“I Can Hear the Water Cry” (c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
misty river bank I can hear the water cry through its mournful veil
from whence your tears my friend from whence your sorrow the stream of life long and arduous promises nothing takes wantonly yet gives freely drowns dreams yet slakes hope’s thirst erodes time yet blesses leas with hue and humor
I have bathed my feet in your cool waters drunk from cupped hands of your living essence and watched as villages flood and crops perish your fickle nature both boon and bane the rage of winter’s run-off the futility of summer’s drought the chaos of confusion the trauma of neglect
regrets eddy among the reeds koi doze in shadow-torpor levitating dragonflies iridesce oblivious to your siren-song your current inexorable immutable fate’s dynamo
what of your sadness what fears drive you what memories haunt your hidden heart speak to me, friend share your burden help me understand your tears
there is purity in kindness absolution in love such a pity a solitary meadow’s stream a rill of life darkened by despair
I see you, stream I hear your halting whisperings I smell your vital fragrance I feel your urgent motion I sense your profound depth you are not alone my friend the mountain cradles you the forest shades you the flowers dance to your melody let the sun gild your surface let the moon caress you let your heart be unencumbered flow, my friend just flow
I’d like to announce my poem “The Trunk” has been published at Gobblers & Masticadores. Many thanks to Juan Re Crivello and Manuela Timofte and their staff for this opportunity to share my poetry with their readers. I’m sincerely grateful. Thank you, Juan and Manuela!
“The Trunk” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
“There is a place for things That don’t belong in Other places That sere and weathered Trunk that hunkers lupine-like Amid dust-addled attic shadows Wood split and gouged With time and neglect Iron bands and fittings A crumble of rust Lockless clasp broken From endless breeches And pryings I should have Replaced that lock Eons ago…”
You can read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers & Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.
This ongoing initiative showcases blogs with fewer than 500 subscribers which I think are deserving of more attention. Hopefully these blogs will spark your interest and you’ll check them out. It’s my way of spreading awareness of talented writers whose work I admire.
This week’s featured blog is Ashley’s A Different View. I first met Ashley in November 2021 when he and I were both invited to take part in a discussion titled “Exploring Basho’s Moon,” an examination of one of Basho’s famous haiku, hosted by Mark Scott’s Season Words blog. I found Ashley to be the kindest fellow imaginable, and his delicate skill regarding the writing of traditional haiku was astounding. Since then, I’ve come to consider Ashley a good friend of mine, someone whose love of nature and poetic ability create a sense of peace and serenity. Ashley speaks my language, you could say, and his blog is a calm harbor of natural beauty and exemplary writing.
I asked Ashely if he’d like to provide a little background about himself and his blog. I’ll let his own words do the talking:
I’m 74 years old and married to Carol for 52 years although we were courting about 5 years before that so we’ve been together for at least 57 years
whilst Carol has had so much illness in her life (cancer x 4 + heart problems) SHE is still my rock
I’m a great grandfather
I was born in the city of Armagh in Northern Ireland to northern English parents
Armagh was the ancient capital of Christian Ireland & whilst no longer a practicing Christian, the sound of cathedral bells is in my heart (see John Betjeman: Summoned By Bells)
left home at 21 to live & work in London, UK. Work location then was close to the River Thames & that river flows within me still
30 years spent living & working in England in the clothing industry: after redundancy, aged 45, worked in various jobs (transport, retail, health service) now retired
returned to NI some years ago
did voluntary work with the Woodland Trust (30+ years). LOVE trees, obsessed by them
through WordPress discovered haiku & writing in season
have always wanted to write & illustrate
lower back problems meant that I restarted my life, exercising daily, a mixture of physio exercises & Qi Gong
I have only ever travelled outside the UK about 3 or 4 times but follow blogs all around the world. With tools like Google Translate I am amazed how many different cultures & languages I am able to connect with
I love the simplicity of seasonal haiku
I would be remiss were I not to mention that one thing I find intriguing about Ashley’s blog is that I have some Irish ancestry, and the Emerald Isle is a land I’ve always wanted to explore. I’m able to do that vicariously through Ashley’s writing and photography. Ashley’s essays take us on strolls through the Irish countryside among wild flowers and the trees he loves so dearly, and his haiku–distilled to their very essence–paint glorious pictures of the natural world. For an example of what A Different View offers, here’s a post Ashley chose to share:
In a nutshell, if you love nature, if you appreciate fine Japanese short-form poetry, if you’ve ever felt the desire to travel to Ireland, Ashley’s A Different View has it all. I hope you’ll visit Ashley’s blog and walk along with him among the trees.
Let’s spread the love and support our fellow bloggers.
I’m pleased to announce my poem “The Footbridge” has been published at Gobblers & Masticadores. Sincere thanks to Juan Re Crivello and Manuela Timofte and their staff for this opportunity. I’m truly grateful. Thank you, Juan and Manuela!
“The Footbridge” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
“That derelict footbridge Has finally failed Stranding us on Opposite shores Of the abyss Words Like rotted planks Litter the gorge Below Desires and dreams Dashed Upon indifferent rocks Silence is all I hear from you…”
You can read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers & Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.
This ongoing initiative showcases blogs with fewer than 500 subscribers which I think are deserving of more attention. Hopefully these blogs will spark your interest and you’ll check them out. It’s my way of spreading awareness of talented writers whose work I admire.
This week’s featured blog is Kirsten Curcio’s Ghost Human Bones. Kirsten is without a doubt one of the coolest, kindest and most talented writers I’ve come to know on WordPress and I’m happy to call her my friend. She possesses peerless skill and ability writing prose—both individual stories and serials—and her poetry is sublime. Kirsten also has the most uniquely creative and eye-catching graphic design I’ve seen on a literary blog. Her immense talents are on full display with everything she creates.
