I suppose that it seems rather fitting that with a week of this decade and this year that I say goodbye.
Not permanently. To this persona. It is time for a bit of rebranding- reinvention. Some distance from where I have been and who I was.
I can't stop being a writer. I don't know how to be anything else.
In these years, I have learned a lot about being an independent author. From publishing, book design, editing, proofing, and promoting.
Santa I would like a promoter and editor for Christmas- just saying. And if you're feeling more generous- an advertising budget.
As I move forward, I am taking the pieces of what worked in the past and put them together. I am going to take my time with line by line editing because there is one thing I learned and every independent author should know this-
You will be crucified for imperfection. One comma out of place and hellfire will rain down in the comments. However, big-time authors who have people who do line by line editing also make mistakes and miss a comma here or there are given a pass. You will never see comments to the contrary. Just keep that in mind.
The books will always remain for sale. This blog will always be here because there are some good poems and stories. But there will be no new items from JM Scott. There will be no advertising. Occasionally, there may be free books. But in the end-
This is goodbye.
Tuesday, December 24, 2019
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Seaspring Briar by JM Scott Free in all Kindle Markets Through June 22, 2019
Seaspring Briar, a horror short story, is free in all Kindle markets through June 22, 2019.Recent divorcee, Briar Rowen moves into her family home on the Maine coast. But the original residents have never left. The hauntings start as benign but then escalate until people die. Can Briar stop the cycle or become a permanent resident herself.
A scene in this book actually came from a dream, a nightmare actually. Someone gets his head sawed off by a giant sun sculpture like the one pictured on the cover. It turns on its side and spins like a giant saw blade. The head comes off easily. Imagine having that has a nightmare. It's something that doesn't leave you and the image sticks with you.
I never said I had a normal brain.
Grab your free copy today and leave a review. If you can't leave a review because you don't spend enough money on Amazon, feel free to write something on my Facebook page.
Till next time...
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
Paper Dolls
Broken suns splice tree branches
into shadows
and I’m left standing here
on this plane
of eternal autumn,
to find sanctuary,
careful not to make contact,
a ripple that no one sees
and afraid of fear, acceptance
To be charismatic and beatific
is to be found in teeth.
and pure bliss?
Only exists in my imagination.
So in this nightmare
I drown in the Xi over and over again
looking for a friend
but will settle for a savior. Glory in the saved.
Behold, there’s more! There’s always more
The time is now to destroy and renew
fire intertwined with ice
passion shimmering false-
fool’s gold, zirconia
love affair with daydreams.
Through the tempest
the incendiary revocation
leaves my fingers bleeding
fire, jealousy, sadness
invites the intrusion
of a voice
who wants a home made of paper
and says Maybe I could love
somebody who never said ‘I love you’
Haunted by all those voices
yet alone
to build
serendipitous sand castles on the sun
while the moon falls apart
takes back its magic
and takes me back
to nowhere and nothing.
into shadows
and I’m left standing here
on this plane
of eternal autumn,
to find sanctuary,
careful not to make contact,
a ripple that no one sees
and afraid of fear, acceptance
To be charismatic and beatific
is to be found in teeth.
and pure bliss?
Only exists in my imagination.
So in this nightmare
I drown in the Xi over and over again
looking for a friend
but will settle for a savior. Glory in the saved.
Behold, there’s more! There’s always more
The time is now to destroy and renew
fire intertwined with ice
passion shimmering false-
fool’s gold, zirconia
love affair with daydreams.
Through the tempest
the incendiary revocation
leaves my fingers bleeding
fire, jealousy, sadness
invites the intrusion
of a voice
who wants a home made of paper
and says Maybe I could love
somebody who never said ‘I love you’
Haunted by all those voices
yet alone
to build
serendipitous sand castles on the sun
while the moon falls apart
takes back its magic
and takes me back
to nowhere and nothing.
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
Shadow Weaver
Don’t enter the canal
where the golden gondolas
drift in murky water
mosquitoes gallop
malaria races through their
frail long-legged bodies
Egyptian cotton in the pillows
pink pills on the satin sheets
the smoking moon sleeps in cobwebs
with ladybugs who should be gone.
And this is
where autumn turns
to summer heat
black lipstick on the cheek
those yesterdays are just an update
ants in the glass.
Welcome to here
sign your name and watch all the stars go out
blackness eats
away from the canal
to the lilies where freedom breathes
phosphorescent daydreams
deja vu at the table
it’s an all-out surrender to shadows
come on and feel their embrace
feel the flight in murky water fingers
let them breath stale whispers
and follow the light home
where the golden gondolas
drift in murky water
mosquitoes gallop
malaria races through their
frail long-legged bodies
Egyptian cotton in the pillows
pink pills on the satin sheets
the smoking moon sleeps in cobwebs
with ladybugs who should be gone.
And this is
where autumn turns
to summer heat
black lipstick on the cheek
those yesterdays are just an update
ants in the glass.
Welcome to here
sign your name and watch all the stars go out
blackness eats
away from the canal
to the lilies where freedom breathes
phosphorescent daydreams
deja vu at the table
it’s an all-out surrender to shadows
come on and feel their embrace
feel the flight in murky water fingers
let them breath stale whispers
and follow the light home
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Sweet Dreamland Wheels by JM Scott Free in all Kindle Markets Through June 1, 2019
Hey all, Sweet Dreamland Wheels is FREE in all Kindle markets through June 1, 2019. This is a collection of found and/or experimental poems.As I was grabbing the link for the book, I realized this book was turning 4 this June. It seems a lot longer than that. But I think I move on a different timeline than other people. At least it seems like it.
So here's a free sample from the book where I used HP Lovecraft as a source text.
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Binary
 |
| Image by Muhammad Ribkhan from Pixabay |
From: Unknown Sender
Subject: Remember Ringing Rocks
Hey babe,
I hope you didn’t delete. I don’t think you would. Hell, maybe you don’t even use this email anymore. How long has it been? It feels like yesterday to me. I was there in the May sunshine laying in your arms and then a pain that started small and then my brain exploded or that’s what it felt like. I don’t really know how else to explain it. I know I’m dead and chances are I wouldn’t open this email either if the roles were reversed. But I guess I would because of Ringing Rocks.
Did you find a new woman? I hope so. I don’t want you pining away for me. I’m dead. I know this. I wish I could see you. But it’s not like the stories. This heaven, if you want to call it that. I can’t see anything. Even writing this required a freak solar storm. And for a brief moment, I saw how the world changed. I don’t know the current year. I don’t see anything. I don’t feel anything but I hear voices.
I don’t know how much time I have. I wish I could give you more answers. But remember the old family story about the gold pieces that my great grandpappy stole from Blue Beard and he buried it somewhere. It’s true. Great Grandpappy said it was. JD, go to the old farmhouse walk east to the woods and there is a tree that looks like a Y. Under the roots is the chest. Take it JD and be happy. I’m here waiting for you.
Love you,
G.
To: bigballz@hotmail.com
From: jdvaras@hotmail.com
Subject: Help!
I think I’m going crazy. I just got an email from Greta. It has to be a glitch right?
To: elise.johnson@meadows.org
From: jdvaras@hotmail.com
Subject: Need to talk to you!
Dr. Johnson,
It’s urgent that I speak with you right away. I am seriously losing my mind. You said I was getting better, but I can’t be. I just got an email from Greta. It’s got to be a sick joke right. I tried to make an appointment but the soonest you can see me in is in July. Could you spare a few minutes and call me? Please, I’m desperate.
JD Varas
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
from: bigballz@hotmail.com
Subject: Greta
Why don’t we go? The woods are still there. What would it hurt? Buddy, you need closure Greta’s gone now for five years. I’m worried about you. I rented a car for this weekend. I’ll pick you up at 9 and we’re going to get this treasure.
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
From: elise.johnson@ meadows.org
JD,
I have been trying to call you for days. I am worried about you. As you know, grief changes a person. I am afraid that our offices were hacked and someone is playing a sick joke on you. I am worried that it is someone trying to do something nefarious and you take the blame. I have alerted the police.
Please call. I told my assistant to schedule you right away, even after hours.
Dr. Elise Johnson
To: bigballz@hotmail.com
From: jdvaras@hotmail.com
Subject: This weekend.
I’m not going this weekend. I talked to my shrink and someone is playing a joke on me. That’s what she said.
In a way, I was really hoping Greta wrote. I want to believe that she is not really gone. Is that really so wrong? I’m trying to get over her. But nothing I do works. She’s everywhere. She’s in all the clothes I wear, all the furniture I sit on, the bed I sleep on. I swear I see her shape in the shadows.
The shrink is upping my meds. We’ll see how it goes.
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
From: bigballz@hotmail.com
Subject: You ain’t ditching me.
If I have to hog tie you and throw you in the trunk, then so be it. You need this. You need to get out. You need to do something. Greta wouldn’t want you wallowing.
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
From: penny.micheals@eandm.com
Subject: Blue Beards coins
Good afternoon JD,
Sorry, it took me so long to get back to you. The coin you gave me has been authenticated and it appears to be from the right time frame of Blue Beard’s missing treasure. This is an incredible find. Are you looking for someone appraise the collection for insurance or for sale?
We need the entire collection for a full appraisal. If you want to sell, the appraisal is free. For insurance, the appraisal will cost $540. This includes related paperwork.
Thank you for letting touch this wonderful piece of American history. I look forward to hearing from you and seeing more of the collection.
Take care,
Penny
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
From: bigballz@hotmail.com
Subject: Treasure
What are you going to do with the rest of the treasure? Are you going to keep it or sell it?
You didn’t have to give me any. But... I bought the garage with the money. I’ll be opening Cuztomz next month. I have a huge party planned. You will be there, right. Strike that. You will be there. It’s all because of you I get to open this shop anyway.
I don’t think I could ever repay you.
To: jdvaras@hotmail.com
from: penny.micheals@eandm.com
Subject: Final paperwork
Good morning JD,
The sale is complete and we need to come in to sign the final paperwork. The cashier’s check is also available for pick up.
Take care,
Penny.
To: bigballz@hotmail.com
From: jdvaras@hotmail.com
Subject: I’ll be there.
I don’t think I could ever repay you for all that you did for me over the few last years. Without you, I don’t know where I would be. And I know you hate mushy shit. I just thought you should know.
You’re like a brother to me. And you’re right finding the treasure has brought me closure with Greta. And you’re right, she wouldn’t want me wallowing.
I think I am going to try living again. I’m going to start with your grand opening party. Could you maybe have a chick set up for me? I need to stop using my hand. I need to live once again.
To:jdvaras@hotmail.com
From: tshad@cammyshouse.org
Subject: Thank You!
Dear Mr. Varas,
From all of us at Cammy’s House, we want to thank you for your generous donation of $1.5 million dollars. With this money, we will be building a new shelter and naming it after your late wife, Greta Varas. In addition, scholarships will be set up to assist battered women to better themselves.
You probably hear this all the time. But Greta was amazing. So beautiful, so much strength. When she met you, I remembered how she seemed to float. And she was so scared because of her first husband. But we all knew you were different. I wanted to call so many times, but I never knew what to say. I miss Greta every day. She has touched so many women here at the shelter. She was the inspiration for all our women that they could do better and make it in this world. And I know it wasn’t fair that she was taken from you, from us, from this world.
If you ever want to talk, just call.
Take care, JD.
Tabby Shad
Monday, May 20, 2019
Heart of a Goddess by JM Scott free Through May 22, 2019
Hey all, Heart of a Goddess is FREE in all Kindle markets through May 22, 2019. Story in a nutshell: Leonard is looking love and he thinks he finds it when he rescues a half-naked woman in a snowstorm. She promises him the world if he brings her one thing- a beating human heart.
This is also the first book I ever self-published. So gather around the screen it's story time.
According to Amazon, I published this book on November 13, 2013 so it will turn 6 this year. Before I even know that you could self-publish books on Kinde, I was writing stories for other people to publish. I made $20-30 per short story and I got a byline. Part of the agreement was I lost all rights to it. I admit I was not well versed in the publishing world. And these opportunities came at a time when I needed money.
Prior to this book, I had three published this way. This was one was for a repeat client. But then they rejected it because it failed their standards (graphic violence). So I had a book prepared for publishing and I had no idea what to do with it. So I asked Google and discovered I could do this myself.
And the rest is history. I love publishing myself. Not saying, I don't want someone else to publish my work in a traditional sense but with Kindle, I can write the story I want to write. I prefer writing long short stories and novellas and Kindle is the best place for these.
Anyway... so that's that. Grab a free copy of Heart of Goddess, take a read and let me know what you think.
