Articles

The Pensive Season

I don’t know what it is about summer, but warm, sunny weather always makes me pensive. I mean, I’m an over-thinker on a good day, but summer is when “what if” becomes almost a daily mantra. What if I choose this over that? What if I’d made a different choice 20 yrs ago? What would I do if this life-changing event happened tomorrow? Would my life turn out the same no matter what decisions I make, or do I actually have some control over fate/destiny/whatever you call it?

Yes, I know. Exhausting and in the end, pretty much pointless, but that’s how my brain works, and in the summer, it just seems to be worse. Not much I can do aside from indulging it for a little while, and then forcing myself into a different, more productive headspace.

I’ve always been a dreamer of sorts, which is kind of at odds with my otherwise very practical, logical nature. I remember very clearly laying on my waterbed in the basement as a teen, steno notebook and pen in hand, scribbling/lamenting about whatever guy I happened to be obsessing over at the time (bad habit of mine). I’d lay back, close my eyes, and lose track of time day-dreaming about different scenarios involving said guys and wishing I could just stay in that fantasy world forever.

Writing, of course, is a physical (digital?) manifestation of that sort of day-dreaming habit…when I write, I’m basically day-dreaming on paper, just not about myself anymore. Well, not always, anyway. 😉

And of course when I get in these ultra-pensive moods, I tend to slip back into “day-dream” mode more easily, and it makes me want to write more. Which is frustrating because I only have so much time to spend on that right now. Ideas/day-dreams keep piling up, waiting for me to exorcise them from my head by getting them down in book form.

The co-worker who backs me up when I’m out (and I do the same for him) is in and out of the office for the next month and a half. But after that, I do believe I’ll schedule a week off just for writing. Get some of these ideas out of my head and at least started on paper. Perhaps that will ease the pensiveness a bit.

Even if it doesn’t, it will be fun!

Visiting the Past, Sunscreen & Written Lists

Our local Renaissance Festival was this past Saturday, so my husband and I headed out to ZooMontana to partake in the festivities. It’s always fun to watch everyone wandering around in period dress, take in a jousting match, watch the sideshows and do a little shopping at the vendor booths. I’m not one who would really want to live in that time period – I’m quite happy with indoor plumbing and near-daily showers, thanks – but I love the celebration and romanticism that comes with a ren faire. And one of these days I’m going to splurge for something chain maille…

Anticipating this event, I actually bought sunscreen for the first time in years. Last year I burned, and this year I have nice tattoos that I wanted to protect. So I spent far too much time researching natural sunscreens and ended up with naturally bug repellent sunscreen on my legs, and a natural odorless sunscreen on my arms. I put makeup on, since my powder makeup is a physical sunblock like zinc oxide, and off we went.

When we got home, I had a nice, deep tan on my exposed skin…except for the back of my neck. Which was bright, deep red.

Oops.

We had some shopping to do, so I took the opportunity to get myself a big hat with a brim wide enough to shade both the back of my neck and my nose the next time I find myself at an outdoor summer event (so…next Saturday morning). I’ll also be able to use it for yard work, so a good investment. Kind of a fun look too, if I do say so myself.

Yes, one would think I could just remember to put sunscreen on the back of my neck, but I never have, not once. And I always end up burning it. But I also always wear hats on the weekend (because I’m far too lazy to do hair/makeup), so this is just a matter of remembering to grab the right hat. Challenge accepted!

In other news, I’ve been making use of the Action Memos feature on my cell, and handwriting things like my daily to-do lists, writing schedule, and whatever else I need to keep track of. I still use digital calendars for repeating reminders and appointments, but there really is something about writing things out by hand that makes such a difference, mentally speaking. It’s weird, but for me, it’s working.

Which makes me want one of these “reMarkable” devices even more…but they’re on pre-order only right now, and not due to start shipping until next fall. I got burned for…a larger sum than I want to admit to last summer on a crowd-funding thing, so I’m really not keen on pre-ordering anything at the moment until I know someone else has already gotten one (or more, preferably). Naturally the price will go up once they start shipping, and I probably won’t be able to afford one then, so we’ll have to just wait and see.

Still, I think it’s very cool technology this company is developing, and a great way to combine the best of analog and digital especially when it comes to going paperless both at home and at the office.

And about the time I get one, someone will hit us with an EMP and we’ll all have to go back to paper anyways, right?

Viva la Renaissance! 😉

Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 17

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Missed a few chapters? Email me to catch up. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 17

“Got something!”

