Halcyon Summer 2013

SUMMER 2013

 Debbie Okun Hill

 Melindy Wynn-Bourne

 Nels Hanson

Halcyon - Summer 2013

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 Norma West Linder

 Wally Swist

HALCYON - SUMMER 2013 CONTENTS Contributors: Angela T.; Anne Mason; Anne Whitehouse; Brendan Sullivan; Brendan Walsh; Caroline Misner; Craig Steele; Cynthia Gallaher; Dawnell Harrison; Debbie Okun Hill; Gregory Gunn; Irene Ferraro-Sives; Jade Stewart-Soper; Jerry W Bradley; Joan McNerney; John Grey; June Dowis; Lark Beltran; Mark Nenadov; Melindy Wynn-Bourne; Merica M. Teng; Nels Hanson; Norma W Linder; November Thomas; Pamela Hobart Carter; Patricia A. McGoldrick; Rebecca Michelle Halton; Rebecca Rose Taylor; Richard King Perkins II; Tatiana Morand; Wally Swist.

Poetry 4 5 7 8 9 9 10 10 11 12 13 14 15 15 16 17 18 19

The Painted Summer Rain Lazy Birder (My Other Love) What The Turtle Read The Lake I Have Heard Of Caterpillar Nature’s Alarm Clock Ethereal Magnet Twilight Omen Haiku Forecast: Spring in Connecticut Hidden The Caterpillar Bids His Crew Farewell A Girl Who Fell in Love with an Island Sunday on the Bay The Boy in the Blue Canoe Fluttering Hearts Kitchen Harmony Gator Eye Along the Shore

Halcyon Magazine ISSN: 2291-0255 Frequency: Quarterly Founding Editor | Designer: Monique Berry

20 21 22 23 24 24 25 25 26 27 28

Star Collector Riding on a Summer Breeze Apology to Summer Drowsy Paradelle Waltz in Dhalia Major Canada Summer Blues As Pure As Stars That Summer Amaryllis At the End of the Day

Haiku & Fillers 5 6 10 16 16 17 24 25

Cynthia Gallaher Wally Swist Joan McNerney John Grey Craig Steele Patricia A. McGoldrick Craig Steele Joan McNerney

Contact Info http://halcyonmagazine.blogspot.ca monique.editor@gmail.com 1-905-549-3981

Special Notices Halcyon has one time rights.

See website for subscription details.

No photocopies allowed.

Photo Credits: Photoxpress.com—Cover photo bunkyo; p4 Sandra Cunningham; p8 Dymtro Tolokonov; p11 Flint Pond Photography; p13 Saied Shahinkiya; p14 Cucumberjack; p8 Elenathewise, p9 Subbotina Anna; p9 dbvirago; p12 S_E; p13 olegator1977; p14 andibyte; p15 Olga Lyubkin; p15 Andrew Jalbert; p16 Elenathewise; p19 Eye for Africa; p20 Yahia LOUKKAL; p22 windu; p23 Yulia Podlesnova; p22 Yul; p25 TEA; pressmaster. PublicDomanNet.com—p10 Larisa Koshkina; p26 Petr Kratochvil. All other photos are from www.pixabay.com.

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Dr. Michael Cain Chiropractor Massage Therapy and Injury Rehabilitation Treatment available for restoring and maintaining physical heath: Back pain and headaches Motor vehicle accidents Sports and work place injuries Pregnancy-related back pain Hip, buttock, thigh, knee, lower leg and foot pain Biomechanical foot problems requiring orthotics Numbness, tingling and/or weakness in arms/legs Child-related care such as “growing pains”

Cain Chiropractic Hamilton, Ontario, Canada 1-905-523-7246 | www.cainchiropractic.ca

FROM THE EDITOR’S HEART Welcome to the third edition of Halcyon!

A few short notes. First, I must say a big thank you to Dr. Michael Cain. Your support means the world to me. Second, I am so pleased with the writing talent that increases with each issue. Thanks to the regular, and new, contributors for showcasing your work in Halcyon. Third, I included an informative and encouraging section called The Contributors Corner. Check it out!

The season will get hot and humid, but thinking halcyon thoughts should help keep you calm and cool.

Enjoy the read.

Halcyon, Founding Editor monique.editor@gmail.com Halcyon - Summer 2013

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The Painted Summer Rain

by Melindy Wynn-Bourne I will stand beneath my red umbrella as the rain pours down upon me, drops of liquid diamonds, gifts of August. Showers come and go with the passing clouds. Gray clouds one moment, glistening sun the next. My umbrella becomes a parasol.

I will use it to shade myself from the sun, and the storms when they come back again. From my red shelter I glance at the blooming trees that drink in the light and water to blossom like bouquets. Pink and white sprays set against the blue and white skies. The rain has faded all the colors; the park has become a wash of pastel. I believe I am walking in someone’s watercolor landscape. The trees may be a dashing paint technique, a color wash. A drop or two of paint becomes the rain I see before my eyes.

Even I am a creation of the artist. A tiny stroke of brush and blending has placed me in this lovely scene.

If I am but a figure in this lovely picture, then I shall take up my painted red umbrella, throw it to the painted wind and feel the summer diamond raindrops on my painted summer face.

“I

believe I am walking in someone’s

watercolor landscape .”

MELINDY WYNN-BOURNE is a freelance poet and writer with an emphasis on flash fiction. Her works have appeared in the Binnacle, Gemini Magazine and Flash Frontier. When she is not writing, she enjoys reading, photography and listening to music.