Till next time...
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Sciophobia
I walk from
my cubical to the bathroom down the long white hallway past the executive offices. Out of the corner my eye, hundred of tiny shadows dart back and forth. I stop and look. Nothing is there. I continue on my way, and the shadows invade my vision once again. Maybe it’s the new anxiety medicine I started. I stop and see nothing, again. Just as I get the to restroom door, the shadows swarm me.
Haverford Daily News: Man Found Torn to Shreds in Office Hallway.
Police Have no Leads.
Second “animal” attack in Haverford in a week.
 |
| Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay |
Haverford Daily News: Man Found Torn to Shreds in Office Hallway.
Police Have no Leads.
Second “animal” attack in Haverford in a week.
Wednesday, May 8, 2019
Ascendant
I have the moon
and walked to the city
of dawn. Shadowed lamp
light against the blue
sky gravel.
So I look for synthetic
destiny under the textured
copper beach wood.
On the horizon altar
the crow holds the seraphim
talisman while mangroves
lay unfolded. The right hand
star spreads across succulent
meadow rivers and I grasp
for the light rope dangling
from the peach cumulus.
and walked to the city
of dawn. Shadowed lamp
light against the blue
sky gravel.
So I look for synthetic
destiny under the textured
copper beach wood.
On the horizon altar
the crow holds the seraphim
talisman while mangroves
lay unfolded. The right hand
star spreads across succulent
meadow rivers and I grasp
for the light rope dangling
from the peach cumulus.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Seeking Publishers
For years now, I have been sending out stories and poems to print magazines and digital magazines, magazines that pay or don't. Sure, I would like to get paid, but it doesn't even matter now. In all those years, I have had haiku published in Frogpond and Bear Creek Haiku. This was years ago.
According to my spreadsheet I have been keeping since 2015, I have 99 rejections. A 100% rejection rate. It is discouraging.
I know this is how the business is. And this is to be expected.
But I think I had an epiphany the other day while I was doing a submission blitz. My work does not fit in any magazine, print or digital, anywhere.
I don't follow the current "popular" style. My stories are heavy in dialogue. My stories do not describe the rain in a paragraph when a sentence is sufficient enough. My stories are genre and not at the same time. Many of poems are cerebral, surreal, and based in language play.
And so I must ask myself, should I bother with the magazines when I know it will be rejection. I read the guidelines. I read the samples. And I know my work doesn't fit. So then I wonder what should I do now?
Times like this I wish I had another author to talk with.
Writing is fun; I love it. I love editing. I love revising. I hate submission and looking for publishers.
Till next time...
According to my spreadsheet I have been keeping since 2015, I have 99 rejections. A 100% rejection rate. It is discouraging.
I know this is how the business is. And this is to be expected.
But I think I had an epiphany the other day while I was doing a submission blitz. My work does not fit in any magazine, print or digital, anywhere.
I don't follow the current "popular" style. My stories are heavy in dialogue. My stories do not describe the rain in a paragraph when a sentence is sufficient enough. My stories are genre and not at the same time. Many of poems are cerebral, surreal, and based in language play.
And so I must ask myself, should I bother with the magazines when I know it will be rejection. I read the guidelines. I read the samples. And I know my work doesn't fit. So then I wonder what should I do now?
Times like this I wish I had another author to talk with.
Writing is fun; I love it. I love editing. I love revising. I hate submission and looking for publishers.
Till next time...
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
Moonswallow Gates by JM Scott FREE in all Kindle Markets Through May 5, 2019
Valisa Ravensquire, recent college grad, learns that a great-uncle she never knew died and left her a stone tower house and money. And... a magical legacy. Suddenly, her life changes. The house comes alive and what horrors await with this new power and legacy. Come on by and find out.
Perhaps, you are wondering why I offer free book promotions. The short answer: I am trying to figure out is my target audience and build an audience.
Moonswallow Gates is horror and the first novel I ever wrote. I have more novels in various stages of revision. These novels are much better than this one. Like all things, the more you do it, the better you become. Of course, in those years, I don't write horror as much, but branch out toward more speculative fiction. Though, I am still magic obsessed.
Anyway, I know there is a one-star review. When the review was written, I unpublished the novel and revised it again. So I hope, it is a much better version. I would love for you to read it and let me know.
Till next time...
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
Driving on a Mountain Road at Night
The Alleghenies
spring green and purple petals
storms in mist. Night falls
an eighteen-wheeler brakes hard,
a doe struggles to stand.
***
Hey all, here is a poem 30 and the end of NaPoWriMo for 2019. What a whirlwind of the month. The prompt for today was to write a short poem. This is a tanka and was inspired by events that I experienced today.
spring green and purple petals
storms in mist. Night falls
an eighteen-wheeler brakes hard,
a doe struggles to stand.
***
Hey all, here is a poem 30 and the end of NaPoWriMo for 2019. What a whirlwind of the month. The prompt for today was to write a short poem. This is a tanka and was inspired by events that I experienced today.
Monday, April 29, 2019
Vespers
The monopoly magician stands
in the tiger lily field, wields
ultraviolet and pushes
pollen to Sunday
I pluck a black rose, volts
course through my quartz
heart. Atop the watchtower
the valporate jelly fools
the magician’s logic.
A language wave
a lux worship
a burning spring
absolute gold
sunset me and the magician
fall away.
***
Here is poem 29, another search poem. I can't believe this month is almost over. I've written some good poems and not so good poems. But at least I wrote poems.
Find more poets at NaPoWriMo
in the tiger lily field, wields
ultraviolet and pushes
pollen to Sunday
I pluck a black rose, volts
course through my quartz
heart. Atop the watchtower
the valporate jelly fools
the magician’s logic.
A language wave
a lux worship
a burning spring
absolute gold
sunset me and the magician
fall away.
***
Here is poem 29, another search poem. I can't believe this month is almost over. I've written some good poems and not so good poems. But at least I wrote poems.
Find more poets at NaPoWriMo
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Universe
***
Here is poem 28, I couldn't think of a meta poem to write today. So I did a blackout poem from Eureka by Edgar Allan Poem. Check out other poets at NaPoWriMo
Today, I finally finished the first draft of Suburban Vampires. I am looking forward to revising it and uploading the entire thing to Watt Pad. I am hoping to post in October.
Woods Lost
The book-elf myth trowels conjugations
and the sun-hydrant oath inks amnesty.
I buy the honeydew totem yet the twin wine
weeps superior land. Who buys the monastery?
Hustle-moths revolt and sew the blue tin
featherbed. I eat air, roar, and ascend. Ethylene
endows wheat donuts. Hut hens twitch mint-gin
prisms and iced tree harmonies fend cane.
Monks vow hell-law through decayed teeth. Lux
provokes the earthly mini bees
In the forum café, harmony-freedom frets syntheses,
the wet-ash injuries hit high-trade telemetry.
I am the obscene sun that dotes on a seminal rain
twirling guilt on an ion hike to kidnap acorns.
***
I suppose I should have read the prompt earlier because I liked it so much, I decided to do it. However, poems like these take a lot of revision to make it something more... The prompt was to remix one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I chose CXXXIX (Call me not the justify the wrong). Then I took each line and ran it through an anagram generator. Once it was done, it needed a lot of revision; I added words, changed parts of speech, etc. I like how it turned it. It's a lot of fun to read out loud. Go on, take a read.
and the sun-hydrant oath inks amnesty.
I buy the honeydew totem yet the twin wine
weeps superior land. Who buys the monastery?
Hustle-moths revolt and sew the blue tin
featherbed. I eat air, roar, and ascend. Ethylene
endows wheat donuts. Hut hens twitch mint-gin
prisms and iced tree harmonies fend cane.
Monks vow hell-law through decayed teeth. Lux
provokes the earthly mini bees
In the forum café, harmony-freedom frets syntheses,
the wet-ash injuries hit high-trade telemetry.
I am the obscene sun that dotes on a seminal rain
twirling guilt on an ion hike to kidnap acorns.
***
I suppose I should have read the prompt earlier because I liked it so much, I decided to do it. However, poems like these take a lot of revision to make it something more... The prompt was to remix one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I chose CXXXIX (Call me not the justify the wrong). Then I took each line and ran it through an anagram generator. Once it was done, it needed a lot of revision; I added words, changed parts of speech, etc. I like how it turned it. It's a lot of fun to read out loud. Go on, take a read.
Friday, April 26, 2019
Dog Days
Nectar, ambrosia, and the forgotten scythe
in the summer dream glade
frost gathers on the wild growth
I’m tempted to turn and linger.
In the summer glade
dragonflies and fireflies dance and drink
I’m tempted to turn and linger
with wandering propagation
Dragonflies and fireflies dance and drink
to cicada and cricket chorus
With wandering propagation,
my scion spirt is strewn with windfalls.
To the cicada and cricket chorus
I relive summer prizes, peaches, and penance.
My scion spirit is strewn with windfalls
among nectar ambrosia and the forgotten scythe.
***
Hey all, this is poem 26 and I followed the prompt and tried out a new form, the pantoum. I also like this form and may use for my annual Christmas poem. I suppose I am on a surreal kick at the moment. But honestly, I love surrealism and enjoy writing it, no matter what form it takes.
Suburban Vampires is almost done! Just one more chapter to write. I am so glad that the first draft is going to be done. I am looking forward to revising it. I have grown so much as a writer from when I first started it. Much of the beginning needs a massive overhaul.
in the summer dream glade
frost gathers on the wild growth
I’m tempted to turn and linger.
In the summer glade
dragonflies and fireflies dance and drink
I’m tempted to turn and linger
with wandering propagation
Dragonflies and fireflies dance and drink
to cicada and cricket chorus
With wandering propagation,
my scion spirt is strewn with windfalls.
To the cicada and cricket chorus
I relive summer prizes, peaches, and penance.
My scion spirit is strewn with windfalls
among nectar ambrosia and the forgotten scythe.
***
Hey all, this is poem 26 and I followed the prompt and tried out a new form, the pantoum. I also like this form and may use for my annual Christmas poem. I suppose I am on a surreal kick at the moment. But honestly, I love surrealism and enjoy writing it, no matter what form it takes.
Suburban Vampires is almost done! Just one more chapter to write. I am so glad that the first draft is going to be done. I am looking forward to revising it. I have grown so much as a writer from when I first started it. Much of the beginning needs a massive overhaul.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Edict
Alone in the woods,
the blind oracle
waits at the hidden harbor
with incessant anxiety
What demon possessed me?
I promised to pay
the nutshell of civility
my consequent luxury
was time to be a machine
I was alone with the oracle.
The sun rose clear
without proof. The smoke
of opinion ripens
the hemlock, oak, maple,
spruce, elm, and birch.
“The stars are the apexes
of what wonderful triangles,”
she said, dilated the atmosphere
and faded into tangerine light
Yes, it is I replied
alone in the woods.
***
This is poem 25. I wasn't feeling the prompt today, so I decided to use another found poem method, I selected words and phrases from a source text. I used On Walden Pond by Henry David Thoreau. Most words in this poem came from the first few pages in my Kindle edition. The only part in the poem with quotation marks is a direct sentence, word for word from the text. Love, love that line.
Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
the blind oracle
waits at the hidden harbor
with incessant anxiety
What demon possessed me?
I promised to pay
the nutshell of civility
my consequent luxury
was time to be a machine
I was alone with the oracle.
The sun rose clear
without proof. The smoke
of opinion ripens
the hemlock, oak, maple,
spruce, elm, and birch.
“The stars are the apexes
of what wonderful triangles,”
she said, dilated the atmosphere
and faded into tangerine light
Yes, it is I replied
alone in the woods.
***
This is poem 25. I wasn't feeling the prompt today, so I decided to use another found poem method, I selected words and phrases from a source text. I used On Walden Pond by Henry David Thoreau. Most words in this poem came from the first few pages in my Kindle edition. The only part in the poem with quotation marks is a direct sentence, word for word from the text. Love, love that line.
Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
Witch Hazel
Mercury’s facade
burns the eyes of proximities
as I shift trade routes.
I’m the genesis array
with golden antidifference.
***
Here is poem 24. A day late- I was going to write one last night but I found myself floating in space. I sort of followed the prompt. I used the random feature on Wikipedia and wrote down words and phrases to make a word bank. Then I decided to write a tanka with it.
I have another to write for the day; I will be caught once again. Just five more days...
burns the eyes of proximities
as I shift trade routes.
I’m the genesis array
with golden antidifference.
***
Here is poem 24. A day late- I was going to write one last night but I found myself floating in space. I sort of followed the prompt. I used the random feature on Wikipedia and wrote down words and phrases to make a word bank. Then I decided to write a tanka with it.
