A Tender Touch and A Shade Of Blue: A Tender Touch And A Shade Of Blue

Saturday, January 19, 2008

A Tender Touch And A Shade Of Blue

A tender touch and a shade of blue is an old title I gave to a series of poems most of which originated while in exile in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Vietnam era.

Now days, most of thoughts, life, and creativity come from looking out my second floor balcony window. That window is huge and shows me my poetic world each day. A bird feeding basket hangs in the middle of the window; doves, sparrows, and the occasional male cardinal plus a few squirrels come to feed and display their feather and furry attire to me. Sometimes I feel like Emily Dickinson who often would stare out her 2nd floor, bedroom, window out over the streets and write her poems from that milieu. Poems don't have to have a large world to be created in.

A Tender Touch and a Shade Of Blue poetry and general art site is designed for beginners and professional writers. If it were not for small venues and small presses, poets would be alone in cornfields screaming out to the wild winds. So it is here with the sparrows, doves, and Nikki my cat where I spend my time and create my poems and post the creative works of others.

WHERE TO SEND SUBMISSIONS, GUIDELINES, COPYRIGHT CONSIDERATIONS:
Send all submissions to: promomanusa@gmail.com

I'm looking for: short poetry including haiku and Tanka, flash fiction, short non-fiction with a social or political message (i.e. inadequate health coverage for 54 million Americans), good short stories. Include a brief 3rd party bio of yourself, 50 words or less, especially any previous publication credits and contact info. We only accept e-mail or electronic submissions. Don't send attachments less they are asked for. No snail mail-it will be ignored unless they are comments and queries. Send no more than 4 poems at one time. The word "Submission" must be in the subject line. Editor retains the right to make a few comments about each selected poem, if you are selected, you chances of it being positive are good. As a general rule we require "one time rights" (meaning we plan to publish and use a poem "one time"). We also allow all rights to revert back to the writer upon publication on our site, which means the writer can have his work back and do with it as he wishes. If you need to remove a work for any reason, email us. Simultaneous submissions are ok, if you tell us, and give credit to the publisher (s); we are more interested in quality of work then if being original per sa.

I would like to invite graphics, nature pictures, sketches original art work to decorate the site with, send to same email address as above. Art: no larger than 5" x 5" or so, keep it small, black and white, or color, in jpeg/jpg or gif format, signed and dated, attached or embedded within the email. In the beginning we will select works and post them as quality provides them-and notify the authors when they are accepted. Visit my other website(s) rich with poems from talented authors at (all open for submission now):

http://www.poetriclegacy.mysite.com/
http://wizardsofthewind.blogspot.com/
http://birdsbywindow.blogspot.com/
http://promomanusa.wix.com/michael-lee-Johnson
All are now accepting new submissions.

Visit my personal website at: http://poetryman.mysite.com/

Michael Lee Johnson, Author of: The Lost American: From Exile to Freedomhttp://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?isbn=0-595-46091-7

Email: promomanusa@gmail.com
PO Box 486, Itasca, IL 60143

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Old Bridges, Birds, and Poems From the Other Side of the Bank

In Summer Dreams are Days of Wine

By Phillip Ellis

Such dreams I weave tonight!

In the warm humidity
of the summer nights, I
dream of days which seem
intoxicating, bright with golden
brilliance.

They are days of wine and drunkenness.

They are days wherein I find
my life suspended in the coils of
suddenness, the shift
of one event into another,
a sudden scene into another.

And I am light-headed as I walk.

Along the balconies
around a central chamber,
at least five floors high,
with walkways in cruciform,
my dream folk wander, silently.

And I am light-headed as I breathe.

It seems, at times,
as though breath is neglected,
so that I hardly breathe;
you cannot see my breath move
my chest, most dreams I have.

And I am light-headed as I be.

Whether I am free
to act, or lie entangled in the stairs
that lead upwards and out
into the day,
it does not matter, for I only dream.

First Published by Numbat (January 2009)

Bio: Bio: Phillip A. Ellis — Poet, Banora Point NSW Australia. Phillip A. Ellis is an external student of the University of New England, Australia. He is majoring in English, and also writes criticism.