Kirsten’s writing has been published at Masticadores, The Writers Club, Reedsy, Medium and Spillwords Press. You can view her Author Bio at Spillwords here:
Additionally, her poem “Hopes and Dreams” is included in the poetry anthology Hidden in Childhood, published in 2023 by Gabriela Maria Milton of Literary Revelations Publishing House, and is available here:
I asked Kirsten if she would provide a little info about herself and her writing. Here’s what she had to say:
“I’ve always enjoyed writing since I was a child but once I got the internet everything changed. The earliest I started writing online was in the early 2000s where I roleplayed in wrestling efeds as different fictional characters – I was in a weird phase but I still heart Stone Cold Steve Austin, haha. When those sites went belly up, I shared my pre-teen angst on the now defunct Melodramatic.com, which is where I learned HTML and created layouts for other people’s sites (you can find more about Melo on the Wayback Machine). Then college came, work, my son was born, and I stopped writing for a very long time, although I never forgot about it. It wasn’t until I lived in North Carolina for a few years that I decided to build my own site and write. That state is so beautiful it just ignited that spark in me. But since I gave birth to my daughter then and was working from home full time, I started a lifestyle blog on Squarespace. I was experimenting with cooking, writing up recipes, baby and beauty stuff but it grew boring and I felt like I was doing it because that’s what other women were doing but it didn’t feel like “me”. So I returned to fiction and didn’t look back. In 2021, this became Ghost Human Bones when I moved to WordPress. Through Ghost Human Bones, I can turn my observations of people into words, letting me indulge in my love for dreaming and storytelling. Currently, I’m in the process of writing my first novel and my published poems are available on Spillwords and in the poetry anthology Hidden In Childhood (2023).”
And from her blog:
“When she isn’t playing with words, she enjoys nature, traveling, art, photography, and peculiar things. There is also a fondness for vintage maps, history, and space. In Kirsten’s work, she plays with themes of life, death, and beyond that evoke a sense of surrealism, nostalgia, reflection, and ambiguity.”
Kirsten also participated in a thoroughly enjoyable 2023 interview which can be found here:
I hope you’ll take a moment to stop by and visit Ghost Human Bones. Kirsten’s masterful wordcraft builds universes of adventure and intrigue that are highly original and will leave you eager to explore further.
Let’s spread the love and support our fellow bloggers.
Hey, folks. I’d like to announce my three-part poem “Grandfather” has gone live at Gobblers & Masticadores. Many thanks to Juan Re Crivello and Manuela Timofte and their staff for this opportunity. I’m truly grateful. Thank you, Juan and Manuela!
“The twitching thing that lay upon the bed Was not my grandfather. It wore his face And smelled of him, old coffee and a trace Of cigarettes. Its eyes were rimmed with red And rheumy and they twinkled in its head Like distant dying stars. And in that place Deep down inside where man and mind embrace My grandfather had lost his mind and fled…”
You can read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers & Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.
I’m excited to announce my poem “The Snow That Never Falls” has been published at Chewers & Masticadores. Sincere thanks to Juan Re Crivello and Nolcha Fox and their team for this opportunity. It’s always an honor to share my work at Chewers & Masticadores. Thank you, Juan and Nolcha!
“The Snow That Never Falls” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
“The snow that never falls cannot assuage The sorrow of the autumn’s grim defeat There is no balm For open wounds No gilded cup To slake the dying season’s thirst No whispered words to quell the fear Of failing heart Forsaken soul Abandoned hope There is no honor in autumn’s demise In absence of the snow that never falls…”
I’d be delighted if you’d read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, be sure to follow and subscribe to Chewers & Masticadores. It’s a wonderful place for those who love writing.
I’m delighted to announce my poem “Eleven Days” has gone live at Gobblers & Masticadores. Sincere thanks to Juan Re Crivello and Manuela Timofte and their staff for this chance to share my poetry with their readers. I’m truly grateful. Thank you, Juan and Manuela!
“Eleven Days” (c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley
“The wind blows Those shadows deeper Into gloaming recesses Of pine corridors As aspens Denuded and shamed By autumn’s fickle fury Huddle shivering In dim dusk
In my heart Those eleven days Of silence tore me apart…”
You can read the rest of my poem by clicking this link. Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers & Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.
“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl” (c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley
snap-beans in a wooden bowl and tears on her cheeks my mother’s sorrow exorcised by the rite of working hands the ritual of silent contemplation as evening sun gilded her world in holy ephemera her safe place ensconced in her own sacred light her garden her universe
the weeds she hoed during languid summer days of sun-burned neck and aching back how many belonged to her how many the memories of fear and violence in desperate need of eradication her rough ancient hoe her crucifix against my father’s rage her blisters turned to calluses turned to armor her fingers bent with age and arthritis yet strong enough to hold herself together day by day to contain the tears the anger the horror
corn silk her hair was corn silk as she merged with row upon row of papery whispering stalks her naked feet rooting into earth deeply deeply where her spirit lived safe in cool moist soil a fertile loam a secret energy regenerating her scarred soul daily only to be shattered nightly the cycle of the seasons her heart always an autumn heart forever offering harvest to all, then burned to the ground without a thought as my father’s winter approached
I passed her one evening as she sat snapping beans in a wooden bowl her bare feet beagle-draped farm cats lurking amid squash blossoms the westering sun haloing her tired face and she gazed at the distant horizon staring at the empty world a faraway smile nearly touching her eyes as a tear fell among broken beans in her lap and she looked at me then and her smile was terrible an anguish I’d never seen before and I knew that she knew there was nothing either of us could do
Silent Pariah 