Marriage

A poetry collection by Steve Gerson, December 2019

“My wife and I are celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary this month. These poems reflect that love and constancy.”

Steve Gerson, an emeritus English professor from a Midwestern community college, has been married for 50 years. He writes poetry and flash about life’s dissonance and dynamism. He’s proud to have published in Panoplyzine (winning an Editor’s Choice award), The Hungry Chimera, Toe Good, The Write Launch, Route 7, Duck Lake, Coffin Bell, Poets Reading the News, Crack the Spine, White Wall Review, Abstract, Pinkley Press, and In Parenthesis.

To part through time as if it were waves

If I had not met you,
If when passing in the hall
You had dropped your purse
Or I had stopped to adjust my glasses,
Our glances diverting like a surf’s erratic dance,
If I had read a book whose sentence led me to
Contemplate mountain peaks rather than ocean depths,
If you had married someone else
Whose orbit momentarily eclipsed yours,
His gravity shifting the tides,
If our children had been born to other parents
On other parallel planes,
If I breathed water instead of air,
I, somehow, would emerge on land,
Gain footing, part through time as if it were waves,
Feel your presence like the beam of a lighthouse,
And find you.


Threading the measure of two beats

Touching your pulse through a translucent wrist,
Tracing the flow toward your heart,
Is as a journey from east to west,
An ocean voyage for spices and gold.

The rhythm in your veins, like Blue Nile to White,
Converges with mine to fall and rise,
Breathing like breath, our chests heaving,
An embrace, our arms reaching.

The beating pace of blood through your skin,
A fragile thrum of destination,
Threading the measure of two beats,
Maps like mileposts old to new.

Your life my touch surging as one
You Us You Us You Us You Us


Boundless

Imagine earth’s rivers overflowing,
Not into surrounding hillsides,
But beyond earth’s latitudes,
Beyond earth’s atmosphere,
Into space, earth unrestrained.

Imagine earth’s oxygen expanding,
Not room to room or within the oceans,
But bursting through the density of galaxies,
Exploring like luminescent fingers into darkness,
Earth-bound molecules igniting stardust.

Our love is boundless,
Not contained within sinew or capillary,
Not confined by vertebrae or soul,
But suffusing the air with radiant motes,
Like words hovering above a page.


Nothing/Something

Nothing.
Standing at a sill,
Separated by an interstice of charged air
I brought nothing;
You brought nothing.

Yet, from nothing, we emerged.

Not as quickly as a light turned on,
A tendril sprout,
Boards squared into a structure,
A moon’s voyage.

But slowly,
From plain to plateau,
From hillock to mountain.

My edges pushed against your edges, uplifting.
My senses lay on your senses,
As sediment upon stratum.

In time,
Weathering, fusing, reaching,

We built
Something.

On Finding Love

A poem by Joseph Hardy, December 2019

Joseph is one of a handful of writers that lives in Nashville, Tennessee that does not play a musical instrument; although a friend once asked him to bring his harmonica on a camping trip so they could throw it in the fire. His wife says he cannot leave a room without finding out something about everyone in it, and telling her their stories later. Joseph has a BS degree in psychology from Stanford University. His work has been published in Inlandia, Gyroscope, The Tiny Journal, Sheila-Na-Gig, Penultimate Peanut, and is forthcoming in Seven Circle Press, The Bookends Review, Poetry City, Reality Break Press, Glass Mountain, Funicular Magazine, Kind Writers, Pub House Books, and Crack the Spine Literary Magazine.

Not as moon-bathed miles
pass beneath in white noise
going home,

but in slow measures of a lullaby
we find without thinking,
the pace we walk

with a sick child in our arms,
the rhythm we were made
to give love and take love in,

setting sleep aside
to pick up our child
and walk the long runner in the hall

as a pilgrim walking
on a road to Mecca, walking
on a dusty road to Jerusalem.

Sweetness

A poem by Taylor Boileau Davidson, 2013

Taylor Boileau Davidson is a multi-disciplinary artist whose work explores the boundaries between intuition, femininity, and mysterious spaces.

sweetness,
the kind that makes the inside of your cheeks softer with the blushing taste of sugar,
it paves your insides to a touchable, enticing feeling,
the kind of sweetness that pushes your lips upwards into a permanent smile,
that convulses your tongue to taste more,

sweetness,
good intention so good it’s offensive,
sewn together, fitting pieces side by side but still stabbing with each prick,
sewing means to an end of beauty,
a beautiful image that looks like it’s been shattered and put back together,
like a Frankenstein creation

sweetness, so sweet it’s bitter,
a healing touch that grabs just that little bit too hard,
Could i explain to you that sweetness is my maker
stacking up cubes of sugar so I look eternally enticing,
a big slice of chocolate cake,
that gives you a stomach ack once you’re halfway through,
thrown away into the garbage without a second thought,

left half of its whole,
only wanting to satisfy,
without a care for the chunks you take away,
of the mutilated way you leave me,
so long as you taste the sweetness that you wanted,

I am a tool created to satisfy,
willing to be the things you need,
tolerating the prick of that needle every time I must sew half made pieces back on,
I just need to find a glutton,
who will always want more cake

Side by Side

An art piece by Taylor Boileau Davidson, December 2019

Taylor Boileau Davidson is a multi-disciplinary artist whose work explores the boundaries between intuition, femininity, and mysterious spaces.