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windmills counter our clockwise energy —Cynthia Gallaher

Lazy Birder (My Other Love)

By Mark Nenadov bluff formations call to one another we pump gas below

I just love sitting at Point Pelee (that magical place) watching the birds play.

Wyoming vistas held together with an eyeglass screw

I sit with a pecan tart at hand on a sun-kissed day.

Birding is a fancy art but on this lazy day I find a way that's more appealing.

I'll sit here at home perched on my couch watching birds come here, for free.

mississippi wet apron of wide-hipped America five long minutes before the coffee cabana opens

For instance, one sick day in bed from the comfort of home I saw in beautiful orange-spiced red a visitor named Mr. Summer Tanager.

MARK NENADOV is a poet from Essex, Ontario, Canada. He lives with his lovely wife and their baby daughter. Mark's poems have appeared in publications in the United States, Canada, and Ireland. He also has a poem in the Whisky Sour City anthology recently published by Black Moss Press. Visit Mark’s website at http://www.marknenadov.com.

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CYNTHIA GALLAHER’S haiku have appeared in Lake City Lights, 2012 Haiku Year-in-Review Broadside, and Tommy Knockers anthology. She is also the author of three books of poetry, "Night Ribbons," "Swimmer's Prayer" and "Earth Elegance." In March, Finishing Line Press published her chapbook "Omnivore Odes: Poems About Food, Herbs and Spices." Contact Cynthia at clvcpoet@yahoo.com or twitter http://twitter.com/ swimmerpoet.

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glimmer of the heron’s stillness . . . standing among rippling pond shadows —Wally Swist

WALLY SWIST's new book is Huang Po and the Dimensions of Love, the co-winner of the 2011 Crab Orchard Series Open Poetry Competition, published by Southern Illinois University Press. His forthcoming book is Velocity, forthcoming from Virtual Artists Collective, of Chicago, IL. The title poem from the book was selected as the 2nd Prize winning poem in the Halcyon - Summer 2013 |6 2012 William Butler Yeats Society of New York City Poetry Competition.

He has made his home in the Amherst, Massachusetts area for more than the last thirty years.

What The Turtle Read

by Nels Hanson

Most people think me drab and slow With legs like oars that row and row, That seldom reach the finish line Where golden trophies goldly shine.

Other runners win the race While I retreat and hide my face From gaze of those who only see The light of burning victory.

“Other

the race While I retreat and hide

I live indoors with just a candle, My shell a cup without a handle Unlit by torches sprinters raise Where skies deliver only praise.

Rain falls upon my shingled roof But I am warm and dry enough.

I turn another page and read How calm endurance bettered speed: The story of the patient turtle Who beat a hare and won the laurel, And proved despite a stumbling start An awkward shell concealed a heart.

runners win

my face ...�

NELS HANSON has worked as a farmer, teacher, and writer-editor. He has published fiction in Antioch Review, Texas Review, Black Warrior Review, Southeast Review, Montreal Review, and other journals, and stories have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes in 2010 and 2012.

Poems have appeared in Poetry Porch, Red Booth Review, Meadowlands Review, Emerge Literary Review, and other magazines, and are in press at Oklahoma Review, Paradise Review, Hoot & Hare Review, and Citron Review.

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The Lake I Have Heard Of

By Merica Teng

“Warm water rests there

Today, I will lead you to a lake left alone, turning green, too wide and fed up.

hiding silver fish who are

Warm water rests there, hiding silver fish who are hopeful all day, avoiding nothing, gliding together out of habit, unable to stop.

hopeful all day.”

On this afternoon, I am leading with a want for us to crawl towards a decision—

Floating beside them, kept alive by sunlight, crowded by algae, is a truth we’re responsible for since it has been losing time.

I know you don’t swim and you’d rather walk, reclaiming old dirt paths for those noises as you move forward, breaking its bones, marking that you’re ahead of me.

to leap in, flailing, disrupting everything, or, we can confront that trail you like, expecting nothing less than what we’ve put in, Dirty & Reckless conjoined, always clamoring for an event.

MERICA MERIDA TENG holds an MFA in Fiction from California State University, Long Beach. She is an alum of the University of California, Los Angeles where she won the David Sedaris Humor Writing Contest in 2009. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in such journals as The Mas Tequila Review, Carnival Lit Magazine, Crack the Spine, Subliminal Interiors, and Day Old Roses. She lives and writes, vigorously, in La Mirada, CA. Contact Merica at merica.teng@gmail.com.

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Caterpillar

By Anne Mason Innocent and sweet, Naïve and playful, Curiosity and wonder Are her steadfast companions.

She lives close to the ground Yet, she sees all.

Follow her, With Caterpillar, A wondrous journey is begun.

Through depth and simplicity, Your questions fall away.

Surely, you must know!

Eventually, You will fly On the wings Of your Dreams!

ANNE MASON’S creative spark evolved while writing a novel about a Butterfly and a Grizzly Bear. ‘Caterpillar’ is an excerpt from that story. Her repertoire includes several short stories and poems, in which poetic images seem to give shape to her ideas.

Anne currently resides in Sarnia, Ontario where she regularly attends ‘Writers in Transition,’ a writing group that encourages and inspires. Contact Anne at anne_mason8246@yahoo.ca.

REBECCA MICHELLE, better known as Becky, is a student from Ottawa at Carleton University.

