Lit Magazine


This Issue is short, for many reasons. But it marks  LIT'S 1st Full Year.  I am happy to say LIT promises to grow in 2010-2011.

Thanks and Blessings to all who have helped LIT not only survive but thrive, now.

Your's Truly

-Lori L. E. Simpson 


June 2010- August 2010 - Vol. 1, Issue 4

If it had not been for summer visits to our
grandmother where luxurious rain fell daily,
I might have assumed rain was a myth,
like Noah’s neighbors thought before the flood.
My west Texas childhood was marked by
ten years of drought.
In Louisiana, right after lunch, it was reassuring to hear
the glass wind chimes announce rain’s refreshing
approach, giving us a few minutes head start
to pull the table and chairs inside the kitchen
before the slanted water drops plopped
inside the screened in porch.
If we needed a shower, we donned our bathing
suits, and ran outside to indulge ourselves in
the cold cloud juice by opening our mouths.
This ritual was followed by our mother calling
us inside. She made bobby pin circles on our heads
which blossomed, when dry, into shiny fluffs.


When I grew tall enough to peek over Woolworth’s
countertop to view the dingle-dangle earrings,
I wanted to grow up real fast so I could wear
them, too, like the glamour girls
in movies did.
My grandmother called little curls framing
my face “Beau Catchers” but I always
thought the dingle-dangle earrings
could catch a fella quicker.
Later on, I bought a few
and wore them for dressy
affairs. Years passed
before my daughter lifted
some from my box of bling
to wear to school.
She takes after her



O you on little wings, you take my breath.
                  Your vivid paint
                  exposes quaint
cathedral stains, a leaded glass in panes
where children’s hand bells tone a rite, ordains
high worship on a Sabbath’s holy day.
O little wings you take away my breath.
Long have I watched you pose upon a rose,
               perform your dance,
               the airs enhance
and share your beauty from another place.
Like fairies you elude collector’s chase.
You take away my breath. An angel sings
and I remember you, on little wings.



Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you oust of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, un my hand
Little flower- but if  I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.


(Note: This is Lori Simpson's interpretation of an old folk song.)


Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea,
Silver buckles on his knee,
He'll come back to marry me,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's bright and fair,
Combing down his yellow hair,
He's my ain forevermair,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea,
Silver buckles on his knee,
He'll come back to marry me,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's tall and slim,
Always dressed so neat an' trim,
The lassies, they all peek at him,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.

Bobby Shaftoe's gone to sea,
Silver buckles on his knee,
He'll come back to marry me,
Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.



(Note: the following pieces are, in part,  samples of very short stories I've written in the style called "Nano-fiction".  I've included them to spark interest in an Autumn 2010 Issue contest. Nano-fiction is usually composed of stories only six words long. They are challenging, but fun.)


Bored, waiting alone, I wrote stories.


"Don't sugarcoat things," Grandma'd say sourly.


I dreamed I flew, moonlit winged.


The short story had gargantuan meaning.

The 3 prose pieces above were written by...

-Lori L . E. Simpson

(Another Note: Going into the new year of LIT, I still want to make literature as open as possible to as many people as possible. So, LIT will feature in each upcoming issue a few poetic terms defined.)
I hope you enjoy these, and perhaps get some use out of them

ABSTRACT POETRY- Poetry that tries to convey an emotion by using sound, rhymes, rhythms, etc. , rather than relying on its words meanings.

ARS POETICA- A poem that presents it writer's ideas on what poetry is, and how poetry should be written.

BALLAD- Song or poem which tells a story.

HAPPY READING- What LIT MAGAZINE'S editor wishes all of LIT'S readers.

March- May 2010 - Vol. 1, Issue 3

First of all, here are the winners of the Spring 2010 Poetry Contest, about Spring, Life, and New Beginnings!

