Mind Fields: Why Are Commercials?

Why Are Commercials?

May 2022

I’ve been watching these f..ing things since the beginning of television in the early fifties.

We call them “commercials”, thus making the word a noun. On offer in our affluent culture is a system built upon the marketing of various products. Without marketing there is no Capitalism. In the early days of TV we took for granted that every ten minutes or so the program would pause for a “word from our sponsor”. In most cases that sponsor was one of three things: food, pharmaceuticals or automobiles. 

It hasn’t changed. We still see these interruptions every X number of minutes. Nowadays we mute the volume or we fast-forward but we are forced to waste time on them, one way or another.

When I watch these things I feel a mixture of amused contempt and chagrin. The contempt is for myself and my brethren who have absorbed so many of these messages that the wasted time must amount to… what? Months? Years? I have to wonder. How much of my time has been spent either watching or avoiding these marketing techniques? As much time as I’ve spent sleeping, certainly.

The first commercial that I was aware of was the brand of Twenty Mule Team Borax. It was laundry detergent. It completes the picture of the happy housewife in our capitalist society. She washed clothes in her brand new washer-dryer combo. She fed her children the repulsive junk that was flogged on the Saturday morning cartoon shows. Breakfast cereal. Wonder Bread. Jif peanut butter. Canned peas. I shudder. My insides are permanently made of glue.

The happy housewife model of consumer heaven ruled our lives from the airwaves. Our moms were supposed to be efficient smiling providers of nurture in the form of supermarket comestibles. We had Twinkies. We had cupcakes. So, how come my mom was a raging manic depressive with sadistic tendencies?

I was more likely to get strangled in her apron strings as I was to be poisoned by sugared manna from the delicatessen.

Guess what, people? We have a past. We have history. Our culture has evolved at a rocket pace to keep up with the rate of change. But a lot of us folks came of age in a different world. We don’t understand the stuff our kids and grand kids are consuming. What is this shit? Uh…uh. No Way. 

It’s the same old story updated for modern times. It’s still fast food, pharmaceuticals and Ford pickup trucks. 

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Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “Mind Fields” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.


Mind Fields: Food Disorders And Other Fun Things to Do To F**k Yourself Up

Mind Fields

2022, The Year Of The Great Fungus

I have a conceit, i.e. that I should hold the title as “The World’s Most F**ked Up Person”. The only problem is that all of you would also like to hold this same title. Don’t try to con me. I know what you think. The only reason I know what you think is that it’s the same thing that I think.

Or. I used to think. When I recognized that each of us claims this title as the most neurotic person on Earth, I began to have more confidence in myself. Surely, I reasoned, if I am exactly the same amount of f**ked up as everyone else, then I must belong to this Family of Man. I’m human. And we all know that there is great dignity to being human. We are builders of pyramids, makers of satellites and space ships.

I have a very weird relationship with food. The first time I grasped that I was deeply crazy was when I began to eat huge amounts of food. I indulged especially in sweets. If I were to make a pie chart of my life (and refrain from eating it), I’m sure it would show huge chunks of time in the bulimia/anorexia’ zone. The worst of my food disorders followed me through adolescence; years seventeen through twenty two. I was out in the world, trying to maneuver by being on or near college campuses.

I had a sneaky way of being anorexic. I deluded myself into thinking that this was a spiritual discipline.  Macrobiotics. It would get me high, exalt me spiritually. By eating small portions of brown rice and onions, chickpeas in barley, I was the paragon of yogic discipline. This was who I wanted myself to be. I got skinny. I weighed 125. On top of this I was taking LSD and smoking DMT. I was deep into my purpose, my destiny of becoming a musician of salvation and a figure of reverence. I was grandiose as all hell.

Then I came to a breaking point. After a year of Macrobiotics, I had such a craving for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I bought the ingredients and took them back to my hidey hole. “What are you doing?” I asked myself. “This is a self betrayal, this is the opposite of Macrobiotic food. You asshole, what a failure you are!” So I ate it. Then I ate something else sweet and gooey. Then I couldn’t stop eating every kind of junk food on the planet. I had been like a spring ready to snap. Boing!