Shelley and Dillon both turned as the man just above them appeared in the trees. He was waving at them, motioning them to join him. Dillon stood and offered Shelley a hand. When she took it, her eyes met his and he smiled. He may have pulled a little harder than necessary when he helped her up, but she didn’t complain when she stumbled against his chest.

Neither did he, she noticed.

The second guy came running from up below the trail and just kept running past. Shelley frowned.

“Come on.” Dillon took a step back, but still kept her hand in his. “Let’s go see what they found.”

Shelley followed him up through the underbrush and tried not to think about what they might find. It was almost anticlimatic when they reached the other two, and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“What are we looking at, John?” Dillon asked. The man held out his hand, palm up, to reveal a heart-shaped locket Shelley had never seen before.

“That’s not Tabby’s,” she said, a glimmer of relief easing the tighteness in her chest. “It’s not hers. Someone else must have lost it.”

She glanced at Dillon, and saw the tightness in his jaw as he reached out to pick up the locket.

“It’s Mike’s. He keeps a picture of his mother and his daughter in there, and carries it in his pocket.” He put it in his own pocket. “He was definitely up here then. Any signs of where they might have blazed a trail?”

John nodded. “Broken branches and scuffed dirt all over the place. I hiked a little ways back and found blood, but it looks like they’re covering it as they go. Probably trying to confuse any prey animals who might be after a meal.”

“Would that work?” Shelley asked, earning three rather dubious stares.

“Probably not,” John answered. “But won’t hurt either. Just makes it a little harder to tell when the bleeding started and stops. But we’ll be able to follow the trail. Are you ready?”

Dillon looked at Shelley. “Are you sure you want to do this? I think we’re getting close, and no one would blame you if you wanted to wait back at camp….”

“I should smack you for that,” she replied, moving past him. “I’m going. Come on.”

John took the lead again and Dillon fell into step by Shelley. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” he said as they walked, watching the path appear almost magially as John cleared broken branches and dirt piles out of the way.

It wasn’t long before they saw the smoke. Practically running, they made it over the next rise just to see an impromptu campsite at the bottom and two people laying motionless beside a dying fire.


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 18!

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Serial Story: Rattlesnake Falls, Book 1, Ch. 16

This serial story is posted one chapter per week on Fridays, in unedited (draft) form. It may contain adult situations that might not be suitable for children. Missed a few chapters? Email me to catch up. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! 

No, I still haven’t decided on the title. One should come to me eventually. Just gotta keep writing….


Rattlesnake Falls Book 1

Chapter 16

The day was beautiful as Shelley trekked across the mountainside with Dillon and the others. Too pretty, really, she thought, her gaze drifting across tall grasses swaying around blooming flowers, tall trees rattling their leaves, and the occasional tiny woodland creature darting back into hiding. Didn’t nature know her friend was missing, and probably hurt? Why was everything so…normal?

She’d first caught the sound of running water fifteen minutes back, faint in the distance. It was getting louder now, and her tired steps quickened, anxious to reach the old ranger station. If Dillon was right, Tabby was close, and maybe they weren’t too late.

Though it seemed like a long way to travel from the bear carcass.

Lots of questions, and the only two people with the answers were out here somewhere, waiting for help.

“Hold up.” The man in front stopped, and Shelley about ran into Dillon’s back. Stepping to the side, she looked around him at the leader, and then just beyond.

Across the next clearing was a wooden shack — or the remains of one, anyway. The roof had collapsed and was partially in, partially out of what was left of the gray plank walls. The fallen structure wasn’t capable of providing shelter any longer. Firewood was about all it was good for now.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Shelley said. “If Mike knew about this place, then he would have known they were close to the trail when he killed the bear. They would have gone the other way, toward camp, not farther up the mountain.”

The three men all looked at her for a long moment.

“What about the sweatshirt? We found it first, closer to the camp…” Dillon’s voice trailed off as the words came out, and understanding widened his eyes. “She took the sweatshirt off after, maybe used it to try to stop the bleeding. Though we don’t know if she was the one injured or Mike.”

One of the other men frowned. “If they were headed back toward camp, they should have been there by now. Before we left, actually. What the hell happened to them?”

“Only way to find out is to find them.” Dillon breathed a heavy sigh. “And we’ve been looking in the wrong direction for over an hour. Let’s head back to where the sweatshirt was, and we’ll figure out how to proceed from there.”