Stories Are Better Than Endings

A poem by Tina Vorreyer, December 2019

I often say that my work can speak for itself but let me give you a bit of insight into how it came about. Human emotion is hard enough to feel at times and even harder to express in the right way. At an early age (cliche but it is true), I found that poetry helped me express fears, triumphs, boredom, and all the other feelings I couldn’t correctly express to others without getting in trouble. Writing it helped me get it out but reading poetry showed me how to understand what was going on inside my head. With all that I write, I hope to express my past and my hopes for the future while also educating others on their own thoughts and memories.

Currently, I have published work in anthologies, ‘Illinois’s Best Emerging Poets’, ‘Wisconsin’s Best Emerging Poets’, ‘America’s Emerging Poets 2018’, and ‘Illinois Best Emerging Poets 2019′ by Z Publishing and recently in Not Very Quiet’s fourth issue and Underwood Press’s Black Works’ second issue. Lastly, the poem entitled, ‘I Can Still Fly’ was picked as the Poetic Musings Contest Winner by Poets’ Choice in September. To find the links to these publications, you can go to www.tinavorreyer.com.

The dream,
as long as my conscious mind can remember,
was to one day be a mother.
Not on its own – there was a particular story
One of a prince and a magical ending
Where we would all live
Happily ever after.

Youth spent rushing and running to
An inevitable future
Of romance and rainbows.
The tween years consumed with
Searching and seeking
The one true love.
It became a job –
One that didn’t excite
the spirit.

Until the proverbial yield sign
Planted itself onto my path –
Forcing me to slow down.
Finally.
Gave me a chance to peak at the
Rearview mirror
And see how empty my past was –
The more I continued to pump the breaks
The further my journey took me.
Until it finally brought me to you –
And after years past my prime, spent on our
Exhilarating adventure,
You continue to keep me captivated
In the present
And blind to the future.

Thus, though the stories
Say that I have failed you –
Having not birthed another just as I
Grew up myself,
It is evident that I found my
Garden of Eden
Right in our backyard.

Love Letter

A poem by Nicole (Niky) McCaffety, December 2019

Nicole (Niky) McCaffety is a writer currently living in Columbia, South Carolina.

Place letters in the walls
So the house remembers
You were in love
Even when time forgets

Small little pocket of the country
Norm at the hardware store
The married couple that own
The café and don’t charge

For the coffee when you
Are new in town.

I can’t fix the kitchen sink
But I can make you tea Make you
Happy. Make

Honey, like the bees you
Keep so well. I’m sorry
I didn’t get here sooner.
This is my love letter

To you.

After 49 Years

A story by Joanne Jagoda, December 2019

After retiring in 2009, one inspiring writing workshop in the Amherst method launched Joanne Jagoda of Oakland, California on an unexpected writing trajectory. Her short stories, poetry and creative nonfiction appear on-line and in numerous print anthologies including Gemini, Pure Slush, A Poet’s Siddur, the River Poets Anthology, and Better After 50. Her poem, “Mr. Avocado Man” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. In 2019/2020 her work will appear in Truth Serum Press, Heat the Grease We’re Frying up Some Poetry, and Awakening and other publications.. Joanne continues taking Bay Area writing workshops, enjoys Zumba, traveling and spoiling her seven grandchildren, who call her “Savta.”

My husband and I will be celebrating our 49th anniversary this year. Wow…that is a long time to be with one person. I think I’m qualified to give some valuable insights on how to have a long lasting relationship.

You might want to know how it all began for us. I was nineteen and convinced my older brother to take me to a Blue Monday party for Jewish singles on June 12, 1970 (of course I can’t forget the date) at a club in North Beach in San Francisco.  Though I was supposed to be twenty one, I looked older and got in no problem. I was wearing a two piece pantsuit; a black longish polyester top, with white pants. Polyester was big that year!! My hair was shoulder length, a sandy blonde. I was almost 5’8”, not  skinny,   pretty cute, and liked guys who were older than me, and they had to be tall. I had just completed my sophomore year at UC Berkeley.

