Monday, December 31, 2012


I fear failure
I fear the walls closing in
I fear being crushed by the weight
I fear love more than I fear hate
I fear indifference
I fear the truth
I fear her leaving
I fear not being enough
I fear falling
I fear the dark
I fear my heart
I fear myself.

Sunday, December 30, 2012

We Were Miscreants

Burlap meditation
Effervescence in the bottleneck
Our nonsense hopes and dreams
Ethereal perspective
Turgid dementia of the past
Lost within a demarcation
We were miscreants.

Prompt "A Word with Laurie: Review"

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Broken Pieces by Rachel Thompson

by Rachel Thompson
My Rating 5/5 Stars

This is one of the most intense and honest books I have ever read. I have trouble putting into words how much it means to me. I can open up Broken Pieces and feel someone has truly been through hell and it puts my problems into perspective. On another level, I can relate to the pain of partners being unfaithful and how much it eats away at you. Rachel Thompson strikes deep into the reader's heart as she opens up her own. Her journey is not humorous but it is real. You will admire her strength and you will not pity her. Pity is not he purpose of this book. Thompson shares her story because it is a story that needs told and will benefit those suffering from abuse, both sexual and not. Sexual harassment, molestation of children and rape are not a thing of the past; they continues and we must be aware. We must stop all of it with everything we have. Broken Pieces is a book everyone will be better for reading. I know I am.

Thursday, December 27, 2012


My breath fogs up the windows
I can’t see out the car
But you will never see inside.
The doors are locked
I’ve turned the radio as
Loud as it can go.
Scream your head off
I’ll breathe in the exhaust.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Cento for NWCU

You are young, so young,
I can walk through lonely aisles
Always finding what I want in you.
The words aren’t right.
They never could be.
I held you too tight
And you slipped through my hands.
I poured myself into you.

Stroll with me in green -
Hard rain falls
Our twilight spins
Lost in constellation.
The fire whispers
Background jazz.
Pasts forgotten
I kiss you in your sleep.
Bright stars dimmer in the cold.

Prompt from Wednesday Wake-Up Call 26.12.12 Collage to Close the Year. We were challenged to create a work from other works throughout the year.  I chose to write a cento from my two collections, Night Poems and Haiku in the Night.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Dirt Road Dreams by Susie Clevenger

by Susie Clevenger
My Rating 5/5 Stars

Life is a journey and nothing tells its story better than good poetry. Dirt Road Dreams may appear unassuming from the cover but the simplicity is short lived. Susie Clevenger’s words, in essence, are that road – curving boldly through the depth of her experience. It is not always nicely paved and you will get dirty time to time. Clevenger is a real woman, her perceptions and emotions relatable while at the same time deeply profound. Her worldliness is grounded in reality. She divides poetry into three categories: Barefoot on Gravel, Kicking up Sand, and Dancing in the Dust. I felt each section said something unique about the author, feeding into larger themes of perseverance, hope, femininity and love. I highly recommend this debut collection.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Old Mall

I see closed down stores
People in the distance
My feet echo and I hear them.
Where is everyone?
Years ago, I kissed
Amanda on the bench.
We dated for a week or two
Losing touch soon after.
Where is she now?
The bench is clean,
Too clean. I bet
She hasn't seen it since.

Saturday, December 22, 2012

A Christmas Gnome Tale

Motty hated Christmas.  Every year was as disappointing as the last.  No, it wasn’t presents; those were the least of his worries.  Motty was a gnome and gnomes worked constantly.  They didn’t get holidays or sick leave.  The last of his kind to even mention vacation had been tied to a stump and left for dead.

This Christmas, however was by far the worst.  Motty had spent the previous holiday working in the mines and even that did not measure up.  The politicians decided the working class, like Motty, needed what they termed a calling to instill allegiance.  The high stratification of their class system left two options: a more equitable distribution of acorns or war.  Acorns didn’t budge and war was soon declared.

Motty mumbled to himself over the injustice as he marched outside his tree.  His neighbors and he were headed for what was surely certain death.  The gnomes of the rich neighborhoods could not be seen.  Motty assumed they were flying above on dragonflies, safe from harm.  They never marched or did much fighting.

The fairies hadn’t harmed a gnome in two hundred years but the politicians insisted they were planning to.  That’s who they would soon attack: the fairies of Evamorf.  Fairies were a shy lot obsessed with security.  Their hill was an impenetrable fortress.  None who ventured inside ever returned to tell the tale.

Ji Phi, the Gnome King claimed a fairy attempted to assassinate him.  His evidence was dust near his cup of tea.  No fairies were found but he stuck to his story.  The king never considered he spilled his sugar…

Motty gathered sticks to defend himself.  There were few weapons.  Potion bottles clanked in his satchel but they were not perfected.  Motty wanted to be a scientist working safely behind from the front.  He lacked the connections, however.  The posts often went to families of higher breeding, leaving the poor with fewer options.  Motty continued tinkering, trying new concoctions with little hope of it amounting to much.  Before the war he had almost finished a shrinking elixir.  It shrunk his coin purse and he didn’t eat for days.

The march was long and Motty’s mind continued drifting.  Much taller gnomes marched in front and behind.  He never saw what came ahead.

“Form ranks,” a distant voice said.  It must have been a general.

None listened.  Gnomes ran in every possible direction.  Motty dodged bare feet and boots before they smashed him.  It was chaos.  Commanders fired arrows from above on dragonflies.  They were not intended for the enemy. 