Currently studying Psychology and Creative Writing, her future goals include publishing poetry books, short-stories and novels. She has recently been published in "Unwrapped: The BareBack Anthology" and in Halcyon's Spring 2013 edition. In her spare time, Becky loves to indulge in the creative arts and runs a small, online business (Becky's Crazy Creations) selling her handmade earrings, cards and photo frames. Contact her through www.beckyscrazycreations.com.

Nature’s Alarm Clock

By Rebecca Michelle Halton Distantly, steaming cicadas serenade my morning stroll as warm salt waters splash and soft sand seeps in-between my toes.

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Ethereal Magnet

By Lark Beltran Its tang is lilacs in the rain, stew bubbling on the stove; its lustre that of white thin moon on silken twilight mauve; This fugue of soft rain concert of lush leaves... butterfly ballet.

—Joan McNerney

an inkling of sweet notes that call Pied-Piper-like, to cheer; cool sunlit breeze on lifted face, canceling the tear.

That aching echo of a thrill entices ... just ahead.

It swirls pink frosting on life´s cake, warm butter on its bread.

LARK BELTRAN has been living in Lima, Peru, with her

JOAN MCNERNEY’S poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum, three Bright Spring Press Anthologies and several Kind of A Hurricane Publications. She has been nominated three times for Best of the Net. Four of her books have been published by fine small literary presses.

Peruvian husband, for many years as an ESL teacher. They alternate between the capital and their home in the jungle. Lark´s poems have appeared in quite a few online and offline magazines, including Penwood Review, The Road Not Taken, Ancient Paths and Linnet´s Wings. Contact Lark at larkbeltran@hotmail.com.

Twilight Omen

by Gregory Wm. Gunn One August twilight we sculled to the beach, the sky a lavender chamber, the lake so silky surrounding us, quilted by rain stitching.

Lightning discharged the skyline, each skeletal phalanx heralding pursuant thunderous roars. All this rumpus and the sun still summoned us, it meted out a branch of silver pieces.

We both peered behind and saw an arc-de-ceil arching the brackish region.

Born in Windsor, Ontario in 1960, GREGORY WM. GUNN settled in-London. graduate Halcyon Summer A 2013 | 10 of Fanshawe College as an Electronics Technician in 1982, Mr. Gunn began writing earnestly during this academic tenure there, and has continued doing so ever since. He is mainly passionate about poetry. Gregory has compiled seven full poetry collective works and has had several poems published in places including Subterranean Blue Poetry, Blue Hour Magazine, Yes Poetry, The Toronto Quarterly, Ascent Aspirations, Covalence, Tea With George, 20 X 20 Magazine, and others. Contact Gregory at gregory.gunn031@sympatico.ca.

Haiku Forecast: Spring in Connecticut

By Brendan Walsh By mid-March, winter had broken everyone: their bodies’ resigning pallor, those bitter mornings dark and rimmed with slush. Each person desirous of heat, lusting for continued sun.

The air won’t warm much until April, then they’ll meet the heavy Spring rains, the smoky-wet sky.

There will be moments when lilac scents overtake the post-rain mist; they will believe this place is the only place on earth.

There will be days full of dead frogs, the pure tide of decay ascending from thawed pool filters.

There will be weekends, late May, Memorial Day, Summer hinting, warm, strawberries fattened in the back garden’s new mulch, when this season curls in their palms, a wooly caterpillar, and they know there is no place else.

BRENDAN WALSH is about to graduate from the MFA program at Southern Connecticut State University before moving to Vientiane, Laos to teach English through a Fulbright Grant. Before pursuing the MFA, he lived and taught in Masan, South Korea. He has worked at the Catskill Poetry Workshop, been a featured reader at The New American Writing Festival, and is an Anna Sonder Poetry Prize winner, as well as the recipient of the Leslie Leeds Poetry Prize. He enjoys writing about himself in the third person. Contact Brendan at walsh.brendan87@gmail.com.

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Hidden

By Jade Stewart-Soper Acacia bloom in the soft green meadow out of sight, deep in the forest.

I wait in the warm light of the sun wondering if he’ll come, I know he’ll come.

I lay my head back, close my eyes and wait.

“Floating, from blossoming cherry trees tiny pink petals kiss

Sweet, angelic melodies are heard from above.

The blades of grass the air so pure.

Floating, from blossoming cherry trees tiny pink petals kiss my skin.

The winds caress as pleasant shivers embrace.

my skin.”

JADE STEWART is in her first year at Western University. She is currently going for a major in English, but also has advanced entry opportunity for the Richard Ivey School of Business. Writing and Dancing are two of her biggest passions in life and she hopes to one day write a novel. Contact Jade at Jadyy_Bugg@hotmail.com.

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The Caterpillar Bids His Crew Farewell

by Nels Hanson

It seems like only hours ago I started upward from below With twenty legs like trusty men To scale the celery’s towering stem.

We sought that fair and distant leaf— Each leg rowed without relief

“I never heard a leg complain Of wobbly knee or ankle sprain.”

Until that greeny isle was spied.

“Row, legs, row!” I cried.

What hardships, long and dangerous miles!

It would have made Columbus smile The way my sailors pulled their oars To set our furry ship ashore.

At last your Captain tips his hat To those who walked and never sat, Or cried or moaned or made a fuss, Content to be anonymous.

I never heard a leg complain Of wobbly knee or ankle sprain,

Yet History little does record The names of twenty legs that oared.

