Poetry

Friday From the Journal – Did That Hurt?

Friday From the Journal – Did That Hurt?

This short essay from the winter issue of Fine Lines was written by Joseph Bushey.  The artwork with it was shot by Cindy Goeller. The current issue is online and available in print and on kindle at this link....

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A poem from the current issue from David Hufford

A poem from the current issue from David Hufford

“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” ― Mark Twain With the above in mind, we share a poem from the current issue of Fine Lines by David Hufford.  “After all,” as David states below, “our lives get tangled up in the processes of...

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Journey On

Journey On

From the Journal Friday As the mist begins to clear Wander in Discover What you can really see Gaze upon the skies – and wonder Sit – make time to dream It all fits together Then dance In a field of purple Reflect Examine the newness of each moment Reach Then reach some more Never ending trails With amazing new beginnings Journey on  – Julian...

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Friday From the Journal – Sneezing Trees

Today we are delighted to share the first place poem: Sneezing Trees Through my window, elms Sneeze showers of zealous leaves Swarming barren grounds  – Rose Gleisberg We asked Rose to share about her inspiration for this piece: My poem, “Sneezing Trees” was inspired by my husband’s work environment – working several floors underground for several years and having no window to view nature’s surprises. After several years of this, he was finally moved to a traditional office setting with a window view. One fall morning, he noticed the leaves falling from the trees. This was a pleasant sight, that until the move, he had little time to appreciate. With each new breeze, a shower of leaves could be seen. To him, it was as if the trees sneezed. Author Bio: Rose Gleisberg graduated in 1980 from the College of Saint Mary in Omaha, Nebraska, with a degree in Early Childhood Education. After a few years, she left full time teaching to travel with her husband during his military career. Rose received a Creative Writing certificate in 2003 from Creighton University, also in Omaha. She currently substitute teaches, is involved in local writing groups, and writes poetry in her spare time. She resides in Bellevue, NE with her husband, Bob, and has three children. Rose’s poem, “Holland’s the Place for Me,” was published in The Nebraska English Journal in 2001 and Bending Light in 2002. “Swish, Crackle, Crunch” appeared in Ideals in 2004. In more recent years, Rose’s poetry has been published in The Pen Women as well as Celebrate – A Collection of Writings by and about Women. Her poetry can also be found in Fine Lines, a literary journal published in Omaha. Much of Rose’s writing is inspired by her daily experiences with children – her own and her students. She also enjoys writing about nature and the many places around the world she has...

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Friday From the Journal – The Wordsmith

Today we have a double treat for you! First, the poem the poem that placed second in the Fine Lines Poetry Contest: THE WORDSMITH With pen in hand I slide to the other side, Where fireflies shatter twilight’s veil, Pine needles crinkle on the path, Moonbeams whisper a melody, Chanting waves enthrall, Rushing winds caress, Stars glisten above, Blood tingles as I drink from the Fountain of Words   – Marion Young Now – join us in this interview with the author Marion Young “Hello, this is Zoe at KPSK Radio. Today we’re talking with Marion Young, a local poet who scooped up second prize.” Creek. Creek. The faux-leather chair cracked as I sat next to my talk show host. “Howdy.” “Congrats are in order for your poem, The Wordsmith,” she said. “I’m honored to receive this award,” I said. “Now that we’ve got the chit-chat done with.” Zoe’s ebony eyes looked through me. “Would you mind answering a question?” “Ask away.” “What’s the word on The Wordsmith?” asked Zoe. “It’s like when sewing machines keep on humming.” “You wrote about a factory making T-shirts?” “It’s like when a blue whale sings with all her heart.” “You wrote about how whales turn each other on?” “It’s looking into a mirror as it cracks from side to side.” “If I read your poem, I’ll get seven years bad luck?” “No, no, listen. It’s zip, zap, zoom.” “What?” “Zaps of lightning seize every molecule from your toes to your nose.” “Are you saying I’ll get electrified if I read it?” “You haven’t read it.” “Well.” I handed her my poem. “With pen in hand . . . caress . . . blood tingles . . . words.” “What do you feel?” I asked. “Nice.” Those black eyes zeroed into me. “Very nice.” “Any more questions?” “If you could sum up your style, what would you say?” “Droplets dripping from the light.” She whispered, “But where do they go?” “They splinter the darkness.” Slowly Zoe nodded. “Your words . . .” “My words?” “Could you,” she swallowed. “Come see me again?” “Anytime.” “How about greeting the morning sun with me?” I drew in a quick breath. “Before or after you’ve poured me a second cup?” “After.” “I’d love to.” To be continued . . . The End Author Bio:  Marion Young was raised in Michigan, has lived in Colorado and Nebraska. She resides in Texas. She married an amazing man at nineteen, raised a darling daughter, and looks forward to bringing color to their lives for years to come. Marion enjoyed teaching students with special needs for twenty years. She taught students with multiple impairments for seven, then students with blindness and...

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