When they finally reached the correct site, Shelley collapsed on a fallen log, almost as good as a favorite recliner after a hard day.

“I can’t imagine what they were feeling like when they stopped here,” she said, speaking slowly as she tried to catch her breath. “Actually, I can’t believe they made it all the way here, considering one of them is hurt. That’s quite a jaunt just from the attack site. Is that even possible with a bad injury?”

Dillon shrugged, taking a seat beside her. “You’d be surprised by what a good shot of adrenaline can do. But it is pretty amazing they made it this far. Shock would have been setting in for someone hurt and bleeding that badly. It is odd that we didn’t notice any bloodstains or drops between here and there though. There should be some sign of them passing through, and it’s like they were just picked up there and dropped here.”

Shelley sat up a little straighter. “Or, they didn’t use the trail. Maybe they were confused, or avoiding the trail for some reason.”

“I’ll check for some sort of sign above the trail,” one of the other men offered. He pointed to the fourth man. “Why don’t you check below the trail?” The other man nodded and they set out, leaving Dillon and Shelley to rest.

“Are those guys rambo or something?” Shelley was only half-kidding. “They don’t seem to ever get tired.”

Dillon’s lips turned up in a small smile. “They’ve probably had more sleep than us.” His smile faded, and he cocked his head to the side, giving her a searching look. “They weren’t in a car wreck just the other day either. How are you feeling? You must be in a lot of pain with all the walking…”

Shelley shrugged. “It hurts here and there, but nothing I can’t handle. It actually hurt less when we were moving. Mind over matter, I guess.” She looked away, her gaze drifting over the small clearing. “You’d think it would be easy to find someone these days, with all the technology at our disposal. But here we are, searching a mountain for two people who could be anywhere. You’d think there was a better way to do this.”

Dillon was quiet for a long moment, and she wasn’t sure he was even listening. Then he looked up, eyes wide and face flushed.

“Maybe there is,” he said, putting two fingers in his mouth and letting out a long, loud whistle. “We need to get back to the camp.”


Thanks for reading! Check back next week for Chapter 17!

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This & That

I’m running late again (imagine that, right?), so just bullet-points for now. I’ll pick one of these for a deeper discussion/exploration next week. Or later this week, maybe. I do have Wednesday off work…

– Took my Note tablet apart last week, pulled the battery, and it’s running fine now (check last week’s blog for that saga).
– My new tea kettle works great (whew!)
– Went for two bike rides this weekend, a short one around the (very hilly) neighborhood Saturday, and then 6.7 miles (round trip) on Sunday to visit my parents. Good exercise, that, and pretty darn fun, too.
– Posted what I think is a pretty interesting discussion topic and writing prompts on the BSB blog today.
– Scheduled excerpts to post on my alter-ego sites this week, and I’ve discovered a couple of stories that need minimal editing/work to be ready for publishing from those two. Stay tuned…
– Next tattoo appointment is this Wednesday at 1pm. I’ll be getting poison bottles put on my inner arm, which is probably going to hurt a lot but it’s gonna look really cool. Pictures soon! I took Weds morning off work too…because I can.
– Graduation party Saturday for a friend’s kid who’s graduating Sunday. And of course, next Monday is a holiday. Yay!

That’s what’s goin’ on! Mostly.

High-Low Tech

So…busy weekends lately, which is why posting is kind of hit and miss at the moment. The nicer weather has our schedules all wonky, and I’m also trying to find a good routine for my business hours late Friday night, which means the BSB blog post sometimes isn’t getting done until Sunday night, which leaves me no time to get a post done for this site. All of which to say…posts may be spotty until I can get my summer routine a little more stable. It’s not you, it’s me (but that seems rather obvious…).

It’s not like you’re waiting anxiously on my every post, right? 😉

In any case, I’m in kind of a weird spot right now where I want to use the latest and greatest in tech, but am also really seeing the value in slowing down and maybe using lower-tech options for certain things, or mixing the two for the “highest low-tech” option available. Reading that back, I realize it sounds convoluted, and it is, but such is life in my brain. Or part of it. I mean, I keep a lot of stuff to myself. Because if you think I’m weird now…well. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, as the saying goes.

Ahem. Back on topic, my first high-low tech conundrum this spring came when I started using my 3-year old Samsung Galaxy Note 8 tablet to write poetry last month. One of the best things about the Galaxy Note line is, obviously, Samsung Notes, wherein you can write on the screen with a stylus (high tech!), and use a device just like a notebook. I have been enamored with this feature ever since it came out, and I absolutely love the fact that I can erase my digital handwriting, which means my “pages” are less messy/more legible (I have horrible handwriting).

