6

7/1/10
Rested

by
Michelle Dennis Evans

Ready to go
No weary no lack
Energy to burn
Exhilarating adventure
Willing to launch
Focus renewed
Freedom found
Soul
Mind
Body
Filled and refuelled
Ready to run
Rested in Him
Rested and ready

Meet Michelle Dennis Evans!

Michelle writes to inspire, take people on a journey and escape their world she
is married to an incredibly hot man, with four delightful children.

Michelle won NaNoWriMo in 2009, is published in the 12 Days of Christmas by

Jim Wisneski and enjoys sharing her faith, family, fiction and homeschooling
journey at www.michelledevans.blogspot.com and @michelledevans on twitter.
Destiny

by
Jim Bronyaur

For I am the creator of destiny

My weathered hands tear apart on cracked grounds
they tear apart on beat up hearts
(why is fate such a cruel beast?)
The crossroads you face
The time you spend looking and waiting for
(the sign)
Why, my dearest life,
that time is wasted
the sign is held deep within.
deep within a place of existent
(that is often left behind)
The place (you may ask) is not one of fortune.
not one of greed.
not one of lust.
not even on of hope.
But of life.
But of yourself.
But of your heart.
All within your destiny…
The destiny I create
And hand to you with the care
while my scars bleed to show that time is real.
Meet Jim Bronyaur!

BIO: Jim lives in Pennsylvania and has been published in many

anthologies including Flash!, Elements of Horrors, Diamonds in the
Rough, and Inner Fears. Other stories have been published in Flashes
in the Dark, Twisted Dreams, Pow! Fast Flash Fiction, among many
others. He doesn’t sleep, drinks lots of coffee, and listens to Guns ’n
Roses. Jim’s web site is www.jimbronyaur.com. He is also the creator
of Soft Whispers.
Dragon Dawn

by
Katrina DeLallo

The Dragon flings his flame across the sky,

And claws his golden way above the trees;

The clouds blush scarlet as he passes by

And carry his reflection on the breeze.

Aflame within the graying cast of night,

Reluctant darkness flees before his gaze.

His tongue laps up the moon and cold starlight,

Replacing silver beams with amber rays.

The golden Dragon sets the sky on fire,

Blue silk bedecked with burnished, burning gold.

From the East he kindles, shining higher,

Illuminating valley, hill, and wold.

The Dragon flames, in amber-gold array,

The Rising Sun, the Dawn, Enkindled Day.

Meet Katrina DeLallo!

“My name is Katrina DeLallo. I live in South Lake Tahoe,

California.

I am a student at the Institute of Children's Literature, and

I've joined the Writer's Retreat, a chat group forum at the
Institute's site where writers can gather and talk about their
acceptances or rejections. I've heard about your site
through several of the students there, and it's always been
positive feedback.”
Steel

by
Laura Ebohon

I am steel
metallic matrix
strong alloy
solid solution
stainless. Water flows over
no sign left
only small drops
of fresh nothing
As I am made of steel
Flames can't burn me
I'm stainless cold
corrosion-resistant
rust will not consume
my protected veins of light
reflected on the shining surface
as I am steel
and so is my heart...
heavy solid barrier of chromium
Rust-proof
Pain-proof
Unassailable
But... a unique melting point...
Sensational status
Irreversible
Inevitable...
The elasticity of my bouncing soul...
Meet Laura Mercurio Ebohon!

“Writing (therapeutical ladder to the sky), reading, traveling, exploring,

captivating images, observing the mysteries-miracles of life, attempting verses…”

My first poetry book: Italian – English poetry “Se guardo dentro – If I look
inside” is out now.

I feel the essence of my writing could be described as: ”sliding” into myself trying
to find the “real me” keeping at the same time my eyes wide open on the world
and its wonders.

I think this life is a passage through stormy and sunny places leading us to the
light I have been searching since I was a little girl. I would like to learn more and
share more through my verses.

I cannot really tell you the what or the how but I am sure that you will see in
some of my verses the intricate maze of my journey and you will recognize the
when and the why I felt my inner spiritual journey had to be explored even more
to finally find the communion between mind, body and soul… Always looking for
peace.