I was so ashamed of myself. This was 1967, before eating disorders had been invented. I was a pioneer. My bulimia wasn’t the pukey kind. It was the Exercise Freakishly type of bulimia, the one where on alternate days I would purge with sweat and effort, then follow with a day of relentless eating: an entire apple pie, backed up by a half gallon of ice cream. That kind of eating: epic, disgusting eating. After that came the cookies, and so forth. One day exercising. One day binge eating. Back and forth, one followed the other, for more than a year. I looked for help. I went to the college shrink. He said, “I don’t know what’s happening to you and I can’t help you. Besides, you’re not even enrolled as a student at this college.”

I lost weight during this time. It was paradoxical! How could I be losing weight? My metabolism must have been very confused. My waist was a twenty nine or thirty. I was living in a vacant student’s quarter, avoiding the security guys and bedding down with a pad and sleeping bag. I got money from my dad. I worked as a stable boy at a local horse ranch. A stable boy. I had my drums stashed at the university’s music building in a practice room. I practiced there for hours every day, getting high by all means and experimenting with the limits of my technique. That was the point of not going to college. I let my dad pay for semesters at Western Reserve or Wayne State, and then I would slip down to Yellow Springs from Cleveland and hang out with people who talked to trees. I would practice all the time, working through the famous “Stick Control” books and listening to Coltrane records.

This was a pleasant period that lasted about a year. I may be conflating two different periods of time. It doesn’t matter. That’s the way memory works when it sort of fails to work. I think there’s a memory bank in the brain and it gets filled up and needs to be purged once in a while. It’s all just story anyway. Life truly is fiction, it has to be. I just want a subject to write about and my life has been so bizarre that it qualifies as the stuff of novels. That poor guy (that is, myself) didn’t know what lay ahead. He thought that if he took enough acid, did yoga, ate rice and played the drums then he would launch himself into nirvana. It’s not a bad plan, really. The problem was that I was fractured psychologically, harboring behaviors that would shame me again and again. I was very (he says solemnly) very f**ked up.

These were adolescent ordeals, but they were precursors to my future. In the sixties my eighteen year old self dreamed of cosmic unity while the biggest thing that lay ahead of me was coke and heroin addiction. I interrogated my psyche by reading about psychology. After that came years of therapy. I was determined to save myself ,in spite of my terrible behavior.

It took a long time but none of it can be repudiated. It’s lucky I’m still alive and well.

After my food disorders came cocaine, and then, heroin.

I’m still slightly food disordered. I control, compensate, manage. Mostly I exercise.

The cocaine and heroin almost killed me. 

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Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “Mind Fields” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.


Mind Fields: Crime Thrillers And Mystery Media

Mind Fields

I read everything. I read fiction, non fiction, biography, history, psychology. If libraries were edible there would be few surviving libraries. I would have been a Godzilla-like creature with an insatiable appetite for books, “The Monster That Devoured Libraries”. I’ve been reading voraciously since I was eight years old. I started my reading career with historical fiction, then turned to sci-fi and Fantasy. I detoured into crime fiction and mysteries but I put them down in my twenties and never returned until I saw the film “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo”. That rekindled my lust for good thrillers and I checked out the late Stieg Larsen’s epic trilogy. Then I turned to the somber depths of Henning Mankell, author of the Wallander mystery series.

Mankell is sixty four years old. I find this fact very much  in his favor. I like reading authors who’ve got some worldly experience, who are old enough to recognize the body’s fragility and are beginning to be on speaking terms with death.

Henning Mankell spends half of his year living in Maputo, Mozambique. He is director of a drama troupe called Teatro Del Avenida. What, I wonder, could be better food for a writer’s mind than to open himself to a world so utterly alien to his native experience?

Stockholm/Maputo, Stockholm/Maputo… here is a successful writer who is seriously engaged with the world. He’s not hiding in some comfy Swedish estate, churning out formulaic mystery books. His writing is many layers deep.