Editor Comments: This is one of my favorite poets, due to his devotion to his craft, much more than myself, his evolution for technique to images and a combination of both. It is my personal belief that Phillip Ellis will have a long legacy in the world of poetry and endeavor. I consider him as both a poet, and a personal friend. Michael Lee Johnson.

The Hobo

By Amber Rothrock

He walked

everywhere he went.

Politely refused rides

from strangers

and even people he knew.

He lived

on beans and crackers.

Occasionally he'd

have lunch at The Salvation Army.

He collected things -

junk mostly.

Stuff he found

lying on the road;

old rusty washers and bolts,

frayed ropes and cords,

and cheap plastic toys

like the ones you'd find

in a McDonald's Happy Meal.

One day he struck gold -

found a discarded back pack.

Bio: Amber Rothrock is a full time student majoring in Veterinarian Technology. Somehow she still manages to find the time to go hiking, fishing, crochet, and write poetry. Her poems have appeared several times in Children, Churches, And Daddies; The Poet's Art; and Left Behind: A Journal Of 'Shock' Literature.

Editor Comments: I love this simple poem reflecting a reality for many people struggle in 2010 with our economy, it brings back memories of the Great Depression of the 30's: so simple, rich in imagery, and meaningful!

Teasing the Sleeper

By Colin Dardis

Sunday morning:

light filters through coffee-skin curtains,

a slow grey presence at first

shifting pass uninhabited hours;

then the creak of daybreak comes,

swinging from black-blue bruise

to pale yellow skin,

drip of orange seeds

swim across walls,

forming a hundred golden smiles,

each one sewn into the air

with God’s promise

of another day.

This light teases the sleeper,

flirts with circadian rhythms,

infringing night music,

forcing its own beat into the dance.

We wait for its pulse

to quicken our own sense of life

and utter us awake,

the sun swaying supreme.

Bio: Colin Dardis is a writer and artist based in Belfat, Northern Ireland. H runs a monthly open mic poetry night called Make Yourself Heard, and edit’s a small poetry journal called Speech Therapy.

Check out Colin's websites at:

http://lowlightsforlowlifes.weebly.com/

http://cartoontruffle.blogspot.com/

http://www.myspace.com/yourdreamsliecrushedbeneathus

http://colonyink.blogspot.com/

3 Haiku Poems

By Joan McNerney

green eyes kitten

strums his tail with ease

to fugues of Bach

this white hour between

deep night and soft dawn…

even the wren stares

south of the moon

clouds cross forming

an airy handkerchief

Bio: Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Boston Review of the Arts, Kalliope, Mudfish, Spectrum and Word Thursdays. Four of her books have been published by fine literary presses. She has performed at the National Arts Club, State University of New York, Oneonta, McNay Art Institute and other distinguished venues. A recent reading was sponsored by the American Academy of Poetry. Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky, A.P.D. Press, Albany, New York.

Editorial Comment: Haiku form is more varied now days then in the past. Here are 3 lovely examples of beautiful imagery.

Courting Snow in Florida

By Joseph Roque

Winter is the patron saint

of little kids with sleds.

so it was with me,

being born and raised

in New England.

Though older now with

cranky joints and grumpy

muscles no longer

familiar with sleds,

I still commune with

snow, still hold winter’s

icy kiss in high regard,

but safely now, warm

and distant, with my

dog-eared winter postcard.

Bio: Joseph Roque is a nearly-retired Municipal Purchasing Agent and poet. Because of prior family commitments, he has been away from his craft for too long, and now eagerly re-acquainting himself with life's images through words. Most recently, his poetry appeared in Silver Wings Magazine. In addition, he has published two volumes of poetry: "THE BEAUTIFUL SAD," and "HEAVY, PART II."

Editorial Comment: I love poems like this that tell a story, with imagery, and a little kicker in the last lines.

a mock lover's pose

by Josh Thompson

remember all those times

I reached under your dress

in hopes of unlocking life’s

greatest mystery?

