I'm so excited ....

... here is the cover proof of the book "Images of America: Harrodsburg" which Anna Armstrong and I are writing ....



What do you think! Personally, I LOVE it, but I'm a little prejudice.

Spell-Bound

SPELL-BOUND

Terrifying experiences
signal a disaster is coming.
Although the surface seems calm and serene,
unbeknownst to them,
strange things have begun to happen
A long dead woman,
spell-bound by her beauty,
has been lured from her grave,
to make them pay,
to seek her revenge.





(Photo by Randy Ellefson)

Shambles

SHAMBLES

A summer storm has subsided
and all is quiet,
but there are continued hints of clandestine gloom.
Everything is now in ruins
and an ever growing mystery
is leading to a new event,
drawing us closer to catastrophe.





(Photo by Dan Felstead of Wood and Pixels Narratives)

Shroud of Darkness

SHROUD OF DARKNESS

Darkness hangs like a shroud,
sooner or later we'll be together again.
Our love is all we need.

All is silent, ominously silent,
violence will continue,
an event setting off a chain of events.

A blaze of flame at the top of the cliff,
begging, pleading - then burst into flames;
he is gone, never to return.

A great storm rages over the heaven,
a rainless storm
for vengeance has become an obsession;
and he takes advantage of the opportunity for revenge,
by killing the girl his enemy loves;
turning her into a grotesque skeleton of his lost love.

Darkness hangs like a shroud,
as the stormy night draws closer to dawn.
A young man broods over a decision;
an era gone by,
the threshold between past and future.
Torn between the woman he once loved and the one he now loves.

Morning, a morning that should be a happy one,
love that lasted through time,
haunting adventure,
mysterious and terrifying
stands in majestic isolation.

Under the brightness of a full moon,
but no one knows that under this full moon
means something it has never meant before.
It is the sign of a new and evil power
that prowls the woods in search of a victim.

First night with strange and weird discoveries -
faint voices from the past
over an ancient phone with on wire connections.
There is a storm raging, a storm that can't block out
the wails of the past, the wails legends say
come when there is someone to die, the wails of the dead.

Darkness envelopes the world tonight for an incantation has been performed to rid the house of strange spirits roaming the halls -
there is danger in this night -
a mysterious voice from beyond the grave and a new terror
will take over the feelings of the frightened family.

The great halls echo, with the rumble of thunder illuminated
by light flashes of the angry storm, as two angry
spirits battle in conflict - spirits long since dead,
as the rain finally starts to fall.

When I Can't Write

When I can’t write, then I’m either sick or something is wrong. I write from the time I get up until I can’t keep my eyes open at night. I may never write the Great American Novel, but I have been an obsessive writer since I was eleven years old.

I keep a daily journal, work on several blogs and I have many freelance jobs at the present. Everything makes me feel like writing. It may not be what I should be writing, but I’m always putting words on paper or keyboard.

Right now, there is a group of kids on the swing set (Old Fort Harrod Park) and they are inspiring a poem. Even though I may only jot down single words, they will end up as a poem or story before the night is over.

Rainy days inspire me more than sunny days, because I love the smell and feel of rain in the air. My wildflowers inspire me because they are God’s gift – pampered, hybrid flowers just don’t mean the same to me.

The past two months, my words and writings have been about my youngest daughter, Christine and her plans for college at Berea. Over the past month, since the illness and death of my Momma, I have filled two and a half notebooks with words, thoughts and prayers. I’m not ready to turn them into anything yet, but the words are there when I’m finally ready.

The past few days have been the best because they have been filled with words and thoughts about my first grandchild, Devon Mikayla. Of course, she is not my official first grandchild because I have a step-grandchild, Delilah Rose, who is the sweetest little two year old you would ever want. But there will always be a special place in my heart for my little Tadpole.

Words come easy for me, if not, something is wrong.

Crazy M-I-L

CRAZY M-I-L


Crazy,
pure and simple crazy.
Not coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs crazy,
but full of bragging and constant deceit,
and thinking only of herself.
Full of evil deeds, with plots and planning -
so glad she is out of my life.

On a Hot Summer Night

ON A HOT SUMMER NIGHT

Crying
Sarah, answer your phone
Clang, clang of the see-saw
Squeak of the swings
Watch both ways
Siren from fire truck
Kids squealing
Kids laughing
The ice cream truck bell
Leaves rustling
Birds crying
Wind blowing
Words forming

Survivor's Guilt

Today's Tarot tells me:

"My alter ego is The Compassionate One, whose superpower lies in revelation of my life and worldly events. I will reflect a sense of gratitude for my life and those involved by showing humility, forgiveness and charity. By doing so, I feel a strong redemption for past events -- a great liberating feeling. I have punished myself enough and am free at last. Clearing the conscience through forgiving yourself and others can bring an overwhelming sense of peace and joy."

I feel like I have been punishing myself for the deaths of my sister and my Momma, so I'm trying to free myself from the survivors guilt. A wise friend told me to: "Clear my conscience by forgiving myself, and my friends will bring an overwhelming sense of peace and joy." I'm going to give it a try ....

To College or War

TO COLLEGE OR WAR

My daughter is off to college today,
it's almost like going to war.
Trunks are filled, bags are packed,
the house is feeling smaller already.
I think this is a good thing,
even a great thing,
but the thought of my baby being gone
is a bitter pill to swallow.
Posters off the wall, books carefully packed away,
Disney characters stare back at me,
wondering where their owner has gone.
Harrodsburg, Danville and into the heart of Lancaster.
Thistles, Joe Pye Weed, Crepe Myrtle, Ironweed and Goldenrod,
bloom along the way.
A cliff lined with limestone,
blasted away to make room for these asphalt roads.
Paint Lick Elementary School in Cartersville -
Highway 954.
Yellow tobacco waiting to be cut,
and creek beds drying with rocks peeking up their heads on each side.
Cattails sway in the breeze as we follow a truck containing
a Crucifixion cross like a scene from "Mad Max."
Madison County, East 21,
Berea,
my God, we're almost there.
Blondies's Ice Cream Parlor and the Circle K,
and our honeymoon spot - the Holiday Motel.
Berea College approaches,
the time is finally here.
I know it is not a good-bye,
just an, "I'll see you later,"
but why does it feel like forever?

~~August 21, 2010

Surviving Grief

(Photo copyright All Poetry.com)

SURVIVING GRIEF


We have mourned and wept for those who have passed on.
Our tears have dried, but our hearts are scarred eternally;
life is contained and our memories serve to freshen the wound.
We are therefore vulnerable to shock that has turned to regret.

Of all the grieved we will soon be drawn,
some to faint rays of light which appear on the horizon,
and others disappearing into the darkness.
We have known what it is to live in the darkness,
what it is to find a moment of light,
only to be plunged into darkness again,
For one who seems to be a friend, has separated
the present reality to a fake reality,
and salvation has been denied.

To live, to exist, is to expose oneself to uncertainty.
Changes are all around us
and we can never be sure when new perils will arrive.
But jeopardy does not respect time
and we must be prepared for the next encounter.