This is kind of a “best of both worlds” thing for me, because handwriting (low-tech) forces me to slow down and pay more attention to what I’m writing, so I think I do better work that way. Computers haven’t quite figured out how to *read* my handwriting yet (not holding out much hope for that one), which means I have to type everything I write on the screen by hand back into my writing program (currently Shaxpir). And that forces me to do an editing/revision pass, as I’m always finding ways to improve whatever I’ve hand-written as I type it back in.

So, I’m kind of loving this new-to-me writing “process”, and my tablet decides it needs to update to the Kit-Kat version of Android (it came with Jelly Bean). What harm can an update do, right? As it turns out, updating to Kit-Kat on these tablets makes them think they’re overheating even when they aren’t, and the only solution (from internet-land) seems to be to pull the battery and reset the bios.

Fun times.

I am a software girl, not a hardware girl. I don’t like messing with hardware one little bit – I just want it to work. But at some point in time this week, I’m going to have to get all my notes off of that tablet, pry the back off, take the battery out, and hope it resets like it’s supposed to. *sigh* Was going to do that this past weekend, but just didn’t get time.

Until then, I’ll use the notes function on my Galaxy Note 5 (cell) for my high-low tech solution, since the only other real options are to use paper/pen, or type directly into the laptop – neither of which seem to work as well for me.

I know. Special snowflake, and all that. Writers do tend to be a bit neurotic about…all sorts of stuff.

Another, slightly more fun example of high-low tech is the new bicycles my husband and I bought this past weekend. One of the simplest low-tech methods of transportation ever invented, but these new bikes have some pretty amazing technology now in braking and gear-switching. I find it somewhat ironic that so much technological invention has been put into these things, and yet somehow, they decided bikes don’t need kickstands anymore. What the heck is *that* all about? Does no one want to just park their bike in the driveway for a few minutes anymore? Weird.

I should probably mention that it’s been nearly 30 years since I’ve been on a bicycle…or it had been until last Saturday when I test-rode the one I bought (thank goodness you never forget!). That’s probably long enough to give up the grudge I developed when I fell off my 10 speed and shattered my right hand/wrist when I was 15, right? In any case, riding a bike is fun, it’s good exercise, and it’s something my husband and I can do together. I have friends who like to bike (okay, one, but still), and my mom would be happy to have company on her occasional excursions as well. I might even be able to sneak off on my own here and there. I used to love using a good long bike ride to clear my head.

So, investment in both my health and social life. Not a bad use for my annual longevity check, eh?

And finally – a high-tech solution for a low-tech problem failed me this week, and I had to remedy that ASAP, which is the other reason this blog post is a day late. If you know me at all, you know I’m a heavy tea-drinker. And to make tea, you need warm to hot water, depending on what you’re brewing. And if you want hot water fast, you don’t make it over a fire or on the stove, you plug in a handy dandy electric kettle.

Last week, my electric kettle started sounding more like R2D2 than a kettle, and while I gave it a good scrubbing this weekend to get all the hard mineral deposits out, it’s still not acting right. I haven’t used a thermometer yet, but I suspect it’s not heating up to temp anymore, judging by the taste of my tea.

*big sigh*

So, instead of getting this post done late Sunday night, I was reading the reviews for a ton of different electric kettles as potential replacements. I mean, I could just get another Cuisinart – this one’s done well for quite a few years, but there are so many fun options (even though I will never be able to quite justify the $250 Breville automatic tea kettle, dammit)…

In any case, I decided on a KitchenAid kettle with 6 temp settings and a very cool-looking steeper basket around 1am, and that was largely because I really, really had to sleep so I could work Monday (today).

And now it’s nearly midnight *again* (how did that happen so quickly?!), and I need sleep *again*. Seriously. Needing sleep is so inconvenient…

Just a Few Things…

…because I’m dead tired, it’s later than I’d like it to be on Sunday night/early Mon. morning, and I have to be up and getting ready for work in 5 hours.

