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Do you have a poem or short story you would like to share with others? Do you want to have the opportunity to be pubished? Submit your work to MANA; the work will be anonymously refereed by the MANA Review Board. If recommended for publication, you will be contacted and asked for permission. Upon receiving the author’s/poet’s permission, the work will be posted on THE MANA BROWSERS web page.
This page will give new authors/poets the opportunity to be read by many! And if there are any inquiries, MANA will pass these inquries to the writers of the posted works! Also, this page will put forth special sales.
Sample from some of the works:
• LaVerta Straham, The Heart of a Servant
• Dr Lin Keesey, Love is Alive
• Dr Lin Keesey, Spring Garden
• Sarah Jamal, Keeper of the Peace
• Denise Duhamel, No Home-Wrecker
• Denise Duhamel, No Home-Wrecker, In Spanish
• Desiree Woodland, Writing the Sorrow
• Eric Gichira, More Goodies
• Eric Gichira, Private Thought
• Eric Gichira, Not Anymore |
• J S Frazier, Synopsis of Cologne in a Nutshell
The Adventures of Pierre La Mouche
• Pete J. Smothers, Motherhood IQ
• Pete J. Smothers, Remembering Love
• Pete J. Smothers, Destiny's Discontinuity |
The Newest Entries:
Keeper of the Peace
You work to make calm
after a scene stormy.
You call for discourse—
discussed respectfully.
Not at all placid,
but with exciting tranquility.
You objurgate violence
and do it brilliantly.
The conflict you resolve,
with fierce audacity.
Humane treatment for all—
such humanity!
Divisions make your countenance
frown disapprovingly.
Like a conjunction you work to join
oh keeper of the peace.
—Sarah Jamal
New Jersey
Spring Garden
Pausing in the hidden courtyard with newly
purchased tickets for Bach’s / St. John’s Passion
in my hands, I see them…
Hyacinths – royal purple and Easter white—
Pale yellow jonquil petals thin as parchment—
The pink arch of cherry blossoms gracing
the bright green lawn.
And one delirious unicorn joyously dancing
Among the swaying golden daffodils.
—Dr. Lin Keesey
Love is Alive
We are movement; we are music.
We are taste; we are touch.
We are sound; we are silence;
We are laughter; we are light.
We are alive! We are alive! So…
Take my hand and walk with me.
Feel the salt wet sand and dance with me.
Lead me to the water, Love,
I’ll follow thee.
—Dr. Lin Keesey
Florida
The Heart of a Servant
We are your sons and daughters
Your faithful and loving servants
Those who stand or kneel before thee
Those who humble themselves at your altar
We are family in our common faith;
Siblings in our common worship.
Yet as a family we turn away from You:
Stumbling before our Salvation
We are the enablers of our sinful nature
Causing us to waver and falter
Calling at first out to no one
Wanting to right for ourselves what we have wronged.
But when we do finally see You
It is made known of Your unwavering presence
You were always there to guide us through
Yet we refused to accept Your outstretched hand
How can a child refuse to see a Parent
How can a servant refuse to see the King.
We are Your sons and daughter
The soldiers of this Earthly Place
The stewards of Your wondrous creations
And as we kneel before You our eyes are truly opened
For Today we call upon our Heavenly King
To right the wrong that we have delivered.
LaVerta Straham
High School Student
Arkansas
Denise Duhamel
Spain
NO HOME-WRECKER
When I was twenty, I kissed a man
much older than I was. My drunk hand found
a strange indent and lump of flesh
on the back of his waist, an extra little potbelly.
I quickly moved my fingers away and grabbed
onto his shoulder instead. After the kiss,
the man immediately told me he was married. For years
my memory had it that I slapped him and left the party,
a friend's cramped Beacon Hill apartment.
But now I think I remember what happened—
he began to cry, just slightly, so that at first
I thought his wet eyes had something to do with an allergy.
Then he said he really loved his wife and needed
air. We took baby steps, holding hands,
through the slippery cobblestone streets,
snow settling on my eyelashes, in his beard.
We slipped into a diner where our coats and scarves
dripped puddles onto the floor.