Mankell’s best-selling character, Chief Inspector Wallander, is a frustrating man. He’s frustrating to his daughter, he’s frustrating to his colleagues; he’s especially frustrating to himself. Somehow he never seems to get to that vulnerable place that allows his feelings to surface. He looks like a man tormented by an itch that he can never scratch. He walks around with three days’ growth of beard on his face, his shirt tails are hanging out, his eyes are bleary.

Somehow he always catches the killer, by thrashing his way through obscure connections, chasing ancient traumas, exposing religious zealotry and the classic motive to many a murder, old fashioned desire for revenge. Wallander’s like a gloomy Colombo. He always has one more question.

Mankell’s prose is austere and controlled. It evokes the Swedish countryside, from its thousands of Baltic islands to its birch forests and vast yellow fields of mustard and flax. Mankell also takes non-Swedish readers into the Swedish mind-set via references to Swedish history and attitudes.

There is a nostalgia for an “old” Sweden. Just as we in the U.S. have pre and post Nine Eleven mind-sets, the Swedes divide their recent history into periods before and after the assassination of their prime minister Olaf Palme in 1986. The crime was never solved and remains a collective national trauma.

Any sensitive reading of Mankell requires this awareness of the Swedish world-view. Americans are not great in being aware of other cultures and other histories. This is an opportunity to absorb Swedish culture from one of its iconic writers.

James Lee Burke

        A quote from the novel Swan Peak:

“There are occasions in this world when you’re allowed to step inside a sonnet, when clocks stop and you don’t worry about time’s winged chariot and hands that beckon you from the shadows.”

I flat out love James Lee Burke’s writing. He’s another writer with some miles on his old frame. His best selling series characters, Detective Dave Robicheaux and Clete Purcell are two of the most colorful non-heroes in crime fiction. Most of Burke’s novels move in and around New Orleans and the bayou country. The area’s history is like a character in itself.  The ghosts of civil war personalities haunt the landscape. Burke’s stories draw on the family feuds and crimes from the past. His plots involves the great great great grandchildren of  plantation owners and slaves. James Lee Burke’s writing is an invocation of living memory.

Certain structures appear in Burke’s narratives. There’s always an aristocratic family whose roots go back to ante-bellum times. This family has entanglements within the black community. The family is also “mobbed up”, albeit quietly, with the Giacano people in New Orleans. 

People whose grandparents were slaves still work  for this family. Some old blues man who plays the local dives witnessed a killing forty years ago. He won’t talk about it; he never talks about the “doings of white folk”. Dave can pry bits of information from the reluctant guitar man when he promises not to reveal his source. All the same, there’s a possibility that the old blues man’s body will float out of the bayou some time down the road.

Dave is a recovering alcoholic. The longing, the nostalgia for a shot of Johnny Walker in a glass of beer, is so authentic that Burke’s nascent alcoholism is clear as an empty decanter.

Burke knows the landscape of longing, of grief for an addiction that provided so much comfort yet brought so much destruction. This is why James Lee Burke is so good as a writer: he’s honest about who he is and his “real” personality bleeds across into his characters with perfect fidelity. 

Here they are, the inhabitants of James Lee Burke’s fictional world. Dave Robicheaux, Vietnam vet and PTSD sufferer. Alcoholic. A cop who resents authority. Habitue of AA meetings when the pressure builds. Lover of his wife and his daughter Alafair and his tame three legged raccoon Tripod and his un-neutered warrior cat, Snuggles. Best friend of Clete Purcell, a de-frocked homicide cop who now does skip tracing for bondsmen Nig Rosewater and Wee Willie Bimstine.

Clete is enormous, powerful, aggressive, self indulgent and frequently teeters on the brink of losing his self control. He is described as “an elephant falling down a stairs”. He still drinks and pushes Dave’s patient loyalty to the boundary. A fellow Vietnam vet, fellow PTSD patient, Clete was Dave’s partner in the homicide division of New Orleans Police Department.

In the old days they were called “The Bobbsey Twins.”

