Wisdom Filled

2010-07-12T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Shimmering in the winter sun

Silver haired

Wise and frail

Able to move fingers still

Sewing precious treasures

Cross stitch, running stitch

Sweet embroidered beauties

Ready to mark the pages

Of books still yet to read

Faces familiar

Friendly family

The joyful life

Know soon

The end is near

A memory

Left for all

Enchanted

Endearing

Untitled picture:

2010-07-06T05:26:00.001-07:00

by
Cynthia Schuerr

A Line at a Time #23

2010-07-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

The sun, the stars, the sky... is on fire

A Line at a Time #22 - THE RESULTS

2010-07-05T06:58:00.000-07:00

Everything I thought I knew has now left me...

Where am I? What am I waking to?
They waited below and they called to me; some with encouragement, others with derision.

Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on that other foot?

Broken, alone, and wandering. . .

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

Everything I thought I knew has now left me... (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)
Where am I? What am I waking to? (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

They waited below and they called to me; some with encouragement, others with derision. (Mo Joria)

Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on that other foot? (Claudette Young, http://claudsy.wordpress.com)

Broken, alone, and wandering. . . (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

My Quicksand (part two)

2010-07-05T06:37:00.000-07:00

by
V.J. Maddox

So the fairytale had ended –
But the story, continued on.
I sunk deeper in my quicksand…
My will, my spirit – Broken. Gone.
I didn’t know you anymore,
But you didn’t seem to care.
I was suppose to adjust, and quickly.
No matter how unfair.
I clung to that faded dream…
The one of you and me.
It became a heavy weight upon my shoulders
A shroud wrapped tightly – suffocating me.
My broken heart… shattered.
There wasn’t much left to mend.
The crunch of the pieces under your feet, was deafening…
I tried to cover my ears – and pleaded for it to end.
I don’t know how I did it…
No one lent me a helping hand.
I climbed out of that god damn pit myself,
And somehow –
With as much pride that was left for me to command,
I wiped off the sludge surrounding me –
And I escaped the ghost of you.
My Love… My Life… My Quicksand.

Implosion

2010-07-02T05:43:00.000-07:00

by
Jim Bronyaur / Laura Mercurio Ebohon

It was easy to fall

harder to realize it!

It all happened

at the center of those days

where time was a side matter

planning

strategic demolition

of these walls

brick by brick

layer by layer

a gravitational collapse

an implosion of senses

crashing stars in our sky

What is left now of all that noise?

broken pieces

without color

without texture

thin and fragile

like leaves in the autumn wind

they make no sound

floating restless

holding hope

of touching the ground

________
rusted rumble

chasing the time.

Each word –

another shot

another chip off a broken heart.

Stained glass eyes

distort the truth.

A one sided, endless cycle of love.

The love disguised for

Want.

Need.

Touch.

Taste. . .

The warm breath on your neck –

feels greater than the cold winter breeze.

The punch of reality.

The shadow that passes with the day.

A soft touch on your cheek –

feels greater than a bitter winter smack.

The punch of reality.

The shadow that passes with the day.

Can you catch your breath as if races from you?

Can you follow the sound of your own footsteps?

The door.

The entrance.

The life.

The words.

The heart.

The handle is so cold outside. . .

but inside. . .

inside is warm. . .

everything falls inside.

1st place winner for June's Pic 1 K....

2010-07-01T06:07:00.000-07:00

...is Rebecca Besser and her poem THE TRAVELER.

What was the inspiration for your poem? And don't say the picture! Besides that...

Hmmm... I guess it would have to be that inside we are all travelers, as we seek our way through life. We are always looking for a path, safety, and the things we need to make it to the next day. The Traveler is all of us.

Okay, what's going on over at Living Dead Press these days?

Lots! There are a couple anthologies open. They are actively seeking children's halloween stories and Extreme Aquatic stories. Check out their submissions page for details.

