Clouds of War

Submitted by Shaun Clamp

Dense nuclear plumes
towered in the dry, hot sky.
Stark expressions: the power of war.

Later by the window, a cracking
The first shell,
then the slew of ammunition
battering the roof, glancing off glass,
dousing the parched white walls; ceramic sheen
reflecting vaguely the sky.

And green trees dripped
And the white carcass of a spider suckled in vain
At a drop that was stuck the other side of the pane,
And harder it rained,
And darker it became.


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Photo credit: Gassed – John Singer Sargent


Ghosts at the Pond

Submitted by Jane Dougherty

In the winter pond, the ghosts
of trees are caught in milky moon
light, pale as smoke and pearly
as the dawn that makes the ice
a glacier sky of frozen stars.

Do fish still sweep and curve beneath
the silk smooth surface of the moon,
the mirror glass of space and time?

Deer cracks the glass from side to side
with dainty hoof and scatters stars
into the watery firmament.

Winter, the sound cracks, gunshot-
sharp, like ice on pearly moonlit ponds,
like falling stars, a dainty hoof, pale
smoke recedes between the ghostly trees.


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Photo Credit: The Lake and Town of Brienz – JMW Turner

Family Portrait

Submitted by Ronald E. Shields

This hatred of factories.
I have never been in one.
Thirty years my father labored in a factory making film.
There is no evidence he ever took a picture.
There is a family portrait
taken by a neighbor I suppose.
My father is looking away from the camera,
his gaze focused somewhere the camera cannot see,
none of us can see.
He could be watching birds fly south
or waiting for the ice to break.
It is ten years since the factory closed,
my father gone seven.
As I look at the portrait now I try to follow his gaze.
I can see the river running around the locks,
through the arches beneath the bridge,
past the dark bones of the factories,
out to a hungry sea.


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Photo Credit: Old factory on the Somme – Frits Thaulow

Week Fourteen in Review: Statistics, Submissions and Calls for Submissions


We were really tough on our submitters this week, but published three brilliant poems!



We pulled in about 700 views this week from 150 WP visitors and over 150 likes this week from WP users. On top of that, over 60 unique visitors from Google and other search engines, not including the WP visitors, visited the site!



In case you missed it last week, we announced our winner for the first monthly contest! Check out the January Poetry Competition post here.

The next competition has begun! Send us your best poems for general publication of for contest entry.

That’s all! Stick around, we have some great poems coming up!

Gravitational Waves–Again

Submitted by Merril D. Smith

two stars danced
collapsing into one another
creating ripples,
waves tumbling through space,
bending time. . .

in a folded origami universe,
they reach us,
echoes of the past gently rocking our world,
ghostly whispers and secret sighs
speak of a former life unknown– yet somehow familiar–
calling out. . .
traces of stardust
recalling what once was and now is

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Photo Credit: An Old Star Map

Rainy Day Charm

Submitted by Ann Christine Tabaka

A rainy day falls from the sky.
Bare feet splash in puddles.
Cloud filtered light imparts a
dreamy glow. The feeling of
motionless time invades reality.

Inside stillness,
listening to the sounds soft rain
makes. Melodic trickling transfixes
the mind. A lazy yawn emanates,
permeating the silence.

Outside, small rivulets form,
carrying dried-leaf boats out
to swirling miniature seas.
Teasing the imagination,
stories unfold.

Bright azure patches peek
through an overcast sky, wishing
for a rainbow. Rainy day charm wanes
as the day lapses into evening, and a
soggy world closes its eyes once more.


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Photo Credit: Kristan Baggaley – Clearing Spring Shower Over Kinder Scout


Submitted by Ann Neilson

“The skies they were ashen and sober;
the leaves they were crisped and sere-
the leaves they were withering and sere;
it was night in the lonesome October of
my most immemorial year” –Edgar Allan Poe “Ulalume”

The ominous sky reminded of
an apocalyptic world,
Its sadistic grin, blighting the grass
the trees and flowers, unfurled.

A history of moans and whimpers
of past ages erupted forth.
The ground cracked and showed no history
of hard work or of self-worth.

Contaminated cities of
industrialized destruction
Killed the earth with selfishness and
heartless deprivation.

A symphony of pity falls
upon deaf ears turned away
Those who are apt don’t watch to find
the ending of the inhumane play.

A melancholy world where all move
alongside the tide of time
Weep for hope and pity from strangers;
alas, there are no souls to find.

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