Writing and Poetry

Something to say

Well, it’s been a while since I posted but I have been busy. My writing journey has morphed into more than poetry and fiction. I have written several short non-fiction stories for consideration in Kansas publications and also a few fiction. I am exploring these genres and enjoying stretching my writing muscles.

My poetry book has been accepted for publication with Anamcara Press and we will begin serious work on getting it published this year. I am also exploring the historical fiction genre for a novel. There is so much rich history and including it in our books is a challenge to educate readers about our past.

Stay tuned for more on the curious tale of Amy Vine and her inheritance. Amy was displaced during the attempt by the British to protect children during the war and she ends up in a convent. Amy knows her first name and was found on Vine Street. Her story will unfold and she will find her place.

Writing and Poetry

Christmas

I recently went looking for a small nativity for John, my son, to keep in his room. We looked in bookstores, mall pop-ups, and large department stores, and sadly we discovered that the world is stealing the true meaning of Christmas. There was one small kiosk with beautiful nativities from the Holy land but otherwise, there was no indication that Christ had any part to play in this celebration.

There was an abundance of trees, Santas and elves, reindeer, gnomes, and one, or two angels but not a single Christ-child in a store. Who are we celebrating? Why are we denying Him? His birth is the entire purpose for this celebration but our retailers are afraid to have His image or name in their stores.

We might as well call it Santamas or Elfmas. It was a wake-up call for me. I know that we all get carried away but to realize that CHRIST has been made small in christmas was a painful realization.

I am sharing this poem and this post as a reminder to all of us that Jesus is the reason for this celebration. Let’s keep Christ in Christmas.

The Savior’s Birth

Bells are ringing,

Choirs singing,

Tidings of good cheer.

People rushing,

Fixing stuffing;

But why are we here?

A babe they’re saying,

Singing, praying,

Bethlehem, we hear

Stop the rushing.

Forget the stuffing.

Truth is strong and clear.

We’re forgetting.

That long-ago setting.

The Saviors’ birth draws near.

Writing and Poetry

Christmas

I recently went looking for a small nativity for John, my son, to keep in his room. We looked in bookstores, mall pop-ups, and large department stores, and sadly we discovered that the world is stealing the true meaning of Christmas. There was one small kiosk with beautiful nativities from the Holy land but otherwise, there was no indication that Christ had any part to play in this celebration.

There was an abundance of trees, Santas and elves, reindeer, gnomes, and one, or two angels but not a single Christ-child in a store. Who are we celebrating? Why are we denying Him? His birth is the entire purpose for this celebration but our retailers are afraid to have His image or name in their stores.

We might as well call it Santamas or Elfmas. It was a wake-up call for me. I know that we all get carried away but to realize that CHRIST has been made small in christmas was a painful realization.

I am sharing this poem and this post as a reminder to all of us that Jesus is the reason for this celebration. Let’s keep Christ in Christmas.

The Savior’s Birth

Bells are ringing,

Choirs singing,

Tidings of good cheer.

People rushing,

Fixing stuffing;

But why are we here?

A babe their saying,

Singing, praying,

Bethlehem, we hear

Stop the rushing.

Forget the stuffing.

Truth is strong and clear.

We’re forgetting.

That long-ago setting.

The Saviors’ birth draws near.

Writing and Poetry

Writing Wins

The 105 Meadowlark Reader has accepted another of my short stories for publication. I feel so fortunate to be a part of this publication of Kansas stories.

My story, Blue English Racer was in the third issue and Little Things will be in the upcoming fourth issue. If you love short stories about growing up in Kansas a subscription to 105 Meadowlark Reader is just the ticket.

Individual books can be purchased on 105 Meadowlark Readers website, or you can purchase a subscription!

Writing and Poetry

Uprooted

If you love historical fiction you would enjoy Hazel Hart’s Pierce Family Saga and now her spin-off, Uprooted, The Adventures of Hanna True: Book 1.

It is a quick read.

I enjoyed the history and cultural aspects of the book. Women are just coming into the time when they are bravely pushing for the vote and other rights. Hannah has been left with nothing after her father dies and leaves the hotel she has been managing to her brothers-in-law. Women could not inherit property so Hannah has to find a new identity in a world hostile to women. She meets a man on the train that offers her a surprising solution. He owns a detective agency and wants Hannah to work for him.

The book is well written and in the tradition of Mrs. Hart’s other books, the history is researched and incorporated well. I have enjoyed each of the books in the Pierce Family Saga, and look forward to the next of Hannah True’s adventures.

Writing and Poetry

Wow! Another post already.

I just wanted to share another poem that will be in the upcoming book. We had about six inches of snow and it made me think of sharing this poem.

Winter Clouds

Barren boney-fingered
Trees reach to the heavens
Searching
For life in Winter clouds
Brooding dark filtering light
Holding back the warmth of
Sun
Teasing with glorious sunrises
Sunsets that dazzle
Waiting for the melting
Season
of life
Heavy with snow or icy rain
Turning the boney fingers
Into a crystal wonderland
Sometimes
Dumping random mounds
Of white like Cossack hats
Accents to counter 
Starkness
Winter clouds the canopy
In natures rhythm
A time to gather strength
Storing nourishment preparing
Sun
Breaks through the grey
Quilt and warms the earth
A peek at the fluff of white
Soon
Light will come with
The thunderheads of
Spring
and
Summer skies

Writing and Poetry

Valentines Day

I thought I would share a poem for valentines day that will be included in the poetry book that I hope to have completed in a couple of months.

Love changes as we grow and change.


Love Is

Love was
A tsunami of passion,
Cresting, plummeting,
Sucking you into the deep,
Then lifting you to start again.

Adrenaline rush,
Breathless kisses,
Electric touches,
Like the tides,
Ebb and flow,
So is love.

Mellowing, 
Softening,
Need becomes us,
Not me.
Thoughts not I
But we.

A glance Cherished, 
A touch encouraged,
You the other half
Of me.

We pant together in birth,
Cry together in death,
Pray together to reclaim faith.

Our beauty fades,
But I see
In me what you see,
The jewel that
Love is.
Writing and Poetry

The dilemma

My book series is complete, and I am working on a book of poetry. I always thought I would be a poet, but now that I got side-tracked with fiction, I find I like it. I want to publish some of my poems and then possibly some historical fiction.

The dilemma is: Should I put together several chapbooks or one or two larger themed poetry collections? I have several themes. Faith based poems, awareness poems, seasonal and weather poems, life, lessons, beauty. Where to begin?

I find I will read chapbook poems in one sitting and rarely go back to them. I am more likely to return to the more book type collections. One author with several themes in one book. Not a large volume, but more than a chapbook.

I would love to hear from readers. What is your favorite type of poetry and preferred book style? I am considering doing a couple of volumes with several sections.

Here is one for Autumn. Tell me what you think.

Photo by Abraham Braun on Pexels.co

Autumn

The colors are of
Earth not sky
No soft pinks
 But
Vibrant earthy hues
Orange, brown red
Yellow spun
In golden highlights

These colors are
What remains
Rushing through 
Veins of grasse
Of trees
 
Celebrating
Victory over
Drought, Flood
Thriving
Through Heat, 
Winds disease 
Pestilence

Surviving they
Wave their
Colors 
Jubilant
Proud as 
They prepare
For retreat
To mother earth

The colors are of
Earth not sky
A final splash
On the canvas
OF
Life
Until it begins
  Again