I have another to write for the day; I will be caught once again. Just five more days...
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
Roanoke
From the ivy terrace
I eat blood
orange slices,
while old men play
dominoes on the rusty
shark cage
doll eyes tumble
in the blue-green roulette
wheel. And no one seems
to see the saltwater cowboy
decoy or the burning
hollow tree.
The media calls
for a matron wrapped
in corona as hazard
buoys free
themselves and drift
toward smokey stars.
***
Here is poem 23, and I caught up. Good thing. Today, I did another search poem. I had some trouble creating a word bank and went through several combinations before I got a large enough word bank. As I was reading over it doing some edits and revisions, this poem made me think of Roanoke- as in Roanoke, NC. I don't know why but thought it was a good title. Find more great poets NaPoWriMo.
I also made a huge jump in Suburban Vampires. Technically, I have 8 more pages to write to "win" but, it would be great to finish it. I don't have a lot more chapters to write. If I keep working on a chapter on a day, I should finish the entire thing by the end of April.
I eat blood
orange slices,
while old men play
dominoes on the rusty
shark cage
doll eyes tumble
in the blue-green roulette
wheel. And no one seems
to see the saltwater cowboy
decoy or the burning
hollow tree.
The media calls
for a matron wrapped
in corona as hazard
buoys free
themselves and drift
toward smokey stars.
***
Here is poem 23, and I caught up. Good thing. Today, I did another search poem. I had some trouble creating a word bank and went through several combinations before I got a large enough word bank. As I was reading over it doing some edits and revisions, this poem made me think of Roanoke- as in Roanoke, NC. I don't know why but thought it was a good title. Find more great poets NaPoWriMo.
I also made a huge jump in Suburban Vampires. Technically, I have 8 more pages to write to "win" but, it would be great to finish it. I don't have a lot more chapters to write. If I keep working on a chapter on a day, I should finish the entire thing by the end of April.
Gale
 |
| Cape Cod Evening by Edward Hooper Image retrieved from the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC |
not paid enough for long hours
building boats he’s never going
to sail for the white Victorian
in Cape Cod.
She’s an unhappy woman
with her children living
their own lives, wanting
more than taking care
of the white Victorian
in Cape Cod.
The collie stands
in autumn seagrass
watching sparrows seek
shelter from the eastward
storm at the white Victorian
in Cape Cod.
They all wait
for the lightning strike
for the thunder growl
for the rain to finally fall
on the white Victorian
in Cape Cod.
***
Hey all, here is poem 22, an ekphrastic poem, which somewhat follows the prompt for the day. Once I complete my current poetry project, One Book, 300 Poems, a Pinterest exclusive project featuring blackout and whiteout poetry from the same book, I plan on working on a series of ekphrastic poems using artwork from new artists on Etsy. That won't be for a while since I have about a year or two to finish the current project.
Anyway, I love Edward Hooper. He's one of my favorites in addition to Van Gogh and Dali. There's something peaceful about his paintings. But there's more to them. I can look at them for a while just taking it all in. When I went to the National Gallery of Art website to find open source images, I was delighted to see two Edward Hoopers. I had a hard time choosing which one.
I got one more to catch up on. Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo
State of Nowhere
Through the pink rose hallway
in the gray apartment building in
the gray and broken down city,
lions whisper from wall holes.
Circular stairs always in motion
spinning like a tornado
in the winter snow.
A hand grabs my own.
There’s nothing to see
but everything to feel
the floor exhales
an icy mist and the hallway
freezes and collapses into a whole.
Sirens in the distance,
screams nearby
the staircase stops spinning
and going up leads to going
down the hand that is still
there in the blue and amethyst
swamp.
I stop to rest close my eyes
and still see as the diamond
crashes over me, the sky changes
to pink, the world stops
and gawks, mouth wide
swallowing frogs.
***
Here is poem 21 a surrealist poem which follows the prompt. I do love writing surrealism poems. Many of my poems do fall into surrealism in one way or another.
As I write this it is 12:45 a.m. which means I have day 22 and day 23 to do; I will work on them tomorrow.
Read more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
in the gray apartment building in
the gray and broken down city,
lions whisper from wall holes.
Circular stairs always in motion
spinning like a tornado
in the winter snow.
A hand grabs my own.
There’s nothing to see
but everything to feel
the floor exhales
an icy mist and the hallway
freezes and collapses into a whole.
Sirens in the distance,
screams nearby
the staircase stops spinning
and going up leads to going
down the hand that is still
there in the blue and amethyst
swamp.
I stop to rest close my eyes
and still see as the diamond
crashes over me, the sky changes
to pink, the world stops
and gawks, mouth wide
swallowing frogs.
***
Here is poem 21 a surrealist poem which follows the prompt. I do love writing surrealism poems. Many of my poems do fall into surrealism in one way or another.
As I write this it is 12:45 a.m. which means I have day 22 and day 23 to do; I will work on them tomorrow.
Read more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
Monday, April 22, 2019
So I Did
I read on the news and knew that guy
so I did
wash the clothes and let them dry in the sun
so I did
fix the muffler and I told him not to do that
so I did
but you know how that is right it’s the same
thing different day and shit rolls downhill
so I did
I went to the grocery store and bought
dollar blackberries
They were from Mexico and tasted American
and made a cobbler
so I did.
But you know how that is
you never know which way is up
until you smell shit.
I read the news and discovered
the world is full of idiots
and falling apart
so I did.
***
Hey all, here is poem 20. I still have 2 more to do. I am trying to catch up but I was hit with a migraine earlier. It is starting to subside, so let's have hope.
I followed day 20's prompt for the most part using the phrase "so I did." I can't think of the grammar name for it but it is a popular Appalachian vernacular phrase that people say after they tell a story. The reiterate they did something by saying "so I did."
so I did
wash the clothes and let them dry in the sun
so I did
fix the muffler and I told him not to do that
so I did
but you know how that is right it’s the same
thing different day and shit rolls downhill
so I did
I went to the grocery store and bought
dollar blackberries
They were from Mexico and tasted American
and made a cobbler
so I did.
But you know how that is
you never know which way is up
until you smell shit.
I read the news and discovered
the world is full of idiots
and falling apart
so I did.
***
Hey all, here is poem 20. I still have 2 more to do. I am trying to catch up but I was hit with a migraine earlier. It is starting to subside, so let's have hope.
I followed day 20's prompt for the most part using the phrase "so I did." I can't think of the grammar name for it but it is a popular Appalachian vernacular phrase that people say after they tell a story. The reiterate they did something by saying "so I did."
Zenolith
All I wanted was
Butterflies and bread and to ride a
Camel at the state fair. I
Didn’t how far
Elephants traveled toward
Freedom. I fell through the
Ground and came out the other end,
Heaven took my hand and shook me around.
I walked to the edge of the horizon
Jumped into the sky and stole the dragon
Kite. Later, as I opened my eyes, I
Lost the happy humdrum
Moan of the universe. So it was
Night. The stars, the planets, and the moon
Opalize against the dark denim sky
Parakeets and parrots sing sad
Quantum songs unseen from
Red rose bushes. I thought about
Sunday adventures and tea
Time with the elf queen. I
Understood the debutante
Vespers of adulthood,
Wrapped in glass paper, a
Xenolith of time and compression. In the end,
You and I just words turned to stories turned to
Zeros over the vast grey Atlantic.
***
Here is poem 19. I am a few days behind. I actually started this on Friday while at my dad's house, but then never finished it. So today, I am going to try and catch up on all the poems and work on Camp.
This poem is an abecedarian poem. The lines are in alphabetical order but there are several ways to write one of these. It was the prompt for the day and decided to try it out since I never wrote one.
Butterflies and bread and to ride a
Camel at the state fair. I
Didn’t how far
Elephants traveled toward
Freedom. I fell through the
Ground and came out the other end,
Heaven took my hand and shook me around.
I walked to the edge of the horizon
Jumped into the sky and stole the dragon
Kite. Later, as I opened my eyes, I
Lost the happy humdrum
Moan of the universe. So it was
Night. The stars, the planets, and the moon
Opalize against the dark denim sky
Parakeets and parrots sing sad
Quantum songs unseen from
Red rose bushes. I thought about
Sunday adventures and tea
Time with the elf queen. I
Understood the debutante
Vespers of adulthood,
Wrapped in glass paper, a
Xenolith of time and compression. In the end,
You and I just words turned to stories turned to
Zeros over the vast grey Atlantic.
***
Here is poem 19. I am a few days behind. I actually started this on Friday while at my dad's house, but then never finished it. So today, I am going to try and catch up on all the poems and work on Camp.
This poem is an abecedarian poem. The lines are in alphabetical order but there are several ways to write one of these. It was the prompt for the day and decided to try it out since I never wrote one.
Thursday, April 18, 2019
Today- April 18, 2019
lost in make believe
there’s no way out– fake terror
the alarm rescues
blue sky, green grass
rabbits and robins bring spring
I walk barefoot
Yellow moon
behind the night clouds
a lonesome owl hoots
***
Here is poem 18. Well, that's not entirely true because there are three haiku. However, all of that happened today. You don't typically title haiku, but since I was posting on the blog I had to come up with something. Fun fact- Grammarly approves of haiku since it doesn' want to fix all the line breaks so the words don't have extra spaces, but seems to dislike free verse poems.
Anyway find more great poets at NaPoWriMo
there’s no way out– fake terror
the alarm rescues
blue sky, green grass
rabbits and robins bring spring
I walk barefoot
Yellow moon
behind the night clouds
a lonesome owl hoots
***
Here is poem 18. Well, that's not entirely true because there are three haiku. However, all of that happened today. You don't typically title haiku, but since I was posting on the blog I had to come up with something. Fun fact- Grammarly approves of haiku since it doesn' want to fix all the line breaks so the words don't have extra spaces, but seems to dislike free verse poems.
Anyway find more great poets at NaPoWriMo
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Black Nectar
I start as a cherry
on a green bush
in Columbia. Sweet, juicy
and red under the hydrogen
and helium sun.
Then like a birth
9 months later,
I’m plucked, roasted,
beat down,
packed, and sent away.
My bits
as fine as coke powder
intermingle with thousands
others in a basket and scorched
with boiling water
Just so you can stay awake through rush hour.
Just so you can have endorphins course
through your body as you read your poems.
And I’m done with– discarded
with banana peels.
I never did see Paris.
***
Wowee, I caught up for the time being. Here is poem 17. I followed the prompt which you can read here if you want. I wasn't going to follow the prompt, but then I looked at the steaming cup of coffee sitting on my desk and the poem naturally came.
I also reached the midpoint of Suburban Vampires. I have the rest of novel sort of planned and I hope that I finish the rough draft this month. It is a little short but that will be remedied when it comes to revisions.
on a green bush
in Columbia. Sweet, juicy
and red under the hydrogen
and helium sun.
Then like a birth
9 months later,
I’m plucked, roasted,
beat down,
packed, and sent away.
My bits
as fine as coke powder
intermingle with thousands
others in a basket and scorched
with boiling water
Just so you can stay awake through rush hour.
Just so you can have endorphins course
through your body as you read your poems.
And I’m done with– discarded
with banana peels.
I never did see Paris.
***
Wowee, I caught up for the time being. Here is poem 17. I followed the prompt which you can read here if you want. I wasn't going to follow the prompt, but then I looked at the steaming cup of coffee sitting on my desk and the poem naturally came.
I also reached the midpoint of Suburban Vampires. I have the rest of novel sort of planned and I hope that I finish the rough draft this month. It is a little short but that will be remedied when it comes to revisions.
Modern Folk on the Metro
She said, “...frozen tuna warnings...” on the Metro to her phone, twirling her fake blonde hair.
He said, “... secret military ops in Africa ...” on the Metro in his sleep.
She read, “...40 million cyber attacks...” on the Metro to her blind mother.
He dictated, “...rebuild the cathedral of damage...” on the Metro to his iPhone, his tie blue with Mickey ears.
She said, “...president doesn’t regret tweeting 9/11...” on the Metro to her Youtube audience.
He said, “...destroyed in the explosion...” on the Metro to his guy friend in a skirt.
She said, “...photos of the refreshed...” on the Metro to her girlfriend done up in bright makeup.
He said, “...pitches policies to the rust belt...” on the Metro in his phone, his press pass falls to the floor.
She wrote, “...relics rescued by flames...” on the Metro on a beaten top spiral bound notepad.
He signed, “...the black diamond...” on the Metro to his brother who looked at the guy in the skirt.
She screamed, “...throw out this vegetable...” on the Metro to us, tossing her eggplant to the empty seat.
