Ms. Beuhler -
Please forgive the delayed response to your submissions. I have been inundated.
I would like to accept all of your submissions for publication in
Penwomanship. Due to the heavy volume of submissions received, I do not know
when they will run. However, you will be notified prior to publication.
A couple of quick questions: do you wish to title the haikus or have them
remain untitled?
I've heard of Mars Landing, NJ, but I've often wondered what the name was all
about? Do you have any idea?
Thank you for your submissions, Ms. Beuhler. And, again, please forgive the
delayed response.
Make it a great day.
Respectfully,
Penny White
Publisher
Penwomanship
---------- Original Message -----------
From: RBueh5672.aol.com
To: poetry.penwomanship.com
Sent: Thu, 3 Feb 2005 23:13:14 EST
Subject: submission
>
> Robin M. Buehler is a journalist in New Jersey. She's had poetry
> published in ByLine Magazine, Poetic Hour, Poetry Stop, Ancient
> Heart, Sigla Magazine, Dark Walls, Gothic Review, Canadian Zen
> Haiku and Writers Post Journal, to name a few. She's also had
> short stories and two photos published.
>
>
> haiku:
>
> baby's breathe
> on mother's left breast
> sweet surrender
>
> hidden flower
> behind a veil of green
> a blushing bride
>
> her scent lingers
> long after her departure --
> that wild rose!
>
> Dawn
>
> I dream of dawn
> with long, blonde strands
> that break through the night
> and start a brand new day.
> She's my reason for living,
> and why I dream of the dawn.
>
> Sweet Iris
>
> Written words on a wall
> make me wonder who you are.
> Did you break someone's heart
> the day you had to part?
> Or did you simply turn away
> after you led them astray,
> sweet Iris?
>
> Falling
>
> falling
> like rain
> tears flow
>
> streaking
> your cheeks
> like streams
>
> falling
> like rocks
> ---tumbling
>
> words spoken
> without thinking
> --- twice
>
> my heart pounds
> against
> my chest
> --- aching
>
> for your touch;
> yet you turn
> falling
>
> into him
> into the arms
> that hold you tight...
> ...falling
>
>
> Quilted Freedom
>
> Enslaved by color, I did not want
> These chains that bind me
> To the color of my skin.
> Indebted to masters unbefitting,
> Links forever strung together
> To duties expected of me.
>
> Dreams of freedom, just out of reach.
> Words of wisdom carried by wind:
> Follow the patterns, hung out to dry.
> Spoke of the way north: to safety
> And the land of the truly free.
>
> Stitch by stitch, the story unfolds
> In swatches and patterns
> Unveiled by someone's loving hands.
> Sitting by candle light;
> Others by fires,
> They speak of freedoms
> Wanted by all mankind:
> Branded upon my brain.
>
> Taken as a child,
> Away from my family,
> My world and my home.
> Across the turbulent ocean
> To the land of Liberty.
>
> Sold into bondage, eternally enslaved
> With the hopes of one day walking free.
> Words of wisdom spoken in whispers,
> Told of rails underground:
>
> Follow the pattern, hung out to dry.
> Swatch by swatch sown together
> Into a hand-stitched heirloom
> As past generations found
> Their way to freedom.
>
> Mourning
>
> Painted-on smiles
> hide the pain
> felt deep inside.
> No more tears,
> I vowed,
> done crying
> for everything
> I could not fix.
> Why, then, do I
> still weep?
> Is it the hope
> of keeping
> their memories alive,
> or the desire
> of having them near still,
> instead of being called
> to their heavenly home?
> I wish I knew.
>
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