Burke mixes up all these characters to create stories with perfect pacing and addictive tension. He describes the color of light in Bayou Teche, the sound of the rain as it blows in from the Gulf. Someone out there creeping around the roots of the drowned trees is leveling a telescopic site onto Dave’s forehead. That someone may be a psychopathic ex-prison guard from Angola Penitentiary, a “gun bull”, a racist of the old stripe who once prodded prison laborers from the saddle of his horse, carrying a shotgun and ready to use it.

Burke’s villains have a whiff of sulfur about them, they aren’t quite human, they have a Satanic indifference to human suffering and a quick toughness that seems invincible.

These are some of the scariest villains in fiction. These are just a few reasons why you should read James Lee Burke.

His heroes are flawed, his villains terrifying, his victims pathetic and mute, his settings historic and laced with the colors of Spanish moss and the distant growl of alligators.

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Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “Mind Fields” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.


Mind Fields: When A Man Ages

Mind Fields

Dating And Aging: A dilemma

If you’re fifty years or older and you’re looking for a romance you will find that things have changed. In the past it was “the bad boy” who got all the ladies. Now, to these ladies, a bad boy is just an early version of a bad man.

I used to be a bad boy. I was a jazz musician, which is a permanent “bad boy” pass. Now I’m an elder musician. I’ve given up on looking for romance. It can find me; that’s okay.

 It has been difficult for me to re-calibrate my visual expectations. Men are sexually stimulated by their eyeballs. When I was a kid I looked at my dad’s magazines with complete and ardent attention. Without this masculine visual appetite. there would be no porn, no Playboy or Hustler. But there IS, and men like to look almost as much as they like to touch. Men LOOOVE to look.

When I go out into the world, to shop or keep appointments, I see women of my own age in all their seasoned glory. It is an adjustment for the testosterone-fueled man to make… to keep the fires lit on these ladies of fifty and sixty something years. They’re not likely to have fresh pert boobs. Nor a smooth silky skin. As for the shapely ass, eh, maybe… maybe not. 

It’s natural for men to seek young women but that doesn’t make it wise. When a man discovers that young women are children with boobs, he finds a clear warning: this is not going to work. If he fails to sense this warning he’s letting himself in for a universe of grief.

When I set out twenty years ago to look for a partner I was already…uh…old. I knew I was looking for women near to my age, that is, I knew it with my mind but my body and unconscious adolescent still sought out twenty three year olds. I understood that women of my age are mothers and grandmothers. I was stuck inside my twenty three year old male lust for women of reproductive age.

It is nature’s way of ensuring that we continue to reproduce our species. Men were designed to want young women. I’ve been in a battle between twenty something ME and seventy something ME. Men want to follow their instincts and spew their seed far and wide. That doesn’t change but the DRIVE in the older version of myself has changed, it isn’t so insistent, so relentless. Maybe it’s time to change the entire aspect of love, eros and friendship.

Changing these core drives gives me a little breathing room.

It gives me a chance to take a step backward and look at myself. I don’t have abs any more. I have… uh… call them abdominal folds. I’m ridiculously fit, BUT. Fitness is not a definitive draw for women. The females of the human species are attracted to emotional intelligence and vulnerability. They want to know and feel your emotions. After failing repeatedly with women, I got into therapy. I found that a few years of therapy is the most erotic asset one can have. It’s also good for acquiring self knowledge. And this, self knowledge, is the most valuable asset of all. The more you know yourself, the more you know what you’re doing. It’s time to put on your big boy pants. Or your big girl pant-suit; as the case may be.

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Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “Mind Fields” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.


Wrapping Up the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships” Book Blog Tour

Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour

We’ve had a great tour for Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships, but now it’s time to bring the fun to a close. To wrap things up today, we have a guest post from contributing author and poet Leon Stevens.

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Why do I write poetry? Maybe poetry writes me.

I like the conciseness of a poem and how it can capture a moment, thought, emotion, experience, or an observation, like a painting. With descriptive colors, thoughtful hues, rhyming shades, and new perspectives, when inspiration comes—usually when I least expect it—I just need to put it into words.

People will often say that they don’t understand poetry. I try not to hide the meaning in the words, rather I want to use the poem as a way to describe the feelings I have at that time. Life is a struggle. Poetry doesn’t have to be.