He repeated, “...disfigured tears and shock....” on the Metro from his audiobook.
She drew the words, “...inviting abuse for Easter...” on the Metro on a blank sheet of paper in calligraphy which made it look prettier than the words themselves
He texted, “...capture intelligence squad...” on the Metro to someone called Bob
They chanted, “...we need to demonize...” on the Metro to each other but loud enough so we can hear and join in if we like.
I said, “...consider liquidating hometown...” on the empty Metro car.
***
So here is poem 16. I sort of followed the prompt which was to make a list poem that "defamiliarizes the mundane." All the words in quotes came from Yahoo News (I accessed it today April 17, 2019) and I wrote down a phrase found in order from a particular headline. For example in line three I have "rebuild the cathedral of damage." the actual headline reads "Norte Dame Blaze: Emmanuel Marcon vows to rebuild Paris cathedral as scale of damage emerges."
Once I collected my bits. I made a scene with them and all the people on the Metro. When I wrote this, I was imagining the Washington DC public transport since I spent the most time on that Metro system. But you can imagine any metro you want.
I am pleased with how this poem turned out. Now, I just need to write today's poem and work on Camp. Find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
He said, “... secret military ops in Africa ...” on the Metro in his sleep.
She read, “...40 million cyber attacks...” on the Metro to her blind mother.
He dictated, “...rebuild the cathedral of damage...” on the Metro to his iPhone, his tie blue with Mickey ears.
She said, “...president doesn’t regret tweeting 9/11...” on the Metro to her Youtube audience.
He said, “...destroyed in the explosion...” on the Metro to his guy friend in a skirt.
She said, “...photos of the refreshed...” on the Metro to her girlfriend done up in bright makeup.
He said, “...pitches policies to the rust belt...” on the Metro in his phone, his press pass falls to the floor.
She wrote, “...relics rescued by flames...” on the Metro on a beaten top spiral bound notepad.
He signed, “...the black diamond...” on the Metro to his brother who looked at the guy in the skirt.
She screamed, “...throw out this vegetable...” on the Metro to us, tossing her eggplant to the empty seat.
He repeated, “...disfigured tears and shock....” on the Metro from his audiobook.
She drew the words, “...inviting abuse for Easter...” on the Metro on a blank sheet of paper in calligraphy which made it look prettier than the words themselves
He texted, “...capture intelligence squad...” on the Metro to someone called Bob
They chanted, “...we need to demonize...” on the Metro to each other but loud enough so we can hear and join in if we like.
I said, “...consider liquidating hometown...” on the empty Metro car.
***
So here is poem 16. I sort of followed the prompt which was to make a list poem that "defamiliarizes the mundane." All the words in quotes came from Yahoo News (I accessed it today April 17, 2019) and I wrote down a phrase found in order from a particular headline. For example in line three I have "rebuild the cathedral of damage." the actual headline reads "Norte Dame Blaze: Emmanuel Marcon vows to rebuild Paris cathedral as scale of damage emerges."
Once I collected my bits. I made a scene with them and all the people on the Metro. When I wrote this, I was imagining the Washington DC public transport since I spent the most time on that Metro system. But you can imagine any metro you want.
I am pleased with how this poem turned out. Now, I just need to write today's poem and work on Camp. Find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
Fidelity Carmichael Takes a Stand
Who was I last week?
Just another quiet student
with five friends at Milton’s
School (the number one boarding
school for at-risk teens– and according
to their brochure and I quote “Troubled
teens, poor teens, all the disenfranchised
can attend this school free of charge
and be better off”) tucked away
in the Pennsylvania mountains. I was also
poor and my share of run-in with cops
and fifteen. But a lot can happen in a week.
Our days are structured– like prison or the army
we have very little free time in the yard so to
speak. It was Tuesday after dinner, which
was mystery meat and rubber noodles draped
in ketchup. They call it spaghetti, and I wondered
if prisoners have better food. I guess I shouldn’t
complain too much at least it was food more than
what I got most days from home. Back to Tuesday,
I was in my room working on my homework.
My roommate was busy sketching on her bed.
The PA system cackled and the headmaster
said, “All students please go to your common
room.” Weird but maybe the teachers were
going to give us another surprise pep talk.
You know the type– you guys are awesome
and we believe in you. You might not
appreciate what we do, but you will
one day– when you’re older and better off.
My roommate grunted and tossed her book
to the side. The halls were filled
with chatter and laughter. We had no idea
what was going on in the world. TV time
was on Saturdays and the first to the common
room got to choose what to watch. Depending
on who it is, it could be rom coms all day
or cartoons, arty farty films that made no sense,
random reality tv. No news.
The common room was large and had enough
seating for all the everyone in our wing. Plenty
of books, arts and crafts, and games.
Our wing parent stood in her white bathrobe
and had the news on. “Come in girls
and watch.” Her eyes were red and puffy
She shook under her robe like she saw a ghost
or someone she knew died. Our eyes
turned to the TV. The reporter had the
same look in her eyes. Air raid sirens
blared in the background and almost
covered her voice “We have reports
that Philadelphia was hit.” She spoke
from a studio somewhere and then there
was no news. The TV went to snow.
All at once the chatter started. What happened?
What did she mean Philadelphia was hit? Is my
mom okay? Can I call her? What happened
Miss Garvey? What happened out there? Who did
this? Kelly, my best friend, and also from Philadelphia
grabbed my hand. Whatever happened out there
in Philadelphia we both knew were orphans now.
We just had each other. I felt like I should be
crying. But I couldn’t find the tears. I wanted
to cry for my parents but I couldn’t find
the tears. I wanted to cry for the city I loved,
but I couldn’t find the tears. I was numb, empty,
stunned, shocked, gone.
Classes were canceled. The school sequestered
from the world. No one allowed to leave. No one
allowed to come. The sky grew blacker and blacker.
We weren’t allowed outside. People complained
at first then when we all realized something terrible
really terrible happened. People cried. Then we were silent.
They tried to keep our minds busy. Offered extra credit
for those who went to class who did homework
who did anything but stay in their beds. I went to class
because I had nothing else. And I hoped to hear things.
But I heard nothing. Time became nothing. I went to bed
late Thursday night and woke up from a nightmare
I don’t remember anything in the dream, I sat up in bed
and screamed. My clothes were drenched in sweat. My heart
raced out of my chest. My roommate tried to turn
on the light. “I guess the power’s out. Are you okay?
You need me to get Miss Garvey for you?”
“I’ll be okay. Go back to sleep.”
It was just a nightmare after all. Restless and bothered
I walked the halls in the dark. She was right the power
was out. The hallways always were lit. But I could
see in the dark with perfect clarity. I made it to the bathroom
and threw cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror
was not of Bloody Mary but me. Happy Birthday, I told myself
I wandered the halls until sunrise. In the distance
of the rising blackened sun,
I heard engines, tires and heavy equipment.
Out the window from the second floor, it looked like
the army was coming for us. Why I had no idea. We were
safe here. Our building was large and all connected.
We had plenty of food to last for months according
to the headmaster whom I heard talking to another
wing parent. One wing parent begged to bring her
mother. And the headmaster shook his head and
said he couldn’t let her go. Without power or structure,
others heard them coming. The hallways filled with
students looking out the window. More disjointed chatter.
Are they going to help us? Are they here to make sure
we’re okay? Help is coming. I didn’t think we need help.
Because I was no one special– like an unloved ghost
I pushed my way through and made it to the main entrance.
The headmaster was there. His face long and sad. He held
a bullhorn. He wore his normal clothes but they were disheveled
like he slept in them.
He unlocked the door and went out and I followed. No one
stopped me. I guess there were more important things
to worry about but then a thought hit me. Like a voice
that was mine but none. They can’t see you yet. I
shook my head. I followed the headmaster down
to the gate. A man got out of a Jeep wearing a yellow
radioactive suit but had his hood off.
“Thank god you’re here,” The headmaster started.
“Are we evacuating? Do you have any news to share
with us?” The man in charge spoke on the other side
of the gate, “We are here for your boys over the age of 15.”
“What?” The headmaster asked. The other man produced
a sheet of paper and slipped it through
the bars. “That is signed from the president.
We are to take boys aged 16 and older for
immediate conscription into the United States
military.”
“They are just children,” the headmaster said.
“Sir, this would be easier if you just bring us
the boys and we will be on our way. We
are under martial law now. You don’t want
to lose the others do you? We are authorized
to take what we need with whatever
force I think is necessary.”
They can’t take them. They were like me. If
I were born a boy I would be one of them
sent off to a war we didn’t know was happening.
They can’t take the boys. And for some
reason my body shook. I fell to ground but no
one saw. My cells felt like they exploded
and reborn. It seems like it was slow motion
but time for me stopped. I could see them
but they weren’t moving. I was. That same voice
Use it. It’s yours. Use what? I screamed into
the timeless void. The world went black
and when I came to. They were still in position
like I fell in between seconds and stayed there.
As I stood the headmaster shifted his head.
The man in power looked at me. “How long
have you been there, girl?” He said his brown eyes
burrowing into mine.
“You will not take them,” I said cool, unphased
like I was the one in power. Who was this person?
Had I finally snapped? “Fidelity be a good girl
and go back inside,” the headmaster said.
“What did you say?” the man in power asked.
“You will not take them,” I said once again.
Then it felt like electricity gathered in my body
the wind started to shriek and howl. Black hail
rained from the black clouds. I was filled with
electricity Magic the voice in my head said once
again. I slammed my hands down to the ground
and a white dome spread from impact. It knocked back
the men outside their army trucks. The dome grew
encompassed the school grounds, the boundary
of it at the fence. The man in power
gave an order and they started shooting
bullets at the dome but it didn’t crack.
The headmaster grabbed my arm and I let
him lead me back to the school. Where they waited
with their mouths open. The army shot at us
for another hour and then they were gone.
The headmaster let us outside the dome
held in place. The air fresh and clean
the scant light reflected through the white dome
creating rainbows in every corner.
This week, I am not just another
student but someone with respect
someone revered, better than I was.
I am 16 and I am a witch, just trying
to protect my new family, my community
the only way I don’t really know how.
***
Hey all, here is poem 15. I know I far behind. I was inspired by the prompt for the day, but I need more time to let the idea percolate. Yesterday, was a bad brain day. I felt like there was this thick fog wrapped around my brain. Needless to say, I didn't get anything done including Camp. So I am going to try to catch up on everything today.
Just another quiet student
with five friends at Milton’s
School (the number one boarding
school for at-risk teens– and according
to their brochure and I quote “Troubled
teens, poor teens, all the disenfranchised
can attend this school free of charge
and be better off”) tucked away
in the Pennsylvania mountains. I was also
poor and my share of run-in with cops
and fifteen. But a lot can happen in a week.
Our days are structured– like prison or the army
we have very little free time in the yard so to
speak. It was Tuesday after dinner, which
was mystery meat and rubber noodles draped
in ketchup. They call it spaghetti, and I wondered
if prisoners have better food. I guess I shouldn’t
complain too much at least it was food more than
what I got most days from home. Back to Tuesday,
I was in my room working on my homework.
My roommate was busy sketching on her bed.
The PA system cackled and the headmaster
said, “All students please go to your common
room.” Weird but maybe the teachers were
going to give us another surprise pep talk.
You know the type– you guys are awesome
and we believe in you. You might not
appreciate what we do, but you will
one day– when you’re older and better off.
My roommate grunted and tossed her book
to the side. The halls were filled
with chatter and laughter. We had no idea
what was going on in the world. TV time
was on Saturdays and the first to the common
room got to choose what to watch. Depending
on who it is, it could be rom coms all day
or cartoons, arty farty films that made no sense,
random reality tv. No news.
The common room was large and had enough
seating for all the everyone in our wing. Plenty
of books, arts and crafts, and games.
Our wing parent stood in her white bathrobe
and had the news on. “Come in girls
and watch.” Her eyes were red and puffy
She shook under her robe like she saw a ghost
or someone she knew died. Our eyes
turned to the TV. The reporter had the
same look in her eyes. Air raid sirens
blared in the background and almost
covered her voice “We have reports
that Philadelphia was hit.” She spoke
from a studio somewhere and then there
was no news. The TV went to snow.
All at once the chatter started. What happened?
What did she mean Philadelphia was hit? Is my
mom okay? Can I call her? What happened
Miss Garvey? What happened out there? Who did
this? Kelly, my best friend, and also from Philadelphia
grabbed my hand. Whatever happened out there
in Philadelphia we both knew were orphans now.