He told me a long story about married life--
her chemotherapy, how he'd just lost his job.
I sobered up and looked at my plate of pale scrambled eggs,
what I imagined cancer looked like,
what I imagined fat looked like under the skin.
I poked my fork around, curious now
to see that spare tire, that love handle of his.
He kept blowing his nose, his cheeks fat and pink
like the soles of a newborn's feet.
The rest of him looked lean in his wooly sweater,
then he seemed to shrink even smaller
as he put back on his oversized overcoat to walk me home.
I felt rejected when he left me at my door
and disappeared into a flurry, thanking me for listening.
The story I told my friends who were at the party
was that OK, he was kind of cute, but I was
no home-wrecker. The story I told myself
was that I'd have never done anything like that--
his wife had cancer for god's sake.
Now that I look back, the man was probably only
in his late thirties, about the age I am now.
He had no money so I wound up covering our diner check,
emptying the last of my change on the table for too small a tip.
<< top >>
NINGÚN ROMPE—HOGARES
Cuando tenía veinte años, besé a un hombre
mucho mayor que yo. Mi mano borracha dio con
un extraño bulto de carne con sangre
en la parte de atrás de su cintura, una hinchazón excepcionalmente pequeña.
Retiré rápidamente mis dedos y en vez de eso
agarré su hombro. Después del beso
el hombre me contó inmediatamente que estaba casado. Durante años
mi memoria me dijo que le di de bofetadas y abandoné al fiesta,
un diminuto apartamento de un amigo en Beacon Hill.
Pero ahora pienso que recuerdo lo que pasó—
él empezó a llorar, con suavidad, así que primero
pensé que sus ojos lacrimosos tenían algo que ver con una alergia.
Entonces me dijo que realmente amaba a su esposa y que necesitaba
aire. Dimos unos pasos de bebe, cogidos de la mano,
a través de calles con resbaladizos adoquines,
la nieve posándose en mis pestañas, en su barba.
Entramos en un restaurante donde nuestros abrigos y bufandas
dejaron charcos en el suelo.
Me contó una larga historia sobre la vida de su matrimonio—
la quimioterapia de ella, como se había quedado él sin trabajo justo ahora.
Me despejé y miré mi plato con los huevos blancos revueltos;
así era como me imaginaba el aspecto del cáncer,
así era como me imaginaba la grasa por debajo de la piel.
Hurgué con mi tenedor, curiosa ahora
por ver ese neumático de recambio, esa manija de amor de él.
Siguió sonando su nariz, sus mejillas regordetas y sonrosadas
como las plantas de los recién nacidos.
El resto de su persona era delgado en su jersey de lana,
después pareció encogerse todavía más
cuando volvió a ponerse su descomunal abrigo para acompañarme a casa.
Me sentí rechazada cuando me dejó en mi puerta
y desapareció en el chaparrón, dándome las gracias por haberle escuchado.
La historia que conté a los amigos que estaban en la fiesta
era que perfecto, él había sido bastante majo, pero yo no era
una rompe-hogares. La historia que me conté a mi misma
era que nunca hubiera hecho algo parecido a eso―
su mujer tenía cáncer por Dios.
Ahora, mirando atrás , el hombre se encontraba probablemente solo
al final de sus treinta, la edad que tengo yo ahora.
No tenía dinero así que yo pagué la cuenta del restaurante,
dejando la vuelta en la mesa para una propina demasiado pequeña.
<< top >>
Desiree Woodland
New Mexico
Writing the Sorrow
The woman slumped into a ragged booth at the local diner and pulled a notebook
and pen from her bag. She felt as old as the outdated furniture in the restaurant, yet she
was barely 50. Tonight she heard the familiar voice in her head…old, worn out, useless.
Since the death of her son, she no longer knew who she was, or if God had a purpose for
her life.
How could she make sense of her son’s illness that led to his death by suicide?
Things like this aren’t supposed to happen to people of faith. God please help me, she
breathed.
Her mind was full of stories, but her heart was full of sorrow. She chose to write
about the sorrow.
The waitress’ question startled her for a moment, “What can I get you, honey?”