Find out more about Laura and her book of poetry here:
http://iamlauramercurio.com/2010/06/03/se-guardo-dentro-if-i-look-inside/
Only Silence Remains

by
Maria Kelly

I am here...right here...
just a step or two away

from you...here-

with only the distance

of the aisle to separate us.

You are looking at cans of tuna fish,

I am contemplating vegetable soup.

You turn and look in my direction and I smile

but your eyes are blank and unfocused;

seeing right through me,

not seeing me at all,

as if I have become Invisible.

Again and again I observe this

tragic ritual
in American marketplaces

and city streets, where a

smile and a “Hello” are rare commodities

and sometimes more precious than gold.

We are a nation of Invisible People:

frightened of any confrontation

beyond our computer and cell phone screens.

How will we re-learn the Art

of spoken Communication

once it is forever lost?

Will our public voices continue

to dwindle into nothingness

...until only silence remains?

Meet Maria Kelly!

Hello! My name is Maria Kelly.

I am a 44 year-old writer of speculative fiction. I live in Pinellas Park, Florida, with a
tyrannical calico cat named Missy, who goes by the nickname BratCat. Occasionally, she
removes the manacles from my hands so I can write. I am currently in the process of
publishing a serial fantasy on my blog for children ages 10 and up called “The Reluctant
Prince.” I mainly write adult fiction, however.
I read about “Soft Whispers” in the weekly e-newsletter from Duotrope’s Digest. I visited
your website and found myself very interested in what you are doing there.
http://identifiedflyinglenticulars.blogspot.com/
Pictures and Art
Sky Clouds
(photo taken by Cynthia Schuerr)
In Flames
(photo taken by Rebecca Besser)
 A Line at a Time

The idea? Look at a picture and then

write the first line that comes to mind.
 A Line at a Time #20

The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone

But look in the cracks, look through the slats

The passing of time cracks and erodes

The ghosts are still here, and they have long memories

Peel back the layers, open the shutters that hold the pain

(Wendy blinked back tears as she gazed at the crumbling hacienda;

she was going to fucking KILL her realtor)

Once this was my home - it holds my memories still

As the door glides wide....my heart will smile....at the beauty within

The dead-orange paint pulled back like bedsheets in my hands

Yes imprints of our passing flow as breezes across time

But memories are forever held - inside our walls

 The contributors:

The lost are lost... the broken are broken... all may be gone (Jim Bronyaur,
www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)

But look in the cracks, look through the slats (Jeanne Baldwin)

The passing of time cracks and erodes (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

The ghosts are still here, and they have long memories (Maria Kelly, www.twitter.com/mkelly317)

Peel back the layers, open the shutters that hold the pain (Michelle Dennis Evans,
http://michelledevans.blogspot.com )

Wendy blinked back tears as she gazed at the crumbling hacienda; she was going to fucking KILL
her realtor (Monica Marier. http://monicamarier.blogspot.com/)

Once this was my home - it holds my memories still (Tessa Conte,

http://www.tessasblurb.blogspot.com)

As the door glides wide....my heart will smile....at the beauty within (Cynthia Schuerr,
http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

The dead-orange paint pulled back like bedsheets in my hands (Kaston Griffin,
www.akashio.wordpress.com)

Yes imprints of our passing flow as breezes across time (Claudette J. Young,
http://www.claudsy.wordpress.com)

But memories are forever held - inside our walls (Cari Main)
 A Line at a Time #21

Where did you go?

We never figured, "I'll just leave my jacket out here, so it won't get
crud on it," would be Andy's last words

While we sang by the fence in the snow

I waited in the wind for you, but you never came

When I turned my head

You left your soul....I feel it, your heart.....come heal it

They say he didn't have a chance because the weather turned

THE CONTRIBUTORS:

We did you go? (Jim Bronyaur, www.twitter.com/jimbronyaur)

We never figured, "I'll just leave my jacket out here, so it won't get crud on it," would be Andy's
last words (Monica Marier, http://twitter.com/lil_monmon)

While we sang by the fence in the snow (Michelle Dennis Evans,

http://michelledevans.blogspot.com)

I waited in the wind for you, but you never came (Katrina DeLallo, http://twitter.com/CrafterCat)

When I turned my head (Rebecca Besser, www.rebeccabesser.com)

You left your soul....I feel it, your heart.....come heal it (Cynthia Schuerr,
http://www.theheartofwriting.blogspot.com)

They say he didn't have a chance because the weather turned (Claudette J. Young,
http://claudsy.wordpress.com)
Pic 1 k
 The Traveler
by Rebecca Besser

The vacant pinnacle stands erect on the

horizon.