We just had each other. I felt like I should be
crying. But I couldn’t find the tears. I wanted
to cry for my parents but I couldn’t find
the tears. I wanted to cry for the city I loved,
but I couldn’t find the tears. I was numb, empty,
stunned, shocked, gone.
Classes were canceled. The school sequestered
from the world. No one allowed to leave. No one
allowed to come. The sky grew blacker and blacker.
We weren’t allowed outside. People complained
at first then when we all realized something terrible
really terrible happened. People cried. Then we were silent.
They tried to keep our minds busy. Offered extra credit
for those who went to class who did homework
who did anything but stay in their beds. I went to class
because I had nothing else. And I hoped to hear things.
But I heard nothing. Time became nothing. I went to bed
late Thursday night and woke up from a nightmare
I don’t remember anything in the dream, I sat up in bed
and screamed. My clothes were drenched in sweat. My heart
raced out of my chest. My roommate tried to turn
on the light. “I guess the power’s out. Are you okay?
You need me to get Miss Garvey for you?”
“I’ll be okay. Go back to sleep.”
It was just a nightmare after all. Restless and bothered
I walked the halls in the dark. She was right the power
was out. The hallways always were lit. But I could
see in the dark with perfect clarity. I made it to the bathroom
and threw cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror
was not of Bloody Mary but me. Happy Birthday, I told myself
I wandered the halls until sunrise. In the distance
of the rising blackened sun,
I heard engines, tires and heavy equipment.
Out the window from the second floor, it looked like
the army was coming for us. Why I had no idea. We were
safe here. Our building was large and all connected.
We had plenty of food to last for months according
to the headmaster whom I heard talking to another
wing parent. One wing parent begged to bring her
mother. And the headmaster shook his head and
said he couldn’t let her go. Without power or structure,
others heard them coming. The hallways filled with
students looking out the window. More disjointed chatter.
Are they going to help us? Are they here to make sure
we’re okay? Help is coming. I didn’t think we need help.
Because I was no one special– like an unloved ghost
I pushed my way through and made it to the main entrance.
The headmaster was there. His face long and sad. He held
a bullhorn. He wore his normal clothes but they were disheveled
like he slept in them.
He unlocked the door and went out and I followed. No one
stopped me. I guess there were more important things
to worry about but then a thought hit me. Like a voice
that was mine but none. They can’t see you yet. I
shook my head. I followed the headmaster down
to the gate. A man got out of a Jeep wearing a yellow
radioactive suit but had his hood off.
“Thank god you’re here,” The headmaster started.
“Are we evacuating? Do you have any news to share
with us?” The man in charge spoke on the other side
of the gate, “We are here for your boys over the age of 15.”
“What?” The headmaster asked. The other man produced
a sheet of paper and slipped it through
the bars. “That is signed from the president.
We are to take boys aged 16 and older for
immediate conscription into the United States
military.”
“They are just children,” the headmaster said.
“Sir, this would be easier if you just bring us
the boys and we will be on our way. We
are under martial law now. You don’t want
to lose the others do you? We are authorized
to take what we need with whatever
force I think is necessary.”
They can’t take them. They were like me. If
I were born a boy I would be one of them
sent off to a war we didn’t know was happening.
They can’t take the boys. And for some
reason my body shook. I fell to ground but no
one saw. My cells felt like they exploded
and reborn. It seems like it was slow motion
but time for me stopped. I could see them
but they weren’t moving. I was. That same voice
Use it. It’s yours. Use what? I screamed into
the timeless void. The world went black
and when I came to. They were still in position
like I fell in between seconds and stayed there.
As I stood the headmaster shifted his head.
The man in power looked at me. “How long
have you been there, girl?” He said his brown eyes
burrowing into mine.
“You will not take them,” I said cool, unphased
like I was the one in power. Who was this person?
Had I finally snapped? “Fidelity be a good girl
and go back inside,” the headmaster said.
“What did you say?” the man in power asked.
“You will not take them,” I said once again.
Then it felt like electricity gathered in my body
the wind started to shriek and howl. Black hail
rained from the black clouds. I was filled with
electricity Magic the voice in my head said once
again. I slammed my hands down to the ground
and a white dome spread from impact. It knocked back
the men outside their army trucks. The dome grew
encompassed the school grounds, the boundary
of it at the fence. The man in power
gave an order and they started shooting
bullets at the dome but it didn’t crack.
The headmaster grabbed my arm and I let
him lead me back to the school. Where they waited
with their mouths open. The army shot at us
for another hour and then they were gone.
The headmaster let us outside the dome
held in place. The air fresh and clean
the scant light reflected through the white dome
creating rainbows in every corner.
This week, I am not just another
student but someone with respect
someone revered, better than I was.
I am 16 and I am a witch, just trying
to protect my new family, my community
the only way I don’t really know how.
***
Hey all, here is poem 15. I know I far behind. I was inspired by the prompt for the day, but I need more time to let the idea percolate. Yesterday, was a bad brain day. I felt like there was this thick fog wrapped around my brain. Needless to say, I didn't get anything done including Camp. So I am going to try to catch up on everything today.
Sunday, April 14, 2019
For Sale or Rent
Can I sow magma
Olives and discover
Venus’ secrets? Maybe
Eternity is a bad idea.
Robbing sunset, to feed
The dog, I sink into my
Socks and count clouds.
Night never looked better naked.
Olive oil and dried cherries
Wonton soup in the sink. I
Find Neverland or Narnia down
Lake Erie and the forbidden
Apple of capitalism– it’s what
Kills dancing cloud elephants. Maybe
Eternity is a bad idea.
***
Hey all, here is poem 14. So the prompt today was inspiring but not enough to write a poem, at least for today. Though I wrote it down to use in the future. This is an acrostic poem using the words "covert snowflake." I don't care for the title. But the point of the month is to write poems, regardless if they are good or bad.
Find more poets at NaPoWriMo.
Olives and discover
Venus’ secrets? Maybe
Eternity is a bad idea.
Robbing sunset, to feed
The dog, I sink into my
Socks and count clouds.
Night never looked better naked.
Olive oil and dried cherries
Wonton soup in the sink. I
Find Neverland or Narnia down
Lake Erie and the forbidden
Apple of capitalism– it’s what
Kills dancing cloud elephants. Maybe
Eternity is a bad idea.
***
Hey all, here is poem 14. So the prompt today was inspiring but not enough to write a poem, at least for today. Though I wrote it down to use in the future. This is an acrostic poem using the words "covert snowflake." I don't care for the title. But the point of the month is to write poems, regardless if they are good or bad.
Find more poets at NaPoWriMo.
The Door
Tick tock sick sock
whispers from shadow trees
nails scrape against centurion windows
though still and silent
the chill in my spine
the kill in my mind
tick tock sick sock
heartbeats from downtrodden floorboards
secret wooden doors open and close
like loose shutters in the wind
the flies in my eyes
the ties in my hands
tick tock sick sock
no monsters aren’t under the bed
no monsters aren’t in the closet
no monsters aren’t from the shadows
the door is open wide
the gore is inside me
tick tock sick sock
I did not do this
<kill>
I know of a door
<kill>
I am innocent
<kill>
the demons crowd and petrify
the remains in a hole
tick tock sick sock
through the door
to be the devil’s whore
let this be no more.
***
Hey all, here is poem 13. The prompt was to write a spooky poem. I don't normally rhyme but for some odd reason, I like rhyming spooky/horror poems. I think it is this weird juxtaposition between rhyming and creating a sing-song cadence, which is more child-like against the subject material. And I just made that up to sound smart. I don't know why I rhymed. The poem felt like it needed to. I was going to write last night but I was exhausted. However, I did spend time thinking about it.
Now, I have to write like the wind to catch up for Camp Nanowrimo and try to write at least two chapters for Suburban Vampires.
Find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
whispers from shadow trees
nails scrape against centurion windows
though still and silent
the chill in my spine
the kill in my mind
tick tock sick sock
heartbeats from downtrodden floorboards
secret wooden doors open and close
like loose shutters in the wind
the flies in my eyes
the ties in my hands
tick tock sick sock
no monsters aren’t under the bed
no monsters aren’t in the closet
no monsters aren’t from the shadows
the door is open wide
the gore is inside me
tick tock sick sock
I did not do this
<kill>
I know of a door
<kill>
I am innocent
<kill>
the demons crowd and petrify
the remains in a hole
tick tock sick sock
through the door
to be the devil’s whore
let this be no more.
***
Hey all, here is poem 13. The prompt was to write a spooky poem. I don't normally rhyme but for some odd reason, I like rhyming spooky/horror poems. I think it is this weird juxtaposition between rhyming and creating a sing-song cadence, which is more child-like against the subject material. And I just made that up to sound smart. I don't know why I rhymed. The poem felt like it needed to. I was going to write last night but I was exhausted. However, I did spend time thinking about it.
Now, I have to write like the wind to catch up for Camp Nanowrimo and try to write at least two chapters for Suburban Vampires.
Find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
Saturday, April 13, 2019
Tulips in Spring and the Litany of Rebirth
Chanting through my rub-grubby fingerprints,
I rise in the west from the marmalade rose.
Hickory and hazelnut burn in the distance
during crystalline dawn. It’s predestination
at the cathedral and I want
no part
of that litany.
A stray thought, a silence in a heap of flowers,
a resurrected balloon, an oleander knife,
gather at the nexus
then scatter
into the hickory and hazelnut haze-wind
Lost in phenology and photosynthesis
life ends in parentheses.
***
Hey all, yesterday was crazy. Today is crazy. Anyway, this is poem 12. I wasn't inspired by the prompt today so I did another Google search poem. This is one of my favorite ways to create a poem. I learned about it from the former Found Poetry Review. So here's how you do it if you want to try it yourself.
Pick a phrase that doesn't go together (for instance the word bank for this poem was created by using the search term "tulip litany")
Search term in your favorite search.
Do not visit the website, just write down the words and phrases you like from the search results to make a word bank.
Create poem from the word bank. Some people are purists and only use words in the word bank. I add to the poem or change forms of words to fit the poem.
Anyway, I have the poem to write for today, and I will do that later. Check out NaPoWriMo to learn more.
I rise in the west from the marmalade rose.
Hickory and hazelnut burn in the distance
during crystalline dawn. It’s predestination
at the cathedral and I want
no part
of that litany.
A stray thought, a silence in a heap of flowers,
a resurrected balloon, an oleander knife,
gather at the nexus
then scatter
into the hickory and hazelnut haze-wind
Lost in phenology and photosynthesis
life ends in parentheses.
***
Hey all, yesterday was crazy. Today is crazy. Anyway, this is poem 12. I wasn't inspired by the prompt today so I did another Google search poem. This is one of my favorite ways to create a poem. I learned about it from the former Found Poetry Review. So here's how you do it if you want to try it yourself.
Pick a phrase that doesn't go together (for instance the word bank for this poem was created by using the search term "tulip litany")
Search term in your favorite search.
Do not visit the website, just write down the words and phrases you like from the search results to make a word bank.
Create poem from the word bank. Some people are purists and only use words in the word bank. I add to the poem or change forms of words to fit the poem.
Anyway, I have the poem to write for today, and I will do that later. Check out NaPoWriMo to learn more.
Thursday, April 11, 2019
Thursday Evening Before it Rains
Drunken clouds glide across the blue sky like Tetris tiles. I reach down and collect calm grass and bluebirds then set them free across the rocky field like wish seeds. I try to think of tomorrow; I try to think of yesterday but dragonfly wings get caught in my hair.
one meaty crow
lands in the budding oak
muted sun ray shines.
***
Here is a short haibun for day 11. I wasn't inspired by the prompt today although I liked the inspirational poems for the day. Find more participants' poems at NaPoWriMo
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Catching Grandma
It’s raining old
ladies and sticks
the deejay said
and sure enough
it was. I hope to
catch my grandma
before my cousins
first Cokes at
McDonald’s and
and then we’d borrow
the living room
of her old house
and I’ll be on the couch
with my writing
and she’ll sit buy
the sliding glass door
with her reading
on a steamy summer
afternoon.
***
Hey all, here is poem number ten, and I followed the prompt today. You can find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
ladies and sticks
the deejay said
and sure enough
it was. I hope to
catch my grandma
before my cousins
first Cokes at
McDonald’s and
and then we’d borrow
the living room
of her old house
and I’ll be on the couch
with my writing
and she’ll sit buy
the sliding glass door
with her reading
on a steamy summer
afternoon.
***
Hey all, here is poem number ten, and I followed the prompt today. You can find more awesome poets at NaPoWriMo
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Things that Placate
A gliding eagle
against the clear
sky. Green grass
right before mowing
season starts. A breeze
with chilly notes. Dusk
serenades sung by frogs
and crickets. A silence
on the street. One dandelion.