End of Days 4 will be available really soon! Which we are BOTH in!

Also, LDP's first children's antho will be available soon. Which I'm in and edited. ;)

I read you have a submission goal for this year? What is it? How's it going?

Well, my goal this year was a submissions number. I wanted to submit at least 150 times this year. The more submissions you get out there, the more chances you have for a yes. So far this year I've been published a bunch! It seems to be working. ;) I'm currently at 110, and it's only half way through the year.

Unofficial goals were to get into an antho and get a novel done. I've been in a few anthos, so I made that one. Now I just have to work on the novel!

Do you think the world will end in 2012?

Nope. Just because we expect it to. :p

If you could meet one person - alive or dead - who would it be?

That was really easy for me, since I'm a Christian...... Jesus. Would love to meet him face to face. Can you ever imagine how AWESOME that would be? (Although, being a Christian, I've already meet him. hehehe)

Tell everyone again (in case they didn't read last month's interview) - where else can people find you?

Most of my info is on my website: http://www.rebeccabesser.com/

I'm also on Facebook!

AND... here's a teaser of the winning poem:

The vacant pinnacle stands erect on the horizon.

A sign of hope to the traveler.

Unused ground, decaying buildings in a row.

A sign of yesterday to the traveler.

To read Becca's winning poem check out the FREE Issue Six of Soft Whispers - check it out!

2nd place winner for June's Pic 1 K....

2010-07-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

...is Michelle Dennis Evans with her story BUILDING.

Besides the picture, what was the inspiration for the story?

Wow, there were so many things that inspired this story. One was that my husband and I just annulled a business agreement with a partner. Another piece of inspiration was that my brother has taken over a family business but still has our father and uncle working with him. So I have been thinking about businesses that work and businesses that fail and all the businesses in between.

How long did it take you to write?

I wrote it over two sessions. I wasn’t happy with the flow so I had to leave it for a few days and re-write parts. It would have taken around one to one and a half hours all up.

What's your favorite food?

Chocolate!

Where can Soft Whispers readers find you on the internet?

(site, Twitter, etc.) Ah haaa free promotion – Love it! Readers can find me on Twitter @MichelleDEvans , Facebook @ Michelle Dennis Evans and my blog is http://michelledevans.blogspot.com

Where else have you been published?

So far I’ve been published in, 12 Days of Christmas Anthology, Eclectic Flash and Write Online. I’m soon to be published in, The best of Friday Flash 2009 Anthology and Daily Flash: 365 Days of Flash Fiction.

What's your favorite song?

I listen to a lot of music and I love love love heaps of songs but can’t think of one that stands out as a favourite.

What are you plans for 2010?

In January I declared that this was the year of getting published. Now that I have been published, I hope to get paid for what I love to do. Outside of my writing my husband and I are just setting up our new Real Estate business ‘Finesse’ Of course we expect nothing but success for the rest of the year.

How about a little teaser of the story?

Des, do you remember when we were in the building phase?' Joe asked. 'And we thought nothing would come in our way, and we were as tall in chest as anyone had ever seen.'

'Sure, I remember,' said Des, 'some 40 years ago now.'

Read the rest of Michelle's winning story in the FREE Issue Six of Soft Whispers - check it out!

Issue Six - NOW AVAILABLE!

2010-07-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Great issue here... check it out:

Read Issue Six!

July Pic 1 k

2010-07-01T05:25:00.000-07:00

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 Amazon.

(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 August 5th and the giftcard will be mailed by August 10th.

Okay, so with this all said... check out this month's Pic 1 k and GET WRITING!

Explosion

2010-07-01T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Laura Mercurio Ebohon

It was a crash

sudden

unexpected collision

It sounded like thunder

it smelled like storm

it played like strong beats

It looked like shreds of flesh

drops of blood

floating rags

in the wind of unknown lands

blowing against far away skies

My earthly refuge was invaded

my heavenly home was attacked

my path was crossed

Then the explosion...