I wrote the four “ego” poems out of a need to understand why people act in ways that seemed detrimental to positive interactions. Watching people posturing, jockeying for status, and exerting pressure for personal gain, left me shaking my head and rolling my eyes.

Ego. The mention of ego can set people on the defensive. Ego drives greed, fame, and power, but it can also drive ambition, innovation, and progress.

“You have an ego.” Is it an insult, a compliment, or a fact? We associate having an ego with a negative trait because usually, it’s somebody’s ego that gets in the way of healthy relationships, sabotages the progress of others, or projects a not-so-amiable image. But, if you have a strong sense of self and abilities, an ego can help propel you forward in your personal endeavors.

I suspect that many readers can relate to at least one of the poems. We know the one who always needs to be the center of attention, the person who is always right, the one who thrives on social status, and the person who constantly seeks affirmation. Often, they are the fragile ones, and we see the positives and for those reasons, we keep them within our grasp.

-Leon Stevens

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Leon Stevens is an author, composer, guitarist, songwriter, and an artist, with a Bachelor of Music and Education. He published his first book of poetry, Lines by Leon: Poems, Prose, and Pictures in January 2020, followed by a book of original classical guitar compositions, Journeys, and a short story collection of science fiction/post-apocalyptic tales called The Knot at the End of the Rope and Other Short Stories. His newest publication is the novella, The View from Here, which is a continuation of one of his short stories. He is currently working on a new collection of poetry titled, A Wonder of Words.

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Get your copy today: https://books2read.com/u/3kP8aK

That wraps things up for the WordCrafter Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour. Don’t forget to leave a comment, because you have to comment on each of the eight blog stops to be entered for a chance to win a free digital copy of this wonderful poetry anthology. It doesn’t have to be a long or even particularly smart; just enough to let me know you were there. If you missed any of the stops, I will post them here and I won’t do the drawing until tomorrow, so everyone will have plenty of time to visit this last stop and any that they have missed:

Day 1: Writing to be Read: Guest post by Lauren Scott

Day 2: ShiftNShake: Guest post and three readings by Robbie Cheadle

Day 3: The Showers of Blessings: Guest post by Lynda McKinney Lambert

Day 4: Bay Dreamer Writes: Guest post by Miriam Hurdle

Day 5: Zigler’s News: Guest post by M.J. Mallon & Review by Victoria Zigler

Day 6: This is My Truth Now: James Cudney interviews Kaye Lynne Booth

Day 7: Robbie’s Inspiration: Guest post by Colleen M. Chesebro

Day 8: Brings us right back here to Writing to be Read and the wonderful guest post by Leon Stevens. Thanks for following the tour and don’t forget to get your copy of Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships. 😉 Bye for now.

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Book your WordCrafter Book Blog Tour today!


Day 5 of the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour

Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour

For Day 5 of the WordCrafter Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour, we’re over at Zigler’s News with a delightful guest post from contributing author M.J. Mallon and a review of the anthology from Victoria Zigler. Join us in celebrating the release of this unique and delightful collection of poetry.

http://ziglernews.blogspot.com/2022/04/poetry-treasures-2-relationships.html


Welcome to the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships” Book Blog Tour!

Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour

In Celebration of National Poetry Month!

Relationships are golden and each of

 Arthur Rosch, Elizabeth Merry,

D Avery, Robbie Cheadle,

Harmony Kent, Lauren Scott,

JulesPaige, Leon Stevens,

Colleen M. Chesebro, Miriam Hurdle,

M J Mallon, and Lynda McKinney Lambert 

pay poetic tribute to their most intense

personal moments.

This is Day 1 of the WordCrafter Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour, and I want to tell you all, you are in for some real poetic treats this week. This wonderfully unique collection of poetry features works by Robbie Cheadle and her poetic guests from the 2021 “Treasuring Poetry” blog series right here on Writing to be Read, and it really is a treasure chest filled with poetic gems. We’ve got a fantastic eight day tour planned for you to learn more about this poetry anthology and I hope you will all join us through each tour stop.