I’m still without a clue, you know,

as you stare out past the fog of

this city we could have burned

to the ground years ago…

if we weren’t so busy

not being in love.

in silent steps

by Josh Thompson

walking on her tippy-toes,

she is in hopes of not waking me.

but I’ve been up for hours,

drinking coffee, writing poems,

watching the ceiling fan

do nothing it’s intended to do.

and by the time she opens the door,

my head is pressed against my pillow

in imaginary sleep,

praying that I can fool her.

praying that I don’t have to hear her lie to me

again tonight.

the long ride home

by Josh Thompson

she bitches and moans

when we’re stuck in traffic

and by the time we get home

to an empty fridge

and barren cupboards,

I’m stuck praying

for one bullet

and a working revolver

to magically appear

in the kitchen drawer.

Bio: Josh Thompson is a poet and short story writer from New York City. His poems have been published in Thick With Conviction, The Coe Review, The Ugly Tree and Poetry Superhighway, amongst others. He is twenty-eight and still lost in bewilderment. jthompson420@hotmail.com

Editorial Comment: Josh is a young solid talent with a romantic voice and simple imagery that conveys his message effectively.

Contusion

By Michele Rose

On the 9th

of November

your leaves

became lyricists

I collapsed

in the madness

and prepared

for the avalanche

buried in scarlet

coated in conifers

I suffered contusion

but escaped execution,

as the rakes

sweeping blindside,

threatened cremation

I recovered in August

thickened with branches

standing guard

at your Kingdom

I was layered in lavender.

Erosion

By Michele Rose

I have bathed

in your waters

and let the clouds

burst over

my nakenedness

but your heart

is in hiding,

and this night churns

with restlessness

the view of the harbor

finds no crowning waves,

just the flat line of apathy

though I hold

to the trail, of

the faint breath

of foam,

that teasingly traces

your dowry.

Bio: Michele Rose is a New Jersey poet. She reads in coffeehouses as part of the Traveling Poets Society. She recently had her book "Aging Goddesses and Veteran Sycamores Musing" published. She works in jewelry design and when not working tends to stray cats and volunteers in her community doing hospice work with the elderly.

Editorial Comment: These poems are obviously about love and it twist and turns, but the imagery that takes you on the journey is wonderful.

HOMESICK

By Joanna M. Weston

give me rain

weeping the Coast

in shredded grey sheets

give me damp

oozing and chilling bone

under blue flesh

give me ocean

curling over pebbles

returning the smell of salt and kelp

give me the Coast

and let me climb waves

day after day

THE ISLANDER

By Joanna M. Weston

my heart beats ocean –

breathes the rush of a withdrawn wave

while skin tastes saltwater

I rub cedar flowers between my fingers

and watch the tree grow from my hand

I float an island and

live there

then sweep rain out of the west

bend firs and blow apple blossom

whitely frail through April

write farewells with seaweed

on a tide-driven shore

read them before the next wave

carries me to an island

held in my only ocean

Bio: Joanna M. Weston, has had poetry, reviews, and short stories published in anthologies and journals for twenty years. Has two middle-readers, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ and ‘Those Blue Shoes’; also ‘A Summer Father’, poetry, published by Frontenac House of Calgary, all in print.

A SUMMER FATHER - poetry - Frontenac House,2006 ISBN: 1-89718105-1 $15.95. THOSE BLUE SHOES for ages 7-12: http://www3.telus.net/public/west34/

Editorial Comment: Here I find poetry that resembles my own, rich in imagery

with a small story to go with it and a heart that misses the ocean.

Cruising

Down the crowded street

a carload of boys shouted, "Faggot!"

at the old man

who carried a shoulder bag

and wore a silver lambda

in his left ear.

When he paid for his chili

with Susan B's,

the cashier rushed to whisper

to the cook,

pointing luridly,

but the cook only winked

as the old man

entered the revolving doors.

Bio: Louie Crew has edited special issues of College English and Margins. He

has written four poetry volumes Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976) Midnight Lessons

(Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks, 1990), and Queers! for

Christ's Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2003). As of August 2008, editors have published 1,900 of his works.

Editorial Comments: Louie Crew is a friend of the poetry world. Not only is he an excellent poet; he is to be honored for all his personal efforts with Poetry Publishers Who Accept Electronic Submissions: http://andromeda.rutgers.edu/~lcrew/pbonline.html, which has helped every editor and poet in most places of the world. A poet’s job is to reveal how it looks from the edge or more importantly “the other side”, it is a duty. It is done well here, to see how it feels. Nice job Louie and thanks for helping us poets!

