Winter Quarterly, 2024: Issue 8
The GGP Collective
Cover Art: Irina Tall (Novikova) Bio
Irina Tall (Novikova) is an artist, graphic artist, illustrator. She graduated from the State Academy of Slavic Cultures with a degree in art, and also has a bachelor's degree in design. The first personal exhibition "My soul is like a wild hawk" (2002) was held in the museum of Maxim Bagdanovich. In her works, she raises themes of ecology, in 2005 she devoted a series of works to the Chernobyl disaster, draws on anti-war topics. The first big series she drew was The Red Book, dedicated to rare and endangered species of animals and birds. Writes fairy tales and poems, illustrates short stories. She draws various fantastic creatures: unicorns, animals with human faces, she especially likes the image of a man - a bird - Siren. In 2020, she took part in Poznań Art Week. Her work has been published in magazines: Gupsophila, Harpy Hybrid Review, Little Literary Living Room and others. In 2022, her short story was included in the collection "The 50 Best Short Stories", and her poem was published in the collection of poetry "The wonders of winter". Links to social networks: https://www.instagram.com/irina.tall111?igsh=YWYwM2I1ZDdmOQ=… https://www.instagram.com/irina.tall?igsh=YWYwM2I1ZDdmOQ==
Glass Gates Publishing, 2024
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising up every time we fail.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Acknowledgments A very special thank you to all of our contributing writers. Without the courage to share your words and work with others, our little publication could not exist. Please find our contributors and follow their pages on social media for more! Follow @glassgatespublishing on Instagram for more announcements and future calls for submissions
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Laraine Batis-Gelpi John Dennis David Keane Amanda Thuy Rita Taste Linda Crate Donna McCabe Edward L. Canavan V. T. Lowe Tshering Namgyal Oliver Ashcroft Thomas Sims Adam Brooks Samantha Silverstein Shamik Banerjee Lucia Tasadu Samantha Terrell Melanie Hess Lost Heart Poetry Terriann Walling Arben Alovic tlp
Table of Contents ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
In this Sit of Meditation- I Didn’t Mean To Find Out My Weakness Farewell’s Embrace the set of suns Changing Directions DEATH time’s voyage endings & beginnings i want to feel the warmth of love Metamorphosis today again time to go [a lifetime of endings] THE END Untitled Gentle Eyes Dance of the Dawn COPYCAT AGENDA/accepting oneself A Letter to A Female Friend To My Lover Through a Bee End. Beginning… A LOVE POEM (in a haiku series) Heart of the Matter When Solitude is the only Answer BITTERSWEET ENDINGS Lunar Reverie Untitled Untitled II
In this Sit of Meditation-I Didn't Mean To Find Out My Weakness
Like a stray thread on a beautifully sequined blouse One too-tight tug...and the sparkle is loosed, upon the floor A bare, dull spot now revealed... I did not mean to find out all of my weaknesses as I sought my answers Sit by Sit deep breath by deep breath thumbs pressed to the 3rd eye I saw my weaknesses, parade on by They were bare spots on the fabric of my skin no longer covered by distractions, the cheap glitter of pretend... my mistakes, wrong turns, blind spots & misjudgments all unraveled in my Sit... So I stayed with my weaknesses in this meditation, this space of internal creation and they began to crack, they began to crumble...but I sat & stayed Then my mistakes, together, all broken & crushed, soaked & softened with my tears, became hushed. My sit was now silent, leaving space for answers... before me stretched a smooth wayspace & clear as far as the 3rd eye could see. specks of sparkle, glitter catching the sun on this pathThey're all of my mistakes & misjudgments shining up the way, lighting up my answers
The seat, The sit Of stillness, of still•less Of meditation, of mediation Of mindfulness, of mindlessness the Sit deconstructs & reconstructs When I Sat I didn't mean to find out my strengths.
