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-- Online Galleries Poetry Art Stories Boutique (book store) The Poet’s Haven Author Series The Poet’s Haven Digest Small Press Archive Series Lake Effect Poetry Other Books Boutique Home Downloads Podcasts eBooks Submissions Communications Publisher’s Blog Contact Publisher Events Search Search Search Online Galleries Poetry Art Stories Boutique (book store) The Poet’s Haven Author Series The Poet’s Haven Digest Small Press Archive Series Lake Effect Poetry Other Books Boutique Home Downloads Podcasts eBooks Submissions Communications Publisher’s Blog Contact Publisher Events “The Girl and the Orca” by Chelsea McKenna Twilight had overwhelmed the sky in steady waves. The world freshly smeared paint done by ancient hands. Water cradled by the air like a snow globe without the trappings. An absolute silence so warm a pleasant comfort. The girl and the orca floating along the path over the cobblestones. The girl stroking the back of the whale that so many call killer. Her guide in this world that is not quite a world. The girl who can not see but she knows of course she must. If this is a dream she must think do not ever wake up. Chelsea McKenna is relatively new to the world of serious writing. While she has always had a passion for literature, it was not until recently that she began writing with more intent. This may seem a bit odd for a writer, but Chelsea’s never done normal very well. “Breakfast With the Soothsayer” by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen and she predicts “this day will be cold, cold as a once-revered saber buried within a forgotten battlefield’s debris, a saber capable of transmuting ill-will and evil intent into an intrinsic realization of the sacredness within all existence… and this saber…” pausing, she grasps my arm… “it can, it must be found, found and wielded by hero and heroine, working together, as one… and you and I” she states firmly, squeezing my arm “it’s up to us… it’s us” the steaming coffeecup halfway to my lips, suspended in the silent, fertile morning light… Ayaz Daryl Nielsen was born in Nebraska, attended schools in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Mexico, has lived in Germany, and now lives in Colorado with his beloved wife Judith. A veteran, former hospice nurse, and ex-roughneck, he has been editor of Bear Creek Haiku for 25+ years. ( bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com ) “I Told My Therapist That I Like My Job” by Patricia Grudens when I had my first panic attack I was at work and you know what they told me. they told me that I needed to come up with a better excuse to go home early next time. that I had nothing to panic about because I file paperwork and make phone calls all day and that’s it. my coworker said that if I could not handle my job now then I sure as hell would not succeed anywhere else. and so, with my heart still bouncing in my chest and my fingers still veiny from quivering, I had to return to stapling forms. my mind swiftly drifted away from my body and I began to watch myself in my cubicle from above. my thoughts coated with adrenaline, I thought… is this real was this really happening to me why d o n ‘ t I feel co nne cte d to my body anymore? why am I no t hing but a ghost tha t mo st pe opl e can see? when will this stop will this ever stop why is my body in fight or flight mode when I am doing nothing dangerous… or is living what’s most dangerous of all. everyone dreams about flying until they get their own wings. then just like that they’re frozen in time just like I am. I don’t want to wake up as a ninety year old and wonder where my time has gone I don’t want to die wondering when I will get to live. Patricia Grudens graduated from Ithaca College with a Bachelors of Science degree in Marketing/Communications. The various writing classes that she took meshed together and sparked a deep love for poetry, and she cannot imagine not having writing as a large part of her life. ( facebook.com/pgruden1 ) “Now That We Know Better” by David Thornbrugh Not so long ago, extinction didn’t exist. What life was here had always been here and always would be. Thomas Jefferson, instructing Lewis and Clark, asked them to look out for mastodons, assuming they had to live somewhere cold; we just hadn’t been far enough north yet. I guess he didn’t know about the dodo. The last of the passenger pigeons even had a name, though that didn’t save it. Now we know the long dominance of dinosaurs disappeared in one slap from a cold, indifferent hand, know that the same rocks rotate in space around us, hand grenades deflectable by the touch of a solar wind. We know this, yet choose to believe we can resurrect our Jurassic predecessors from chunks of amber, that what we do, matters. David Thornbrugh is a Ring of Fire poet based in Seattle, Washington. In his poetry, he strives to make sense of existence, and to lessen some of the gloom he feels as the natural world fades further and further into the past and the future looks less and less viable. He finds life without humor not worth the effort, and the idea of being a poet in America pretty funny. “It Is” by Peter Savigny I have a past jealous of my future knowing that the future can change at will. It taunts. I have a future envious of my past for the past is done and can just be. It’s smug. My present is caught between rivalries straddling both; wrangling the transition. It is. Peter Savigny is a 25-year art director in television turned poet and sculptor. He is an avid change artist and experientialist. ( timestories.com ) “Enough to Have Their Own” by E.V. Wyler The proprietor apologized profusely in carefully crafted expressions of shock and outrage that blended with a bland babbling about reassurances of restitution. His home health aide had “borrowed” the Pathfinder she was permitted to drive… only when her passenger was present. Upon her morning arrival, this caregiver was confronted by the one she betrayed. “Why? Paulie, Why?” “…Because I needed it!” Once she wailed those words, she knew her defense was defective: “The Law” is only loyal to ownership; never need. So, prior to the police’s arrival, Pauline ran passed her patient, fleeing on foot to become a fugitive from justice, somewhere on Florida’s sunshine-stained sidewalks. A somber Pauline soon surrendered, but we chose not to charge the former chauffer and friend who had freed our mother from the stuffy confines of her facility. Released from incarceration, without a “record,” she was spared the modern-day Scarlet Letter, the label of “felon.” I wondered, how often is society’s populace impacted by these “property crimes” committed by working people who don’t earn enough to have their own? And so, they do without until they descend into the desperation that desecrates decency. I don’t detract from the deeds of her delinquency when I react that her boss was an accessory-before-the-fact. At the apex of the corporate pyramid, the powerful preside over profits, feasting on their fill of fruit from the proverbial pie while denying a nicely-sized slice to their underlings who labored to bake it. Is there a point where proprietors, like Pauline’s employer, possess a moral and social responsibility to sufficiently compensate their employees so they earn enough to have their own? E.V. “Beth” Wyler grew up in Elmont, NY. At 43 she obtained her associate’s degree from Bergen Community College. She and her husband, Richard, share their empty nest with 3 cats and a beta fish. E. V. Wyler’s poems have been featured in The Storyteller , WestWard Quarterly , Feelings of the Heart , Nuthouse , The Pine Times , The Pink Chameleon , The Rotary Dial , Vox Poetica , and on The Society of Classical Poets’ website. Website Updates in Progress… There are currently some glitches and problems here on The Poet’s Haven website. We will be installing and applying some (long overdue) updates in the next few days that will hopefully correct everything. Please bear with us. UPDATE: Almost everything works now. Like any update, we still had a plethora of issu...