The Older I Get the Clearer It Becomes (Thankful Thursday)
I am Janna Hill
A Toddler’s Gotta Try (Wordless Wednesday)
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NPM 2025 (Edge)
I can hardly believe that I first shared Edge by Sylvia Plath in April 2013.
It seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.
I honestly enjoyed revisiting the discussion and dissection of Edge and poor Sylvia Plath. You should give it a read.
Meanwhile I present to you…
Edge by Sylvia Plath 1963
The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment,
The illusion of a Greek necessity
Flows in the scrolls of her toga,
Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.
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The Epiphany
The epiphany has passed –
now gone are the 12 days of Christmas.
The winter sun is setting low; his colors scattered like coals of fire across the western sky.
Our souls are satiated and hopeful of the things to come and so we sleep.
And we sleep.
And we sleep.
I was just pondering, a thing which I do often these days, while enjoying a glorious Texas sunset and these words came to me.
I think it is the first creative thing I’ve written in… well I don’t know how long.
And now, while sharing this with you all, the vexing lines of William Butler Yeats come to mind.
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
More to ponder no doubt.
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Autumn Equinox 2024
Summer Adieu
It’s out of the flip-flops, and back in the Reeboks and long pants dug out of the dust
So long to the tank tops, bikinis and cut offs and lawn chairs left lying to rust
Adieu to the sand dune, the pelican and plain loon
My loves, we’ll see you `fore long
Leaves drop as trees swoon, long past the crop moon
With the scent of a sweet autumn song
Let’s all take a big swill to ward off the night chill
Winter’s a season away
Crank up the camp fire; avoid the ole quagmire
With children perched high on the hay.
More about the Autumn Equinox at Farmers Almanac
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Little Rascals (Tuesday’s Tell-All)
I love this photo for so many reasons. I wonder what those little boys are thinking? What one said that created such an expression in the others.
My 5th grandson started playing baseball this year. He, like my other grandsons, is a rascal on the field and off.
The photo made me think of my other grandsons (their ages range from 10 months to 22 years) and some of the things they discuss/discussed.
I imagine right about now I have a grin like the little guy in the picture as I remember how I busied myself, pretending to be unaware while they talked.
Their conversations ranged from bugs to books and dinosaurs and bikes. Rocks and clouds and robots. …
When the older boys discussions evolved to automobiles and girls I busied myself out of hearing range.
And just for clarification, I don’t consider it eavesdropping if I’m in your presence.
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Read an eBook Week #Tbt
Ah I vaguely recall my start as an independent writer; it almost seems like a lifetime ago.
I can’t even remember how I found [the oddly named] Smashwords, but I am glad we connected. Mark Coker’s publishing platform really simplified my life.
And then Draft2Digital with Books2Read came along with their pretty little layouts and boom I had a new crush. And a new distributor.
But I never left Smashwords.
By the way, it is true Smashwords and Draft2Digital are merging and I think that’s a good thing.
I’m not sure if Smashword’s support of the annual Read an eBook will continue in the years to come, but it is going on right now through March 12th. I, of course, am participating. Several of my books are available free or at a drastically reduced price. Just scroll through and check it out.
I believe The Perpetual Series was the first, or one of the first books I published with Smashwords; that was in 2013. Can you believe that?
I recall making the cover from a photograph I had taken of a flower blooming in the yard. Sadly, that flower never returned.
… that flower and so many other things.
Sigh
Happy Thursday Y’all. XoXo
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Getting Me Back ( #NPM )
Getting Me Back
Tissue thin, transparent bits and pieces by the millions I gave to you…
To be received, to be tended
or to be rendered useless as you deemed fit
old inhabitants of terra firma.
Slivers of my soul….
What did you do with these pieces of me?
Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of my spirit, where are they laid?
Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain?
Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?
Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?
Giving me away was easy….
Getting me back seems nearly impossible.
I saw a fleck of glitter this morning,
caught in an abandoned web of time.
I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my hand till it shone bright like a minuscule star… exploding…
and I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw
in a smiling photo of me.
*The poem Getting Me Back lent its name (and guidance) in the memoir styled book of poetry. It also lured me back from the land of “bat shit crazy” 😉
Getting Me Back is available at most bookstores
The Real Janna Hill in 