Leela

By Cherilyn Fry

She makes me smile

and colors my heart with rainbows

her curly hair

brilliant hazel eyes

and petite smile that lurks mysteriously under dark lashes

she knows me

knows that her grandma will cave

when ice cream is wanted

I have no defenses except the adult in myself

no defenses against the demands of an insistent child who

nestled in the warmth of innocence

breaths life into this sometimes tired world of mine.

Bio: Cherilyn Fry lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, and enjoys writing poetry and has done so over the years. This poem “Leela” is her granddaughter and she is an inspiration for all.

Editorial Comment: This is a real life story that we can all relate to, straight from the heart.

A Cat Having Kittens

By Rebecca Rose Taylor

A cat having kittens moves

like a turtle slowly going into its shell.

A cat having kittens sounds

like the quiet breathing of a calf.

A cat having kittens looks like

a mountain of colorful fur.

A cat having kittens seems like a worried mother

Trying to understand what’s going on.

A cat having kittens acts like a person trying to relax but the telephone keeps ringing.

A cat having kittens feels like a soft blanket of fur.

*Previously published in: Poetry, Prose and Images from the Eastern Townships (1999)

Wild Child

By Rebecca Rose Taylor

She’s a wild child

here’s nothing mild about her

It’s all hot sauce and chili peppers

She drives in the spurs of her dad’s

old pickup truck.

Carrying her wild side everywhere she goes

It just keeps showing in plain sight

she’s full of sass and style

every once in a while

she gets a little calmer

but she’s wild all the same.

She’s got a fiery temper

every challenge tempts her

driving everyone around her crazy

she talks in mazes

some wonder why in blazes she is that way.

She’s a wild child

smooth as glass

and bold as brass

she’s full of spice

never stops to think twice.

Bio: Rebecca Rose Taylor lives on a beef farm in St.Felix-de-Kingsey, Quebec. She works at a senior's home as Secretary-Receptionist. She dreams of being a full time writer someday. She has previously been published in Taproot: Poetry, Prose and Images of the Eastern Townships, Grainews, Bread n' Molasses and Perspectives Magazine.

Editorial Comments: Rebecca Rose Taylor is from Quebec, Canada living in a rural setting. Many of her poems have a story base, and a down home yarn to tell with grace, and lovely imagery.

About Eshun, Who Lit Her Own Funeral Pyre

What was she thinking, that old nun

When she lit the fire?

At the end a little pile of ash

The smoke vanishes,

Laughter rising

Memento

Today I found a bit of downy feather

so like my baby son's hair

long ago

Bio: Grace Andreacchi is an American-born novelist, poet and playwright, author of the novels Give My Heart Ease (New American Writing Award) and Music for Glass Orchestra and the chapbook Elysian Sonnets. Her work appears in Eclectica, Pen Pusher, Skive and many other fine places. She lives in London.

Editorial Comments: Grace has a way with brevity. She has a way with grace, as her name implies. These are real thoughts, in short, about real events, and people in her life; uniquely stated to hold our attention to the moment. Even no period after the poems implies "think on" about it.

Birds in Cages

Raj Vatsya

Chinks in eggshells evolve

transmuting yolk

in feathers to flutter

Nests do not harbor cages

they are forged

with meticulous dedication

Bio: Professionally, Raj Vatsya is a Physicist. He has published poetry in magazines and recited on stage and TV. His other interests include writing, directing and acting in plays and movies, which have been presented in auditoriums and TV.

Editorial Comments: I choose this poem for several reasons, this Raj’s background is totally different then mine and I find it interesting the perspective and terminology used in the poem, it reflects his physicist background with a creative mind set exploring the detail of life emerging into its full meaning.

TANKA THAT CAME SOFTLY

By Kenneth Pobo

The Republican

Party: war, a corporate

blowing up of kids.

Why have such an awful group?

Let it go. No funeral.

Bio: Kenneth Pobo has a new book of poems forthcoming this year from WordTech Press called Glass Garden. His work can be read online at: 2River View, Forpoetry.com, Pemmican, Adirondack Review, and elsewhere. He teaches Creative Writing and English at Widener University. Catch his radio show, “Obscure Oldies,” on Saturdays from 6-8pm EST at WDNR.com.

