Poetry Contributor
Breanne Weber is a 31 year old poet residing in Central Florida with her husband and free-range house bunny. She self-published her first book, real like laundry, in 2018 and is currently working on her second book. You will often find her in her local coffee shop, scribbling in a book, sipping an oat milk latte.
Elizabeth Kemball
I have never seen anything more beautiful
than the imprint of your breath on winter’s air
the proof of your life, your presence
spilling out, like smoke or ink in water;
there is nothing more beautiful
than the fact you breathe
and with each breath
love me.
Jenny Robb
Why hold my heart and love so far away?
Brief sparks of joy explode and then are gone.
These winter days of unremitting grey
are bitter images of life where sun
is but a memory. Oh, lover, return
and light shall split the grey. The warmth of love
will thaw my heart and I’ll no longer yearn
for kisses slow, caresses sweet. Above
the sky will break and shine with rainbow light,
reflecting joy that brims and overflows,
‘till barren days and tears that drench the night
are washed away and cleanse the winter snows.
So lover take heed and hasten back to
colour the grey and set my spirit free.
Michael Maul
You walk slowly. I do, too.
But my heart still races
at the thought of
spinning time with you.
Daniel Hinds
For the wedding of Wendy Holliday and Eric Hinds*
For a symbol of love’s endurance
Look to your wedding rings
The continuous, unbroken token
Of love’s lasting life.
That love which banns allow.
Whatever you hold to: complex gods,
Or simple love, each other, or each day
Hold to it today.
When wedding bells ringing
Intermingle with a sadder sound.
I look to my brother,
Writing a quick speech
Gathering a slow wit.
The best man deadpans about bedpans.
I look to my father,
Farther from sorrow than he should be.
I look to a bride,
Nearer to him now, dearer to us.
Today the thing borrowed is time –
Spent prudently, buys an eternity.
The thing blue – scrubs and feelings
Freshened by tears.
And something new – a new last name
And the old first thing: Love.
*I read this poem aloud at the wedding of my father and Wendy Holliday on the 20th of July 2019 at Freeman Hospital in Newcastle, as part of my best man’s speech (a position which I shared with my twin brother). Wendy died of cancer on the 9th of August 2019 and this poem was read again at her funeral, this time by my father.
Poetry Contributor
Jason Whitt is an emerging poet and author who is currently writing for his first collection of poetry and debut novel. Jason has been a lifelong musician and built a career as a private music teacher. In recent years, he has begun to pursue his love of writing in a more passionate, dedicated manner spending much of his free time writing poetry and contemplating the plot to his first novel. Jason’s love for music and writing become quite obvious by reading his work and observing the way the two intertwine. His desire for his readers is that they will experience the beauty found through words that bring to life the array of emotions felt in the journey.
Dear Reader,
Following our last issue, the Halloween-themed nevermore, it was only fitting that we enter 2020 with a testament to all things love, just in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s hard not to feel the love surrounded by chocolate hearts, Hallmark cards, and candlelit dinners for two! And, if you’ll allow me to indulge in self-promotion for just a moment, my chapbook, Three Words, a bittersweet love story itself, recently came out with Bottlecap Press, so the topic was fresh in my mind while reading through these submissions. That being said, I’m so incredibly excited to share this issue of Nightingale & Sparrow with you!
2020 so far has been a great year for us here at N&S, with new staff members, new books (and at least 20 titles to come through the new year!), and new endeavours. But it’s also seen its share of frustrations already, with sickness, life changes, and political strife taking precedence in our day to day lives. With that in mind, I owe a huge thank you to our team for working together to bring this issue into the world despite it all.
And, of course, we owe tremendous amounts of gratitude elsewhere: to our submitters and contributors, our readers (hello!), our followers across social media, our customers who pick up copies of our books and magazine issues, and our supporters on Ko-Fi. Every word read, post shared, and dollar spent or donated truly means the world.
Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this issue of Nightingale & Sparrow. We asked submitters to share their “mushiest, gushiest, lovey-dovey-est work,” and they delivered all that and more. Read through images of love in droplets of ink with pieces like “Unlocked” by December Lace and “Inkwell” by Jason Whitt and within the depths of a warm mug in Catherine Thoms’ “Coffee Date” and Anne White’s “Coffee Courtship.” You’ll hear love songs in the mundane and discover sonnets in the defining moments of a lifetime, or of two lives becoming one. You might just find yourself falling in love along the way.
Happy Valentine’s Day and remember—we here at N&S hold a special place in our hearts for all of you who help make publications like this one possible!
Juliette Sebock
Editor-in-Chief, Nightingale and Sparrow
Wilda Morris
With two repeated lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream
by William Shakespeare
Cupid is a knavish lad,
mischievous as any child
thus to make poor females mad.
When he shoots a great dyad,
wound and flame are reconciled.
Cupid is a knavish lad,
playful is he, more than bad—
or so you think when you’re beguiled.
Thus to make poor females mad,
he winks his eye and plays the cad,
lets his arrows fly off wild.
Cupid is a knavish lad.
When men think that love’s a fad,
they play tricks on those who smiled
thus to make poor females mad.
Oft his arrows still go bad.
Many heartaches he’s compiled.
Cupid is a knavish lad
thus to make poor females mad.
Poetry Contributor
Jenny lives in Liverpool UK and has been writing poetry since her teens but only seriously since retiring. She is an ex social worker/manager and NHS Director. She has poems in The Morning Star, Writing at the Beach Hut, and in a forthcoming anthology of poetry celebrating the bicentennial anniversary of George Eliot, (Yaffle Press).