And now the golden days are past . . . .

A different future rides the mast.

It’s time to rest but not to weep— There is a voyage after sleep: I promise you all legs will fly When we are all one butterfly And wings instead of weary toes Avoid the thorns and reach the rose.

NELS HANSON has worked as a farmer, teacher, and writer-editor. He has published fiction in Antioch Review, Texas Review, Black Warrior Review, Southeast Review, Montreal Review, and other journals, and stories have been nominated for Pushcart Prizes in 2010 and 2012. Poems have appeared in Poetry Porch, Red Booth Review, Meadowlands Review, Emerge Literary Review, and other magazines, and are in press at Oklahoma Review, Paradise Review, Hoot & Hare Review, and Citron Review.

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A Girl Who Fell In Love With An Island

By Anne Whitehouse I thought I saw the ghost of myself as I was at the age of 27, standing up on a bicycle, peddling uphill, long hair streaming behind her.

She smiled as she passed me in the twilight and wished me a good evening.

On the back of her bike was a milk crate for hauling things, the same as I once had.

She was wearing flip-flops and a loose wrapped skirt.

I had seen her on the beach, making salutations to the setting sun over the sea in a reflected fire of blazing gold and rose embers.

I hadn’t wanted to interrupt her, or show her to herself thirty years older.

I was a girl who fell in love with an island.

Each time I've left here, something of that quiet, introspective girl has lingered behind and never left.

On visits when I come across her she has never gotten any older.

In August I return in search of her, wearing my oldest clothes, ones she wore, worn and faded, softened by use.

Once again she and I are one when I swim in the cove’s cold waters, gazing up at the sea and sky or diving underwater to watch the dark kelps waving over the rocks.

ANNE WHITEHOUSE is the author of poetry collections: The Surveyor’s Hand, Blessings and Curses, Bear in Mind, One Sunday Morning, and The Refrain. Her novel, Fall Love, is available in ebook format from Feedbooks, Smashwords, Amazon Kindle, and iTunes. She was born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, graduated from Harvard College and Columbia University, and lives in New York City. Visit www.annewhitehouse.com for contact information.

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The Boy in the Blue Canoe

Sunday on the Bay

By June Dowis

By Caroline Misner The hull, a robin’s egg blue, It’s so rare to see a sail out here; usually

glides through the expanse

the bay is inhabited by canoes,

of diamonds, liquid facets

rocking like cradles in the rippled lake

capturing the sun.

and giving new meaning to the colour blue— bluer than the blue of water

The harbor beckons, all the

or the sky

while fading to a distant

or the boy in the blue canoe

memory, as the sailboat

that goes paddling by.

puffs out its billowed chest venturing toward the horizon.

CAROLINE MISNER is a graduate of Sheridan College of Applied Arts & Technology with a diploma in Media Arts Writing. Her poetry, fiction and non-fiction have appeared in several journals throughout the USA, Canada and the UK, too numerous to mention here. She’s also had work published in several anthologies and webzines. Caroline writes erotica under the pseudonym Cynthia Lucas and her stories have appeared in several publications and anthologies. Her YA novel, 'The Daughters of Eldox, Book 1: The Alicorn' (Whiskey Creek Press) will be released September 2013. Contact Caroline at home@carolinemisner.com or visit her website carolinemisner.com.

JUNE’S love of nature, a heart for the underdog, and prematurely “old soul” are constantly finding their way into her writing. Her publications have covered the spectrum from acrostics to essays to a billboard haiku, and like many literary artists, I do have a novel I hope to one day see in print. June’s true passion however, is poetry, primarily contemporary works and haiku. It is her hope that when someone reads her work, they will feel less alone in the world, or say to themselves, “I’ve been there too.” Writing, poetry in particular, does no good collecting dust in a drawer; it is meant to be shared and experienced and if I’m so blessed, to touch a heart.

This is June’s ultimate goal.

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Fluttering Hearts

By Debbie Okun Hill Starts off small, a wind-blown kiss this tranquil flutter like two Monarchs milkweed wings heart-shapes dipped in radiant orange reflection resting on macramé lawn chair knotted cord on bone frames tie-dying youthful thoughts together embracing mid-summer’s sunset

a monarch hovers above milkweed― day moon —Craig Steele

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DEBBIE OKUN HILL is one of five Canadian poets featured in ENCOMPASS 1, a new TOPS anthology series published by Beret Days Press. This Fall 2013, Black Moss Press will published her first trade book. She is also currently working on a new poetry manuscript thanks to a grant from the Ontario Arts Council (OAC) Writers’ Reserve program.

sunset blood-orange glow bountiful horizon whitecaps snapping open petals in bloom —John Grey JOHN GREY is an Australian born poet who works as a financial systems analyst. He is recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Sanskrit and Osiris.

Kitchen Harmony

By Lark Beltran Wedges of hot buttered cornbread on a stoneware platter catch lamplight pooled on daffodils in copper vase resplendent.

A slice of moon hangs at the window, clinching with its radiance this yellow bounty rich in comforts to the soul and body.