Laraine Batis-Gelpi
Bio: Instagram, @soulpoetree
the set of suns my raven hair has turned white upon the set of suns, cloudy eyes yet watch as sands of time doth run. through change and loss, mortal threads have begun to fray; upon cosmic seas, the woven threads of life still sway. nets cast to sea still reap the teeming days, gathering minutes ripening along the way. this aging heart beats in gratitude for bounties of the divine, gently caressing heartaches where life finds. strange waters now ebb and flow along time's bay, as transient life sails, watching as moons fade away. lifespan held ever dear by calloused hands, priceless mortal threads, every last strand. at life's great divide where land meets sky, soul shall then rest and to cosmic heavens fly. Amanda Thuy Bio: Writing has remained a constant in Amanda’s life since childhood. She went on to obtain a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature and a Juris Doctor, but her writing passion never subsided. Her writing explores the dark and light shades of life, personal experiences as well as fantasy. You can follow her on IG: @mezzo.strada
Farewell's Embrace A merciful jab A weighty sigh Tears cascade I bid goodbye In memory’s vault Never to part Forever kneading at my heart
David Keane
John Dennis
Bio: John is a poet and playwright. Born and raised in The Bronx, currently residing in Westchester County, New York. He has written ten, short, one act plays that have been performed in Manhattan and online. Was the corecipient of the inaugural, Mark Plesent commission from Working Theater in N.Y.C, in 2021, for which he wrote a longer one act play called, “An Irish Echo.” That play received a public reading in Manhattan in 2022. You can find John on Instagram @Jkay____
Changing Directions the path was well lit but halfway through the lights dimmed & the markers faded. shadows stalked me so i ran, stumbled, & fell. i rolled down a steep hill, covered in bruises, cut, & bloody i landed on a new path. the streetlights glowed purple, meandering rows of tulips led the way, although i was battered & afraid i started to walk. Rita Taste
DEATH Dying may seem foreboding Existence fades to darkness After the Reaper knocks Time on this plane has ended Humble beginnings await
Rita Taste
time’s voyage in time’s beginning when world was new, darkness surrounded, but light broke through. in the void, there was a spark, and in the spark, there was a life; days and years would unfold, rich in joys but so too strife. there was living to be had and so life carried on, eyes would cast to sky, watching til sun and moon were gone. moments ebbed and flowed as heart would know love and loss, yet still it marched forth fearing not of any cost; for life was given gift of breath and so living it would, memories seared in skin and bone til life no longer could. lived life then to dust and void did then return, where cosmic seas of eternity would be its final urn. Amanda Thuy
endings & beginnings sometimes an ending is a beginning, and sometimes a beginning is an ending to something; that's why i always try to see things in a neutral light so i can have joy even through difficult times— because sometimes we reject or resist the change we need that betters our lives, and so i am open to endings and to beginnings; i am open to the good that happens despite the bad that may be inevitable— because what could feel like the end could be the beginning to a beautiful chapter, more lovely that i could've imagined; and so i will go into this new future with a heart wide open ready to experience new adventures and people and places and feelings. linda m. crate
i want to feel the warmth of love i think i begin in a place where some people end, and that's why they cannot understand me; all my life i have wanted to be loved deeply and fiercely as i love— but i have been told that i am intense and intimidating, maybe that's one can come to accept being born a daughter of the moon; but i simply want to feel the warmth of the love i read in stories and the love i have witnessed my friends getting— just want my chance at happily ever after, that adventure that offers a new beginning with a new name and closes a chapter of life which may have been painful; all i want is to be loved and appreciated for all the magic and wonder that i am or will be. linda m. crate
Irina Tall (Novikova)
Metamorphosis Release it, let it go Don't replay it once more Reviewing, replaying the past Don't become a hostage To those bad times gone by Forget the should haves, the could haves The what might have beens Release it, let it go Think of the future unseen It's time to forgive yourself Let go of it all Time to metamorphosis Like a caterpillar change Grow wings and fly free. Donna McCabe
today again dark and mellow the grayness suits the mood the end of another beginning the beginning of another end struck by the silliness of arbitrary limits to demarcate and measure an entity created by the mind before it runs out. Edward L. Canavan
time to go down to wires and waysides and what more can come from the least of this low tide of the mind the heart skipping every other beat while lights arrive and depart i find myself preferring the darkness more often than not as death stands on the horizon waving me in. Edward L. Canavan
a lifetime of endings backwards mind precluding rational conclusions anticipating gone before anything could ever arrive. Edward L. Canavan