"A Little Slice of Texas"

Above by Cathy McLain

Cathy is an amateur photographer who lives in Houston, Texas with her husband and black lab Bailey. Over the years her love of photography has grown into a passion. Texas is known for everything big, but Cathy prefers to document and share the out of the way places her state has to offer.

Granddaughter

by Judy Johns

Megan paints her eyes to hide her face.

Her dominant expression is wary,

and all answers are flip, evasive.

At fifteen, she has joined an alien nation of people

with one thumb soldered to the phone.

We no longer speak the same language.

I need an interpreter for subliminal messages

about dress, hair color, and makeup.

Once she loved to spend weekends with me;

now even formal appointments

are canceled or forgotten.

I recognize this phase does not portend disaster,

yet my heart aches, and my prayers echo fear,

as the light of childhood gradually leaves her face.

Every once in a while there is a flash of the woman

she will become: confident, witty, caring.

Then I see bits of her mother in her and myself,

and my heart eases.

Bio: Judy Johns, of Pleasant View, Utah, is an English instructor at Utah

State University and was named Utah Poet of the year in 2003 for her

collection of poems titled If I Could Speak in Silk, published by the

Utah State Poetry Society and Author House and available online at Amazon.com.

Editor Comments: This is the best example of story poetry I have found so far.

Straight forward real life tales, with real people in mind, with a twist of imagery

To moisten the taste of the read one line at a time. See two other poems my Judy at: http://wizardsofthewind.blogspot.com/.

STRESSED

By Ed Coet

The despair brought about

by mental confusion

more then upsets,

it is emotionally disruptive.

It is like fighting for control of

your mental faculties

as you attempt to target

the source of your anguish

before it take its final toll.

Your heart pounds;

it races like a speeding

locomotive without breaks.

Your blood pressure

explodes like an internal

volcanic eruption.

Your muscles tighten as

if wrapped in a straight jacket

or encased in a soaked glove.

You feel irritable, perplexed

and increasingly depressed

as anxiety challenges for

control of your mind.

You grasp your head

in fearful confusion;

you grow distraught

and desperate for relief.

You deplore this distress,

this foreboding and

solicitous anxiousness

that robs you of your

contentment and comfort.

You can’t control the vexation,

the perplexing awful angst

that makes you stressed.

Bio: Author/Poet Biographical Sketch: Ed Coet is a retired US Army officer and professional educator. He is a widely published freelance writer and poet. Ed has had numerous articles published on a variety of topics. Ed’s short stories were published in Bewildering Stories, Scribal Tales, Muscadine Lines – A Southern Journal, and Scars Publications. His poems have been published in Purple Dream Ezine, Solder Works Magazine, Children, Churches & Daddies Magazine, Scars Publication, Steller Showcase Journal, Both Sides Now Journal, Because We Write Magazine, Lost Beat Poetry Journal, Cynic Magazine, Fullosia Press, Blue Fog Poetry Journal, Poetic Diversity Magazine, Pink Mouse Pub Poetry Journal, The Huffington Post, Raven Publishing, Inc., Muscadine Lines, A Southern Journal, Osprey Journal, Masque Publishing – Decanto Magazine, Namaste Fiji – The International Anthology of Poetry Book, The “Breaking Silences” Poetry Book Collection, and the 2007 Scars Poetry Collection Book - We The Poet’s, which includes Ed Coet’s award wining poem - Comfort. Visit with Ed Coet at “The Coet Blog” at http://thecoet.blogspot.com/.

Editor Comments: Ed and I come from completely different backgrounds. He served his country well. I went in a different direction at a young age and resisted the Vietnam War in exile in Canada. As years pass mutual respect grows, it is a maturing process. I am a firm believer that I respect someone who makes a decision and lives with it, then someone who has not convictions at all. I like the above narrative poem since I suffer from depression and anxiety at times myself, from my experience, Ed is right on with his descriptions and I want to share it with others who related to it. Ed and I also share many of the same publication credits listed above.

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A Tender Touch and A Shade Of Blue

Saturday, January 19, 2008