CRAIG W. STEELE resides in the countryside of northwestern Pennsylvania, not far from Lake Erie. His haiku have appeared recently in a handful of stones, the Aurorean, Modern Haiku, South by Southeast, Boston Literary Magazine and elsewhere, and are forthcoming at Shamrock Haiku Journal, Boston Literary Magazine and Eskimo Pie. Contact Craig at csteele@wildblue.net.

daisy petals burst into a clockwork of time summer’s sun dials —Patricia A. McGoldrick

PATRICIA A. MCGOLDRICK is a Kitchener, Ontario Canada writer. Poems published in anthologies, including: Animal Companions, Animal Doctors, Animal People; Beyond the Dark Room, an international collection of transformative poetry; Poetic Bloomings--the first year. Poetry and reviews have been published in the CSM, The WM Review Connection, and ChapterandVerse.ca. Recent titles include: Potato and MLK in Dufferin County plus an acrostic fiction piece, Best in the Bruce! P a t r i c i a i s a m e m b e r o f T he O n t ar i o P oe t r y S o c i e t y a n d t h e L e ag u e of C a n a di a n P o e t s . WE B : P a t r i c i Halcyon a A. M-cSummer G o l d r i2013 c k - -| Au 17 t h o r S i t e BLOGS: PM_Poet Writer; PM27's blog.

Gator Eye

By Jerry W. Bradley his eye sees and having seen closes on a time half past and another where paradise lies dreaming the seer becomes the scene but having eyes also discloses

“A world where hyacinths gather and the great blue heron stands …”

a world where hyacinths gather and the great blue heron stands just off camera blinking JERRY BRADLEY is Professor of English at Lamar University. He is the author of five books including The Movement: British Poets of the 1950s and two books of poetry: The Importance of Elsewhere and Simple Versions of Disaster. His poetry has appeared in New England Review, Modern Poetry Studies, Poetry Magazine, and Southern Humanities Review. He is poetry editor of Concho River Review. Contact Jerry at jerry.bradley@lamar.edu or visit his website at www.jerrybradley.net.

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Along the Shore

By Rebecca Michelle Halton Silently skipping stone after stone, an eyelash falls on her cheek.

It is kissed, for a moment, by the sun.

A jerk, a glance, a motion away, it spirals like a maple seed into the murky waters, significantly insignificant, disappearing forever.

“It spirals like a maple seed into the murky waters …”

REBECCA MICHELLE, better known as Becky, is a student from Ottawa at Carleton University.

Currently studying Psychology and Creative Writing, her future goals include publishing poetry books, short-stories and novels. She has recently been published in "Unwrapped: The BareBack Anthology" and in Halcyon's Spring 2013 edition. In her spare time, Becky loves to indulge in the creative arts and runs a small, online business (Becky's Crazy Creations) selling her handmade earrings, cards and photo frames. Contact her through www.beckyscrazycreations.com.

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Star

Collector

They said he collected stars — plucked them one by one from the abyss left dangling off the clothesline with his father's best summer suit.

He could feel the future in their shiny points and the sharp prick of something maddening glowing under their silver skins; and when he held them under water they breathed, their embers glowing— tiny spines curling up to tell him stories.

Brend

by

an

iva l l u S

“When he held them under water, they breathed, their embers glowing ...”

But their laugh was what he loved best— sea breeze and green glass and the whistle of a dandelion shedding its blustery mane across the pebbles of the pond.

BRENDAN SULLIVAN is a lifelong beachcomber who has turned from acting to poetry, as he finds it a more remarkable—and at times, reliable—muse. He also enjoys surfing, sailing and diving. Brendan’s work has been published at Wordsmiths, The Missing Slate, Every Writer's Resource, Gutter Eloquence, A Sharp Piece of Awesome, After Tournier, Bareback Magazine and Bare Hands. Contact Brendan at scarlettletters36@yahoo.com.

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n

Riding on the Summer Breeze

by Angela T. I flap my wings, ready for take off To venture into the coming of the new season.

Summer has arrived, Bringing smiles for different reasons.

As I get ready to leave the branch from where I’m perched upon, I end my sweet lullaby with a beautiful legato, Sending the hammock swinger into a deep yawn.

I look across the backyard and see little children in an inflatable pool.

The sight makes me reminisce on my Showers in the bird bath to stay cool.

In the distance, I hear a hypnotizing jingle From an ice cream truck driving by. I follow the rambunctious youngsters trailing behind it, In the hopes of tasting something besides worm gumbo.

“I end my sweet lullaby

Gliding over the park, I see a father and son fishing over the pond.

with a beautiful legato,

A worm dangles from each of their fingers.

Looks like my dinner just became ‘bait’ donned.

sending the hammock swinger

I finally arrive at my self-proclaimed balcony –

into a deep yawn.”

Ah, the beloved swing set. Children compete to see who can swing the highest, trying to reach the sky.

Maybe one day, they’ll be able to ride the summer breeze with me.

ANGELA T. is a soon-to-be university freshman who has always had a passion for writing, but has only found the time to hone it during the past two years, by writing fan fictions and taking a high school Writer's Craft course. She loves watching Filipino soap operas and movies to get inspiration for her works. One day, Angela dreams of becoming a famous journalist and newscaster.

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Apology to Summer

By Richard King Perkins II There were a few decent summers I suppose, spent exploring, discovering and breaking minor laws but I will never romanticize summer because I’ve done just as well, if not better, in other seasons. For most of my lifetime, summer has brought me nothing but lethargy— the heat, the sweat, the allergies and the sting of sunlight.

Summer fatigues me, causing a reverse hibernation, where I lay around for months semi-comatose dreaming of seeing my breath and Alaskan cruises, enjoying the warmth of a fireplace, the chill of cold floorboards.