Seeing the woman’s tears, the waitress felt a touch of real concern. The woman quickly
dabbed her eyes and said, “Coffee, please.”
The woman began writing furiously whatever came into her mind.
CS Lewis said that grief feels like fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not being in
control. So much is out of our control in this world. Never in a million years did I think I
would outlive one of my children. When that beautiful baby boy was born, I planned on
him being here, growing into a man. God tells us to not be afraid. But, oh, how fear grips
my heart. What can I hold onto?
The waitress brought the steaming cup and said, “Honey, I don’t pretend to know
what’s wrong, and please don’t think I’m crazy or anything, but God wants you to know
that the person you have lost is all right and they’re waiting for you.”
A whimper escaped the woman’s lips as she turned away to cry. She knew she
must keep on writing. She would write until the sorrow became a knowing that ran
deeper than the pain. If God could use a total stranger to deliver hope, then He could also
take that hope and create a faith that was deeper than anything this world could take
away.
Desiree Woodland © 2009
<< top >>
Eric Gichira
Kenya
More Goodies
Sitting all alone…
All by herself: Tracey
Is thinking. Thinking
About love…
Where are the fortunes
Of love? She wonders…
Has pure lust replaced
Pure love?
Where are the virtues
Of patience? She whispers…
Has the rush for more
Goodies replaced pure love?
Where’s gentleness? Where’s
Tenderness? In a world
Seeking for love, has
Violence replaced love?
Sitting all alone…
All by herself: Tracey
Is thinking. Thinking
About love.
Private Thoughts
In the privacy of her thoughts:
She can’t figure out
What happened to
What was once a
Fulfilling marriage…
In the privacy of her thoughts:
She wants to curse
Him! Curse him for
Having changed; For
Deserting his responsibilities…
In the privacy of her thoughts:
Her mind doesn’t
Hide the fact that
She despises him:
For failing to be a man!
In the privacy of her thoughts:
Patiently and graciously
She awaits his return;
Gathering enough courage
To face him, and to
Spit out her
Innermost thoughts!
Not Anymore
Struggling to pay rent:
She wipes the tears of
A parent…
Today, no one seems
To care. Not anymore!
Yet, she gathers strength
To dry the tears of her
Sobbing children…
Looking back in time:
Cindy recalls that once…
She was loved, cherished,
Treasured, cared for, and
Greatly appreciated…
Not anymore! Today,
What’s anymore! Today,
What’s left of her life…
Is anger, frustration,
Fear, anxiety, depression
And tension…
Products of a bitter divorce
Which wrecked her life!
There’s resentment; More
Resentment as she wonders:
Why can’t men be men
Enough! She yells in
Frustration…
Her tempers, still evident;
She wonders: Is there a
Sensitive man out there?
Will she ever find that
Special man?
………………………………
<< top >>
Cologne in a Nutshell
The Adventures of Pierre La Mouche
By J S Fraisier
Michigan
Synopsis of Cologne in a Nutshell
The Adventures of Pierre La Mouche
Don’t swat that fly! It might be Pierre la Mouche. Peter the Fly joins my daughter
and me in our car in route from Paris, France to Cologne, Germany – unnoticed – until he
escapes out our open window on the Severen’s Bridge over the Rhine River. We watch
him head directly for the City of Cologne. His many-faceted eyes see what we often
overlook for he has a bird’s eye view from above and an active imagination. When he
tires, he hitches a ride to new and exciting places. Most people don’t even notice this fly.
You must be young at heart to identify – or to even see him.
Mister la Mouche sets the facts straight about the city’s customs, culture, history and
language so as to relate accurate information to his own children awaiting him atop the
Eifel Tower of Paris. Along the way he creates a circle of lasting friendships through his
art of storytelling, his theatric performances and his appreciation of living things as seen
from the fly’s point of view. You cannot help but admire his courage in difficult times,
his perseverance to get the story straight and his commitment to the journalistic endeavor.