  • National Poetry Month is over – yay! I love poetry, really, but man, that whole poem-a-day thing was much harder than expected. A good exercise, but not one I’ll care to repeat anytime soon.
  • Amazon sent me an email advertising their new Prime “Sweets” program. Apparently you can order a button to put in your house, and whenever you press it, Amazon will send you a box of goodies. Um…does Pavlov’s estate know about this? And why do I suddenly want cheese?
  • I got a new tattoo last Wednesday – continuing on my Victorian/steampunk/dark story arm. I should post pics here, and will eventually, but for now, visit my Instagram or Twitter pages to see, or friend me on Facebook. It’s another skull cameo, in a top hat this time, and my artist added a monocle which I think just really completes the whole tattoo. It’s awesome. I love it. Next up – poison bottles.
  • This coming Saturday is Free Comic Book Day – yay! Hit up your local comic shop and/or bookstore to get a nice stack of free comic books. My local comic shop is The Splash Page, and I’ll definitely be stopping in sometime Saturday morning.

That’s it for now – gotta get some sleep so I can function on this predicted-to-be-rainy Monday.

Poem-A-Day Challenge: Week 4 (Final!)

Whew! National Poetry Month is over, and while it was a good learning and habit-forming experience, I have to say, I’m glad it’s over. Of course I didn’t do this alone – Carol R. Ward also wrote a poem every day in April, and she wrote a different form every day as well. It’s her fault I did this, if you recall correctly. I can’t decide if I owe her lunch or she owes me, at this point…but I can say with confidence that we’re both glad to be done.

Without further ado, the last week’s worth of poems, for your perusal, amusement, and/or heavy sighs/groans (it’s okay – they’re drafts – you think I’m not groaning at some of these too?):

Saturday, 4/22: The Storm

Sometimes you see the dark clouds forming,
sometimes you don’t.
Sometimes there’s a sputter, a drizzle, a warning,
sometimes the downpour just starts.

It feels cosmic, the uncanny knack
of catching you unaware.
One moment you’re settled, content, relaxed,
the next you’re gasping for air.

The eye is a tease, a time to rest,
or prepare for
whatever darkness is coming up next.
If you can catch your breath.

The storm is alive, a powerful call,
to survive everyday,
It lives, it breathes, it mocks us all,
whose plans have gone astray.

Sunday, 4/23: The Big Question

Why does “bad” exist?
asked the boy one day
to a woman he thought of as wise.
Why can’t we all just be good?
he mused, as they sat there and
looked at the sky.

Without bad there’s no good,
she answered, staring up
into the blue.
Without bad it would all just be same,
she mused, and I’m not quite
sure what we would do.

Think of how happy we’d be,
he said. No more murder
or theft or fear.
Think of the things we could do,
he mused, without worry of
how they’ll appear.

Life doesn’t work quite that way,
she said. Consider the
basics of earth.
Life must have balance or
cease, she mused. Without
sadness there is no mirth.

Bad gives us choice, a decision,
she said. It gives us the
freedom to choose.
Bad gives us contrast and balance,
she mused. Without that, the
earth would collapse.

So bad is good?
the boy asked, resignation
accenting his voice.
So what do we do,
the boy mused to himself.
How do we keep ourselves sane?

Look at the sky and clouds,
she said. Keep an eye
on what’s healthy and good.
Look inward and choose to
be good, she mused. Be the
balance to “bad” everyday.

Monday, 4/24: Nesting Crows

Through the nearly naked branches
they flit and wobble and jump.
Little black revelers on a hunting party
for the perfect, breakable twig.

They laugh and flap and carry on,
flying off now and again.
One perfect stick is all three of them need
to celebrate a suitable win.

Tuesday, 4/25: Eleven Things

I see you standing there
judging me silently.
What is it this time?
My lack of forced smile,
my bare face,
my disregard for titles and accomplishments?

Maybe it’s my tattoos, but
that seems so cliche.
My non-designer clothes,
my metal-filled ears?
Or just my
general distain for the endless small-talk loop.

I laugh too loud,
or not enough,
snicker at all the
wrong things but
I just take
everything far too serious, too literal, too thoughtful.

I know where I
fall short, why I
don’t fit in, how I
could change.
But I am who I am. Like who I am. Just gotta be me.

Wednesday, 4/26: Tick-Tock

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
I stare, and type, and stare some more.
Backspace is a fickle friend.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
I rush to get ready for work and more.
Showers are a friendly devil.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
I work and think and work some more.
Money is a devilish master.

Tick-tock, tick-tock,
I always end up racing the clock.
Perhaps I should stop.

Thursday, 4/27: Relief

Days like this I
long to be
up on a mountain,
under the trees.

