Terry Lowenstein country : United States of America bio: Terry Lowenstein is a poet and freelance writer who lives in North Carolina with her husband, two daughters and two cats-Dickens and Emerson. Her "day job" is writing magazine and newspaper articles that include personal essays, travel articles and book reviews.Her articles appear in magazines and newspapers throughout the United States and internationally.
The following is a list of poetry publications that have recently featured her work:
The Green Tricycle, Retrozine, Twilight Times,The Starry Night Review, The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Fables, lingerings, The Literary Lion, The Sidewalks End, The Copperfield Review, The Vinland Journal, The Pedestal Magazine, Southern Ocean Review, Wilmington Blues, Prairie Poetry, Mail Call-A Civil War Journal, Blue Fifth's Review,Hawkwind, Niederngasse, A Country Rag An Appalachian Review and The Writer's Hood
Other recent published news:
Terry Lowenstein's poetry was recently published in two anthologies: The World Healing Book and The Book of Hope.A sample of that poetry may be viewed online (located under the heading Catalyst is her poem-A Season of Change), Here is the link: http://this.is/poems/hope/
Recently too, Storyhouse LTD. published several of her poems (and a magazine article) on their coffee labels. Additional work is due to be released soon in The Blue Planet and Erete's Bloom
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Ancient Knowledge Revealed
In forgotten poetic countryside terrestrial geomancy, hides secrets of the universe.
Answers to riddles of numbers, ratio and angle.
Yin and Yang.
For it is behind, shadows of mountains, that neglected spirit paths lie.
Here the dragon and white tiger still travel ridges and hills, pass twin streams, pause at a green knoll.
Here, beneath the veil of wind and water, harmony blends wood with fire, metal with earth. Secrets are revealed. in forgotten leys, cosmology, and spherodical earth.
Perservarance
The sweet smell of molasses still hinted at journeys past when she left port.
Her cargo immigrants, the first wave.
Famine's hand gripped the land they fled.
Death still waited, so did ordeals unimagined.
Obstacles, there would be many.
Perhaps her name was a subliminal message
for them, and for generations yet unborn.
*Perservarance-The name of the ship that left Ireland in 1835. On board the first of many who would flee the famine.
The Feast of Samhain
Ancient gnarled oaks stand as silent sentinels in the pastoral hills and valley that shelter bones of souls old when the country was young.
Time has nibbled away at their gravestones, so that little remains to identify who these were.
Here and there a date, a name, and sometimes an epithet.
But the wind remembers what the stones have forgot
It waits to speak their names until the moon is full and mist has shrouded the vale.
Waits for the "time which is no time" when the veil between two worlds opens.
Then the wind calls, a low moan that wakes the sleeping ghosts and invites them to dance.
It is the feast of Samhain. And druids on wings of dragons fly in to join the frolic.
Fairies and elves from Lands of the Sidhe emerge to celebrate as well.
They feast on milk and cakes dance as witches chant and candles are lit.
They celebrate until nighttide ends and the sun rises. Then return to earthen beds, hidden copse, forgotten vales.