Day 1: Opening Day here on Writing to be Read with a guest post from contributing author Lauren Scott.

Day 2: Finds us at the ShiftNShake blog with a guest post from blog series host, contributing author and editor Robbie Cheadle.

Day 3: The Showers of Blessings will host a guest post from contributing author Lynda McKinney Lambert.

Day 4: Bay Dreamer Writes will host a guest post from contributing author Miriam Hurdle.

Day 5: Zigler’s News will bring us a guest post from contributing author M.J. Mallon and a review by Victoria Zigler.

Day 6: The publisher, (that’s me), will be in the interview spotlight over at This is My Truth Now.

Day 7: Robbie’s Inspiration hosts with a guest post from contributing author Colleen M. Chesebro.

Day 8: Writing to be Read will wrap things up with a guest post from contributing author Leon Stevens.

Follow the tour and leave a comment at each stop to be entered

in a random drawing for a free digital copy of

***Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships***

That all being said, I’m going to turn this post over to a wonderful author and poet, Lauren Scott. Enjoy the tour. Don’t forget to leave your comments for your chance at a free digital copy of this wonderful collection of poetry gems.

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I am thrilled to announce the release of Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships, an anthology consisting of poetry from twelve authors. It is an honor to be among a group of amazing poets in this lovely collection that was compiled by Kaye Lynne Booth and Robbie Cheadle. Below is a little backstory of how Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships was born:

Kaye’s words:

In January of 2020, Robbie Cheadle introduced a new blog series on Writing to be Read called “Treasuring Poetry”, which quickly rose in popularity. Once a month, Robbie would feature one
author/poet in a formatted Q&A and review their latest book on a blog platform where favorite poems could be shared and discussed. Robbie had some wonderful guests who are both talented poets and authors, and Robbie was attracting quite a bit of blog traffic.


By the end of 2020, we had a list of 12 talented poets who we felt were gems, so in 2021 we created a poetry anthology and invited Robbie’s “Treasuring Poetry” guests from the previous year to add their own contributions. The result was the first volume of Poetry Treasures, which was well received. 2021 had an equally talented line-up of guests, so we decided to do it again.

In Poetry Treasures 2: A Treasure Chest of Relationships, we’ve found some new gems. From the “Treasuring Poetry” guests of 2021, we have contributions from some very talented poets who are treasures in and of themselves: Arthur Rosch, Elizabeth Merry, D. Avery, Harmony Kent, Lauren Scott, Jules Paige, Leon Stevens, Miriam Hurdle, M.J. Mallon, Lynda McKinney Lambert, and of course, Robbie Cheadle. But unlike the pirates of olden days, we won’t bury our treasures. We want to share them with the world. I hope that you will enjoy reading these poems as much I’ve enjoyed helping to put them altogether.

I have contributed four poems, and the first, “The Fine Points” was inspired by my 33-year marriage to my husband. He is literally my best friend. The love we have shared over the years survived tough times when life threw us curveballs out of our control, but that same love thrived in more joyful moments than I can name. From the beginning when we shared our vows, when cell phones and computers were unheard of, we delivered unconditional love to each other that harbored no expectations of us to change in any way. I can’t ask for anything more.

After a couple years of marriage, our daughter was born, then our son completed our family three years later. Fast forward many years and our children are well into their adulting years.

“2020 in Digital” speaks of the chaos that raged in 2020, but how our year was brightened by our daughter and son-in-law’s unconventional yet beautiful wedding. They had been engaged for two years, together for nine, then Covid entered into the equation. A big wedding wasn’t going to happen due to restrictions, and they didn’t want to wait. So, they chose to do the next best thing.

“Something Right” was inspired when my husband and I were close to becoming empty nesters. Our daughter who is mentioned above had been out of the house for three years. Our son was about to venture into the world, paving his own path. Exciting, joyful, yet bittersweet. They both live across the country, pursuing their dreams, and we couldn’t be prouder knowing they’re making it on their own. But there are just too many states in between us, so hopefully, we can minimize that number in the near future.