The gnome who marched in front of Motty minutes prior fell dead.  An arrow was lodged deep into his skull.  Advancing Fairies soon enveloped his body.  They were moving closer.  Motty threw his sticks down and ran for safety.  Hopefully his own commanders would not kill him.

Motty dodged the arrows from above but the spritely wings of fairies caught up with him.  He reached inside his satchel and his hand brushed by the potions he packed.  They weren’t perfected but he had to try them.

Motty closed his eyes and threw a vial behind him.  He ran for another five seconds before he had the courage to look.  It was an amazing sight.  The fairies chasing him had transformed to pink ornaments on a large pine tree with presents underneath.  For a moment both armies stopped fighting to gaze at its splendor and unwrap gifts.

Minutes passed and none resumed fighting.  The rest of the gnomes began dropping sticks and what other weapons they brought.  Fairies did the same with their pink daggers.  Laughter replaced the anguish of death.  The glittering of the tinsel shined bright enough the commanders could not aim from the sky and song broke out below.  Motty partially hummed, singing the words that he remembered and embracing his new friends.  A festive sweater covered the blood stains on his battle cloak.

Whether the battle resumed or not, it didn’t matter.  For the first time in a very long while Motty loved Christmas.

Friday, December 21, 2012

O Christmas Tree on Ocarina

Happy holidays, everyone! I recorded a song for you.

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Sandy Hook

For the families mourning in Connecticut:

Because words are stronger than bullets
We will keep hate on the run with love
And our children shall return to us.
You will see your faith renewed;
The darkest cloud of doubt
Can only rain so long.

Sun will shine and fill your empty beds with light
I promise it will come. I promise you.
Just as dusk gives way to dawn,
Your heart will beat again.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Today's Tragedy

Today I was heartbroken. The news hit hard. Over twenty people in Connecticut dead; eighteen children. I clung to the radio in my car, trying to understand. Why? Is it the lapse of federal gun laws? Is our mental health system so deteriorated in this country as not to get these psychopaths the care or seclusion they need? I was angry. I wanted to blame the killer, I wanted to blame society, myself and everyone. Is this something that will keep happening until everyone is numb? Aurora, Virginia Tech, Columbine… it feels the same and yet it doesn't. A grown man decided to enter an elementary school and commit a vicious act of evil beyond comprehension.

I thought all of this on my way to volunteering at a local elementary school. I expected lock down but no one else had even heard. It was better that way. The kids carried on much like they always do. I played games and pushed two young girls on the swing, thankful they were okay. That’s all any of us can really do right now. We can only be thankful for our children and the ones around us and pray that they stay safe.

When someone takes the life or innocence of a child it shatters us. Maybe it’s because we see in them the ability to extend our own mortality; maybe it’s because our hope for a brighter future is tarnished. I know for one, when I see my niece or any young child, I see hope; the potential for someone to live and do the things I never could. I doubt often I can change the world but never them. They are free; vulnerable but free. And when society fails to protect them it fails everyone.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Help Children This Holiday Season with a Paperback of The Funny Adventures of Little Nani by Cinta Garcia

Author Cinta Garcia recently released an amazing collection of stories involving a witch whose attempts to help people often go awry. It was easily one of the best books I read this year. The imagination, the heart, as well as the cultural and environmental insights make it a must read. But, particularly, this month, you cannot miss the opportunity. Cinta Garcia is donating $10 of every purchase to help disadvantaged children this holiday season.

In her own words, “I donate money every year to a children's charity of my choice, and this year I was going to do the same. So I decided to use my book in order to make people be more aware of those children who don't have happy Christmas, those kids who don't get presents under the tree, or who maybe don't even have a tree, those kids who have to spend Christmas time in hospitals.” I was particularly touched by this generosity. We clearly need more people like her. Be sure and get the paperback! It’s a tremendous book and a fantastic cause. You can find it on Amazon and Createspace.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Haiku in the Night

I recently released a book of haiku titled Haiku in the Night. It's an eclectic mix of free-verse and traditional divided into four colors: green, red, gray and blue. I took inspiration from the Japanese legend Basho and his separation by season.  Also, I thought I would share a few of my favorites with my lovely readers.

We are lunar martyrs
Dying by our telescopes
Lost in constellations.

I moonwalked
once upon a time
without you.

When your kisses lie
Whispers and your touch deceive
I am left alone.

Get it on:

Sunday, December 09, 2012

Finding Truth

I'm trying to put my feelings for my grandfather into context. I think there was much unsaid and unresolved between us at the time of his death. The first step, obviously is being as honest as I'm able with my feelings.

For Grandpa 
your heroic days were stories
that I never saw but I believed.
I wish I knew you then and
not the hardened man
I can’t remember having
a sincere embrace with.
then again, I wish I took the time
to understand the way you were;
why you cried when grandma died
and then remarried not long after.
it didn’t make sense and neither
did the illness that took over
when she didn’t love you
the same way or much at all.

Saturday, December 08, 2012


At the turn of the century, I was 13
Almost half the age at which I write
I don't remember very much, except
Our bubbled drinks not quite champagne
The thrill of staying up past bedtime
And New Years Rockin' Eve, that now
I just can't watch without Dick Clark.

Image Source:

Sunday, December 02, 2012

Waxing Poetic by Amber Norrgard

by Amber Jerome~ Norrgard
My rating 5/5 Stars

It was refreshing and emotional to read through Amber Norrgard's poetry in one collection. Color of Dawn, In the Gloaming and 11:59 p.m. strike a powerful chord together as they do apart. You will be shaken, touched, torn into and reassembled by her words of pain and perseverance.