In the Storm (April is National Poetry Month)

In the Storm (#NPM )

Firstly, my condolences to all those affected by Saturday’s hellish tornadoes. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

Many of my fondest early memories [as well as imaginative ideas] were born in Houston county among the pine trees and red dirt, particularly a tiny community called Weches.

Some of you may know a few of my characters have roots in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi – that is not happenstance. Those just happen to be a few of my favorite states.

Again, my heart goes out to those suffering loss and I hope you’ll forgive me for choosing this poem for today.

Confession: My afflictions are bitter-sweet.

In the Storm

I reach for you…

With every crack of thunder

I hear you laugh…

Your smile is every bolt of lightning.

The drops of rain, you touching me,

with unsalted tears…

No more pain; no more regret.

I raise my arms,

as a child beckoning to be held

and it pours.

My grief is washed away by

stinging pellets of a spring rain

Leaving behind a clean slate

with only memories of the most mundane,

most cherished moments of my life.

Credits: I created the heading image (Inside the Storm) from a compilation of images I found at Pixabay. (Thank you Pixabay contributors).

The poem, In the Storm was taken from this twisted book of poems. And… guess what?

For a limited time my partnering experiment with Smashwords lets the reader decide what they will pay. Yep! You decide.

Check it out.

Once (#NPM)

I will file this under Tusdays Tell All as well as the Poetry category because “Notso Fearless” has taken a big step in finding her voice and telling her truth.

Once

You told me once you sold your soul – in hopes that you would fly, you said angels wings were fairy tales and scripture? Lullabies.

The only trip we ever took was with a needle in our arm. I remember once – you shit yourself – after we had left the farm.

The farm that you grew up on where once you dreamed of fame – where mine was the only cherry picked – where once you knew my name.

In hindsight getting high was low – and I was as low as I could go. But not you, oh no.

When I finally kicked the habit you had no use for me. Turned out we had nothing in common, except the lunacy.

A million times I’d heard you sing and once I heard you cry. And once, just once, before they laid you to rest I thought I saw you fly.

Once by “Not so Fearless”

Illustrations from Pixabay

Door Number Four (Tuesday’s Tell-All)


Donald S. Crowley was a CPA by day; a bean counter; a number cruncher and a certified bore. By night he was as stimulating as the hero in his latest read with all the social skills of a brick and to make matters worse he was in love with a door. Not just any door, number four was special. Her alluring smile had caught Donald’s eye when he was just a boy and she called him by name. Despite years of therapy and medications she still called to him. Now he would risk his life to see her again and to finally know what lay behind Door Number IIII.

It is hard to believe Door Number Four was published over six years ago. Wow! That means I am six years older and [probably] none the wiser.

Four years ago this month Door Number Four was published in audio. Another wow! I could have earned a Bachelors degree in that 48 months or sailed around the world a few times.

Oh well…

I can’t accurately account for the years that have passed but I can tell you when I think of Door Number Four (or IIII) I am still proud of this quirky, surreal, sci-fi love story. It still intrigues me. And secretly I would love to see it in film.

I was digging in my archives for another project when I happened upon this narration sample of Door Number Four narrated by Christopher Lane.

I confess I still giggle a little when I listen to it.


Don Crowley cursed the noisy autumn leaves beneath his feet. No matter how lightly he tread on the foliage it crackled and hissed, mocking his every step, his very existence.

Another truth, sometimes when I meander through the woods picking berries, soul-searching or conversing with the wild animals, I wonder what really became of Donald S. Crowley. And sometimes…

Sometimes I think I hear Tetra seductively calling to him. “Donald, come.”

*Available wherever e-books are sold.

It’s Harvest Time …

…And time to gather your copy of Feast or Famine (The Sharecropper’s Son)

The original cover–a photo of the real sharecropper. Preview compliments of Amazon.
The new/current cover. Click this lovely cover and get a copy at your favorite e-book retailer.
Thank you to my husband and the Hill family for sharing their history and graciously allowing me artistic liberties.

XoXo

Tuesday’s Tell All (As If)

As If

As if your shoulder brushing

against my breast in a crowded room

meant anything to me…

As if your smile would thaw my frosty heart…

As if your constant assurance could overcome my cynicism…

As if the invisible boulevard would never rise up and beckon.

<>   |  <>  |  <>

The street lamp glows in the bleached mist only three floors below us.

I blow streams of smoke into the black night and hum to the drone of the unseen road.

Be steel my bleating heart!

Be quiet! Be silent, hard steel.

As if wearing your tee shirt made us lovers.

woman-994737_1920

I bought the photo above from Pixabay for a cup of coffee because I did not have one that resonated with the poem I wanted to share in this Tuesday’s Tell All. I took the photo below which eventually became the book cover for Getting Me Back.

getting me back.1

getting me back

Tuesday’s Tell All (Three Cheers for Commando)

Just FYI I’ve been a little more adventurous lately. I don’t know why – do I need a reason?

Okay we’ll call it a mid-life crisis. But if it is mid-life that means I will live to be well over one hundred years old. Oh lord, I’m not sure that is a good thing.

Hey, speaking of good things, you know what’s NOT?!

Thongs!

It’s a string (hence being called a thong) with a triangular bit of material cut in such a way to cover the symphysis pubis. You know – the lower lady parts… the mound (where nowadays the lawn is scalped)… the rug (where if there is any carpet it more than likely does not match the drapes)… the…  well You know!

Lord I’m having a hot flash or a blushing fit; I don’t know why I am trying to explain something everyone over five years old already understands.

Maggie and Linda wouldn’t blush. Heck, their mothers wouldn’t blush — they would all wear thongs. They would all do things too — terrible things I might have done wouldn’t do but they would probably be ashamed of me airing my dirty laundry so to speak.  But hey, I’m among friends, right? I’m just living out loud and flinging cake against the wall. 😉

Anyway, back to my story with a slight digression.

I tried to wear one of the darn crack-crawling, butt-scratching, awkward little invaders years ago because they were supposed to be sexy. Yeah. Well. Digression complete.

As I mentioned earlier I’ve been feeling adventurous. Did you notice the polka dot explosion of color going on with my fingernails? And that even holding the thong is somewhat awkward.  

 

I do have to admit the scrap of material is more comfortable than it was two decades ago. As a matter of fact it’s so comfortable one might forget to pull it down when they go to use the restroom and then have to peel the damn soggy thing off and you’ve got pee on your hands and —  I mean, I’ve heard that could happen.

Okay the useless thing is more comfortable but I still don’t get it – it serves no real purpose. If all you’re worried about is panty lines you might as well go commando, am I right?

No?

Well ladies [& gents] if you like your thongs, keep your thongs and wear that hanky thread  proudly but as for me…

 

 

Hip hip hoorayHip hip hooray!  Hip hip hooray!

 

 

 

 

 

****   Maggie and Linda are characters from the Clan Destiny Series, so are their mothers ****

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