1st Place 


(A Roundeau)
The baby coos, the water crawls
from ancient block of clan’s lace shawls
as drops from baptismal’s brass urn
caress his head for life’s sojourn
with ayes and nays among his calls.
The pastor’s voice in southern drawls
sends echoes down the tile floored halls
and parents hear their vows return.
                      The baby coos.
The congregation reads from Paul’s
rich words of grace and then installs
a charge to sire. The child shall learn
and for God’s love the boy shall yearn
and conquer sins found in town malls.
                       The baby coos.
 -YVONNE NUNN (Modern Day Writer)

The 1st Runner Up Place Poem also bwlongs to Yvonne Nunn
(A Rondeau)
On Lilac’s bush as color swarms
on laden limbs, their dance performs
a clash of hues where dancing toes
take baths in blossoms as they pose
and sprinkle whiffs of new bouquets
where orange flutters in ballets,
bestir rose water like the breeze
and flitter close within a tease
                    on Lilac’s bush.
A close of finespun, sheer wing spread
resembles leaves, dried up and dead
yet all the players in the scene
pay homage to the Monarchs’ queen
                    on Lilac’s bush

-YVONNE NUNN (Modern Day Writer)

2nd Runner Up Poem


Do you have any sense of how you've changed the world for me?
And how you've given meaning to the way my life should be?
Until you came, I focused more on "want" instead of "need," but   
God decided it was time to grow beyond my greed.
He blessed me with a child that would change my life for good,
Then let me grow with you, to be the person that I should.
Every day, I'm thankful for the happiness you bring.
Remember now and always, that you're my everything.

-SUSIE SAWYER (Modern Day Writer)

Our 3rd Runner Up Poem Is

Summer Aflutter---Poem Form:  PANTOUN

Like fragrant flowers dipped in hues
the sunlight’s halo mirrors grace,
bestow a garden bed in blues
when seasons clasp a fond embrace.

The sunlight’s halo mirrors grace.
In early life, abundant blooms,
when seasons clasp a fond embrace
as cycle slows and life resumes.

In early life, abundant blooms
perfume the air on summer days;
as cycle slows and life resumes
the buds’ mature. Alive bouquets

perfume the air on summer days,
bestow a garden bed in blues.
The buds mature, alive bouquets---
like fragrant flowers dipped in hues.

-CAROL DEE MEEKS (Modern Day Writer)



Along Acona's hill the shimmering heat,
A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow
Bathes all the fields of wheat until the glow
Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat
Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet
Seem running, firey torchmen, to and fro'
To mark the shore
The farmer does not know
That they are there. He walks with heavy feet,
Counting the bread by autumn's gain,
But I, - I smile to think that days remain
Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet
No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain,
I shall be glad remembering how the fleet,
Lithe poppies ran like torchmen in the wheat.



Facebook, Facebook, write on my wall
Tell me I'm the most fascinating one of them all
You're my Face-buddy, my funny-Face friend
Though I don't know you, we'll be true to the end

It's better than scrap-booking, cheaper than drink
And I can be clever without havin g to think
Make me feel relevant, never mind how
Show me you care what I'm doing right now

Sign me up for my 4ooth friend
Tell me her history from schooldays to end
List the authors we read, the movies we see
The albums that changed my life for me

You know me better than anyone else
You evoke my answers my innermost self
My every emotion is grist for the post
But if my hard drive crashes - - I'll be toast.

- J. E. JORDAN (Modern Day Writer)


The grass is groomed - -
lays like a new carpet,
Lawns must breath better
since the weeds are gone.

Flowers have room to gather air
and lift their eyes to God

The fence stands straighter, The
yard's in order, the kids can play

So much for chaos and wagging
tailed dogs, as germs of ticks
get rained-down and hide
Their carcass in the sod.

Ice tea days and lemonade
laying under the hammock
underneath trees of shade.
Summer is on its way.

- CAROL DEE MEEKS (Modern Day Writer)


The sunlight's halo mirrors grace
while Seniors dance and wave their canes;
as life declince like tattered lace
it disappears in Autumn banes.

While Seniors dance and share their canes,
their agile spirit cascades down;
it disappears in Autumn banes
like clumps of baby's breath in brown,

Their agile spirit cascades down,
in dormant days; fall season's cast
like clumps of baby's breath in brown,
the Autumn's god becomes her past

In dormant days, fall season's cast
as life declines like tattered lace
The Autumn's gold becomes her past,
The sunlight's halo mirrors grace.

-CAROL DEE MEEKS (Modern Day Writer)


Rhymed in three
some strange melody
sang to me
let me see
be with me
blessed by thee
meant to be
sets me free
filled with glee
worship thee
leave the me-
become we
so holy

follow thee
for with thee
I can't see
I can't see
there's only
Love in thee

- SHAWN PERRYMAN (Modern Day Writer)


This is the first prose submission featured by Lit Magazine . It is a great memior article written by Mary Wathen White. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.


