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| I am back; it's been a while; to log back in sure made me smile. and shine, ye, bright, ye new sun light; the writing shall reach a brand new height I've missed this place; and just in case, I should lose my way again, come thither, my friends, and drag me back to where writing has always been :) |
Nice to have you back.      |
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| open submissions for the month of april. they have my first collection and their spiritual oriented child Hallway publishing has my second collection. they are what industry calls a royalties paying small press. if you think you're ready now's a good time http://wintergoosepublishing.com/submissions/ |
composed for discussions of revision's anguish at "~ The Poet's Place Cafe~"  but thought I'd share here for we'd all understand :) he set to sail from whine to wail as he filled the sea with red ink through belove'd words that he'd writ so free. he cried, "No! Red Pen, do not go "Through that perfect word!" but it's rhyme word did not fit; it sounded quite absurd. then the meter like a reef of coral rips the hull stopped him flat and that was that another word to cull. oh the joys of meter'd rhyme in revision's pain. not just a line but that above and bellow's his bane and then he's done; the sea war's won until he reads again and finds just one more word to change; the battle's ne'er to win you'd think I'd hate revision but I love that part :) Monty |
| who recall's Poe's short story of Amontillado? my tribute
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| wow! I did NOT expect to find this upon waking from nap. my name in "Invalid Item" and mentions of "Invalid Item" in best short poem structured. my thanks go out to the folk who stuck my name in the kettle and to "Invalid Item" without those folk this piece would never have found birth and life |
| no matter what happens beginning 2015, 2014 shall remain with me always as it was a special year in writing. one of the "Invalid Item" two pieces accepted for publication in "The Muse Master's Poetry Anthology" (which may seem small to some folk but tis the first time ever to have single pieces published for this lil old feller) Publisher nominated for the national 2015 PushCart Prize award for works published in 2014 my second collection "To Walk Beyond the Dark" came out through Hallway Publishing and in it some of what may be the best work I may do the rest of my days any one of the above four would have made noteworthy year but all make for one great year and one I'll ever recall. and much of that I owe to this site and the wonderful folk here |
| *a bit of fluff in tercets* mystic hangs the magic haze; the lights and darks of that gray maze turn days to nights and nights to days and nowhere in that heavy mist to escape by door or fist. "be still, ye ghosts, ye don't exist!" except in haze of nights to days where none might see what danger lays ahead. We walk into the grays |
my humbled ty's to all of you Marci Missing Everyone  angelina on vacation and ~Lifelessons~ for the warm remarks :) |
| *a tidbit'o writer's fluff in extended metaphor ... mostly cuz I'd no idea where it was headed* and looked upon as favor'd pawn, he was sent to die, and foolish lemming that he was he never did ask why. with sword held high the battle cry issued from his throat, but died upon the dawn's fresh air, as if it had been smote. and somewhere courage sought to flee as death hung o'er his head; he kneeled and begged his foe to spare his life. "I weep," he said. and then to turn the sword's tip down and press the pen to page; thus by his muse, he swung his sword; red ink would spill like rage! a thousand words would fall that day to a single bloodied sword. O, ye red pen, mighty one, Ye struck down every word! |
| before 2014 thanksgiving holidays I began writing a trial story (short biography really) that would lead to not a full time income but a sizable and steady part of income as one of the staff/contract writers for niche publisher. today, a third of the way through Jan 15 I got all the "full fledged writer" emails and the go ahead to begin taking stories (short biographies around God's salvataion) next week. perchance I am a writer ... |
for any who've read Browning's "childe Rolland" poem I stand grateful to that form and rhyme scheme, as I'd offer my imitation
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| who's felt this way? *a tidbit'o sad day fluff on writing* The writer’s dead! The poet died; No tears were shed for no one cried. And, lo! Upon a dark sunrise A stallion rode the blood-red skies. Not white, not black but in between, It’s eyes glowed dark then emerald green. It galloped from the war-torn east, It’s hooded rider, long sans rest. The ancient scythe swung o’er his head And slung its drops of crimson red. Some folk would say they blindly saw A writer’s soul as it would draw Upward towards the steel gray steed, One more to die of a dying breed; His last to write clutched in his fist Pointless scribbles in some list. His epitaph would read, they said, “By word and art he lies here dead, “His carcass feeds the great oak tree; “The wannabe has been set free.” And thus still walks a man, they say, But the writer in him's gone away. |
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