I’ve recognized a few things in going thru these old drafts, one of which is that I am more of a Ken Burns sort of storyteller, then I am a Stephen King. And, that I’ve shifted gears, going with the flow might be more correct, and that real life is far better than any fiction. Suppose this post is also about why I do what I … Continue reading The 64th Post Pulled From Purgatory: Underneath Her Heart
It’s that time of year when everyone gathers a list of all The Best of, of which this is not, or least not ‘best’ as in good, or should be nominated for a Giller Prize. Anyways, I got looking back through my drafts, and actually used one from the summer for a recent post (shhh…not saying which), and thought maybe I’d take a look at … Continue reading The Best Of What I Didn’t Say This Year
Creating does not happen devoid of experience, as experience often becomes that which moves the soul. It is a complexity of situations and deep emotional responses, born from events of which only a few of our own design, or desire. These elements work in concert with one another. They mesh, and meld, and circle around and spiral forth, divining which ever instrument we chose, or that … Continue reading The Act of Creation
“The poet is an anomaly in our culture. The goal of our culture is money and power. And that’s not exactly what poetry is about. What is it about? That’s a hard question. It’s about anything the human mind and unconscious can produce. And that’s infinite.” [Stanley Kunitz] And living life within the confines set by our society is certainly not what writing is about, … Continue reading A Poetic Vocation
Sometimes just after I hit that PUBLISH button on a post, I am struck by this feeling of “I’ve written this before”. Before? I haven’t; I realize that it’s because some of these stories I wrote in my head…years ago in some cases. And there they have remained. Oh, perhaps residence of Middle-earth or Oz, or maybe Never Never Land have read my work, but … Continue reading The Composted Writer
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Secretly. Awakened in the early 90’s, I fashioned fables written upon truths, and poems of Gaelic dreams. I have imagined myself with pen in hand for almost 25 years now. Was never sure though how to start, or how to say what I wanted to say. None of that was clear. I just enjoyed writing, and wished I … Continue reading Writing For Pleasure
this pittance of time on these eire-y shores from broken branches i tied my breath alive for all to see stammering phrases of ineloquence my fingers fly this sorrow into a cloak to shelter around trees; i bend on that graceful arching stem the cedar betrays the wind Continue reading Sing♦u♦lari♦T
THE DAILY PROMPT – Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab? Oh, to have a strong back, bigger hands, maybe resemble the hulk … than the first would be the Hoosier Cabinet. It was my Great Grandmothers, and it’s priceless to me. So, failing that; § my Camera § my lil’Mac Mini § … Continue reading Those Precious Things
That’s all it took that first night I saw him. Standing with his friend watching the band. My heart did this little somersault and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Oh my sweet Adonis. There he was standing, in the flesh, right before my eyes. You know that to this day I can’t remember who talked to who first. All I remember is him … Continue reading 1000th of a second
It comes on the radio at just the right time, or that old school friend played it for you just after that boyfriend dumped you. Maybe it was the song your parents always danced to after you went to bed. Music is the soundtrack. It’s the dramatic pause, or the cliff hanger highs. Music often is forever wrapped up with moments and memories that go … Continue reading Sweet soul soothing sounds
Walking through silence; images flashed. Through unlit halls of learning and illusion. Dark clouds cross the visions. A wake of crows drive sparrow over the tree canopy; and the quiet moon descends. Dancing round in coals, poker hot, a flush of steam rises to the surface. Words upon words. In separate domains the cascading individuality wrenched from … Continue reading Words upon words
In that tired myth of vision and circumspect we strive to create our Noble Lie; In the blanket of time we are its prisoners. This was a time of long, billowy sheer curtains, orange rag walls, and a trio of pianos. It was a time of wine, symphony’s and lying on matching floral pattern love-seats whilst listening to “Monday Night Playhouse” on CBC Radio. We … Continue reading The Lady of the Cellar | Conclusion
Being locked in a room with a snake would qualify as my worst fear. My phobia of the wee serpents stems back to my Dad. He hates snakes. We once watched him chase one around the backyard with a lawnmower. My Dads fear of them stems back to his childhood in Eastern North Carolina where a healthy respect for snakes would be an asset. One … Continue reading Zith and serpents of the garden
The Temenos Journal 