The sting of July heat fades to a half-recalled summer odyssey but even in arid journeys there is a certain beauty and I can recall a memory on the edge of forgotten of walking eight or ten miles to see a certain girl standing on her doorstep, how the day lit her hair and sparked her easy smile, showing the silhouette of her new abundance that began an entirely new dream and now I must apologize to summer because without your conveyance I wouldn’t have become the man who has this memory, barely captured in these simple words.

RICHARD KING PERKINS II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He has a wife, Vickie and a daughter, Sage. Richard’s work has appeared in hundreds of publications including Prime Mincer, Sheepshead Review, Sierra Nevada Review, Fox Cry, Prairie Winds and The Red Cedar Review. He has poems forthcoming in Bluestem, Two Thirds North and The William and Mary Review.

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Drowsy Paradelle

By Pamela Hobart Carter In summer, her days stretched. She lost time sense.

She lost time sense in summer, stretched her days.

She slept and dreamed in soft sanctuaries sheltered by shade.

She dreamed and slept sheltered by shade in soft sanctuaries.

She dreamed time slept in. Sheltered by her summer soft days in shade she lost sanctuaries and sense.

Will she gain the gist of ground again?

She will gain the gist of ground again.

Still, she loves the games her mind plays.

She plays the games her still mind loves.

The gist of the games will ground her mind still. She plays again. She loves gain.

She wonders if she sleeps or wakes through these reveries.

She sleeps through these reveries. If she wakes, she wonders.

Even her drowsy self knows what is true and what is fiction.

And, even drowsy, is what her true self knows fiction? What is?

What if she is drowsy or is her true fiction? Even through reveries, she knows these: self, wonders, wakes, and what sleeps.

What is the gist of these reveries, plays, and drowsy games?

Will she gain in wonders? If she dreamed or slept through days and what her mind knows stretched her true self, she lost.

Still, she sleeps by sheltered ground, in the sanctuaries’ shade.

She wakes; loves again, even.

Her summer sense of time is soft fiction.

Seattle resident PAMELA HOBART CARTER grew up in Montreal, Quebec. A geologist by training, Carter has taught everything from preschool to science pedagogy. Recently Carter began to wield poetry for the purpose of eliminating hunger. Contact Pamela at Pamela.hobart.carter@gmail.com.

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Waltz in Dahlia Major

Canada

By Tatiana Morand

By Rebecca Rose Taylor

A glimpse of windblown dancers peeking through the grass; a treasure illuminating the lawn.

Robins' feathers flutter as they swirl and harmonise.

Shy rainbows peek through the clouds, but the song of sunlight plays on and I listen to the melody of the wind.

Glistening petals turn skyward, a joyful tiding of change; summer is here at last.

Flags flying everywhere maple leaf encompassing this special day.

Reliving history, as the country joined together First four provinces, over time a growth to ten and three territories.

Languages mix together the theme is clear in all voices This is Canada, proud to be free.

REBECCA ROSE TAYLOR lives on a farm near the St. Francis River in Quebec. Her recent works have been included in Long Story Short, Barebacklit, The Montreal Review, Dark Fountain Magazine and Perspectives Magazine.

TATIANA MORAND loves literature and will soon be studying it at the University of Waterloo, hoping to one day work in a publishing house. She has been published in various publications for both poetry and prose. She writes about the trials, travels and tickles of her teenage life over at her blog Song Sung Blue, which can be found at http://singing-blue.blogspot.ca/.

Try to catch the wind.

Count the ripples in the sea.

Become a child again.

—Joan McNerney

leaves rustle in a summer breeze― distant wind chimes —Craig Steele

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Summer Blues

As Pure As Stars

By Irene Ferraro-Sives

By Dawnell Harrison

It may have been the summer rain dancing on the open window melting the summer dust.

Or, to think again it may have been the careless, summer breeze that blew your private music across the hollow alley

It is a night to lose yourself in.

A full moon, the ocean riding its waves into a glint shine as pure as stars.

IRENE FERRARO-SIVES was born in Brooklyn, NY and currently lives with her husband in New Jersey. Irene has been writing since she was nine.

Calculating.... a fish leaps to capture bite of heaven.

—Joan McNerney

A pearled conk shell that lays on the sand is as smooth as a weathered rock in the water – wave after wave erasing its pointy edges and polishing it to a shine.

Angels sing of a world as full as a lit moon rising up in the tender, sweet night.

Deep in the marrow of the moon demigods speak of peace and hold this night up as if gentled by halos.

DAWNELL HARRISON has been published in over 60 magazines and journals including The Endicott Review, Abbey, Iconoclast, Nerve Cowboy, and Mobius. She also has three poetry books “Voyager,” “The Maverick Posse,” and “The Fire Behind My Eyes.”

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That Summer

By November Thomas

That summer I ran across Maple Ave every day to knock on Jen’s window.

When Danny moved we cried our fill, and ate ice cream while watching some Soap Opera in another language.

That summer we sat on her porch eating Sour Patch Kids and talking about Danny.

That summer was the best summer of my life.

We ate watermelon and laughed as the juice dribbled down our chin, we scraped our knees.

That summer we tried to hold a lemonade stand, until our mothers found where the lemons were disappearing to.

This summer Jen graduates from medical school, and this summer I get my masters in journalism.

But that summer we played Doctor, and read each other’s diaries And that is a summer to remember...

That summer, Jen and I found her mother’s make-up and walked by Danny’s house.