THE END Discovered within the folded corners of your story Found within the worn pages and the tears that blurred the ink together The end is close, but a new beginning lurks
For the finale of one book, leads to the start of another
V.T. Lowe
Endings can be beautiful, like hypnotic sunsets, stroked like a masterpiece, seducing our attention. What follows is darkness, illuminating its own charm, lulling us to rest, recuperate our senses, until we awake to a hopeful dawn, a fresh beginning, pregnant with possibilities. Tshering Namgyal
Bio: @tshering_poemsonly (insta handle)
Gentle Eyes In the quiet dawn of a new beginning, A heart beats as eyes gently open, Escaping the cocoon held in time, Infinite promises offer a guiding hand. Each new chapter, a bittersweet feeling, Every beginning is another’s end. A never ending circle with no escape, Time moves forward, no matter what you do. As the sun sets on a final day, Whispers of love offer hope and peace, Fading light, no more beginnings, A heart stops as eyes gently close. Oliver Ashcroft
Bio: Oliver has been a poet from a young age. However, he only began sharing his work earlier this year and is currently working on his first collection. Instagram: @OliverAshcroftPoet
Dance of the Dawn Twilight— Crepuscular creatures flit to and fro through evening air. Sat in chair on patio, I ponder now on all my days. Shorter now, and shorter still tomorrow. There Used to be time in time for me to pause and phrase Out all the meaning in a moment. But now the seconds sprint away from Youth— Lucky ducks gone raging rapids less than halfway through the day. Between the coaster and the bumper carts, Never time enough To try and pinch their tiny plastic necks, and no desire to stay And watch their lazy floating promenade. Waters now turned rough, And turbulence tosses time twisting towards some unknown end. And so I raced my way towards Bloom— Aching potency at once turned actual. Vigor in my limbs and mind And saturated days barely kept pace with full grown stride. Time in time to do things. I leapt and loved to search and find Her growing in a meadow clear. Rapt, true, and beautiful. I hied To draw close to her side and plant myself in soil adjacent. In each other’s shade to grow and one day
Wilt— Slowly drooped down with age I’ll be that day. On porch In wicker, rocking, fragile limbed, and chilled. Let those monstruous moments mosey as they must. Torch borne for her, in spite of careless gods and fates they’ve willed. We rest at night, from toil and fright, forever bound to meet again at Dawn.
Thomas Sims
COPYCAT AGENDA/accepting oneself
bury your ghost next to my corpse in a shallow grave still wet from the rain beneath the trees where lovers play she awoke from a long nap on her favorite beach with only her head exposed a seagull ripping her ear off she named him Regret. imperfect and beautiful she will hold no fear in the garden of lavender protected by yellow jackets fierce and territorial finally I smiled she built a prison out of cordwood for my heart while striking a flint rock.
Adam Brooks
A Letter to A Female Friend I don’t know when it happened The shift I pulled in one direction The rope began to fray You pulled in another The tear Growing at a snail’s pace I wanted to fly Become my own person Learn my identity away from you But I remained We would tell people The length of our friendship A marker A staple A triumph We were proud You were always standing By my side You were present During the great escape The pilgrimage I made To leave my familial chains I was there When those you loved so dearly Departed this world I called you my best You called me yours I knew you were close to others You knew I had the same Yet I still called you my number one You reciprocated A bond in stasis
I got married I chose you To be the leader of the maids I love you I hate to tell you You weren’t fully present You wore the dress You held the flowers Too close to your face One friend planned the bachelorette Another asked how I was feeling You thought I looked sad And waved your bouquet at me Like getting a toddler to smile You were chosen Once again To hold the same position for someone else You basically gave her the world Bent over backwards Celebrated the end of her single days With pomp and circumstance Your speech Off the cuff From the heart Was met with laughter and cheers You danced with her Made sure she was happy Praised her food Her venue Her centerpieces The cherry on top You saved the bouquet she bestowed upon you It is prominently displayed Where no photos of our time as friends Can be seen
It is time To face the truth You will always be A constant A presence in my life You no longer hold The title you once did We will always remain Strong Together I’m just amongst the collection I’ll make peace I hope you will too Samantha Silverstein
To My Lover Through a Bee Wipe! Bee, wipe! wipe my lover's tear, With this, let my true sentiments be told: My love lives on although now I am here In heaven's cloudy lands, where joys unfold.
Buzz! Bee, buzz!, Buzz around her face To let my former pastorals be sung Which I had penned to praise our golden days— The old days of our passion new and young.
Tell! Bee, tell! tell that up above, The woods are lush and rivers smoothly bend, And tell her Bee, each landscape full of love, Embraces me just like a bosom friend.