My sister, Martha was born when I was two and a half. A nurse, Mrs. Rumbo, came to stay with us when there was a new baby. She was a large woman who dressed in white starched uniforms. She talked very little and then very brusque and business like. When Martha was born Mrs. Rumbo threw my dolls from baby bassinet into the corner on the floor! Before Martha's birth, I had been allowed to put my dolls in the bassinet, but that nurse who took care of Mother and Martha threw my dolls out! I was very unhappy about the dolls and not at all enchanted by that squalling baby in my "babies' " bed.

So, I took Martha out of the bassinet and hid her under the house behind the chimney. I did not hurt her and I did put her on my doll bed that was under there. I had a playhouse of toys there where it was quite cool and the boys, my older brothers, didn't bother me.

When she realized the baby was missing, Mrs. Rumbo flew into a raged and grabbed by my arm and slapped me.

Mother jumped out of the nearby bed where she lay, and grabbed me away and said: "No one hits my children but me." Mother quietly asked me where the baby was. I told her. Martha was rescued. Fortunately, no harm was done. Mother explained that we had to take care of our baby, and that she was my baby too. I think that incident cemented a love for my sister that has never faded.

-MARY WATHEN WHITE (Modern Day Writer)

December 2009-February, 2010- Issue 2


He that is down, needs fear no fall,
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble, ever shall
Have God to be his guide.

I am content with what I have,
Little be it or much:
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,
Because thou savest such.

Fullness to such a burden is
That go on a pilgramage:
Here little, and hereafter bliss
Is best from age to age.

-JOHN BUNYAN (Classical British Writer)


Just hands.
I shake them
Or avoid them
They're just hands
There to work among the wires,
Upon the pipes,
Filling or filing papers,
Serving the customer.
They form the roses into bouquets,
Pluck the strings of hearts.
Showing signs of weather, but weathering well.
Other fingers resemble mine
But hold knowledge incomprehensible to me
Move with precision,
Knowing where to place pressure
When to move slowly
When to release
And when to let go.
So simple
So profound
Just hands.

-JUNELLE GAMBS (Modern Day Poet)

Ants work in summer heat
Grasshoppers mindlessly play.
Which will enjoy an icy winter?

-JUNELLE GAMBS (Modern Day Poet)

Wait two short hours,
Summer will abruptly end.
Blue norther coming!

JUNELLE GAMBS (Modern Day Poet)


A glimmery tapestry of shimmery sparkling beauty,
Intricate delilcate crystaline structures gracefully glide from the sky,
Billions of unique shapes dancing as the float on by
The beauty further magnafied in that when elegance died
The manificence never so much as sputtered
The joyful sounds sounds that young mouths uttered
laughing as spheres go splat
or sliding around on their limbs laying flat
Diving off a hill into the big layer so cushiony soft,
Knocking mini stalagtites off the loft
To gaze at structures growing, ever growing as upside down they stand
In the daytime curving and molding the light
shimmering reflections of the moon in the night
Some only think of the shovel and all the snow to be hurled,
I've come to appreciate things only found in a cold world.

-SHAWN PERRYMAN (Modern Day Poet)


We're held up high by Josana in the highest
Nothing on this earth can compare to being blessed
We don't have the burning bush, God sets states on fire
His gifts are so much greater than things we desire
To be saved means you're no longer lost so you've won
Trillions of people each loved like His only son
In our greatest times of need our hearts God does lifer,
Amazing grace how sweet the sound, much less the gift.

-SHAWN PERRYMAN (Modern Day Poet)


When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him with friends possesed
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I enjoy most contented least;
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, -and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day asrising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate
For such sweet love remem'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings



Cold night
Air chills me
Through o the bone,
And even though I'm
In my warm house I feel
So dark and alone, alone.
But I look up to the heavens
Through my window to a star that's bright,
And know that I can still live through my night.

-LORI L. E. SIMPSON (Modern Day Poet)


Saw an
Old woman
Sitting on a
Bus bench, toothlessly
Downing a peice of bread.
I stared at the sight sad eyed.
She looked at me and smiled. She said,
Are you hungry dear? I have plenty
Here to share with you, just come and join me!"

LORI L. E. SIMPSON (Modern Day Poet)


Do you believe in miracles?
Maybe they're God's way of keeping
The world the way he wants.
Maybe they're accidents.
I believe in miracles.
I rely on them.