Red flames and yellow screams

grey clouds black smoke

Roads and buildings became dust

Like sand of deserts

running through my hands

Silence took over

Quiet like hope

Still like patience

white mantle

of the inevitable sound of never...

Explosion

2010-06-30T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Jim Bronyaur

What's left -

the world behind

Signalling seasons

a broken traffic light

Sending souls crashing

at intersections hung

between now and death.

The faded treeline shades

to brown

The high mountains sink -

just a little.

Popping glass dances around

titled signs point all ways

all ways to the heart

always to the heart

an explosion

feel.

Descend

2010-06-29T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Laura Mercurio Ebohon

Inclinations

curved words

falling down

on this white desert

like little drops of hope

taking shape in clouds of smoke

Slides

bending acts

extending downwards

laying on this black valley

landslides of events

sweeping life away

Avalanches

heart tremors

sliding down

the mountainside of our soul

precipitation of feelings

descending impacts

Meet Laura Mercurio Ebohon!

2010-06-29T02:55:00.000-07:00

“Writing (therapeutical ladder to the sky), reading, traveling, exploring, captivating images, observing the mysteries-miracles of life, attempting verses…”

My first poetry book: Italian – English poetry “Se guardo dentro – If I look inside” is out now

I feel the essence of my writing could be described as: ”sliding” into myself trying to find the “real me” keeping at the same time my eyes wide open on the world and its wonders.

I think this life is a passage through stormy and sunny places leading us to the light I have been searching since I was a little girl. I would like to learn more and share more through my verses.

I cannot really tell you the what or the how but I am sure that you will see in some of my verses the intricate maze of my journey and you will recognize the when and the why I felt my inner spiritual journey had to be explored even more to finally find the communion between mind, body and soul… Always looking for peace.

Find out more about Laura and her book of poetry here: http://iamlauramercurio.com/2010/06/03/se-guardo-dentro-if-i-look-inside/

Descend

2010-06-28T05:21:00.001-07:00

by
Jim Bronyaur

Watching as the falling
the calling

they come.

Bringing they spread

they become

all okay.

Secrets the world can't know

can't believe

it's real.

The sorry and the sorrow

the sadness

the sound.

Creaking to the wet

the dark

one last kiss.

I've Never Loved

2010-06-25T06:05:00.000-07:00

by
BD Hudison

I've never loved
(like I've loved)
I've never taken
(like I've taken)
Waiting on a cracked corner to travel -
far away the cries of freedom slowly burn and die.
They leave me - always leaving - always just packing up and moving on.
But here I stand - I stay - like a block of cement. I'm attached to this ground - to this place - to everything around me that seems like it won't be here tommorow.
I've never loved... a place... as much as I do this.

Rested

2010-06-24T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Ready to go

No weary no lack

Energy to burn

Exhilarating adventure

Willing to launch

Focus renewed

Freedom found

Soul

Mind

Body

Filled and refuelled

Ready to run

Rested in Him

Rested and ready

Destiny

2010-06-23T06:13:00.000-07:00

by
Jim Bronyaur

For I am the creator of destiny

My weathered hands tear apart on cracked grounds

they tear apart on beat up hearts

(why is fate such a cruel beast?)

The crossroads you face

The time you spend looking and waiting for

(the sign)

Why, my dearest life,

that time is wasted

the sign is held deep within.

deep within a place of existent

(that is often left behind)

The place (you may ask) is not one of fortune.

not one of greed.

not one of lust.

not even on of hope.

But of life.

But of yourself.

But of your heart.

All within your destiny…

The destiny I create

And hand to you with the care

while my scars bleed to show that time is real.

the crow and the line... (THE PAGES)

2010-06-22T05:12:00.000-07:00

by
Jack Roth

“A crow perched

so nice

on an electrical line.

Mouth open.

It’s calling.

It’s calling.