Lastly, the poem entitled, “The Roses” is about my parents who have left our physical world. They used to love working in the garden, taking special pride in their roses. We miss them so much. It’s very surreal losing both parents, the family’s foundation.

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Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships

If you’re a fan of poetry, I hope you’ll pick up a copy of this fabulous anthology that Kaye and Robbie worked hard in putting together. I’m sure there are poems within these pages that will resonate with you and touch your heart.

To purchase a copy:

Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/3kP8aK

Thank you for reading!

Lauren ❤️

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Lauren Scott resides in California with her husband of over three decades and their lovable lab, Copper. Their adult daughter and son live on the east coast. Lauren began writing poetry as a teen, but life intercepted her university plans, so as an adult she took writing classes at the local community college. Apart from these classes, her studies of poetry originated from reading the works of many great poets. Her strong connections to family and friends provide writing inspiration, as well as her love of nature and the marvelous wild world surrounding her. Backpacking trips with her husband along the California coast and Sierra Nevada mountains have stirred thoughts to pen about love, loss, family, and the many possibilities waiting to materialize.

Lauren was published in the anthology, Indra’s Net (2017). Additionally, she has been published in Woman’s World Magazine and The San Francisco Chronicle. She has authored three books: two collections of poetry – New Day, New Dreams (2013), and Finding a Balance (2015), and her recent memoir, More than Coffee: Memories in Verse and Prose (2021).

Visit/contact Lauren:

Blog: baydreamerwrites.com

Shop: hittps://www.amazon.com/-/e/B08NCRH4MK

Email: baydreamer25@gmail.com

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Book your WordCrafter Book Blog Tour today!


Mind Fields: It Began With Television

Mind Fields

It Began With Television

April 2, 2022

It began with television. I was born in 1947, which makes me the first generation of TV people. I watched Howdy Doody, Sky King and Death Valley Days. How imprinted in my soul is Twenty Mule Train Borax? It’s permanent. As is….The Twilight Zone, Gunsmoke and Rawhide.

Television took the ancient art of storytelling and whisked it away from our personal imaginations. It brought down a shutter on our fantasy and took the lead in guiding our young personalities in ways we could not anticipate. Regard the PURPOSE of television: to make money. We were beyond infatuation. We were addicted to the TV. We stayed up late until the test pattern came on.  When we turned the set off we watched the picture die into a small white dot that after a second turned black. It was time for bed. Our parents didn’t care what we watched. We watched most of it together, except on weekend mornings. There was nothing subversive or dangerous on TV in those days. There were only the illusions of the capitalist marketing system. It sold a lot of laundry detergent. It was very tribal and sad. Yet… hypnotic and cute.

TV affected us. We don’t yet know how the effect scales up. We don’t know what has been done. We base our existence upon what presents on the screen. We are Creatures Of The Screen and it continues, until we have whole walls as screens. And they keep getting bigger! The emitted light enters our bodies and charges our cells. Television is both success and catastrophe. Television morphs into cell phones and monitors. It’s in the gas station restrooms. It’s in our pockets. If it JUST STOPPED right now: what would we do? For a while we would be lost. Many of us would just give up. It’s too hard being a human in this culture without that continual entertainment. We might… some of us… turn to reading or writing. Or solving math problems. Or speaking to our friends and family. 

We are unbearably lonely. That’s what TV has done. It has infected us with our culture’s unprecedented loneliness. Americans are the loneliest people in the world. It doesn’t stop there. Go to the worst barrio in Manila. You will see satellite dishes on the most humble shack. You will see TV sets playing within tiny shops that sell pencils and sponges. Their owners don’t even watch them. They play  Exotic Soaps and Indian made porn tapes. In the souks of Damascus. In the bazaars. Television.

Only the automobile has had such stupendous repercussions. Now, the T.V. has entered the vehicle and drives us to our destinations. We are embraced into the womb of the new culture. Soon, we may not need destinations. We will just be. In our cars. With our media. With our T.V.s.

It is, after all, just story telling. 

________________________________________________________________

Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.”

Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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Poetry Treasures 2: Available now!