            So when a tall guy with curly hair and glasses asked me to dance I figured… why not.  I found out later his friend dragged him there, bribing him with dinner before the party at a nearby Chinese restaurant he liked. When he saw an old girlfriend who had recently dumped him, he quickly asked me to dance. I suppose it was “bashert,” the Yiddish word for destined. It was meant to be. That night initially I wasn’t very impressed as he was wearing a torn sweater and didn’t have money to buy me a drink. He did get his friend to give me a ride home, and when he brought me up the stairs at my house he happened to meet my father who was coming home at the same time. They shook hands.  My dad liked him right away from that brief encounter. Hmmmm….

Within two days hecalled me for a date, and when he picked me up he did not have a torn sweater.  We went out a few more times then both of us had summer obligations. He was in the army reserves for two weeks of training  as this was during the Vietnam  war. I was away at a leadership training institute for a month. During those six weeks apart we wrote to each other… yes, old fashioned cards and letters.  There was something brewing in the sweet and cautious words we exchanged.  It was clear we liked each other and as soon as we both were back started steady dating. It did not take long until I met his parents and he met mine. Our families had lots in common and by September we were engaged after only knowing each other a few months

 What clicked for us? From the beginning, we knew we shared basic values of decency,  and honesty, and had a mutual attraction. We had a career path.  I was completing my teaching credential; he was already working in business with his father. We got married the following summer and have been blessed with a truly wonderful marriage which has withstood its share of ups and downs, joys and sorrows. We  raised three great daughters and are  now enjoying our seven grandchildren.

            So now you know how we met. Though I won’t claim to be an “expert” here are some thoughts I have on why our marriage has worked:

Be the best of friends. Have fun together. We still do even now after all these years.  Laugh often. Most importantly talk to each other; share what’s on your mind, the good and bad. Share your fears and your hopes and dreams. There will be occasions you’ll cry together too, but  your mate should always be your most trusted confidant.  Honesty and trust are the building blocks for  any successful relationship.

Don’t ever stop telling each other  I love you. I still do this every day, sometimes before we go to sleep, I’ll say, “You do know I love you.” He’ll answer half asleep, “uh huh.” Kiss a lot. Be kind to one other. Be playful. Make time to have a good sexual relationship even if it might be difficult with small kids or other distractions. We consider it the icing on the cake. Hold hands when you walk together or in the car. Be gentle and loving.

Don’t make each other wait. Be on time. It’s about respect. Compliment each other and when you have to, criticize gently. Yes, you will have disagreements, it is natural.  But never be cruel to each other. An insult cannot be taken back. Harsh words can leave a lasting imprint. Of course we have had our squabbles and still do, but thankfully they are always little.  Some examples, he hates that I buy food we already have in the pantry. His mantra is “TAKE INVENTORY.”

I can’t stand that he is basically messy. He lets his clothes pile up in our bedroom until he finally hangs them up. He will leave open kitchen cabinets and is not very helpful around the house. My son in laws are much more hands on in terms of helping around the house.   I love to shop and buy way too many shoes, but he has learned not to bug me about it. He will happily wear the same clothes for years. Big picture….these are small problems, annoyances and the realization we are different people.  Bottom line is we say our piece then get over it. I will pout for a while.  He claims he always gives in. I’m not sure that’s true. We follow the cliché of not going to bed mad and as corny as it might seem, it is a good rule.

 Of course there are situations where couples face really serious problems. Don’t be afraid to get professional help or seek therapy or do what is necessary to work through the hurdles you might be facing. It’s also crucial to live within your means and work out your finances together. That could mean setting up a budget or figuring out who will pay the monthly bills and strategies for saving and investing. Again this is a really important area where you need to talk things over, set goals and be on the same page.  You don’t want to be strangled by credit card debt.

You don’t have to do everything together or do all of the same things. It is great to have some similar interests, but I like to think we each have our “departments”, things we enjoy either alone or with friends. It makes one stronger and happier to have individual interests and time apart. Now that we are both retired, we more than ever need our own gigs as well as things we enjoy doing together. I am a writer and poet and take several different writing workshops, go to Zumba and play mahjong. My husband volunteers four days a week and loves it. For him Wednesday night poker is sacrosanct, and he goes to a gym three days a week. We love to go for walks, catch movies, travel, enjoy our seven grandchildren and help out with them frequently. We also share the same religious values which are a priority in our home and provided a solid foundation for how we raised our children and live our life.

This is important. Don’t enter a relationship thinking it will ever be 50/50. When our three children were small, my husband travelled every week. I put my career aspirations aside which took the pressure off of us both working.   We knew that one of us had to be there and because I was willing to stay home he was able to travel without worrying. A good marriage is a  partnership  of working together and sharing responsibilities but realizing that things can’t always be equal. These days in many cases both partners have to work and as I see with my children life is stressful. Couples need to cooperate more than ever and sometimes that means sacrifices.