A sign of hope to the traveler.

Unused ground, decaying buildings in a row.

A sign of yesterday to the traveler.

Green plants, new life, where vacancy lies.

A sign of future to the traveler.

Shelter from elements, and unknown foes.

A sign of security to the traveler.

Silence and sunshine, birds chirping.

A sign of possibilities to the traveler.

Home for the lost, for the wanderer.

A sign of rest to the traveler.

The traveler has found a place to live in peace, and travels no more.

Check out Becca’s site: www.RebeccaBesser.com

Building
by Michelle Dennis Evans

Des, do you remember when we were in the

building phase?' Joe asked. 'And we thought
nothing would come in our way, and we were as
tall in chest as anyone had ever seen.'

'Sure, I remember,' said Des, 'some 40 years ago

now.'

'We had the market sussed, we had all the tools

to make it.'

'But we didn't, did we Joe?'

'Do you reckon it was that freak storm that took out half our buildings? Do you reckon
we would have made a buck if we weren't taken out in that storm?'

Des shook his head, 'I don't know, I don't know if we had what it takes. I mean , look at
us now.'

'What do you mean? We're successful.'

'Yeah but in our jobs, not in our own business.'

'I did love the idea of us working our own business though.'

'Yeah, me too Joe. It was good working with you 'til we were forced out.'

'It was a wild storm, a tornado like has never been seen in these parts. Sure did scare the
wits out of me.'

'Yeah, it was pretty freaky,' remembered Des.

'Imagine if we were in the structure across the road when it hit, we would have been
smashed to smithereens with the twister.'

'That is true Joe, but thankfully we weren't. We were across the road and the structure
that was over our head is still standing today.

'Are you ready to sign that papers then Des?'

'Yeah, for sure, we've held onto a wasted dream long enough. Put up the sold sign. It's
time to let go.'

Check out Michelle’s blog at http://www.michelledevans.blogspot.com/

 WINTER GARDEN
by Katrina DeLallo

The old familiar road stretched before me, grass

and dirt grown in between the worn pavement
where tire tracks never rolled.

On the left side of the road, standing like old

soldiers in an unbroken line were abandoned
orchards, once sheltered beneath the decaying
framework of skeletal houses.

Old greenhouses stood on the right, reflecting the

sunlight and blue sky. They were empty now, empty staring houses that had once been
alive with green, marching up to the iron factory, where I’d first met Jack fifteen years
ago. This abandoned property had been our world. I’d named it Winter Garden, because
the greenhouses had reminded me of ice.

My feet dragged on the pavement. I kicked the fluff from white-headed dandelions,
sending spores dancing in a light spring breeze.

I’d walked down this road so many times before, but never with this sorrow in my soul.

I saw Jack, standing in the entry of the left factory door. On his face was that smile that
set my heart aflame with joy. At the same time tears choked up my throat and I had to
swallow quickly before my self-control failed.

My face told him that something was wrong. He reached out gently and took my hands.
“Verna, what’s the matter?”

I searched through my rehearsed speeches and my coldly practical responses to this

question. Instead, I answered in a way I hadn’t expected.

“I’m releasing you, Jack.”

I could feel his shock through his fingers. They tightened on my hands, shooting
cramping pains through my tendons. How I loved that small hurt! It made me feel alive
and let me know that at least for now Jack was still my love.

