Enamored
with your
eyes
your gentle touch
of lips
but most of all
how you listened
to my heart
*
©MidwestFantasy/Beth Amanda
July 2014
Day: January 26, 2020
Throwback Friday – I promised not to tell – Eugenia
A cool crisp breeze startles the trees
Blankets the past with golden leaves
Our steps are hidden where we walked
Nature’s creatures – not one’s to talk
No, doubt the wind will surely blow
Revealing secrets we shouldn’t know
§
© Franci Eugenia Hoffman
A gander at me –
I enjoyed a dedicated career in the insurance industry for over 20 years being rewarded both professionally and personally. Now it’s time for me to follow my dreams by doing things I enjoy…spending time with family, learning, sharing, traveling, writing poetry and encouraging others to pursue their goals. My writing and creative endeavors can be found at my blogs, Eugi’s Causerie (And so it goes…) and PoetryPalette (Poetry, a seasonal state of mind), where I have gathered a following of kindred souls who share my passion for writing. I have authored Seasoned Delights, A Haiku Collection and Mama, me and Mother…
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To The Centre – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
dVerse Poets – Open Link Night
Photo: Lemon Scented Gum, St. Mark’s Park, Bunbury
“How can we know ourselves by ourselves? Soul needs intimate connection, not only to individuate, but simply to live. For this we need relationships of the profoundest kind through which we can realise ourselves where self-revelation is possible ….” James Hillman
To The Centre
Beyond the face of it
time is best immersive,
taken slowly,
small steps, never strides,
a very small journey that is quite long
from the outer to the centre,
a lifetime more or less,
and the closer one draws
to that precious place
is to feel the layers peeling off
with a new vulnerability
open to the world
as the mask thins and
crumbles to the ground.
©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
the twilight hours
I feel you in the pouring rain
violent or soft as a summer storm.
A distant star you appear only to fade
into the night from which you came.
Decaying gardenias fill my room with mortality
a treacly specter of memories.
Wounded hearts are slow to heal
I have become indifferent to pain.
We are a wasteland, all poetic breath died with us.
I long for the scent of earth infused with deep roots
the soothing sounds of chimes swaying from the
limb of a live oak, soothing sounds for the twilight hours.
Sunday Photo Fiction – Jan 19 2020
Pixabayphoto
Welcome to Sunday Photo Fiction! Here is this week’s photo, your challenge is to use the picture as inspiration to write a story in200 words or less.
~*~
Barrel and basket
Hoe and spade
Here are my farm implements
Put on display for you
Not many people have seen
These in today’s world
They are a novelty to most
How we used to do things
In the days of yore
Using our muscles not machines
Pouring our sweat in the soil, not oil
Take a good look at these relics
For you are not likely to see them again
~*~
#Keepitalive
#SPF
Friday Favorites-80s Metalman’s Blog
Welcome to another addition of my Friday Favorites! Each week I will share with you information about a blog/blogger that I follow and why they are a favorite of mine. Please be sure to check out their site because they may become a favorite of yours too! Today’s favorite is Mike’s 80s Metalman’s Blog.
Although I’m a big fan of Heavy Metal Music, Mike will put enough of a spin on things to make it interesting for me. Mike and I connected on WordPress quite some time ago and he’s always been willing to participate and give input when asked. I also find Mike to be encouraging and kind.
THIS is a page about Great Movie soundtracks in 1984. This was fun for me, looking over Mike’s comments about movies like Ghost Busters, StarMan and Karate Kid. HERE is a post Mike did about the soundtrack…
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IDENTIFY
Let the Word Of The Day Challenge inspire you to write!!
The Word of the Day is Identify
Write a Poem, story or anecdote, inspired by this word.
Please create a pingback to your post by including a link to this page in whatever you are posting.
If you want to participate create a pingback to link your post. Not sure how to do that? See how to create pingbacks here.
https://en.support.wordpress.com/comments/pingbacks/
Most Importantly, Have Fun.
Lost In The Light ~ A Poem By Walt Page, The Tennessee Poet
I’m lost
Lost in the light
Searching for the darkness
That caresses me
Protects me
Searching for the words
That are only found
In darkness
It’s too bright
Blinding me
Help me
Please
I’m lost
Lost in the light
Please
Lead me
To the darkness
`The Tennessee Poet~
©Walt Page 2020 All Rights Reserved
The Value of Overcoming Hardships for Better Writing Success – Daily Quote
Writing is easy until it isn’t. I don’t believe in writer’s block, but I concede there are reasons and situations which often derail our best intentions.
It sounds simple, to sit down and put pen to paper, fingers to the keyboard, and the pedal to the metal. Many would-be writers discount learning and developing the required processes. Hitting on a brilliant novel premise, navigating hard to establish beginnings, mucking through messy middles, and devising satisfying endings to create your masterwork, are the initial steps to completing your first draft. Next comes ego-crushing revisions, where you remove your darlings, followed by never-ending edits. No pressure there.
The worst part is writing reveals our lack of knowledge or competence. When the narrative stalls, leaving us staring at a blank page, and volunteering to clean the bathroom, it is a sure sign we need to pinpoint the cause. Sometimes the solution is obvious…
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Entrance – #writephoto – #poetry – #life
Darkness in the distance plays, my thoughts, they start to mingle; is it calm or trepidation that makes my senses tingle? Chiseled rocks, I climb upon, careful to plant my feet; so to peer beyond the opening, then, wondering what I’ll meet.
Is it just an empty cave? Or does something live within? Do I dare to challenge this? I hesitate, as I begin. Quietly making my way inside, sneaking about, like a tiny mouse, I realize I am not alone, it is me inside this house.
Silently moving within this space, I hear her voice, to me, she is calling; “No need to be afraid, my dear”, as my legs give, but I’m not falling. I stumble, to try to find the earth, the solid ground, underneath, is no longer; ever slowly, I feel myself rising above, my spirit, growing much stronger.
I am not afraid, no fear inside…
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The Reluctant Poet 