-DARRELL TINDALL (Modern Day Writer)

September- November 2009 - Issue 1

Poems For You... some classic, some yet to become classic, all wonderful reads!


The boy from his bedroom-window
Look'd over the little town,
And away to the bleak black upland
Under a clouded moon.

The moon came forth from her cavern,
He saw the sudden gleam,
Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland;
Or perhaps the whole was a dream.

For I could never find that water
In all my walks and rides:
Far-off, in the land of memory
That midnight pool abides.

Many fine things had I glimpse of
And said, 'I shall find them one day.'
Whether within me or without me
They were, I cannot say.


*Tarn= A small mountain lake or pool.


I at my window sit, and see
Autumn his russet fingers lay
On ev'ry leaf of ev'ry tree.
I call but Summer will not stay.

She flies, the boasting godess flies,
And pointing where the espaliers shoot,
'Deserve my parting gift,' she cries,
'I take the leaves, but not the fruit.'

Let me the parting gift improve,
And emulate the just reply,
As life's short seasons swift remove,
Er' fixed in Winter's frost I lie.

Health, beauty, vigour now decline,
The pride of Summer's splendid day.
Leaves, with the stem must now resign,
The mournful prelude of decay.

But let fair Virtue's fruit remain,
Though Summer with my leaves be fled,
Then, not despised, I'll not complain,
But cherish Autumn in her stead.

-ANONYMOUS (Dates Unknown To Lit editor)

*Espaliers = Frameworks for growing and supporting fruit trees or shrubs.


a chorus
of crystal droplets
barely budding branches
waiting helplessly,
with tenuous breath,
for the next act of God,
of wind or sun
to blow or burn,
releasing them
to dissapate into
seemingly thin air;
into voids unknown
that anticipate
their coming
and are
waiting for them to fall...

-SALLY CLARK (Modern Day Writer)


A mold was never made before we arrived,
cushoined by care
or flung like flotsam
into this world.
We have been, to be sure, measured and remeasured,
time and time again,
as, hopefully we grew from one size or phase
to another.
But those of us who think ourselves
safely veneered or finished,
must beware the wormwood,
and stay in touch with the curious child,
deep within us
who still carves outward.

-JUNELLE GAMBS (Modern Day Poet)


We start as tots, happy, carefree
Maturing hurts, sometimes we flee.

Then we have tots, parents are we
"Protect offspring, O Lord!" We plea.

Life's experiences start anew
fresh young faces and different shoes.

As time changes, wisdom grabs hold,
We comb gray hairs, become too bold.

The cycle continues, Lives are retakes:
wealth and health, blessings, mistakes.

But per King Solomon, "It's all in vain
rich or poor, death ends or fame."

Our experience path, our winds of change
determines our outcome infinity range.

CAROL DEE MEEKS (Modern Day Writer)


Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breath'd forth the sound that said 'I hate,'
To me that languish'd for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tounge, that ever sweet
Was used in giveing gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life saying- 'not you.'



Autumn nights whisper
Right before the dawn,
The cool chill awakens
Like a lover's kiss that lingers on.

I step out into the darkness,
Feet wet with frost and dew,
And breathe in the sacred knowledge
Even Endings
Start things new.

-LORI L. E. SIMPSON (Modern Day Writer)


I'm looking for the little boy
Made for me in heaven,
The man that was meant
To be mine.
I've never come close to true love,
And wonder if I've run
Out of time.

I don't look for love
With my eyes,
I try to see it
Deep in my soul.
Does a woman need
A lover's love
To make her feel
More whole?

I've been told "the answer"
And have heard
That it is "no"
But there is a part of
Me that needs to see
If that is really

Oh, I'll keep in touch
With my dreams,
Let them come
When and where
They will.
In the mean time
I'll look up to heaven,
And be happy- still.

- LORI  L. E. SIMPSON (Modern Day Writer)


The clouds are over the moon,
It's pitch black,
Fly forward, yet don't know what lies ahead.
It's quiet and cold,
All the others have left.
Friends all gone.
Keep flying forward,
Lonely and scared,
Confused and lost,
Everything that used to be is no longer.

Rise, sun, rise...

-DARRELL TINDALL (Modern Day Writer)


A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling the, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounding detached in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaslessly musing, venturing throwing seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd till the ductile anchor hold
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

-WALT WHITMAN (American Author)