Lemons, oranges,
and limes in a bowl.
The salt of memory
the dark of shadow
and the unsaid, undesired,
underwritten
umber undid.
***
Here is poem number nine. Today, I followed the prompt which you can read about here. I think I am taking a step back into poetry 101, using the world I see around me. I have a prompt, but no ideas. Though the world is full of ideas and poetry captures those tiny moments. I think that is something I forgot along the way. Sure, poetry can be about big things but it can also be tiny things. The first stanza is everything I saw today except for the bowl of fruit and the dandelion but I can see them in my mind and it reminds me of sunshine. Anyway, be sure to check out more participants by clicking here.
against the clear
sky. Green grass
right before mowing
season starts. A breeze
with chilly notes. Dusk
serenades sung by frogs
and crickets. A silence
on the street. One dandelion.
Lemons, oranges,
and limes in a bowl.
The salt of memory
the dark of shadow
and the unsaid, undesired,
underwritten
umber undid.
***
Here is poem number nine. Today, I followed the prompt which you can read about here. I think I am taking a step back into poetry 101, using the world I see around me. I have a prompt, but no ideas. Though the world is full of ideas and poetry captures those tiny moments. I think that is something I forgot along the way. Sure, poetry can be about big things but it can also be tiny things. The first stanza is everything I saw today except for the bowl of fruit and the dandelion but I can see them in my mind and it reminds me of sunshine. Anyway, be sure to check out more participants by clicking here.
Monday, April 8, 2019
Hi-Def
You’re an envisioneer
with that outside-of-the- box-thinking
under phosfluorecent paradigms
In a world of brick and click
architecture, you embrace
alternative clouds
and incubate infrastructure
functional interfaces
drip from elastic expertise
and your next-gen-viral materials
are proof core
that you are one pixel
in a hi-def world.
***
Hey all, here is poem number 8. I sort of followed the prompt and used business jargon to create this poem. I got the phrases from this generator. You can find more poets by visiting NaPoWriMo.
with that outside-of-the- box-thinking
under phosfluorecent paradigms
In a world of brick and click
architecture, you embrace
alternative clouds
and incubate infrastructure
functional interfaces
drip from elastic expertise
and your next-gen-viral materials
are proof core
that you are one pixel
in a hi-def world.
***
Hey all, here is poem number 8. I sort of followed the prompt and used business jargon to create this poem. I got the phrases from this generator. You can find more poets by visiting NaPoWriMo.
Sunday, April 7, 2019
April Showers
The robin
stands on the new
overgrown driveway
with yellowed grass
in its beak–
he is motionless–
he looks left
he looks right
he cocks his head
he is motionless –
then takes flight
deep inside the hemlock
raindrops
splash in perfect circles
on the worn cement sidewalk
***
Well here is poem number 7. Today, I thought I would write a poem similar to Ezra Pound or William Carlos Williams, in the imagist style. I have read about this school of poetry for years and wanted to work more in it. I suppose there's no time like the present. Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
stands on the new
overgrown driveway
with yellowed grass
in its beak–
he is motionless–
he looks left
he looks right
he cocks his head
he is motionless –
then takes flight
deep inside the hemlock
raindrops
splash in perfect circles
on the worn cement sidewalk
***
Well here is poem number 7. Today, I thought I would write a poem similar to Ezra Pound or William Carlos Williams, in the imagist style. I have read about this school of poetry for years and wanted to work more in it. I suppose there's no time like the present. Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Tomorrow is a Fragment
If I was born tomorrow
then I would know yesterday.
If I tell myself happy thoughts
then the universe would share secrets.
If I remembered my last life
then I would remember the one before it.
If I saw the meteor breaking the sky
then I would save one T Rex and one Pterosaur
If I read the tarot today
then I would know I would be born tomorrow.
***
Yeah, I am caught up!
Anyway, back to the poem, I followed the prompt today which you can read here and be sure to click the participants heading to find more awesome poets.
then I would know yesterday.
If I tell myself happy thoughts
then the universe would share secrets.
If I remembered my last life
then I would remember the one before it.
If I saw the meteor breaking the sky
then I would save one T Rex and one Pterosaur
If I read the tarot today
then I would know I would be born tomorrow.
***
Yeah, I am caught up!
Anyway, back to the poem, I followed the prompt today which you can read here and be sure to click the participants heading to find more awesome poets.
Betwixt the Living
What do you dream
in between here and there
when you have no voice to scream?
Who’s the face in the lava stream
from the black rose stare?
What do you dream
when you tell me of the cold steam
that takes you to the lost threadbare?
When you have no voice to scream
to the man in the tight blue jeans
on top of the marble stairs,
what do you dream?
Wrestling with dusty sunbeams,
my reality slips into prayer.
When you have no voice to scream
I want that mainstream morpheme
because– I’m the hollow in between somewhere.
What do you dream
when you have no voice to scream?
***
Hey all, here is poem 5. Yesterday, I reached the pinnacle of my sickness. I started the day okay but as it went on, the snot just kept pouring out of my nose. I went through the rest of the tissues, a mega roll of Charmin toilet paper, and some partial roll of cheap ass toilet paper. Dayquil just wasn't cutting it so I took Benadryl and went to bed. I am a lot better today-- not 100% but anything is better than yesterday. I did not write at all yesterday. So I have to work on my pages for Camp as well as catch up on my poems for NaPoWriMo.
The prompt yesterday was to write a villanelle. This is my first attempt, and this is a form I want to study more. I like structure, not too fond of the rhyming. I've been thinking about working this form for a while now. I might write my annual Christmas poem in this form.
Well, I've got more writing (and cleaning) to work on. I will be back in a few hours with today's new poem.
in between here and there
when you have no voice to scream?
Who’s the face in the lava stream
from the black rose stare?
What do you dream
when you tell me of the cold steam
that takes you to the lost threadbare?
When you have no voice to scream
to the man in the tight blue jeans
on top of the marble stairs,
what do you dream?
Wrestling with dusty sunbeams,
my reality slips into prayer.
When you have no voice to scream
I want that mainstream morpheme
because– I’m the hollow in between somewhere.
What do you dream
when you have no voice to scream?
***
Hey all, here is poem 5. Yesterday, I reached the pinnacle of my sickness. I started the day okay but as it went on, the snot just kept pouring out of my nose. I went through the rest of the tissues, a mega roll of Charmin toilet paper, and some partial roll of cheap ass toilet paper. Dayquil just wasn't cutting it so I took Benadryl and went to bed. I am a lot better today-- not 100% but anything is better than yesterday. I did not write at all yesterday. So I have to work on my pages for Camp as well as catch up on my poems for NaPoWriMo.
The prompt yesterday was to write a villanelle. This is my first attempt, and this is a form I want to study more. I like structure, not too fond of the rhyming. I've been thinking about working this form for a while now. I might write my annual Christmas poem in this form.
Well, I've got more writing (and cleaning) to work on. I will be back in a few hours with today's new poem.
Thursday, April 4, 2019
Monochrome
At the hooligan kiosk, I pushed the tokens for that one of kind rainbow magic. I turned left toward the merchandise limerick where styrene bonemeal spill out of buckets. The ash hardens, the sun darkens, and the sirens fall into the ocean. Silence in the rubble and somehow I manage not to get barbershop rabies. With titled persistence, I find afterlife parsley and plant it in moon dust.
With hood and mask
the haze stings– deviance
is in shadow light.
***
Here is poem number 4. Damn this sickness is not letting my brain cells work right. I don't think this poem turned out too bad. Let's hope tomorrow is more invigorating. At least I wrote a poem and wrote two items for Camp. Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo
With hood and mask
the haze stings– deviance
is in shadow light.
***
Here is poem number 4. Damn this sickness is not letting my brain cells work right. I don't think this poem turned out too bad. Let's hope tomorrow is more invigorating. At least I wrote a poem and wrote two items for Camp. Find more great poets at NaPoWriMo
Black Sky Rain
The sky grows dark
suffocates, dictates
but doesn’t take the fear
alone, together
in the empty dining hall
her legs around him
not sure of the next move
not sure of tomorrow.
“I fucking love you”
he says
“And I’m not sure if
I’ll be alive the day after
tomorrow.”
Maybe so... her fate too
is uncertain like the rain
that falls from the blackness
like the news that no longer happens.
In their school uniforms
they slip on sweat pants
and an extra sweater. A coat
and boots. Each girl carries
a large hiking pack
filled canned food from the kitchen
blankets, tents, and sanitary napkins.
They meet alone and together
in the dining hall.
She sees his ghost
She sees herself
on the table in the corner
where once they held hands
in secret and passed notes
in another time—
three days ago.
I fucking love you he says
the rain falls outside
the last of the teachers gather the girls.
The boys were taken
last night, conscripted,
enlisted– gone. Destiny uncertain.
The girls huddle
alone and together
and follow the headmistress
out the big doors to the woods
to a place only she knows
directed, commanded
but won’t share. Destiny uncertain.
I fucking love you he whispers
as she forgets memories
of another life, opens her
pale mouth to drink the black rain.
***
Here is poem 3 for NaPoWriMo. I get hit with a cold and though I had this idea for the poem, I didn't get it written until today. I am drinking the Dayquil like there's no tomorrow- so the poems should be interesting, to say the least. Well, Nyquil creates more weirdness but then I don't function either. Somehow I managed to write 3 pages for Camp. Oh yeah, Grammarly apparently doesn't understand poetry and line breaks. Anyway, find more poets at NaPoWriMo.
suffocates, dictates
but doesn’t take the fear
alone, together
in the empty dining hall
her legs around him
not sure of the next move
not sure of tomorrow.
“I fucking love you”
he says
“And I’m not sure if
I’ll be alive the day after
tomorrow.”
Maybe so... her fate too
is uncertain like the rain
that falls from the blackness
like the news that no longer happens.
In their school uniforms
they slip on sweat pants
and an extra sweater. A coat
and boots. Each girl carries
a large hiking pack
filled canned food from the kitchen
blankets, tents, and sanitary napkins.
They meet alone and together
in the dining hall.
She sees his ghost
She sees herself
on the table in the corner
where once they held hands
in secret and passed notes
in another time—
three days ago.
I fucking love you he says
the rain falls outside
the last of the teachers gather the girls.
The boys were taken
last night, conscripted,
enlisted– gone. Destiny uncertain.
The girls huddle
alone and together
and follow the headmistress
out the big doors to the woods
to a place only she knows
directed, commanded
but won’t share. Destiny uncertain.
I fucking love you he whispers
as she forgets memories
of another life, opens her
pale mouth to drink the black rain.
***
Here is poem 3 for NaPoWriMo. I get hit with a cold and though I had this idea for the poem, I didn't get it written until today. I am drinking the Dayquil like there's no tomorrow- so the poems should be interesting, to say the least. Well, Nyquil creates more weirdness but then I don't function either. Somehow I managed to write 3 pages for Camp. Oh yeah, Grammarly apparently doesn't understand poetry and line breaks. Anyway, find more poets at NaPoWriMo.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
Meadowlark
A fraction of light
over farmlands and open
country – hidden thrill song.
Lemongrass and balsam
root flowers wrap around
the sunbright spirit.
The midnight juggernauts
jam unlucky entities
filling the hole in my head.
My haiku fall to the floor
and I pick up them
along the way.
Where did the words go?
***
Hey all, here is day two's poem. I know it's a little late, but I've had one hell of a day, and I felt like I was split between the present and somewhere else. Anyway, I did manage to get some writing done for Camp. Check out more awesome poets at Napowrimo
over farmlands and open
country – hidden thrill song.
Lemongrass and balsam
root flowers wrap around
the sunbright spirit.
The midnight juggernauts
jam unlucky entities
filling the hole in my head.
My haiku fall to the floor
and I pick up them
along the way.
Where did the words go?
***
Hey all, here is day two's poem. I know it's a little late, but I've had one hell of a day, and I felt like I was split between the present and somewhere else. Anyway, I did manage to get some writing done for Camp. Check out more awesome poets at Napowrimo
Monday, April 1, 2019
How to Go to Sleep (or not)
comfy clothes
favorite blanket
fluff the pillows
lay on the right side
relax
empty your mind–
let the disturbance of unsaid
favorite blanket
fluff the pillows
lay on the right side
relax
empty your mind–
let the disturbance of unsaid
quips, one liners, ideas, story lines, character motivations,
fantasies wash over you.
Finally gone?
Good.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind–
exuberant anxiety hits
you know that feeling–
you’re going to wake up awesome
make plans, make goals, make lists.