He pulled me to into the curve on his arms and held me roughly. “Verna, what are you
saying? Releasing me from what, our friendship? Why would you do that?”
 I wanted to lay in his arms forever, to forget the pain that was pressing on my mind like
a physical wound on my flesh, tearing me apart. I played with the slender silver bracelet
he’d given me for my birthday last year, twisting it around and around on my wrist,
watching the etched metal glint in stray beams of sunlight. I breathed in a deep breath of
sun-warmed pavement, summer-old grass, and alfalfa. Through the air I could smell
Jack’s particular smell of soap and coffee and shaving lotion. I waited until the tears and
torments inside me stopped choking me before I spoke.

“Jack, I got my report back from the doctor.” I pulled away so I could see his face. The
sunlight was so bright that it illuminated his hair in a gold halo, darkening the shadows
that shrouded the entrance of the factory doorway behind him. I couldn’t see his eyes in
the sun’s beaming splendor. “You know that pain I’ve been having? It’s been getting
worse. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but I knew I needed to figure
out what was wrong with me if we wanted to get married.”

I gathered my breath and my courage. “I have high grade lymphoma, Jack. It’s
progressing rapidly. I don’t have much longer to live.”

I began to cry then, my voice breaking over those last words. Jack pulled me tight, tight
against him.

“I love you so much,” I whispered through my tears, my voice muffled in his shoulder.
He held me so close I could feel his heart beating against my cheek, rapid and hard like a
drum. I felt his lips on my hair. “I love you so much I’m letting you go, to find someone
else who can be your wife.”

“Verna.” His voice was rough. I could feel it tremble through my hair.

“Jack,” I whispered back, his name feeling like balm on my tongue. He made a little
choking noise, then knelt down and drew me into his lap. I lay in his arms, looking into
his face. He was crying, tears carving rivers down his cheeks.

In his arms, I felt peace come back into my soul. I turned my head and looked across
the stretching landscape. From this position the greenhouses looked like ice castles from
a fairy tale, shot through with rainbow beams and reflecting the deep clear blue of the
sky. The fuzzy gone-to-seed dandelions looked like snow flowers, and the shadows cast
upon the grey worn pavement looked like music bars notated with bird calls.

“Winter Garden never changes,” I said, feeling tired but strangely peaceful. I caught his
eyes and drew his gaze out across the changeless scene of summer blue and glass.

“Verna,” Jack said, his hands gently rubbing my fingers.

“Yes, Jack?”

“Remember how we played hide and seek in this old factory when we were kids?”
 I smiled, remembering.

“Remember that time, a couple years ago, when we got caught in that crazy rainstorm
and ran in here? You weren’t worried about how wet you were. But you were sure
worried about that old book of fairytales you were reading.” His voice was soft with
memory. “You made me take of my jacket and wrap it up so it wouldn’t get wet on the
way home.”

I rubbed my fingers on his knuckles.

“Verna.”

“Yes, Jack?”

“Remember after your last boyfriend dumped you, and you came here, crying? You
were so ashamed that I saw you like that. Remember what I said?”

I remembered.

“I said, no matter what happened I would never leave you. I’d be yours until death.
Verna, I meant it.”

He shifted, and drew something from his breast pocket. It was a ring, with a diamond
that caught a beam of sunlight and flashed it into the air. He took my left hand and
slipped it onto my ring finger. It was beautiful.

“Until death, Verna,” he whispered, “I’m yours.”

In my conjoined joy and sorrow, Winter Garden had never looked more glorious.

Follow Katrina on Twitter at www.twitter.com/CrafterCat

From Jeanne Baldwin:

Ferlinghetti lives here …

With a whimper, it’s clear.

DON’T FORGET!

SOFT WHISPERS has open submissions all the

time! Our A Line at Time program is open
biweekly for submissions along with the
monthly Pic 1 k.

AND our anthology collection is growing.

Visit www.softwhispersmag.com to read!

FROM JIM:

Thanks for reading!

Please stop by
www.softwhispersmag.com to read
more poetry, short fiction, and check
out some pictures and art.

Interested in submitting? GREAT!

Just hop over to the site and follow
the guidelines.

Remember: we post something NEW

everyday on the site so don’t wait
until the monthly issue to enjoy all
that Soft Whispers has to offer!

-Jim-