L. K. Thayer reading at “The Rapp Saloon” Fri. March 30th 8:30pm

Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher

The Rapp Saloon

will be reading 5 of her poems
2 from the recently published book



1436 2nd St
Santa Monica, CA 90407

Friday Night March 30th

Reading starts at 8:30PM

See you there!!


Spring is in the air!

Daffs smiling in Coventry
Snapped in Foleshill, Coventry by Mitch Hicks

To Spring
William Blake (1783)
clr gif

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.

“In The Company Of Women” book release!

*A portion of the proceeds for each book sold will be donated to Doctors Without Borders*

I am a story… ~Cklara Moradian

The elephant in the room is armed

with breastplates Each time a woman’s

name is called we hurl our collective

breath  ~Barbara Moore


Bella was forever Mrs. Peacock  

in the library, rope in hand

hanging on harsh words ~Apryl Skies


for all the wild ponies in my life

may we always run free…~Alicia Winski


Dear Friends,


Mark your calendars for March 14, 2012! For the BOOK RELEASE IN THE COMPANY OF WOMEN: An Anthology of Wit & Wisdom, Sass & Class


In celebration of International Women’s History Month (March) and National poetry month (April) I cordially invite you to the official & much anticipated Online Book Launch for In the Company of Women; including the work of over 40 talented women from across the globe!


This is so exciting for all of us and we know you will enjoy the collection of over 100 carefully selected pieces of literature.


Proud contributors include Alicia Winski, Amanda LaPera, Annie Brodrick, Annie Hilerio, April Michelle Bratten, Apryl Skies, Barbara Moore, Bina Gupta, Camille Solari, Candice James, Carol Knepper, Carol McAdoo Rehme, Catharine Grasty, Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth, Cklara Moradian, Gillian Prew, Gloria J. Wimberley, Helena Hunter, Jacqui Corcoran, Jessica Wilson, Karen Jones, Kate Lamberg, Katherine L. Gordon, Kimberley Rockdale, Lauri Langston, Leila A. Fortier, L.K. Thayer, Lois Michal Unger, Martina Reisz Newberry, Melissa Grossman, Pam Lampe, Paula Lietz, Peggy Anne Larson, Petra Whiteley, R. V. Reyes, Sadie Harris, Samantha Ledger, Sheila Crawford, Sheila Hageman, Silver Corbin, Sophia Argyris, Stephanie Bryant Anderson, Teri Louise Kelly, Tracie Skarbo, Trish Falin & Wanda Morrow Clevenger


For more info please visit our website: www.EdgarAllanPoet.com!


With much love and inspiration!

        ~Apryl Skies~
 ~Author  ~Poet~ Filmmaker~

Stephen John Kalinich

A daughter killed
upon a sidewalk
struck down by a cab
A baby mother left with someone else
dies when i am at school
an abortion in Spanish Harlem
Twins  laying in a toilet
that never had one breath
that never came into existence
This self
that we chase
that is us
that we never catch
this fleeting flicker
held together
by such fragile
and invisble threads
that tare
and pull at us
that lift us
like a marionette”
© 2012

Hart Crane


The host, he says that all is well
And the fire-wood glow is bright;
The food has a warm and tempting smell,-
But on the window licks the night.

Pile on the logs… Give me your hands,
Friends! No,- it is not fright…
But hold me… somewhere I heard demands…
And on the window licks the night.

Hart Crane

“The statue who thought he was living” by Emily Clibourn

My hands are cold, icy cold
And I don’t realize it
until Im out of the water, until Ive crawled up out of the hole of the frozen lake and
walked across the mist
to my fireplace.
His heart is always burning,
and I don’t realize Im not even feeling
until it comes over me like a gust of wind later when Im all alone. I cant defrost around you.
I can only melt these hard walls once Ive sat alone long enough by myself. Not thinking of anything in particular. Just feeling. And maneuvering through
the tales the wind provides,
as I ride,
up, down,
this way,
to that side.
Id ask you to ,but Im afraid you might actually do
it, peel the flakey old layers, like paint of off walls,
so that they do not encompass my heart. So my organ responsible for
embracing and holding another can jump,
and not sit like a statue on my mantle,
crowing it’s eyebrows and scuffing
at everyone who sits down below..

Emily Clibourn

© 2010

“Peaches” by Hattie Howard

Peaches, peaches! everywhere

   See the tempting baskets stand!

Luscious fruit from Delaware,
Ruddy cheeks from Maryland.

Orchards of the sunny South,
In surprising plentitude,
Furnish freely every mouth
Appetizing, dainty food.

Peaches in the market stalls,
Peaches vended on the street
By the rogue who seldom hauls
Peaches good enough to eat.

Dealers a bonanza reap
From the blushing favorites,
While their cry of “Peaches cheap!”
Gathers in the silver bits.

What delicious nectar pure
Velvet cuticles enclose!
Pampered taste of epicure
No more toothsome flavor knows.

There are peaches tough as vice —
Acrid as a sharp retort!
Dear were they at half their price —
And, besides, of measure short.

Who is wise would rather tramp
Weary miles than eat of these;
Colic, cholera, and cramp
Lurk beneath their indices.

What are peaches minus cream,
Just enough to smother in?
Till the juicy quarters seem
Buried isles of coralline.

Tender freestones, mellow clings,
Nectarines without a scar —
Every one a picture brings
Of redundant groves afar,

Where the languid natives lie
Under peach-trees day by day,
Visage looking to the sky —
Picking peaches?— No! not they!

Waiting for the fruit to drop
In each facial orifice!
Surely, plan for gathering crop
Never labor saved as this.

Peaches, peaches! everywhere
Trains are carrying thick and fast!
Luxuries that all may share
Ere “peach-season” shall have passed.

Hattie Howard