You already feel the awesomenes...
Get up. Eat shredded cheddar.
Pound your head against the wall.
Eat more shredded cheddar.
Back to bed.
Lay on the right side.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind–
Have an imaginary fight
with someone you know.
Have an imaginary fight
with an internet troll.
Have an imaginary fight
with a stranger.
Check the clock– 3:30 a.m.
Lay on the right side.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind
And before you know it–
music plays in the distance
just as he kisses your lips.
***
Yeah! Day one of Napowrimo and also day one of Camp Nanowrimo. I think that break really helped because I was quite productive in the writing department. Of course, there's always this excitement when starting a challenge. Ask me how it is in the middle of the month.. This poem was inspired by the prompt today at Napowrimo and while you're there check out other participants.
fantasies wash over you.
Finally gone?
Good.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind–
exuberant anxiety hits
you know that feeling–
you’re going to wake up awesome
make plans, make goals, make lists.
You already feel the awesomenes...
Get up. Eat shredded cheddar.
Pound your head against the wall.
Eat more shredded cheddar.
Back to bed.
Lay on the right side.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind–
Have an imaginary fight
with someone you know.
Have an imaginary fight
with an internet troll.
Have an imaginary fight
with a stranger.
Check the clock– 3:30 a.m.
Lay on the right side.
Flip to the left, flip to your back,
flip to your stomach, back to the right
refluff the pillows stick one foot out
relax
empty your mind
And before you know it–
music plays in the distance
just as he kisses your lips.
***
Yeah! Day one of Napowrimo and also day one of Camp Nanowrimo. I think that break really helped because I was quite productive in the writing department. Of course, there's always this excitement when starting a challenge. Ask me how it is in the middle of the month.. This poem was inspired by the prompt today at Napowrimo and while you're there check out other participants.
Monday, March 25, 2019
Driving on I-99 in the Rain
Enshrouded in a fog wrapperalongside the Alleghenies
I-99 is smooth and pothole free
refinished again in the last week.
November’s scant umbrage
of sepia and scarlet sassafras
on both sides of the interstate
wither in the falling melted
snow, an animal graveyard
lays to the right of the crisp
yellow line.
I follow rainy tire tracks
over Skytop and try
to remember what this mountain
looked like before 99
before all of us.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
Sweet Dreamland Wheels by JM Scott Free in Kindle Through March 21, 2019
Can you believe this book is four years old? I can't either. Four years ago, I participated in a poetry challenge in April. The focus of the challenge was experimental and found poetry. So once it was completed, I decided to collect all the poems since they have a similar style.
I enjoyed working on this book and often I still use many of the techniques I learned to make a new poem. I love playing with language and sometimes you can create something profound and/or unique.
Enjoy this free sample from the book which was created using words and phrases I collected on public transportation in Washington, DC.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Sylvia Marcon, Only Survivor
 |
| Image by Moritz Bechert from Pixabay |
Panicked people rushed the
locked door. Another can, another group dead. They pounded at the glass, screaming.
Another can, another group dead.
He finished his last can, blew the blonde chick a kiss, walked over the bodies and vanished into the sunshine.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
A Spring Epiphany
I forgot yesterday was Monday. If you noticed or maybe not, I have been posting on Mondays and Wednesdays and have been rather successful with that schedule. It was the first Monday after daylight savings time, and I have no idea what day I thought it was. The weather was distracting. It really felt like March in the Appalachians. It reached 50, the sky was blue almost blinding, the sun was full throttle, wind gusts would race in from the west, and the entire front yard was nothing but a mud pit, where everywhere I stepped cold, wet mud oozed into the mesh of my sneakers. When I got home last night, I took off my shoes and socks and the bottom of my socks were mud-stained. Finally spring. I have this urge to take my shoes and socks off and step in the mud. But today is a little chiller and the mud would be too cold. I'm not as young as I used to be and the cold on my feet is like needles.
When I was younger, I used to swim in the Kangamangus River in New Hampshire and that bitch is cold. But eventually, the cold makes you numb then there is a feeling of peace. I also used to swim in the Atlantic both at Hampton Beach, New Hampshire and Ogunquit, Maine. Sure my legs were bluish-red but that didn't stop me. Now, the cold water is rather bothersome.
I went to the store this morning, and I had an epiphany. I've been having those a lot lately. Now, that school is done, my job is to write. I am a writer. I am also a jewelry maker. Both of which I have not been dedicated to like I should. So while I am looking for employment, I have to show up to work on my writing and my jewelry. I have to fire up Word Perfect (the best word processing program. I've been using it since the beginning when you had to use a floppy- a 5.25 mind you, to start it. MS Word can suck it. I digress though...) and write. One of the things I have learned over the years is that revision is great. I look forward to it. But you can't revise if the first draft is written. Revision is work, a lot of work, and I show up for that and put in the time. The first draft is daunting; I never want to work on it. But those are just excuses, lame ones at that. Revision is where the magic happens.
I'm not in school anymore, and I think it's time to stop with the excuses and be the writer I was meant to be. Showing up, doing the work.
Here's to a new adventure...
When I was younger, I used to swim in the Kangamangus River in New Hampshire and that bitch is cold. But eventually, the cold makes you numb then there is a feeling of peace. I also used to swim in the Atlantic both at Hampton Beach, New Hampshire and Ogunquit, Maine. Sure my legs were bluish-red but that didn't stop me. Now, the cold water is rather bothersome.
I went to the store this morning, and I had an epiphany. I've been having those a lot lately. Now, that school is done, my job is to write. I am a writer. I am also a jewelry maker. Both of which I have not been dedicated to like I should. So while I am looking for employment, I have to show up to work on my writing and my jewelry. I have to fire up Word Perfect (the best word processing program. I've been using it since the beginning when you had to use a floppy- a 5.25 mind you, to start it. MS Word can suck it. I digress though...) and write. One of the things I have learned over the years is that revision is great. I look forward to it. But you can't revise if the first draft is written. Revision is work, a lot of work, and I show up for that and put in the time. The first draft is daunting; I never want to work on it. But those are just excuses, lame ones at that. Revision is where the magic happens.
I'm not in school anymore, and I think it's time to stop with the excuses and be the writer I was meant to be. Showing up, doing the work.
Here's to a new adventure...
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
A Wednesday in March
I'm feeling kind of detached today. I think it's the dream I had; it was weird and I was still dreaming when the alarm went off this morning. That does it all the time. I feel detached but at the same time, this day went by too quick in my opinion. Granted, I disappeared into the internet black hole for a while. Come to think of it, I have no idea what I was looking up.
Anyway, I finished school on Sunday. Now I am just waiting for the degree. I'm actively seeking employment as an online writing professor. Just so you know, just in case you know of job openings. From my preliminary research, the hiring season for the college level is coming up. So I better be ready to hit the cyber sidewalk. I am thinking about applying to People's University, but I need to do more research on them. I've already applied to my Alma Mater last week.
I am also looking for freelance writing work. Again spread the word if so you choose.
It's March and it is 16 degrees outside. I wish it were 40 maybe even 50. Our winter seemed not as snowy as other winters but I just get sick of the cold and the grey and the snow that was white that turns into gray ice chunks.
Besides looking for jobs, I am going to split my time between writing and revising and home repair. I was going to start on a project today but that didn't happen (see first paragraph). I was working on writing earlier but then I got distracted. Sometimes, I amaze myself when I do accomplish something. I am even more amazed when other people tell they are in awe of what I accomplish. I often think it is never enough.
So that's it for today...
Until next time...
Anyway, I finished school on Sunday. Now I am just waiting for the degree. I'm actively seeking employment as an online writing professor. Just so you know, just in case you know of job openings. From my preliminary research, the hiring season for the college level is coming up. So I better be ready to hit the cyber sidewalk. I am thinking about applying to People's University, but I need to do more research on them. I've already applied to my Alma Mater last week.
I am also looking for freelance writing work. Again spread the word if so you choose.
It's March and it is 16 degrees outside. I wish it were 40 maybe even 50. Our winter seemed not as snowy as other winters but I just get sick of the cold and the grey and the snow that was white that turns into gray ice chunks.
Besides looking for jobs, I am going to split my time between writing and revising and home repair. I was going to start on a project today but that didn't happen (see first paragraph). I was working on writing earlier but then I got distracted. Sometimes, I amaze myself when I do accomplish something. I am even more amazed when other people tell they are in awe of what I accomplish. I often think it is never enough.
So that's it for today...
Until next time...
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Vanished Among Artichokes
 |
| Image by djedj on Pixabay |
Two cashiers rang customers through with a frown and sweaty brow. Michael Bolton crooned on the radio. Annie grabbed a plastic basket and started toward produce.
She stopped at the discount cooler filled apples, oranges, and artichokes. The apples looked half rotten and the oranges were squishy. She pawed through the firm and dark green artichokes.
Searing pain flooded her arm. She looked down, her hand was bitten off. Blood poured from the stump. A cashier screamed. Annie fainted.
Her hand vanished among artichokes.
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
The Afterlife of Tanya Madera by JM Scott Free in all Kindle Markets Through February 24, 2019
Fun fact, this was one of the last stories where the first draft was mostly handwritten. When I was younger and my hands were more cooperative, every story, it didn't matter how long they were, were handwritten. This includes this sci/fi and fantasy hybrid short story I wrote for a fiction class at Penn State. When I typed it out it was 30 pages including double spacing.
I don't there is something about handwriting stories and poems. I still handwrite poems, at least the short ones. Another reason why I don't handwrite the first draft is my handwriting has gotten worse over the years. Half the time, I can't even figure out what I wrote, and I am the damn writer.
Correction, this is the last story I completed that was handwritten. I have one in a notebook I would like to restart. I have a huge work in progress list as it is, so who knows it may never see the light of day again.
Back to this book, it is an older book as I published 5 years ago this month. Would there be things I would change? Sure is. And I could change them. But I'm not going to. It's like this... as a writer gets better the publisher doesn't just release all their books with changes. I would hazard a guess Stephen King would want to change Carrie. I could tell the difference between his more recent novels and Carrie. Like all things, the more you do it the better you become.
Have I become better? Well, I guess you could get a copy of this book and mark your calendars because Daughters of New America will be free throughout different days in early March. These books are my most recent. I think I have gotten better over the years. I can see the change in my writing and the way I tell a story.
Until then, grab The Afterlife of Tanya Madera, and enjoy a unique ghost story.
Monday, February 18, 2019
Autism and Vaccinations
Measles are making a comeback, just in case you didn't know. And it's making a comeback because people choose to not vaccinate their kids.
I want to understand why.
One reason why people are against vaccinations is that there was some now-debunked scientific study that claimed vaccinations caused autism.
Apparently, this is still a reason for not vaccinating.
My question is what is so wrong with having a kid with autism? I don't have a kid with autism. I get that some kids on the spectrum require more care than other kids. So, is that a bad thing? Do these people who want to protect their kids from autism and not death require perfect children? To me, it sure it seems like it. One can only wonder what happens if these children do not live up to their expectations. In a way, it seems like these anti-vaxxers want perfect little children and are too selfish to devote too much time to their autistic children.
I just read an article today that there is a possibility that autism could be caused by air pollution. So there's that.
So if an anti-vaxxer could explain to me why it's not a good idea to vaccinate, I would love to know. And please provide legitimate resources so I can learn. I just have a hard time understanding the anti-vaxx movement. Who are these people? I'd love to know.
Till next time...
I want to understand why.
One reason why people are against vaccinations is that there was some now-debunked scientific study that claimed vaccinations caused autism.
Apparently, this is still a reason for not vaccinating.
My question is what is so wrong with having a kid with autism? I don't have a kid with autism. I get that some kids on the spectrum require more care than other kids. So, is that a bad thing? Do these people who want to protect their kids from autism and not death require perfect children? To me, it sure it seems like it. One can only wonder what happens if these children do not live up to their expectations. In a way, it seems like these anti-vaxxers want perfect little children and are too selfish to devote too much time to their autistic children.
I just read an article today that there is a possibility that autism could be caused by air pollution. So there's that.
So if an anti-vaxxer could explain to me why it's not a good idea to vaccinate, I would love to know. And please provide legitimate resources so I can learn. I just have a hard time understanding the anti-vaxx movement. Who are these people? I'd love to know.
Till next time...
Wednesday, February 13, 2019
I, Too, Need Executive Time- Vote for Me in 2020
My "I want to watch list" on Netflix is a mile long. I've never finished Black Mirror, Haunting of Hill House and The Dark. I haven't watched Birdbox yet. Somehow I managed to powerhouse Russian Doll. I contemplate subscribing to Hulu because there is shit I want to watch. And yet, like a junkie I just keep adding things to Netflix that I never watch.