Sit, Bee, sit, sit upon her hand, Affirm her thought, "He's under heaven's care.", But hide the truth, don't let her understand: In heaven too, gone lovers have despair.
Shamik Banerjee Bio: Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. When he is not writing, he can be found strolling the hills surrounding his homestead. His poems have appeared in Fevers of the Mind, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Westward Quarterly, among others.
End. Beginning... When the end ends, the beginning begins. That's what I thought quite often. Every day I saw such endings and beginnings. When the night and the darkness ended, the light began and with it the day. And when the light ended, the darkness began. It was the 31st of December. The end of the year, so I had heard it all day. Again, an end to something – the so-called year. And the next day would be the beginning of the new year. I was curious because it was everyone. It must be a special change between the end of the year and the beginning of the year. Nothing ended for me at first And he didn't start anything new. They were sounds that I picked up and that passed me by. Just like the food bringer. When she came, I had to eat, always healthy, when she left, her work was finished. But then I can always eat my fill. It's a nice feeling. But here, too, you start and then end. I was used to the noise and the flashing lights by now. I was looked at en masse, my movements, my looks. They put my photos online, documented my life. Researchers and celebrities looked at me very reverently and expectantly. They were all waiting for a beginning. I just didn't really know which one. I just stayed calm and let the flurry of camera flashes wash over me. At least they were interested in me. For a few hours. They began to come by the light, To look, to be amazed, To write, To scream, when it got dark.
Then it's quiet around me. Your end is my beginning of rest and its euphoric beginning is the end of my silence. It's funny how these sounds fit again and again. End. Beginning... the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. Everybody is always waiting, That pass me by like colorful, well-dressed figures, to my beginning. In doing so, they start every day, To give me food and to see me. I am waiting for the beginning of the end of all this. Some of them also sat down with me. A woman especially often. She always held something in her hand, what she called a book. When she started to open it, There seemed to be no end for a long, long time. Again and again there were signs after signs. There was a dot at the end of a sheet. After him, the beginning was on the next sheet new and yet the continuation of the previous sheet. These books, as they call them, are exciting. When they take pictures of me, Again such strange sounds, then the beginning is always her position to me, to the light, to my home, to the glass. The end is always the lightning and at the end of the photo follows the beginning of spreading it, to praise, to like, to love, to delete, if you don't like it. Now the cold will soon end, the whites go outside. As the variegated leaves came to an end, when the white and cold was in the beginning. This is how the cold ends and with more light and warmth the blooming begins.
Everywhere I see bright colors now. Their beginning is my end, I feel it Everything is getting heavy inside of me, As everything begins to bloom. And there it was, suddenly, the end of my existence. Everybody stood around it photographed and documented my end. I was getting heavy rolled me in, On and on, more and more. It seemed to be the beginning of my long end. Then I was completely in the dark. The light ended and the darkness around me. A darkness that I formed around myself. Firm, strong, like a capsule. There I slept towards the end. When I didn't feel myself anymore My end was the beginning. I awoke from the end, Struggled out of my dark cave. I ended the darkness and began to see me in the light. They photographed, rejoiced, were ecstatic. I, I was enraptured by myself. My End is my new beginning. Because I had wings. Deep blue, large wings.
I'm as light as a feather have completely changed my appearance. My end as a caterpillar, was my beginning as a butterfly. The end of gravity, was the beginning of lightness. Because without a beginning there is no end and without end there is no beginning. Lucia Tasadu
A LOVE POEM (in a haiku series) I. Mystery awaits You are my Jacob’s ladder I will keep climbing
II. Beneath winter cloak There’s a tangle of cold limbs Roots burrow for heat
III. Never reach bottom We never tire of reaching Never reach the top
Samantha Terrell
Bio: Samantha Terrell is a Pushcart-nominated poet and author of multiple five-star collections. Her poems have been widely anthologized in publications such as Dark Winter, Green Ink Poetry, In Parentheses, Misfit Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, Red Ogre Review, Wildfire Words, and others. Terrell resides in upstate New York. Find her online at: www.SamanthaTerrell.com.