Perched atop a
bold old rock,
watching a meadow,
maybe a fox.

Smelling the earth,
feeling the breeze,
hearing the waterfall
just through the leaves.

It’s peaceful here,
though nature is loud.
My soul finds peace in
the absence of crowds.

When darkness falls
and stars shine bright,
I’ll lay in the meadow
and drink in the night.

Friday, 4/28: Red & The Wolf

You’re a good granddaughter, going out
in the cool evening air,
basket of fresh baked breads in hand,
maybe a pie or two.

Your red cloak is bright against brown
bark, a beacon
of aid as you travel the well worn path
under the forest trees.

It’s quieter tonight — no birdsong
or insect buzzing.
The hair on your arms rises, the beat of
your heart quickens.

You drop your basket at the sight of
claw marks on the door.
You rush inside, a red streak that
matches grandmother’s blood.

He growls low, the wolf you thought
beautiful in the forest.
He waits half-under the flowery nightgown your
mother made, torn and stained.

It’s too late to run, you know. You
close your eyes
as he moves near, rotten, copper-tinged breath
hot on your face.

Your red cloak flutters to the floor,
shredded
as the huntsman approaches.
Is there life after death for you?

Saturday, 4/29: Through a Dog’s Eye

Sittin’ in the backyard,
squirrel up a pine tree,
being really quiet so
the little dude don’t see me.

Chompin’ on some tall grass,
actin’ all casual.
Sneakin’ in the garden ‘cause
it’s no place for an animal.

Maybe we’ll go walkin’ later
but I’m kinda lazy so…
might pretend to go along
and dig my heels in half-way home.

Layin’ on the patio,
see a kitty-cat go by.
Gotta chase him outta here,
kiss that furry tail goodbye!

Sittin’ in the backyard,
squirrel up a pine tree…

Sunday, 4/30: Poem 30

One month of poems,
thirty days in all,
a challenge,
a dare,
a siren’s grave call.

Poems about feathers,
of silence and noise,
of nature
and nurture,
of sorrows and joys.

A change in perspective,
new focus each day,
more words,
new skills,
better habits for May.

The poetry challenge
is done now, it’s true,
pen down,
notebook closed,
‘til once more it calls you.

*****************************************************

Did you write any poetry this month? Better yet – did you read any?

Poem-A-Day Challenge: Week 3

Whew! I kept up better this week, but I’m not sure the poems are any better (and some of the daily prompts were…difficult, as you might be able to tell from a few of the poems).

One more week to go – and next week’s post will be up sometime Sunday, as that’s the last day of the challenge (that way I can post the full week’s poems together).


Saturday, 4/15: Rejuvenation

There in the wasteland I heard the voices.
They called to me with whispered fervor
I could not ignore.

There flows a river in the cave, they murmured.
Immerse yourself in the dark damp womb.
Listen to the silence.

I found the maw and entered the gloom,
let the rushing black water infuse my soul.
Waited in meditation.

Anguish and anxiety considered a toll,
freely sacrificed to quiet the river roar.
Flood of emotion.

Silence at last reveals a musty, moist core
full of secrets stale as the dank, slimy ground.
A heart wide open.

Let everything out while there’s no one around,
examine, release, tidy up, empty out.
Listen to the voices.

Spirit renewed, it’s the end of a drought,
Rise and leave the dark damp behind.
Find light and laughter.

Sunday, 4/16: Piloting

Nothing above me and nothing below,
the wind is my playground
the sky is my home.

Swooping and swaying on currents unseen,
I catch a big air-wave
surf my mighty machine.

Roll left, then right, then into a dive,
my stomach jumps lightly
reminds me I’m alive.

Someday I’ll go higher, straight into the stars,
zero-gravity beckons,
and perhaps even Mars.

Monday, 4/17: If Only…

If only I could capture in words what I feel
and spin them into wonderous stories
when I sit down in the deep dark of night.

If only the thoughts that swirl and bounce
could be expressed in words and freely shared
when I need to be there for a friend.

If only all the sage wisdom of our ancenstors
could be collected in a bottle and used as vaccine
when idiocy touches people in the head.

If only there were a way to take a trip and
experience all the many lives we might have lived
when we made one choice over another, over another.

If only sleep was quick and deep and restful,
uninterrupted by demons or nightmares or cold feet
when my head finally settles heavy on the pillow.