People all around me seem to have time to watch all sorts of TV. I don't know where my time goes. I spend a lot of time on schoolwork, house chores, writing, reading, marketing, making jewelry, more writing. Throw in a nap here or there and that is my life. But I've realized I've been doing it all wrong.
I just need executive time. I'm not sure how that works. I always thought the president had a lot of important stuff to do like talk to other leaders, work on trade deals and what not. So, maybe I should be president then I can have executive time, where I can finally watch all my shows on Netflix. Maybe I'll get Hulu while I am at it.
It sure seems the dems are going to make the mistake the GOP made in the 2016 election, too many horses in the race. So, I'll throw my hat in. I don't really have a platform, I'll just wing it. Just get me that executive time. The job comes with staff members who do everything for you except wipe your ass, or at least I hope not. But then it sure would be nice to pass that duty onto someone else.
Vote for me in 2020. I have no platform. I have no vision. Truthfully, I just want the perks. I promise not to use Twitter to make nonsense comments. I promise not to shut down the government because I will be too busy watching TV. That's honesty, right? People want honesty, and here I'm being honest.
Vote for me in 2020. You've got nothing to lose. You've got nothing to gain either. I am slowly turning into an anarchist. How fun would that be? An anarchist atheist and throw in Antichrist in there as well for the most fun.
Till next time...
People all around me seem to have time to watch all sorts of TV. I don't know where my time goes. I spend a lot of time on schoolwork, house chores, writing, reading, marketing, making jewelry, more writing. Throw in a nap here or there and that is my life. But I've realized I've been doing it all wrong.
I just need executive time. I'm not sure how that works. I always thought the president had a lot of important stuff to do like talk to other leaders, work on trade deals and what not. So, maybe I should be president then I can have executive time, where I can finally watch all my shows on Netflix. Maybe I'll get Hulu while I am at it.
It sure seems the dems are going to make the mistake the GOP made in the 2016 election, too many horses in the race. So, I'll throw my hat in. I don't really have a platform, I'll just wing it. Just get me that executive time. The job comes with staff members who do everything for you except wipe your ass, or at least I hope not. But then it sure would be nice to pass that duty onto someone else.
Vote for me in 2020. I have no platform. I have no vision. Truthfully, I just want the perks. I promise not to use Twitter to make nonsense comments. I promise not to shut down the government because I will be too busy watching TV. That's honesty, right? People want honesty, and here I'm being honest.
Vote for me in 2020. You've got nothing to lose. You've got nothing to gain either. I am slowly turning into an anarchist. How fun would that be? An anarchist atheist and throw in Antichrist in there as well for the most fun.
Till next time...
Monday, February 11, 2019
Hush
hidden hearts in floorboards and hearthstones
trust in me, she whispers from the walls
hush little baby she sings
her petticoats rustle through redecorated halls
she loves little babies and little babies love her
she continues to play the angel
she smiles and calms the damned
sugar in the shine, but the shine is shady
the darkness hums
the darkness comes
hands in hell, this house encourages heady hexes
understand this upside-down,
she undies with every fresh, tender reaping
hush little baby she sings
her phosphorescence fades
she wears darkness
she calls herself mother
she shines with sugar promises
she takes those that can’t be replaced
the baby cries
the baby dies
trust in me, she whispers from the walls
hush little baby she sings
her petticoats rustle through redecorated halls
she loves little babies and little babies love her
she continues to play the angel
she smiles and calms the damned
sugar in the shine, but the shine is shady
the darkness hums
the darkness comes
hands in hell, this house encourages heady hexes
understand this upside-down,
she undies with every fresh, tender reaping
hush little baby she sings
her phosphorescence fades
she wears darkness
she calls herself mother
she shines with sugar promises
she takes those that can’t be replaced
the baby cries
the baby dies
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Digging in Strange Holes after it Rains
The hole opened after the rain, at first it was an inch across perfect for a baby snake. A day later, it grew to six inches. The following day it was twelve inches. I grabbed a shovel and started digging. Suddenly, light poured from the ground. What was down there? I dug it wider and dove in.The air was cool then warm. I splashed into water that tasted like the ocean and felt like the Caribbean.
I looked up; the hole I jumped through, now it was a tiny black speck. How was I going get home?
I wasn’t.
Monday, February 4, 2019
Election Day- A Federal Holiday?
There's a lot of talk about making Election Day a federal holiday. Let's get this straight I am all for more people voting. But this is not a good idea.
It only benefits a small section of the population: anyone who has off on federal holidays. This will never include people who work in the service industries. Like other federal holidays, it will just become a sale day like President's day and Martin Luther King Jr Day.
And what about primaries? Every damn state has different primary days. So I guess those elections don't count. Why would they anyway? It's the only way for incumbents to stay in the race.
You want to make elections more accessible to those who want and legally can vote?
More machines. There is NO REASON why people should have to wait one, two, three hours to vote. Precincts need more voting machines. My precinct has 4 and they are crammed into a tiny church basement at some tiny church town. Luckily I went down right after the polls opened but it was already getting busy with the before work crowd. There needs to be poll workers to accommodate more voting machines.
If absentee balloting is available, use resources to actually tell voters. Many people don't even know they have options.
And of course, there is always extending the voting hours, especially in larger populated areas. Voting should only take a few minutes but every election we see stories about people waiting hours to vote. Making it a federal holiday won't accomplish anything.
It only benefits a small section of the population: anyone who has off on federal holidays. This will never include people who work in the service industries. Like other federal holidays, it will just become a sale day like President's day and Martin Luther King Jr Day.
And what about primaries? Every damn state has different primary days. So I guess those elections don't count. Why would they anyway? It's the only way for incumbents to stay in the race.
You want to make elections more accessible to those who want and legally can vote?
More machines. There is NO REASON why people should have to wait one, two, three hours to vote. Precincts need more voting machines. My precinct has 4 and they are crammed into a tiny church basement at some tiny church town. Luckily I went down right after the polls opened but it was already getting busy with the before work crowd. There needs to be poll workers to accommodate more voting machines.
If absentee balloting is available, use resources to actually tell voters. Many people don't even know they have options.
And of course, there is always extending the voting hours, especially in larger populated areas. Voting should only take a few minutes but every election we see stories about people waiting hours to vote. Making it a federal holiday won't accomplish anything.
Wednesday, January 30, 2019
Cosmic Spec
Earlier today, the wind whipped the freshly fallen snow up like a wave and it crashed on the road. Schools are closed and the streets remain mostly empty. Except for the few people driving around with probably no place to go. I walked to the mailbox just as the clouds started to move away and a sun filtered through the evergreen and think of Antarctica. That's not what Antarctica is like; it is more barren, more open, more wild. It's a place like Mars or the Moon, that feeling of awe and discovery.
I often think about what it would feel like to go to the Moon. Standing there looking at Earth the same way I stand in the yard looking at the Moon. Sure there are pictures, but it never is the same is it? Unless you see it for yourself. I try to imagine what it would feel like stepping off a lunar vehicle. I'd like to take off a glove just to feel the vast coldness. But I also like both of my hands where they are.
In all this thinking, my mind is creating new worlds and recycling old people. When I dream at night they are there mixed together in some underground heated spring on the Mexican American border. They say that you only dream of people you have seen, even for a brief moment in passing. I would like to believe it but these are strangers. And often my dreams run like movies. I am more of a passenger. Sometimes, I am the lead. Sometimes, these dreams tumble together and it finds its way on paper.
I can't help but think of an apocalypse. There's fascination there as well. The people that survive. I like to believe I am one of those people. There's a lot of untouched universe out there and on Earth. And I remember I am just a cosmic spec.
I often think about what it would feel like to go to the Moon. Standing there looking at Earth the same way I stand in the yard looking at the Moon. Sure there are pictures, but it never is the same is it? Unless you see it for yourself. I try to imagine what it would feel like stepping off a lunar vehicle. I'd like to take off a glove just to feel the vast coldness. But I also like both of my hands where they are.
In all this thinking, my mind is creating new worlds and recycling old people. When I dream at night they are there mixed together in some underground heated spring on the Mexican American border. They say that you only dream of people you have seen, even for a brief moment in passing. I would like to believe it but these are strangers. And often my dreams run like movies. I am more of a passenger. Sometimes, I am the lead. Sometimes, these dreams tumble together and it finds its way on paper.
I can't help but think of an apocalypse. There's fascination there as well. The people that survive. I like to believe I am one of those people. There's a lot of untouched universe out there and on Earth. And I remember I am just a cosmic spec.
Monday, January 28, 2019
Firebox
Fancy lipstick and Chinese knockoffs
Iron hot lust and sanctuary
Rebel against the tide.
Eden calls and waits
But you throw confetti
Over your shoulder, make a wish and
Xerox paper hearts for boys to shred.
***
I decided to write an acrostic poem today. It's been a while.
Iron hot lust and sanctuary
Rebel against the tide.
Eden calls and waits
But you throw confetti
Over your shoulder, make a wish and
Xerox paper hearts for boys to shred.
***
I decided to write an acrostic poem today. It's been a while.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
Reboots
The other day I watched the pilot of Roswell, the reboot of the original series from the 90's, and just like the new Charmed, it was lacking any of the qualities of the original shows. Reboots, of course, are not new. I would assume producers are looking for easy money. Why not reboot Charmed and Roswell because they were popular with Gen X and older millennials so why not remake those former fans will watch with their kids.
I am left wondering, why reboot anything at all. It seems like every reboot I see is terrible. Maybe I am just nostalgic. And Hollywood needs to make money. This is why Disney makes nine million of the same series with their recent acquisition of more superheroes. You can be sure that there will be Spider 926. There are more CSI's then one can count. Everything feels the same. Of course, they are popular because the masses eat this stuff up.
Doesn't anyone want anything new anymore instead of the same old recycled crap? If you ever read Feed MT Anderson, the main character talks about the same bland toys his little brother plays with. I haven't subscribed to cable in more than a decade because everything is always the same.
There are thousands of writers with unique stories and screenplays and are passed because no one wants to take a chance. Everyone wants the sure thing.
Anyway, aren't you all tired of the same old same old in entertainment options?
Till next time...
I am left wondering, why reboot anything at all. It seems like every reboot I see is terrible. Maybe I am just nostalgic. And Hollywood needs to make money. This is why Disney makes nine million of the same series with their recent acquisition of more superheroes. You can be sure that there will be Spider 926. There are more CSI's then one can count. Everything feels the same. Of course, they are popular because the masses eat this stuff up.
Doesn't anyone want anything new anymore instead of the same old recycled crap? If you ever read Feed MT Anderson, the main character talks about the same bland toys his little brother plays with. I haven't subscribed to cable in more than a decade because everything is always the same.
There are thousands of writers with unique stories and screenplays and are passed because no one wants to take a chance. Everyone wants the sure thing.
Anyway, aren't you all tired of the same old same old in entertainment options?
Till next time...
Monday, January 21, 2019
Jet Star Jockey by JM Scott Free in all Kindle Markets Through January 25, 2019
Anyway, Jet Star Jockey is FREE in all Kindle markets through January 25, 2019. It contains 52 poetry collages. Can you believe this book is three years old? Nor can I?
I have another project in mind, but I need to finish the giant project for my Pinterest board, One Book- 300 poems. At the rate I am going, that project won't be done for 2 years. I am hoping to bump it up once I graduate in March.
Here's a sample from Jet Star Jockey. If you grab a copy, why not leave a review. Enjoy.
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
New Millennium Anthropocene
Diversion is an epidemic
and confidence howls in the mist
the storm sweeps away the swing vote
umbrage over the freeway
Like a sleepwalker at recess,
I strike the honeymoon
confidence with phytoplankton.
Millions of wetlands are five-starprosperity
mercury savors the sea.
What’s the story?
The metaphor of cardinals ‘
the blackout of bread and circuses
impress the polygraph
gold never lies but transitions
in portholes from sunken ships
buried in Bethlehem.
From the decanter, I drink
the hush and decompress
while waves wash over
broken bottle sea glass.
and confidence howls in the mist
the storm sweeps away the swing vote
umbrage over the freeway
Like a sleepwalker at recess,
I strike the honeymoon
confidence with phytoplankton.
Millions of wetlands are five-starprosperity
mercury savors the sea.
What’s the story?
The metaphor of cardinals ‘
the blackout of bread and circuses
impress the polygraph
gold never lies but transitions
in portholes from sunken ships
buried in Bethlehem.
From the decanter, I drink
the hush and decompress
while waves wash over
broken bottle sea glass.
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