Heart of the Matter I still can’t say who I am other than a body of (mostly) water an ocean of cells tucked in atoms so solid I won’t swirl down the drain skin is the largest and heaviest organ but what of the heart a muscle weighty in grief expansive in love every beat a reminder it’s the first part of me to live and the last to die N.B. 60% of the DNA in a strawberry is present in humans am I consuming a tiny part of myself every time I eat one? Melanie Hess
When Solitude is the only Answer the way dust motes drape in sunlight unsure which way to fall the way one rain boot leans left in political protest the way meadowed oranges splay in a porcelain bowl the way a missing edge piece ruins the entire puzzle the way my hand-wash only sweater floats in a lukewarm tub the way the weeping fig knows a storm is near the way knitting needles form the sign of a cross Melanie Hess
Bio: Through imagery and vivid detail, Melanie strives to creates candid “snapshots” that invite readers into the internal and external landscapes of life. @alohamonkey on Instagram
BITTERSWEET ENDINGS It was the abrupt ending that shook her soul Always expecting it, but maybe, It’s what made her lose control The deafening silence of that moment Knowing he would never come back Their Twin Flame’s light burnt out in a flash
Submitting to fate, knowing it wasn’t their time With every tear of their tethered heartstrings, a solemn chime A soul love only angels could comprehend Releasing their love to the echoing winds
A timeless story told over and over Different characters but the same sad theme With every bittersweet ending, a new beginning beholds Every new dawn, life always moves on it seems
As they trudge along in parallel universes The essence of their beings still spiritually bound Felt immensely within every breath, resounds A hope that passion’s flame will rekindle From a lone shooting star’s sparkling twinkle
Lost Heart Poetry
Bio: @lostheart_musings (Instagram)
Lunar Reverie Crystal moons hover, Sending sparkling hues Of promise, To those beginning In the treetop towers. Mesmerized by sparkling Cascades of twinkles, One such vitality Runs wild, Down cliffs of moss. Ancient ones whisper Of human duality, In yellow leaves That hang by Stitches on sturdy boughs. Words slumber throughout, The land of perpetual Suspension. Waiting to be consumed By hungry souls.
Terriann Walling
Bio: Terriann Walling is an artist and poet from Saskatoon. You can connect with Terriann and explore more of her creative journey on Instagram by following her at "Terriann Walling Art & Poetry."
In the quiet dawn, Shadows wave goodbye, fading memories. The world slowly moves. Whispers in the tender breeze, Ignite a spark, of fear. A still panic, Goodbyes have always scared me. New beginnings, terrifying. Souls delicately moving, embracing, Raw and weak, Uncertainty; what can I tell you, As the sun rises, And all hopes are sharp lies. Eyes meet in silent vow. I never wanted To fall in love With you, yet hoped, That love, Would be enough. Vulnerable, in uncertainty, As I lie in this bed, and your brown eyes, Rip open my chest, walking alongside my soul. The power you hold. Snow covered camellias, Rustle, as you dress, Walk towards the door, and I, Count the steps, count the seconds, Count my heartbeats, hold my breath, Until I’m certain, You’re gone.
Arben Alovic
I need to remember this feeling because this morning I woke up, and I thought of you, and I realized I don’t need you and it was such a relief because lately I’ve been drunk on you completely intoxicated, unable to see clearly but for some reason, out of nowhere, I snapped out of it and it was like waking up after a nightmare and realizing all of that wasn’t real and realizing that I still have my regular life and realizing I still have all the other people who truly love me and realizing I still have my passions, my hopes, my dreams and realizing I still have my potential and my entire future ahead of me and this, this pain, this reliance, this cycle with you doesn’t define me and although it was meaningful, it’s really only a tiny bruise in the grand scheme of my life. tlp
Title: Memories Medium: Ilford HP5 black and white 35mm film, Canon analogue camera Inspiration: I created this analogue double-exposure image having been inspired while walking around Todmorden in Yorkshire. It connects with the theme of endings as the intention behind the image was to convey the nostalgia I felt at the time. Todmorden is a historical town that was once thriving during the Industrial Revolution and remains popular for hikers given the nature-rich area. Dandelion clocks are a great metaphor for the fleeting nature of time and offer a playful exposure to interweave with another of the bench and old street sign. I remember thinking at the time: how many passers-by, those living and those, and how many generations of local families have taken up the invitation to stop and take pause here? Bio: Dee Lister creates for joy and catharsis by making images by hand and using analogue and digital cameras, as well as writing nature and confessional poetry. Dee is based in Bolton, UK and has a longstanding interest in creativity and health. They are on Instagram @deepoetryphotos and @deelikesdoodling.