Tuesday, 4/18: Shower Spectre

The shower is warm,
the curtain is tight,
a cool draft ‘crossed my body
brings no real delight.

A noiseless whisper
of soul brushing skin,
I shiver when touch comes,
spin ‘round again.

Who are you, I murmur,
and what do you want?
my shower is really
no place for a haunt.

No answer is given,
nor will ever be.
I suspect that my spectre
is only just me.

Wednesday, 4/19: The Perfect Cup

Open the bag,
inhale the fragrant leaves
deep and earthy, like fresh loam.

Fill the kettle,
with cold, fresh tap water,
wait for the heat and steam.

A china cup,
a pretty saucer, perhaps.
Or a thick mug, if you please.

The leaves dance,
plump up, unfurl and release,
steeping gentle in stainless steel mesh.

Savor the taste,
a robust feel on the tongue,
the rich, heady flavor of nature.

Thursday, 4/20: Mirror Dear

Who’s the fairest,
mirror dear?
I think the answer’s
all too clear.

Colored gray hair and
problem skin aside,
we both know who’s
witty and funny and wise.

Long shapely nails,
colored bright hues,
pale blue-gray eyes
and all sorts of tattoos.

Everyone needs
imperfections you know
but do we really need to mention those?

A thoughtful mind,
a logical brain,
boring to some,
but intelligence won’t wane.

No need to respond
mirror dear,
I think the answer’s
all too clear.

Friday, 4/21: Connections

There’s a moment in time,
one not often felt,
when you feel a soft rhyme,
that connects with someone else.

A look, a touch, a vibration of air,
a warmth that won’t ever let go,
that incredible knowledge you’re part of a pair,
and only the two of you know.

No matter the troubles,
or how far you may roam,
the safe, cozy bubble
of shared affection is always home.


Thanks for reading…feel free to share your own poems below. And stop back next Sunday for the last week’s worth of poetry!

 

Priorities & Forced Balance

Last week wasn’t nearly as bad as the week before in general, which is kind of odd since work was decidedly difficult. The difference is, I dealt with it much better, and while I didn’t stay caught up all the time, I did prioritize a lot better. It’s amazing how much just setting solid priorities can alleviate so much stress – and allow us to get more done than we might otherwise.

The poetry challenge was especially “challenging” this past week, but I managed to end Saturday caught up for the week (I’m behind a poem again as of right now, but I’ll catch up tonight). Poetry is all about “flow” and ironically, fitting it into my schedule has been exactly that. Looking for the proper flow, so I can slot it into each day at some point.

I think I mentioned that I was trying to use some of my nightly knitting/crochet/TV time to catch some of the overflow, and my body told me very quickly that it was just not going to happen. My eyes went downhill again, my brain refused to work, and pretty much every night sitting there with the computer on my lap, I eventually just gave up and shut it while I finished my hour-long TV show.

Incidentally, we’ve been watching Iron Fist and Wynonna Earp on Netflix. Iron Fist is entertaining, but I highly, highly recommend Wynonna Earp. So, so good!

In any case, that hour is very necessary down-time, and my body & brain were quick to correct me when I tried to use it for work. So…it would appear that time is just as sacrosanct as my writing time. This week, I’ll get the knitting back out while watching TV.

My neck is healing, but very slowly, and I’m kind of to the point where it feels like it just needs gentle stretching and then to build up the muscle around that nerve to protect it from being pinched again. I have to be careful, as it still won’t really “work” at several angles, but I’ve started doing light weight training in my shoulders/arms again. We’ll see how that goes, but hopefully it will be helpful. Stupid neck.

In any case, my writing output increased again last week, and no matter how much this poetry thing stresses me out, I am *loving* what it’s doing as far as just getting me back in the daily writing habit. That right there was worth the cost of the workshop (though I’m obviously learning so much more…).

And for those who have been following along weekly – yes, my taxes are done and will be in the mail on April 18th. I’m not efiling because I owe the feds money, and they can just wait for my check to get there, thank you very much. This coming Friday night, I’m adding some dedicated bookkeeping time to my weekly business hours.

I’ve been thinking lately of pulling a couple of shelved drafts out and reworking them for publication. The basic plot is sound enough, but they need revision/additions to work. I do believe that might be something to work on after poetry month is over. I’m excited at the prospect, and I hate revising with a passion. So there’s gotta be something there, right? We’ll see.

Serial story chapter coming Friday, and another week’s worth of poems Saturday. Stay tuned!