That summer, we braided each other’s hair and wondered what the word ‘hippie’ meant.

That summer, we had a talent show in our back yard, and that summer was beautiful.

Jen and I were sure that our hearts were truly broken.

MORGAN THOMAS is a poet and writer that resides in Reading, PA. She set out into the publishing world six months ago, has participated in the Worlds’ Best Poet Contest, and has been published in Bareback Magazine. One vital detail about Morgan that continues to shock the publishers and the like, is that she is 12 years old. Morgan loves to observe others to better herself as a writer.

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Amaryllis

By Norma West Linder From its tall green stem -- botanical exclamation I watch this native plant of South America emerge from its emerald clasp of protective sepals Each day it rises higher an elegant emergence into light four pale white buds towering above a round brown bulb in an unworthy dark green plastic pot

“Each day it rises higher an elegant emergence into light.”

I watch, expecting the miracle of its glorious quartet of petals to unfurl wait for the nuptial music to begin after all, this plant is called The Wedding Dance

NORMA WEST LINDER is Past President of the Sarnia Branch of the Canadian Authors Association, a member of The Writers’ Union of Canada, PEN, The Ontario Poetry Society, and Writers in Transition. Author of 5 novels, 12 collections of poetry, a memoir of Manitoulin Island, a children’s book, a biography of Pauline McGibbon, and numerous short stories, published internationally and aired over the CBC. For 24 years she taught English at Lambton College in Sarnia. Linder wrote a weekly column for The Observer for seven years. Her latest publication is Adder’s-tongues, a poetry collection edited by James Deahl. A collection of short stories, No Common Thread, is due to be released in August of 2013 from Hidden Brook Press. She has two daughters and a son.

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At the End of the Day

By Debbie Okun Hill After her newborn settles in her arms she sits with her back against summer’s floral trellis allows grass mat to cushion her tired day.

In the distance an orange globed sun paints a visual lullaby like a silk scarf a musical string strummed along rose watered sky.

“Her shoulders relax.

Earth’s heartbeat slows.

She closes her eyes falls deep into sleep.”

Her shoulders relax.

Earth’s heartbeat slows.

She closes her eyes falls deep into sleep.

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For this new magazine section, I asked the contributors the following questions. I think you will be encouraged by their answers.

FIRSTS What publication accepted your first submission? Was it a paying market or just contributor copies?

ANGELA T: My first acceptance was in a publication called Halcyon! I was really surprised that my amateur poem was accepted. Thanks for the opportunity!

ANNE WHITEHOUSE: My first publication was a poem, “Horsepens 40, Alabama,” published in the North Stone Review.” I got paid with magazine copies.

ANNE MASON: My first acceptance will be published at the end of this year in a local anthology called 'A River Runs By It.' Sarnia is celebrating its 100th anniversary in 2014 and the writer's group here are in the process of publishing works of fiction and non fiction prose and poetry illustrated with photos. All of the submissions are done by local writers.

CRAIG STEELE: My first poetry acceptance was a haiku, accepted by the literary journal Amelia (which is no longer published) in 1987. I don’t remember if this was a paying market, but my haiku won that year’s Lucille Sandberg Annual Haiku Contest sponsored

by Amelia, and I won $100 for it. Soon after that, I got busy with my career and quite writing haiku for decades. My next haiku acceptance was in 3LIGHTS: Journal of Haiku & Related Forms, in 2010!

DEBBIE OKUN HILL: My first acceptance was in a publication called The Saving Bannister. It was in response to a contest organized by the Niagara Branch of The Canadian Authors Association. I didn’t win a prize but I received a free copy of the anthology and was invited along with the other contributors to read at the launch. I was so excited I drove three hours to attend the event to make sure it was real.

JADE STEWART-SOPER: Halcyon is my first acceptance for publication. I have only started to send out my work and was thrilled when I received the acceptance. I am very grateful for the opportunity to be published in Halcyon. I have been sending out some of my poetry and short stories since April and this was one of the first replies I had received.

JERRY BRADLEY: My first acceptance was in Midwestern University's student literary magazine in 1968, a non-paying publication.

LARK BELTRAN: My first acceptance was in a (nonpaying) magazine called Coelacanth.

MARK NENADOV: My first acceptance was in a publication called Three Line Poetry, and I received a token payment of one dollar for it.

MELINDY WYNN-BOURNE: My first acceptance was in a publication called Gemini Magazine, an online fiction and poetry journal hosting a flash fiction contest. My story was entitled "Left", and told about an act of sacrifice among a group destined for Auschwitz concentration camp.

NORMA WEST LINDER: My first poetry acceptance was in a magazine called Other Voices, payment in copies only. The first paid acceptance was in a CBC program called "John Drainie's Canadian Short Stories" and they paid the grand sum of $75.00 for about 1500 words. I sold them a dozen or more stories until they went off the air.

PAMELA H. CARTER: My first acceptance was a poem in Barrow Street. They pay copies.

PATRICIA MCGOLDRICK: My first paid publication was a poem "Territorial Preserve" published in Christian Science Monitor. As a child, my first accepted article was published in the Arthur Enterprise News.

REBECCA R. TAYLOR: My first acceptance was in a publication called Taproot: Poetry, Prose and Images of the Eastern Townships. I had a poem published called "A Cat Having Kittens." It was not a paying market, it was put out by the Townshipper's Association and the money raised would have gone to the association which has numerous functions.

RICHARD KING PERKINS II: Poetry Motel; I'm sure it was just contributor's copies.