Yes! It’s finally here.

If, like me, you thoroughly enjoy Robbie Cheadle’s “Treasuring Poetry” blog series and can’t wait for her posts to come out each month, then you’ll be as excited as I am to learn that Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships is available at your favorite book distributors now!

Relationships are golden and each of

 Arthur Rosch, Elizabeth Merry, D Avery, Robbie Cheadle, Harmony Kent, Lauren Scott, JulesPaige

Leon Stevens, Colleen M. Chesebro, Miriam Hurdle,

M J Mallon, and Lynda McKinney Lambert 

pay poetic tribute to their most intense

personal moments.

That’s right folks. Now you can get this wonderful collection of poetic gems by Robbie and her 2021 “Treasuring Poetry” guests all in one place. We’ll be doing a book blog tour April 25 – May 1 so you can learn more about the amazing treasures contained within, but you don’t have to wait.

Just click on the Books2Read Universal Book Link (ULB) to find your copy at your favorite book distributor now!: https://books2read.com/u/3kP8aK


The Many Faces of Poetry

The Many Faces of Poetry

Poetry Of The Gnu Age

After reaching enlightenment,

Milarepa’s first three steps

burned footprints

into the rocks of his shelter

so that today

pilgrims bow to these relics as holy icons.

The yogi’s steps were fired in the kiln

of his deep understanding.  A thousand

years have passed and his footprints remain

sunk into the bare granite.

Piano Lessons

I have ten fingers.

The piano has…really…

twelve notes plus octaves therefrom.

I tell my fingers

each day

“land somewhere new. Somewhere

you’ve never been.  If it sounds good

then lead me forward.  IF it does not.

We go again.

Ten fingers.  Twelve notes and octaves.

Fingers: spread yourselves newly.  Knuckle middle finger

rise a bit. Good.

Now…listen.  OK? 

send five left fingers to the lowest octave

teach them where they belong

repeat the patterns repeat the patterns

bring the fingers back up

then throw them like dice

at the keyboard let them fly

repeat the patterns again

repeat the patterns: over time

my fingers know things, acquire sense and pitch

before my ears know

before my brain knows

my fingers know.

And, strange as it may sound, always listen to your fingers.

Let us say, hypothetically, that I go to sleep

in just a t shirt. I have two pillows under my head

and a pillow between my knees.  As I get ready for bed

I sweep my blankets back and I sit on my pillows, not quite knowing

that I have just stuck my ass in my face. The knee

pillow, especially, is a real ass-face pillow but not

exclusively.  No.  My other pillows double duty as

butt blankies.  I don’t know when or if

I put my ass in my face.  No one does.

It is a concern, that’s all.  A sanitary consideration.

Truth is you walk around with your ass every day,

it’s on your body

and it hasn’t given you Salmonella or ebola

yet.  It’s not going to whether you sit half naked

or not.  Everyone is full of shit.  We know that. 

When some men play around in government,

they shit like water buffalos.  Who knew?

They’re all full of shit. 

And they sit on their pillows a lot.

Another thing I can stop worrying about.

Ukraine

It is one thing to think

“aw fuck, not again.”

Then it’s another thing to do

nothing, from a sense of overwhelm

at the misery of the world.  Many of these miseries

were created by human beings.  They are capable of un-creating them but that would take a lot of work.  Humans have

a streak of lazy when it comes to inquiry about themselves. 

One can say “My bad”

as if that dismisses responsibility.  I’ve been bad

but it’s over. That is not enough.  You can’t say “My good”

but you’ve got to do “my good”, 

you must keep making beautiful things in the face of ignorance.

Help other people with small daily tasks.

Use everything you’ve got

because in the face of this calamity,

it’s not going to be enough.

It’s just a motive to keep working so that,

some day,

it will be enough.

_________________________________________________________________________

Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

_________________________________________________________________________

Want to be sure not to miss any of Arthur’s “The Many Faces of Poetry” segments? Subscribe to Writing to be Read for e-mail notifications whenever new content is posted or follow WtbR on WordPress. If you find it interesting or just entertaining, please share.