Edgar Allan Poe's Wife Virginia Signs Up for Netflix
by Allison Thorpe
She loved the romantic comedies
devoured them on nights
when her husband spewed
his murder and mystery onto the page
loved the way Cary Grant's hand
tenderly stirred a wisp of curl
from some woman's cheek
without veering to grip her throat
loved Clark Gable on a moonlit balcony
the intense sway and swoon
of his impassioned rhythm
with no tell tale mayhem of the heart
loved how Robert Redford kissed the ear
the tilted neck the fragrant shoulder
that gentle crave of lower and lower
lacking any pendulum of madness
loved that the night's
darkness held only a sweet
skulk of stars, the charming
dash of a ravenless moon.
Bio: Allison Thorpe is the author of several collections of poetry, most recently Dorothy's Glasses (Finishing Line Press, 2015). A Pushcart nominee, she has appeared in such journals as Connecticut River Review, Appalachian Heritage, Gingerbread House, MacGuffin, Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, Freshwater, South85 Journal, Scapegoat Review,and Third Wednesday.
In Safe Hands
by Jo Erbacher
For an undertaker
there can be nothing more balancing
than to marry a midwife
to achieve that polarity
of seeing life in and out again
with the same printed stationary,
and pooling the car
for every emergency.
After a heavy summer,
when O’Connor came regular,
having buried two uncles
and my late great-grandfather,
my young brother spotted the hearse
speeding to someone’s new baby,
and not knowing that this time
it was o’connors dear lady,
remarked that the man
was getting rather too greedy
and perhaps for all sakes
he should take a long holiday.
Bio: Jo Erbacher is a 39- year old Northern Irish mother of three. She is a medical scientist and copywriter professionally and has written poetry as a hobby poet for many years. Some of her poetry will be appearing the the January Issue of A New Ulster.
I Woke Early on Christmas Morning
by Terri Ward
To meditate, and then to greet the sky
and listen to the crows, cardinals, nuthatches
and sparrows fill the morning
with their tweets and peeps and jangle laughter
I don’t understand, but my soul recognizes.
The clouds drew angel wings across the blue canvas
as the sun split open the gray dawn,
pouring fresh light down over the trees and the tiny faces
of the birds and my face filled with wonder
as I stood outside and watched the sky offer its own gifts.
Later, I unwrapped new books, paints, a journal –
nourishments of the soul –
and felt happy and at peace with my world.
But in the gold birthing of a new day,
the birds sang to the sun the only gift they can give,
and I think that is somehow the best gift,
the most important gift…
so I closed my eyes and said “thank you.”
Bio: Terri Hadley Ward is a writer and artist who gains creative inspiration from being in nature. Her poems have appeared in The Greensilk Journal, The MOON magazine, When Women Waken, The Magnolia Review, and Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing. In addition to writing poetry, she nourishes her soul through yoga, meditation, and painting. She recently finished her first chapbook, Songs of the Wild She, and is currently at work on her first full-length book of poetry.