It’s…”

___

Calling.

___

“Did she fuck him?”

“When can we meet?”

“Why’s she invited? I’ll just have to be nice.”

“No, I’m not mad…”

“I’m sorry, but it doesn’t…”

“She can’t…”

“…if he tries harder…”

“Why the fuck…”

“…couldn’t even eat today…”

___

Passing through

with a heavy coat of conversation

My hands still stained from the

last request.

Days rested in sorrow are a

playground

and

war zone.

The spill becomes so much

my head hurts…

My dark friend eyes me and smiles

I could reach up and snap –

(that fucking neck)

I could breathe once –

(and the world would be a waste pile)

___

“…acts like a jerk in front…”

“I told you that…”

“…lost the fucking ball…”

“Well, they just need better…”

___

Voices of calamity –

they will be the ones that pull

(the fucking trigger)

I just guide.

(in the darkness with light…

…in the shadows that never cast…

…you can only see what I show…

…and feel what I touch…)

The edge of town comes…

I must keep moving.

The darkness of the forest

gives warmth as

I know it’ll be great.

Until the return.

___

“Look at him screaming.”

(It’s calling out.”)

“What for?”

(“Crows mean death.”)

“Not if that line gives it a zap.”

(Crows always mean death.”)

Read the entire THE PAGES series (hosted by The Penny Dreadful) at Read THE PAGES!

ONCE and FOREVER

2010-06-21T06:40:00.001-07:00

by Cynthia Schuerr

I loved you in the long ago,

My heart was yours forever.

We shared life as sated as we might,

Tho, it really did not matter.

For, it ran away with the wind

Leaving my heart soaring.

The freedom of my soul,

Spun like a disc, out of control.

When will we intertwine?

Will we share this space again?

Will it happen?

Am I dreaming?

Can I just pretend?

A Line at a Time #22

2010-06-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

Everything I thought I knew has now left me

A Line at a Time 21 - THE RESULTS!

2010-06-21T06:30:00.000-07:00

Where did you go?

We never figured, "I'll just leave my jacket out here, so it won't get crud on it," would be Andy's last words

While we sang by the fence in the snow

I waited in the wind for you, but you never came

When I turned my head

You left your soul....I feel it, your heart.....come heal it

They say he didn't have a chance because the weather turned

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

We did you go? (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)

We never figured, "I'll just leave my jacket out here, so it won't get crud on it," would be Andy's last words (Monica Marier, http://twitter.com/lil_monmon)

While we sang by the fence in the snow (Michelle Dennis Evans, http://michelledevans.blogspot.com)

I waited in the wind for you, but you never came (Katrina DeLallo, http://twitter.com/CrafterCat)

When I turned my head (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

You left your soul....I feel it, your heart.....come heal it (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

They say he didn't have a chance because the weather turned (Claudette J. Young, http://claudsy.wordpress.com)

Dragon Dawn

2010-06-18T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Katrina DeLallo

The Dragon flings his flame across the sky,

And claws his golden way above the trees;

The clouds blush scarlet as he passes by

And carry his reflection on the breeze.

Aflame within the graying cast of night,

Reluctant darkness flees before his gaze.

His tongue laps up the moon and cold starlight,

Replacing silver beams with amber rays.

The golden Dragon sets the sky on fire,

Blue silk bedecked with burnished, burning gold.

From the East he kindles, shining higher,

Illuminating valley, hill, and wold.

The Dragon flames, in amber-gold array,

The Rising Sun, the Dawn, Enkindled Day.

Steel

2010-06-17T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Laura Ebohon
I am steel
metallic matrix
strong alloy
solid solution
stainless. Water flows over
no sign left
only small drops
of fresh nothing
As I am made of steel
Flames can't burn me
I'm stainless cold
corrosion-resistant
rust will not consume
my protected veins of light
reflected on the shining surface
as I am steel
and so is my heart...
heavy solid barrier of chromium
Rust-proof
Pain-proof
Unassailable
But... a unique melting point...
Sensational status
Irreversible
Inevitable...
The elasticity of my bouncing soul...

