#TBT (A Poem & A Picture)

Getting Me Back (the original poem)

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.

If you recognize the above poem and picture it may be because you saw it two years ago. Or… maybe you read the book.

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.

Don’t Blink (Lyrics are Poetry Too)

Bear with me, I am feeling a little [selfish] nostalgia today. I’m not sorry either. Ahhh, I am wallowing in this stuff. No worries mate, I am still promoting poetry for National Poetry Month.
That boy is a teenager now and those sweet dogs are no longer with us.
Remember, lyricists are poets and lyrics are poems too.

Don’t blink
Just like that you’re six years old and you take a nap and you
Wake up and you’re twenty-five and your high school sweetheart becomes your wife
Don’t blink
You just might miss your babies growing like mine did
Turning into moms and dads next thing you know your “better half”
Of fifty years is there in bed
And you’re praying God takes you instead
Trust me friend a hundred years goes faster than you think
So don’t blink

Full lyrics can be seen at: YouTube

Songwriters: Chris Allen Wallin / Casey Michael Beathard

Singer: Kenney Chesney

A Poem & A Picture (#NPM)

I love it when someone suggests a poem and I can supply the picture(s). Luuurv it! And who does not love Emily Dickinson?

” Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”? ”

Those lines hooked me on the poem. Muchas gracias!


Make Me A Picture Of The Sun – Poem by Emily Dickinson

Make me a picture of the sun—
So I can hang it in my room—
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin—on a stem—
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune—
Put my pretense—away—

Say if it’s really—warm at noon—
Whether it’s Buttercups—that “skim”—
Or Butterflies—that “bloom”?
Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—
And skip the Russet—on the tree—
Let’s play those—never come!
Emily Dickinson

Once We Went Gaily (NPM)

I chose this poem because I felt like horsing around. 😉
Once we went gaily with never a care,
And the bigger the fences, the bolder we were;
Once the wild wind was our spur and our lash,
Once we would laugh at the splinter and crash
As the rails broke behind us, and thrill to the call
Of twelve foot of water or five foot of wall.
Once we could cope with the bucker’s demands,
Once the hard puller came back to our hands;
Once the green four-year-old, fretting and free,
Flinging the foam in white flecks to his knee,
Bent to our bidding and held us our place,
O’er the stiffest of country whatever the pace.
To blood running hotly, to hearts beating strong,
Not the longest of days was a moment too long;
‘Till the evening drew over its mantle of stars
We would ride to the hoof-beat and rattle of bars.
There was song in the gale, there was kiss in the rain;
Ah! Once we went gaily-but never again!
For the harsh years have stolen that magical zest
When with confident courage we rode with the best.
Now swift and unchallenged the braver may pass
On their reefing blood horses, hard held, on the grass;
The nerve is departed, the rapture denied,
And the chase must be left to the young ones to rideOnce we went gaily with never a care,
And the bigger the fences, the bolder we were;
Once the wild wind was our spur and our lash,
Once we would laugh at the splinter and crash
As the rails broke behind us, and thrill to the call
Of twelve foot of water or five foot of wall.
Once we could cope with the bucker’s demands,
Once the hard puller came back to our hands;
Once the green four-year-old, fretting and free,
Flinging the foam in white flecks to his knee,
Bent to our bidding and held us our place,
O’er the stiffest of country whatever the pace.
To blood running hotly, to hearts beating strong,
Not the longest of days was a moment too long;
‘Till the evening drew over its mantle of stars
We would ride to the hoof-beat and rattle of bars.
There was song in the gale, there was kiss in the rain;
Ah! Once we went gaily-but never again!
For the harsh years have stolen that magical zest
When with confident courage we rode with the best.
Now swift and unchallenged the braver may pass
On their reefing blood horses, hard held, on the grass;
The nerve is departed, the rapture denied,
And the chase must be left to the young ones to ride.

By William Henry Ogilvie
21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963

No Fooling (Oh and…)

I am doing a new experiment with an old retailer.

Smashwords, based in Los Gatos, California, is an e-book-distribution platform founded by Mark Coker for independent authors and publishers. The company began public operation in 2008. Wikipedia

Okay maybe Smashwords isn’t that old but it is older than my Indie Adventures.

So, here’s the deal. Smashwords has a publishers option to let the reader decide the price they are willing to pay for a book as in: “You set the price!”

Yep! You can pay $0.00 or $1,000,000,000 for a book. It’s up to you. And I have made that option available for all of my titles with Smashwords. Seriously. No fooling.

Man wouldn’t that be cRaZy nice if someone dropped a million bucks on one (or all) of my books. Woo-hoo! I would be like, (happy dance ensues)

“Yo fans and frenz it’s party at my place.” We would have soooo much fun with beers and grilling and…

(Dream comes to screeching halt. Author frowns and regains composure.)

Anyway… Check it out. [Note not all titles are up on their site yet and many copies at Smashwords are from years ago but I am trying to update while adding to the list.]

I’ll let y’all know how the “You set the price” experiment goes sometime in the near future.

Oh And…

You all know April is National Poetry Month so we have that to look forward to, right? Right!

In the mean while just look at my Nectarine tree blooming and making little baby Nectarines. The babies look like something from a horror film now but before long they will be scary delicious.

Does anyone have a poem about Nectarines?

No? Well here’s to inspiration.