This story can outlive Pierre la Mouche – only if he can reach his legacy in time,
perform his storytelling venture and connect the networking necessary to continue
experiences for those who might wish to follow in his flight. Pierre’s return home leaves
many questions unanswered. Is his adventure real or just a dream? What actually causes
the unexpected changes in his carefully organized plan? When will he ever be able to
rejoin his family? Will someone find him – or will he lose his identity completely and
become just another fly on the wall?
<< top >>
Pete J. Smothers
Missouri
Motherhood IQ
Some rabbits simply escape the eagle’s talon
Others are not as fortunate possessing the same advantage
Temptations of the world are like eagles
Your children will not get caught and swallowed up
Parenting has demonstrated a daily awareness test
Of Motherhood IQ that no school prepares you for
The tests are given first and lessons later learned
Your choices may not always be correct, but you try
They will never be locked in an emotional prison
They will get the best chance for happiness
Anytime you feel that you need to rest
Your Motherhood IQ needs only a second to regenerate
At times of interaction I know you sometimes send non-verbal signals
That you are not enthusiastic about their dominate thoughts
Though small but very important to them
You realize that they look to you for answers
Realizing and reacting to your Motherhood IQ you know
Nothing takes the place of those beautiful feedback smiles
The only thing better is the added bonus of those hugs
Their eagerness to please runs a close second
Your Motherhood IQ is updated on days
Role-reversal is played and they always flatter you
When you go outdoors their eagerness to learn Is a step above where you were
I saw you entering your home looking over your shoulder
Turning just in time to see a sparrow
As if she was running late
Returning to her nest with Motherhood IQ
<< top >>
Pete J. Smothers
Missouri
Remembering Love
The birth of a baby is beautiful but often taken for granted
Remember, our Creator has not given up on mankind
As we entered this world surrounded by love, care, and comfort
We were programmed perfectly to exhibit love in a reciprocal secession
With this natural tendency to focus on love
Knowing it is always a meal best served day or night
Appetizer, main dish, dessert, all wrapped in one
With enough to feed anyone that we choose
We have more than we need for a lifetime
Love, the heartbeat of the universe, is monitored by our Creator
The natural flow once clockwise, we turned it counter-clockwise
With strength greater than the challenge
Love has become an endanger species
Enough of it is not around
I have searched your eyes for reassurance that love has not gone on vacation
I have also felt that maybe more research is needed but surely
Something happened to our perfect program if
I have felt like a target suffering the consequences of a mistaken approach
Just trying to give my love to others
People are delinquent on their love accounts
While material objects are loved more than people
It’s time to rectify this serious discontinuity
Let’s remake love into a reciprocal secession
The measure of a person is what is done when free to choose
Remember, your smile is a derivative of love
Contrary to popular belief our Creator did not make us love-impaired
Everyone is sitting on top of an incline waiting for a push
Hungry children will leave the dinner table and line up to get a hug
With our Creator leading the way, we can take the first step together
With peace of mind that love’s Strength is greater than the challenge
<< top >>
Pete J. Smothers
Missouri
Destiny’s Discontinuity
Ten thousand times ten thousand times the speed of light
Moving swiftly to fulfill another predetermine reality
Love, the potent center of Destiny traveled into my heart
Leaving micro-seconds later finding yours, ending years of unhappiness
So fortunate am I realizing Destiny has given me a true blessing
My love for you stays fresh as Destiny revealed Himself thru your eyes
He knew that I would be the envy of many people
Because He fell in love with the essence of your character
Ten thousand times ten thousand times the speed of light
He came to a complete stop feeling compelled to look at you
Looking only from within He marveled at your inner beauty
Nearly overdosing on endorphins resulting from the epitome of a pleasant state of mind
Destiny never speaks but the temptation was overwhelming
He spoke that day knowing He was breaking a rule of eternity
Never before, never again, but right there with you
Destiny broke a continuity causing many to miss their calling
Destiny’s discontinuity occurred on a cold January night
As He took His first break so He could obey a priority command
From a Higher Power to plant love seeds in your heart that spouted in record time
In such an abundance, He smiled speaking these words before moving on
I planted love seeds in your heart to take with me
To have for an upgrade that I was only able to obtain from you
I thought if anyone knew fully what love was, I knew
That was until I met you my sweet Pamela
<< top >>
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