Plain

2010-06-16T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Simple

Soft

Supple

Belittled

Unknown

Lacking lustre

Lack of beauty

Lack of charisma

Lacking in love

Neat but dull

Empty and closed

No sparkle

No smile

No shine

Plain

Sky Clouds

2010-06-15T03:00:00.000-07:00

Cynthia Schuerr

For Vernon

2010-06-14T06:02:00.000-07:00

by
Jeanne Baldwin

I stand afar and see a charm of red and green

A charm of a barn in a calming scene …

Then I wander around Red Robin Hood’s barn.

But you are not here wherever I look,

Not in the stalls, not down by the brook.

You’re not here, not writing your book.

I stand at the red barn which sits on the green

Calling to you … please come to me.

But you are not here and how could you be?

You’re nowhere else in Eternity,

Only in my memory…

Unless you are now the Charm of the Barn

The Charm of the Red Barn which sits on the Green.

Labyrinth

2010-06-11T05:54:00.000-07:00

by
Jim Wisneski

I sit more lonely
then the tomb of the unknown soldier,
reflecting on my life.
I close my eyes to hide from the world,
and I get lost,
in my minds cryptic labyrinth.

The intense atmosphere
wraps its somber arms around me.
It’s filled with creatures,
living in unison.
I’m confused,
like a child lost in a murky forest,
with the sullen trees glooming down.

I soon find a bright spotted a flower,
and I thirst its sweet nectar.
I drink as if it were my last drink,
my last peril into the illusion of life,
as to never wake again.

I then sit on an old,
rotted, brown tree stump,
and I absorb the cool, crisp air.
I discuss with nature, life,
but she quietly smiles,
and drifts away.

Then I am greeted by a foreign lizard woman,
with gold eyes,
and skin of a lime.
I begin to trouble the young luscious creature,
with many questions,
my life.
And I soon begin to realize that only I,
a pawn of life,
could answer these questions.
She finally speaks,
and guides me back home,
to reality.
I hate to leave,
as much as a child hates to leave
their playground at dusk.

I open my weary eyes,
still lonely,
and I smile. . .
for I am the victor,
of the labyrinth of life.

Flames

2010-06-10T03:00:00.000-07:00

Rebecca Besser

Golden Warm

2010-06-09T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Maria Kelly

Lying back on summer-green grass,

gazing up at Heaven.

Stars are brighter than ever,

Night is blacker than velvet.

Heat lightning flashes in a distance far,

far away for now, no threat now, no harm.

For now I am warm--golden warm.

Warmed by love and wine

and the thought of you--asleep at my side,

though sharp is the wind;

it howls and keens!

Come storm and do your worse!

I am golden.

I am warm.

Meet Mikki Sadil!

2010-06-08T03:15:00.000-07:00

I am Mikki Sadil, a wife, mother and grandmother. I live on the Central Coast of California with my husband, Welsh Corgi puppy, Siamese/Himalayan cat, an African Grey parrot and a Blue and Gold Macaw. I have been writing all my life, but only started publishing in the last couple of years. I write for Middle Grade and Young Adults, mostly contemporary fiction along with a bit of fantasy and my newest novel, which is historical fiction. I don’t write much poetry, but when I do, it is usually very personal, and because of that, I’ve never been willing to try to publish it until now.

The Brass Balloon

2010-06-08T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
Mikki Sadil

In the golden eye of yesterday

We did what all lovers do…

held each other too tight to breathe

And drowned in each other’s kisses.

And when we could talk again

we planned our lives

for fifty years and more.

But gold has a way of tarnishing

And yesterday has lost its beginning

and now our kisses are as cool and distant

as the February fog across the hill..

and when was the last time you held me

too tight to breathe?