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ADVICE What is the best writing-related advice you read or received?

ANGELA T: The best writing advice I've received was to find time to write everyday, even if it's writing a little journal entry about your day or jotting down ideas for a minute or two. This will definitely help you hone your writing skills and creativity over time.

ANNE MASON: Edit, edit, edit. The most valued lesson happened when I began to submit my short stories to contests. The process of streamlining my stories down to the number of requisite words was a revelation in creativity and improvement. I didn't always like the end result, but I do love the way I have learned.

BRENDAN WALSH: At the Catskill Poetry Workshop, Michael Waters told me to break the reader's heart. Give them heartbreak, and let the triumph and happiness come through after the reading. Break their hearts.

CYNTHIA GALLAHER: The best advice I ever received about writing came from an older poet. She spoke to me at a reading when I had just started writing in my early 20s. Her advice was along the lines of "Don't give up. The world is full of quitters. If you continue to write and don't give up, you will be successful.

JERRY BRADLEY: The best advice I have been given about writing is, inspired or not, to keep my rear end in the chair.

LARK BELTRAN: Perhaps the best writing-related advice I´ve read (probably from Writer´s Market,) is that if you have talent and are persistent, you will enjoy some measure of success—but you must be persistent.

MARK NENADOV: The best writing-related advice I've ever received was to avoid compartmentalizing my writing life. Basically what that means is that your attention to the craft of writing shouldn't be limited to your "artistic" work. All areas of your writing life spill over into each other. If you get sloppy in your e-mails, it may very well creep into your poems. Focus on writing well, even if it is just an e-mail to your mom or a text message to a friend.

MELINDY WYNN-BOURNE: The best writing-related advice I have received was to just let it flow, naturally.

Forget what everyone says about writing 1,000 words a day or whatever. If the inspiration strikes, go with it and make it yours. But if it doesn't strike, if you don't

write for a day or a week, then that's okay too. And that's true. I know that from experience.

NORMA WEST LINDER: The best writing advice I ever received was "bash on"--something all writers have to do in the face of rejection.

PAMELA H. CARTER: The best advice I've been given was to read Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. When I sit to write, I write.

PATRICIA MCGOLDRICK: Read. Read. Read.

RICHARD KING PERKINS: It's the most obvious but also the hardest advice to follow: "Keep writing."

TATIANA MORAND: The best quote I've ever read regarding writing came frome one of the letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald, and read, "If you have anything to say, anything you feel nobody has ever said before, you have got to feel it so desperately, that you will find some way to say it that no one has ever found before, so that the thing you have to say and the way of saying it blend as one matter- as indissolubly as if they were concieved together."

MOST SUBMISSION REJECTIONS What was the highest number of rejections your submission received before it was accepted?

CRAIG STEELE: The most rejections I received for a poem was 10, over the course of 5 years, before it was accepted. I have several poems that received 8 or 9 rejections, over the course of several years, before they were accepted. Oftentimes, you just have to find the “right” editor for a particular piece (and, of course, the versions of the poems that were finally accepted were highly revised compared to the original submissions).

DEBBIE OKUN HILL: Rejections are a normal part of the writing process. Sometimes I get lucky and a poem will be accepted on the first submission but I’ve also had work rejected three or four times before it finds a home. A few weeks ago, I had a poem accepted after being rejected 10 times. That’s my record so far.

LARK BELTRAN: The most rejections I´ve received for a poem before it was accepted is 13.

MARK NENADOV: The most rejections I've received for a poem before it got accepted was 25. This is atypical. Ordinarily by then I would have given up, but even after 25 rejections I felt it deserved an audience

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and was stubbornly persistent. It turns out that the publication which accepted it ended up being more respected than some of the publications that turned it down.

MELINDY WYNN-BOURNE: The piece that received the most rejections was "Left". So many magazines passed on it, saying it was 'not quite right.' At first I thought that was code for 'not good enough', then I found a publication that stated in the acceptance email, "this one gave us chills!" I realized then that publication is less about technical perfection and more about good timing.

But all good things come in time.

RICHARD KING PERKINS II: The most rejections I received for a poem was 80 before it was accepted.

INSPIRING QUOTES Do you have an inspiring or motivation quote regarding writing?

CYNTHIA GALLAHER: "A poem is never finished, only abandoned." ~ Paul Valery

LARK BELTRAN: One quote I like, from an old book called The Lure of the Pen, by Flora Klickmann, says: "The poet, among other qualifications, has the ability to recognize what humanity wants to say but cannot, and is able to set it down in black and white, so that when the world reads it, it exclaims: ´Why, that is just what I think and feel! Only I could never put it into words!´" MARK NENADOV: I sort of like Hemmingway's thought: "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

MELINDY WYNN-BOURNE: My favorite motivational quote about writing comes from the great Ernest Hemingway, who said "All you have to do is write one true sentence."

PATRICIA A. MCGOLDRICK: In my writing, I am inspired by the words of Spanish artist Joan Miro who said, “I try to apply colours like words that shape poems, like notes that shape music.”

REBECCA R. TAYLOR: I've always loved quotes by Eleanor Roosevelt and the one "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams," is definitely applicable when it comes to writing.

RICHARD KING PERKINS II: "Science is for those who learn; poetry, for those who know." -Joseph Roux

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SUMMER 2013

© JUNE 2013 | MONIQUE BERRY HAMILTON, ON, CANADA

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