Burn by Sharon Leann

There is this red hot fire that burns. 

I don’t think it ever goes out. 

In fact sometimes the flames look to be burning brighter. 

She tries to put it out. 

It’s far to hot now. 

She doesn’t want it to burn anyone like it’s burning her. 

God bless her, she is trying so hard. 

She’s not quite sure how to extinguish it anymore. 

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Sharon is 23 years old. She used to write all the time, then life kinda happened. It’s funny how life happens and we put things on hold, and one day we use what has happened to create something wonderful. Writing for Sharon is a release, and she hopes that what she writes connects with other people the way it does for her.

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Announcing…Themes!

We get a lot of requests for more specific submission tips: what exactly are you looking for? Do you have a particular topic in mind? Where can I even begin?

And while we’re not quite ready to give up free-form submissions altogether (so keep ’em coming, folks!), we did decide to give ourselves a bit of a chapter heading. So, starting this June, we’re going to curate submissions around a quarterly theme—which we’ll be announcing right here!

And what’s our first theme?

Here at Ampersand, we’re all about bringing people together, and nothing connects us more than the stories we all share.

The words “once upon a time” echo through you with reminders of childhood, lost dreams, and a space outside of time. Give us the unlikely, the ideal, the twisted, the light-hearted and brave. Give us that feeling that things aren’t always what they seem on the surface. Give us your true loves and your broken hearts.

Give us your fairy tales.

(And feel free to interpret that loosely.)

Poetry by Joe Shermis

Give and Take, Take and Sing

We learn from what we’re singing,
sing from what we’ve learned,
talk about the knowing
as we learn how to discern;
it goes the way we take it
and comes as we compose,
folding into what we give
from songs that we have chose…

We learn from all that’s given
in a given space and time,
from all that adds to fables
and stories that will rhyme;
it takes a single moment
when we pay what it will take
to give some full attention
to what there is to make…

All that we are given
is a blessing in disguise
whether telling us an answer
or how a thing applies;
it brings what will be questioned
and gives what it will bring
when learning both the answers
and the way that we can sing…

 

Turning Tides

Tides will pull us outward,
waves will wash us in,
the timing gives us both ways
with the simple question: when?
When do things come back to us
and when do all things leave,
it’s part of letting water flow
as we learn to love and grieve…

We all roll down our mountains
when climbing makes us sweat,
letting go to gravity
is sometimes one’s best bet;
we scamper up an incline
and fall as things give way,
dropping into space unknown
as work turns into play…

 

As The Language Turns

“It’s such a muncharini,”
and she meant just what she said,
said that both the meaning
and intention is what’s fed
when ya take a simple wording
and twist where letters led
when making up a new word
that came straight from her head…

“It’s such a twistarini,”
she offered with her nose,
the part of her
she would infer
had come from what she chose
to give a brand new sounding,
a way of twisting word
that comes across as truthiness
that may be quite absurd …

“It has a certain meaning,”
she claimed with deep brown eyes,
“a way of giving something back
to what is meant as wise.”
I took it as a way of being,
a way the girl flies
when answering
the riddle held
and just how it applies…

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Joe Shermis was the founding publisher of The Steelhead Special, the Northcountry Parents’ Forum, and the Isis Scrolls, has three adult children he played a key role in raising, and has a small cat that is adjusting fine to their new home overlooking the Elk River Valley.

Follow Joe:

https://www.facebook.com/joe.shermis

http://www.steelheadspecial.org/

Patches

By Linda Bowden

I’m made of patches,
Of different shades,
And sizes of material,
Triangles and squares,
     I’m so complicated,
               Intricate,
          Each detail,
Flowered and patched.
               I’m a blanket,
Of Years and experience,
Of patches of this time and others,
   Woven together one by one.
      I’m a quilt of most beautiful,
         Delicate patters and such,
            Of stitching neatly in rows,
               Of lace lined patches.

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Linda Bowden, lives in the high desert of California. She has been involved in writing, most of her adult life and enjoys writing fiction, non-fiction, poetry, articles and just about any subject that motivates her at the time. Linda has belonged to the California Writer’s Association, has published in anthems for this organization and has worked with other writers through the process. Linda holds an MBA and is currently studying for her doctorate, and although she is semi-retired Linda has more time to invest into writing. She has been involved with poetry theatres, workshops and once was the proprietor of her own poetry venue in Hollywood, California. Linda has two daughters, nine grandchildren, and one great grandchild. She values writers, painters, crafters, bloggers and all those who enjoy what they do in life, non-criminal of course. Creating is both exhilarating and rewarding, even if it is only for you.

A Dream of Poetry

Two poems by Frank Pounding.

A Dream Of Birds

In my home outside the city,
on dark land, a forest wasted by fire,
you play guitar lighted by a single candle,
a glass of water held between your bare feet,
by the arches of your small feet.
The force of your quiet playing appears upon the water;
the overringing notes reflect upon the white ceiling.
Le Rappel Des Oiseaux.
I thought I would drown.
As you finished, I began to ascend.
It wasn’t time enough.
I asked you to play again, to play more slowly.
Without looking up,
you placed the tips of your narrow fingers against the still strings.
I held my breath until I woke.
 

A Dream Of Astronauts

We are astronauts, you and I,
In white suits and mirror glass.
Our expressive hands muted by fat fingered gloves.
Our winged feet sunk into heavy boots.
Blue hoses deliver oxygen,
Yellow tubes catch our breath.
On the ground, among black cabling and ghosting vapor,
honest men communicate by sign.
They uncouple lines and test compression.
They read gauges and collect data.
Satisfied, they move to safety through an iron door.

There is a rush of stillness.
And we are launched.

Above us there is silence.
Below us is the earth.
Tectonics.
Migrations.
The pale deserts.
The dark canopies.
Improbable waters.
Tribes.

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Frank Pounding is a Canadian expat living in the mountains above Santa Barbara, California, with his two horses, Hey Baby, and Sake. He rides a ’67 Triumph Bonneville 650, a 2015 KTM Duke 690, and a ’04 DRZ 400S. Frank skates Earthwing decks and shapes his own surfboards. This is the first time Frank has shown his writing to anyone other than his mother, who he will soon be taking skydiving for the first time upon her 75th birthday.