There are many times when one of the partners is more needy for whatever reason. We supported each other when we lost our parents and through my brother’s illness. I helped my husband through a major transition when he decided to close our business, and I had to find a new career and be the major earner. I knew that he was burned out and it turned out to be a great opportunity for both of us because I was able to get out in the work force and do something different and he did not feel as pressured and took jobs he enjoyed without so much stress. It is important to support each other and talk over those difficult life-changing decisions.

     The last few years have brought us some tough challenges as a couple. I think of life as a road one travels with unexpected detours, potholes and switchbacks that you have to negotiate. My husband stood by my side when unexpectedly I found out I had breast cancer. It was a shock as I had no family history and was perfectly healthy. He cheered me on through all of it, took me to every chemo appointment, told me I was beautiful when I lost all my hair, brought me Cheerios in bed at 11PM when that was all I could swallow. I put him through a lot.

Then he returned the” favor” two years ago when he had bypass surgery and unexpected complications putting him in the hospital for six weeks when I never left his side. One night in intensive care he teetered between life and death with compromised breathing. Thankfully he made it through, and I took care of him at home until he could walk and breathe again and gradually returned to good health. Some couples crack when they face a crisis, the fault lines of their relationship raw and exposed, but we became closer.  We learned the hard way how fragile life can be and try to appreciate each other and live each day.

So just know that a good marriage takes effort, kindness and understanding, and never forget that no one is perfect. If you stay best friends, work together, talk things out, keep kissing and laughing, you will have a good chance to succeed.

Lighthouse / After 22 Years

Two poems by Jodie Baeyens, December 2019

I am a writing professor at The American Military University. I hold an MFA in creative writing with a concentration in poetry.

Lighthouse

Kiss me with your broken mouth
Your greying beard
And the unfulfilled dreams
That never quite came true

I’ll touch you with the hands
Of a mother
of dead babies
And broken promises

Both of us the lighthouse
Both of us the storm


After 22 Years

I love you
smoky breath
greying hair
exactly as you are

Failed dreams
broken promises
I never waiver

Always
my first choice
even if
you weren’t

the father of my children
the owner of
my last name

I would always
choose you

December 18, 2019 / December 11 2019 / Cheesy Love Poem #322

A collection by Kemry Farthing, December 2019

Kemry Farthing is mother to an eleven-month-old, who was, in fact, not named after the singer Donovan. She lives in Virginia between two massive willow oaks. She writes poetry and middle grade adventure fiction, and enjoys hand piecing quilts to relieve stress.

December 18, 2019

On the other side of winter
it’s tomorrow
and we’re talking as if the roots didn’t freeze
as if there hadn’t been months of piled up, torn quilts
or weeks of half breathing days

On the far side of winter
the flower bed is warm and empty
and the table is full and that Cohen song
is rolling out of the radio
and we’re waking up without remembering when we
wrapped up in each other during the night



December 11, 2019

I want you to kiss me with the light on again
not in the dark
in the middle of sleep
and definitely not under the stars

I want to be kissed in the middle of our kitchen,
florescent light buzzing because it’s about to go out,
red rings on a hot stove top

Not in our hallway, two o’clock, passing each other
between dreams and the bathroom

Not a goodnight kiss after you switch off the lamp,
fan keeping the warm air down.
Not a good morning kiss when the baby wakes us up
with cries before we’ve opened the blinds

I want to be kissed in the cereal aisle when we can’t decide
and getting in the car before our noses warm,
when you look up from the book in your hands
and can’t help but walk over to me

After dinner prayer,
like you opened your eyes and got exactly what you asked for.



Cheesy Love Poem #322

If I were a songwriter, it would be so
much harder to tell you I love you
and so I’m glad I’m not a songwriter

With verses to repeat and cords to memorize
I don’t want to play you
it doesn’t feel at all like a game to me
or a tune to beat out

It just is and
I just do
love you

So, I’m glad I’m not a songwriter
and the ends of these lines don’t
have to match perfectly

Our bed sheets are already ripped
and I’m just as tall as you
and there’s a mouse living
somewhere behind our cabinets

These aren’t metaphors
They just are
and I just do
love you
still

Love Lives

A poem by L A Felleman, December 2019

Currently, L A is an accountant at the University of Iowa. Before that, she was a seminary professor. Prior to that, she was a pastor. She moved to Iowa City with her husband in June 2016 and started writing poetry soon afterwards. In order to learn this new craft, LA attends the Free Generative Writing Workshops and participates in local poetry readings.

The hitched-breath kind
nervous, anxious
unsure of the atmosphere

The shallow-breathing type
halfhearted, distracted
exhaling now and then

The breath-taking variety
enthralled, engrossed
no air lost on conversation

The constricted-inhale sort
choking, gasping
more oxygen needed than supplied

The deep-breath one
muscled, supported
nothing held back, fully expanded