Friday, January 30, 2009

To Dance Alone

Swinging on air suspended by thoughts deep
white sand beaches warming away your ice

while palms dust away your face in broad sweeps

and I contemplate if it's worth the price.

To drown your memory in waters blue

and chase away that voice to worlds unknown

of darkened clouds and to your nature true

with bumpy roads and winds that whine and moan.

I'll float in space warmed by a happy sun

while soft breezes hum songs of paradise

an island built on happiness for one

to dance alone, true spirit realized.

Alone and real with nature by my side

the only sound defined by rising tide.

Copyright 2009 JO Janoski

A Word Catalyst Prompt to write a poem for the picture.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Word Catalyst - February Issue

Don't miss the February issue of Word Catalyst Magazine ! It's chock full of art, photography, prose, poetry, and even a children's corner. Did I mention my column, this month's entry entitled, "The Tango?" Here's a snippet:

They met every afternoon in the glade--just as the sun dipped in the sky and got moody, glowing orange in its heat. The surrounding clouds quivered with anticipation as that recalcitrant orb served as a back drop for the couple. The woman, dark hair sleeked back out of the way, revealed her white porcelain face, cheeks rouged like cherries and lips glimmering like red wine sparkling in a crystal goblet. Dangling gold hoops danced on her ear lobes with more to say than the woman herself...more


Friday, January 23, 2009

Shallow Victory

Shallow Victory

Sara abandoned her wine, carelessly plopping the glass on the sun-warmed deck, while she watched an unforgettable drama play out on the lake. The waters around the row boat shot ripples across the glassy wetness while two men struggled in the tiny craft. Clearly, one reached for the throat of the other, only to be pushed back by a magnanimous display of defiance encased in swinging fists and harsh words loud enough to reach Sara's ears. Dad and Jake were at it again. Fishing rods lay askew on the deck and an abandoned beer bottle, empty and overboard, jiggled along the disturbed waters.

They fought every time the two started drinking, but this episode was different. She had never seen such anger, the kind that could blow the top off a hot cooker. She had to stop them. Kicking off her shoes, Sara dove in the water.

With each stroke, she strained to see what was happening. In one glance, she spied her brother, Jake, fall into the water. And she felt the ripples belting against her in the wake of his enormous weight crashing into the lake. When closer, she tread water to pause and watch the scene. Her father, no small man himself, was hanging over the edge of the craft, his big calloused hands pushing down on Jake's head, forcing the fellow under water. Jake fought back.

Her dad suddenly spied Sara in the water and let go, his arms flying up in an air of surrender. Her brother, clinging to the boat and gasping for breath, followed his gaze. Seeing her, a shadow of guilt whooshed across his face.

"Hey!" her brother said, acting like nothing unusual had happened. He reached for his father's outstretched hand and crawled into the boat dripping, next shooting her a boyish grin, accentuated by wet hair plastered on his forehead above bouncing blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Her father heaved a humongous sigh and glared her way.

"I saw you two. You were trying to drown him!"

Jake chuckled, a tiny nervous giggle, too lightweight to hoist any real meaning. "You're crazy. We were just monkeying around."

Father merely glared her way. Sara, tired from maintaining her own in the water, looked backed in dismay. It was always like this. The two would drink, try to kill one another, and when she showed up, they denied it. It was her feminine presence that changed everything. When she came, they stopped, no doubt to protect her innocence. But what if one of these days, she didn't show up. Then what? Her blood iced over at the prospect. But they wouldn't talk to her and would never say what was wrong. They walled her out.

The two were waiting. Waiting for her response, and probably hoping she would go. They'd never tell.

"Monkeying around, I see," she said, turning to swim back. "Fine. Don't be late for dinner."

Copyright 2009 JO Janoski

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Dark Corners

Dark Corners

Shadows, muffled cries where they meet
crouching in dark corners of love
in this place, so quiet, discreet
love is unleashed, hear the heartbeats
in the closet with coats and gloves.

Stifling moans encased in dark walls
wrapped tight in wool, sealed in leather
pondering love of the other.
Outside said door her husband calls
knowing not what's behind the wall.

Copyright 2009 JO Janoski

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Bob's Book

I talk a lot about Bob Church. Recently, Nan Jacobs, a fellow staff member at Word Catalyst Magazine comprised a book of Bob's Work to present to him. Well, here is the whole story:

Dave's Tech Blog

Friday, January 09, 2009


Evening Glory by Steven Mitchell

A Word Catalyst Prompt


Light majestic with touch Divine
inspired illumination
meshed with life, mosaic sublime
I alone see this Light of mine
such welcoming isolation.

Copyright 2009 JO Janoski

Sunday, January 04, 2009

Word Catalyst - January Issue

The January Issue of Word Catalyst Mag has been released. The front page is a wonderful tribute by Harry Furness to the poetry of my very dear friend and mentor, Bob Church. I must admit this month's artwork has stolen my heart away, some wonderful viewing for nature lovers everywhere. The photography section has a few shots I took of our recent snow/ice storm; and of course, Tales of Whisper Gap, my column, is ready for your perusal. Here's a snippet:

A box of cotton balls plopped down on his head from an upper shelf. The supply closet was exactly that, a tiny room barely big enough to turn around in. And he was trying to put the moves on a wiggling nurse.

"Dr. Ramsey, are you trying to seduce me?"

He looked at her with disgust as she spoke delivering the lines without feeling. How in the hell did they expect him to act with such an amateur?

"CUT! Marvelous, Pauline! We'll pick up tomorrow! Have a good night, everyone!" The director grabbed his black satchel and raced from the set.

"George, I didn't feel like you were with me in this today, were you?" She asked in gentle tones, slipping the script in her purse as they walked towards the corridor.

He shot her a blank stare. What was he supposed to say? Her acting was abominable. Who could follow her lines? But they were married...more