Listen…I still love you…in a part of me

that always will…but I can’t go back to yesterday

any more, because, you see…

now there is tomorrow.

My tomorrow.

And yet, I cry. For you. For me. For us.

For all our yesterdays that somehow never

gave birth to tomorrow.

Listen…I had a thirst you didn’t want to share,

A self you didn’t want to know

and so, that golden moment of love

became a brass balloon

and drifted away.

1st Place Pic 1 k winner is... Kelly Stapleton

2010-06-07T06:42:00.000-07:00

, pi

This is the first time I've read her work... and wow, what a great story! Here is the interview with Kelly:

Besides the picture, what was the inspiration for the story?
Every silly boy I tried to impress when I was young and stupid.

How long did it take you to write?
The first draft took a couple of hours. I did revisions on and off for two weeks. I'm a compulsive story tweaker -- I never think the story is good enough, and I only stop revising when I get sick of looking at it.

Where else have you been published?
Tattoo Highway, Fiction at Work, Colored Chalk, and Tomlit Quarterly.

Where can Soft Whispers readers find you on the internet? (site, Twitter, etc.)
I'm on Twitter @kelly_stapleton. I blog at http://www.kellystapleton.blogspot.com/ and I promise to start updating it more often!

What's your favorite kind of ice cream?
Chocolate chip cookie dough.

What's your favorite pizza topping?
Tomatoes and spinach.

What are you plans for 2010?
I plan to work on more flash fiction and finish the novel I started during NaNoWriMo 2009.

What was your first story you ever wrote?
It was called Pillows, but my creative writing teacher made me change the title because she thought the word pillows gave the ending away. It was about a girl whose mother puts a hit out on her. Worst story ever. I live in fear of someone resurrecting it just to embarrass me if I ever become famous.

When?

My senior year of high school.

To read Kelly's winning story, THE BARN DOOR, click to read Issue Five of Soft Whispers!

2nd Place Pic 1 k winner is... REBECCA BESSER!

2010-06-07T06:37:00.000-07:00

And as promised, here is the interview with the lovely Rebecca Besser:

What was the inspiration for your story? And don't say the picture! Besides that...

I wanted to do something different. We've all heard love stories that involve young women falling in love with stable hands, etc. So, I knew I wanted something dark and unexpected. This story just kinda came out when I started writing.

Since I'm in the antho, I'm going to mention it... tell us about Living Dead Press and the anthology you're editing...

Yeah, I have to mention it because it involves me too! I was in Night of the Wolf: A Werewolf anthology, and End of Days 3: An Apocalyptic Anthology, and kind fell into doing some editing for them. They were impressed with how well my submissions were edited. It really does pay to make your writing the best you can BEFORE you send it out.

Right now I'm editing End of Day 4: An Apocalytic Anthology, and another one (it's a secret, you'll see when it comes out). Watch the Living Dead Press' site on the Children's page in the next month, hint, hint.

I'll be editing another antho when I get EoD4 done. So, if you are interesting in writing some dark adventures, especially about zombies, keep your eyes on Living Dead Press.

Where else have you been published?

I've been published in the Coshocton Tribune (local newspaper), Irish Story Playhouse, Spaceports & Spidersilk, joyful!, Illuminata, Living Dead Press, and Common Threads (The Ohio Poetry Associations Literary Journal!).

I've also had the story that was in the Illuminata e-zine accepted as a reprint for Golden Visions Magazine's online July issue. They're also considering a couple more of my stories.

It's 11pm on a Saturday night, where are you?

Hmmm, probably sleeping. Unless we have a movie to watch that we consider too grown up (you know, swearing, violence, etc. We love action movies!) for our 5 year old. Then I would be sitting in front of the TV having a mini-date with the hubby.

But, if it's a REAL date night (Yes, we still have those). I might not even be home. Especially during the summer. Us country folk tend to find friends and stand around outside talking until the early morning hours.

What are your favorite things to watch on TV?

We love to watch Bones, NCIS, and Warehouse 13 (new season starts June 6 on SyFy, I'm soooooo excited!).

I also watch a good bit of the History and Discovery Channel.

Where else can readers find you besides Soft Whispers? (site, Twitter, etc.)

Facebook and I have my own domain: www.rebeccabesser.com

On my site I have a funny story posted, with a wav of me reading the end of it. I also have links to where my writing has appeared, and I keep my submissions count and upcoming appearances in publications as updated as possible.

I have a blog too: blog.rebeccabesser.com

There isn't much there at the moment, as I'm not much of a blogger. I might be holding some contests on my blog in a month or so. I plan to give away a couple of the anthos I've edited. I'll be sure to let you know when that is going on, so you can post something. Wouldn't want anyone to miss out on a free book, now would we? Who knows, maybe I'll spot one to you to give out as a prize for something on Soft Whispers. That would be really cool!

What was the last book you read?

Last book I read was Rise of the Dead by Anthony Giangregorio.

My fav authors are Jean M. Auel and Linda Rios Brook.

What are your plans for 2010?

Plans. . . that could be anything. Writing goals. . . I wanted to do 150 submissions this year. I'm up to 96. I've also been dreaming of being in an anthology, and now I'm in multiple anthos!

I have a couple book projects brewing. Hoping to get something done before the end of the year, which is HIGHLY doable! Should be able to do quite a bit with half the year still to come!

Life plans. Spending time with my fam, fishing, enjoying other summer things, etc. Should be fun.

To read Becca's winning story, FATHER'S REVENGE, click here to read Issue Five of Soft Whispers!

A Line at a Time #21

2010-06-07T06:11:00.000-07:00

Where did you go?

A Line at a Time (alaat) #20 - THE RESULTS!

2010-06-07T06:06:00.000-07:00

The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone

But look in the cracks, look through the slats

The passing of time cracks and erodes

The ghosts are still here, and they have long memories

Peel back the layers, open the shutters that hold the pain

(Wendy blinked back tears as she gazed at the crumbling hacienda; she was going to fucking KILL her realtor)

Once this was my home - it holds my memories still

As the door glides wide....my heart will smile....at the beauty within

The dead-orange paint pulled back like bedsheets in my hands

Yes imprints of our passing flow as breezes across time

But memories are forever held - inside our walls

The contributors:

The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)

But look in the cracks, look through the slats (Jeanne Baldwin)

The passing of time cracks and erodes (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

The ghosts are still here, and they have long memories (Maria Kelly, www.twitter.com/mkelly317)

Peel back the layers, open the shutters that hold the pain (Michelle Dennis Evans, http://michelledevans.blogspot.com )

Wendy blinked back tears as she gazed at the crumbling hacienda; she was going to fucking KILL her realtor (Monica Marier. http://monicamarier.blogspot.com/)

Once this was my home - it holds my memories still (Tessa Conte, http://www.tessasblurb.blogspot.com)

As the door glides wide....my heart will smile....at the beauty within (Cynthia Schuerr, http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

The dead-orange paint pulled back like bedsheets in my hands (Kaston Griffin, www.akashio.wordpress.com)

Yes imprints of our passing flow as breezes across time (Claudette J. Young, http://www.claudsy.wordpress.com)

But memories are forever held - inside our walls (Cari Main)

The Remembering

2010-06-07T03:00:00.000-07:00

by
BD Hudison

You may be. Gone right now. But I can feel. Your soft skin. Empty kiss. My heart follows. The rhythm of the thunder as broken. Eyes. Look down upon me. You. Not us. You've already left. And I'm left. With. The remembering.

Only Silence Remains

2010-06-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Maria Kelly I am here...right here... just a step or two away from you...here- with only the distance of the aisle to separate us. You are looking at cans of tuna fish, I am contemplating vegetable soup. You turn and look in my direction and I smile but your eyes are blank and unfocused; seeing right through me, not seeing me at all, as if I have become Invisible. Again and again I observe this tragic ritual in American marketplaces and city streets, where a smile and a “Hello” are rare commodities and sometimes more precious than gold. We are a nation of Invisible People: frightened of any confrontation beyond our computer and cell phone screens. How will we re-learn the Art of spoken Communication once it is forever lost? Will our public voices continue to dwindle into nothingness ...until only silence remains? (dedicated to Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, who envisioned this long before I did, and wrote about it in “The Sound of Silence.” Poetry can be prophesy.)

In Flames

2010-06-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Rebecca Besser

Breathing

2010-06-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

by
Jim Bronyaur

A fragile wind
The feel of your name
As it rushes into my ear.
To my heart.
Carrying a fading sky on my back
I pull the horizon to you
I pull the weak and the missing
So you can heal them with a glance.
The one that made me float.
As you look beyond what it is
What do you see?
Can you come through all that shouldn’t -
To live and be as you are?
Without it. Without everything.
I cannot be.
I just cannot be.

June Pic 1 k!

2010-06-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

n 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!

ISSUE FIVE - NOW AVAILABLE!

2010-06-01T11:10:00.000-07:00

It's here! Another month gone by... but that means another issue of Soft Whispers... this one comes with record submissions for BOTH A Line at a Time AND Pic 1 k!

Read ISSUE FIVE!

Lost the Way

2010-06-01T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Jack Roth A stumble tumble. A hopeless hop. Everything shattered… Like a dolls face against a brick wall. The crunch and cut. The blood in the palm of my hand. A red sea shaking… Spilling over. Who needs to see to the end of the world and back? Who needs to see at all? But without sight… I’ve lost the way. Lost the way home. Lost the way to your heart. Lost all that has become ruins at my feet.

First Art

2010-05-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

by Derian Wisneski

Hangin'

2010-05-27T06:01:00.001-07:00

by Jim Wisneski

Still Here

2010-05-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

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.

Hard Lessons While Growing Up

2010-05-25T06:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Toxic Love

2010-05-24T06:29:00.001-07:00

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.

A Line at a Time (alaat) #20

2010-05-24T06:14:00.000-07:00

The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone

A Line at a Time (alaat) #19 - THE RESULTS!

2010-05-24T06:04:00.001-07:00

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)

Ancient Menace

2010-05-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Rebecca Besser

Nothing

2010-05-20T10:38:00.001-07:00

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.

Time Stands Still

2010-05-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

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.

Bienvenido A Las Caletas

2010-05-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Cynthia Schuerr

NEW anthology... An Apocalyptic Anthology

2010-05-17T05:45:00.000-07:00

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-

Dawn Breaks

2010-05-17T05:00:00.000-07:00

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.

The Beauty of a Rainbow

2010-05-14T05:00:00.000-07:00

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

Interview with April's Pic 1 k winner - CYNTHIA SCHUERR!

2010-05-13T13:07:00.000-07:00

*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!

An Odd Memory

2010-05-13T06:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Mother Earth, Father Sky

2010-05-12T05:00:00.000-07:00

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.

A Line at a Time (#alaat) #19

2010-05-11T10:43:00.001-07:00

Fill the life, the glass, the lies...

Meet PJ Kaiser!

2010-05-11T10:38:00.000-07:00

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.

The Foot of the Bridge

2010-05-11T10:37:00.000-07:00

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?

The Bridge of Dreams and Choices

2010-05-11T10:34:00.000-07:00

Cynthia Schuerr

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.”

A Line at a Time #18 - THE RESULTS!

2010-05-11T10:30:00.000-07:00

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, cindy4books@ameritech.net) A blending of people, a meshing of fate (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

My Love, My Wife

2010-05-11T05:00:00.000-07:00

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.