Mind Fields: Poems And Ideas For The Field Of Mind
Posted: November 4, 2022 Filed under: Mind Fields, Poetry | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Mind Fields, Poetry, Writing to be Read 2 Comments
Intrinsic humility is the understanding that one’s own life may be full of fascinating details but the lives of countless others are equally as fascinating to themselves as your life is to you.
Sound of rainfall:
tiny infant fingers
tapping the roof
thousands at a time.
The Enemy
Life is not my enemy. True,
It will kill me before too long but
death is the act of highest compassion.
I have a purpose. How kind of life to provide
me with that sense of my being.
Life is not my enemy. How would a great teacher be
a nemesis unless it was necessary? Life is not my enemy.
We Must Fix What Is Left
Oct 31, 2022
“It’s broken.” My grandson stands over his red fire truck.
The wheels have come off. The boy’s lower lip thrusts out and I can see that his heart is broken too. If I tell him that it’s just a toy, he won’t be comforted. This was the only truck in his world and now his grief will carry him to a child’s little hades, for just a minute. What is a minute to a three year old? It may as well be forever. For the duration of that minute all hell breaks loose and his tears and rage fill the room till all the grown-ups flee. Except me. I’m the baby sitter. I know how he feels. The world is broken, our world. And it was we who broke it, stuffed it, neglected it, tore its roots out. Has it come to this? My grief for a broken world carries me to my own hades, my underworld of sorrow where what has been done cannot be undone until we have atoned like ancient Jews on Yom Kippur.? What punishment do we receive if we fail to atone? Regret, more like: oh the regret we have yet to feel as the land sinks and the seas rise. Our earth is frangible, it can be waylaid like the victims of highway robbery. “Hands up, planet!” The men in dark suits are digging holes. “Can’t you see we’re busy here? Go away with your storms. We know how to deal with your kind!”
They’re only doing their jobs, they’re following orders.
“Take them away,” croaks the man in the suit and tie. “Take them away and hide them in the deepest mines.”
It’s broken. Can it be fixed? The next generations are tasked with this inhuman mess. They will have to be strong beyond what we know. They will have to develop themselves in unforeseen ways to have the stamina to work within the broken systems on the derelict highways. Armageddon will be indefinitely postponed. It already happened and we missed it. We were busy fighting. The next apocalypse will hit us before we’re ready. That is the nature of things. We have only the promise in Luke and Mark and John, Christians before Christianity, who learned that the lilies of the field will always be in their raiment, even if it is only in heaven.
I Forget
September 26, 2022
I forget that evil tyrants run the world.
I forget that artists and thinkers
barely exist, barely scratch by
with a sigh, with patient resignation.
I forget that kindness is hindered
at every turn by evil intentions of those who command
the power of Calamity. I forget
that bad guys have no love
but don’t even miss it. I forget
that tenderness is
but a beginning to ever greater tenderness.
I forget that
we create ourselves in versions
of the pattern laid down within
the great infinite Memory. I forget everything
except that I exist and sometimes I forget that, too.
What I remember is this: I am aware of you. I am aware of your scent and the streams of feeling that flow between us.
That I Can Never Forget.
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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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Treasuring Poetry – Welcome poet and author, Patty Fletcher and a review #poetry #bookreview #poetrycommunity
Posted: August 17, 2022 Filed under: Book Review, Interview, Poetry, Review, Treasuring Poetry | Tags: Author Interview, Book Review, Patty L. Fletcher, Poetry, Robbie Cheadle, Treasuring Poetry, Writing to be Read 43 Comments
Today, I am delighted to feature poet, author, and blogger, Patty Fletcher and share her thoughts about poetry and her favourite poems. I really enjoyed the poems included in this post, those written by Patty herself, and those included in A Poetic Apostrophe. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
What is your favourite poem?
Hello, Robbie. Before I begin, I’d like to thank you for including me in Treasuring Poetry.
Honestly, poetry isn’t my forte. I do, however dabble some and in fact this poem, Ever Lost in the Moment was eventually published in an issue of The Avocet Nature Magazine.
It is a favorite because writing it allowed me to put words to a fantasy which played out in my head.
What inspired you to write this particular poem?
In the poem, Ever Lost to the Moment you see two lovers who have longed for one another for many years finally come together. This, along with the raw bones of nature roaring around them makes it magical to me and since I’m a huge believer in manifestation I still read this poem with the belief that one day it might come true, and I like the lady in the poem may be reunited with someone I love and we would come together as the lovers in the poem do.
Here it is below for your reading enjoyment.
Ever Lost in the Moment
By Patty L. Fletcher
The scorching wind roared angrily across the jagged peaks above. The thundering waves pounded the steep cliffs below.
Standing, their bare toes clinging to the rocks, naked in the fading day. Faces moist with the ocean spray. The sunset a ball of fiery molten liquid melting into the churning sea.
He, seeing her there, dangerously close to the edge. She, breathing the dank salty air. Her ebony hair streaming long and beautiful round her there.
He, drinking her in, his senses catching fire with want and desire, she, like a deer, sensing danger in the wind, felt him there.
Turning to him her mouth parting in a gorgeous smile, they stood, the only sound the roaring of the wind, pounding of the waves, and song of the gulls. Their hearts beat as one. In perfect time with the rhythmic sea, they knew, they would be, ever lost in the moment.
Ever Lost in the Moment was originally written in 2018 and the rewriting of it was inspired by: http://scvincent.com/2019/02/14/thursday-photo-prompt-new-writephoto/ .
Another of my favorites, I happened upon while putting this interview together is called Ice Cream on the Fly. I wrote it after a visit from my daughter and six grandchildren after eight years of separation.
It tells the tale of our last day together and still makes me laugh until I’m near tears.
I hope you enjoy it too.
“Ice Cream on the Fly”
By Patty L. Fletcher
May 14, 2021
Ice Cream on the fly.
Sun shining bright in the sky.
Laughter on the air.
Happiness everywhere.
Kids got a sugar high.
Go to the park, let them swing, run, and slide.
Ride the merry-go-round round and round.
Oh, jeez if I did that after ice cream, well, I’d be sick on the ground.
Finally, momma says time to go. Must go home to ready ourselves so on the second part of our road trip we may go.
Back in the van rolling home with the setting sun.
WOW! We’ve had a great week of visiting and fun.
Home again, out we all flow.
Into the house we troop. Just one, big happy chattering group.
Eddy, we’re back nearly in unison we call. Eddy, no longer put off by our noise at all.
Meow! Jeez, what’s a cat to do. Nearly starved waiting for you.
“Who needs the bathroom?” I call. But though several said they did no one makes a move.
“OK, you snooze you lose.” I call to the room at large and then into the bathroom I barge.
Just when I think we’re gonna make it through the week with no serious issue. My beliefs are quickly washed away.
I flush and ready myself to leave the room when suddenly, Oh! What from yonder toilet breaks? What the… not to curse in several languages, all of my strength it takes.
Water is flowing across the floor, with every second which passes there is more and more.
Then, as I try to flee with my very life, the door refuses to budge and I fear I’m to be washed away.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! I scream! And yet, the water continues to stream.
“What the…” I demand of the air. This flipping water is everywhere.
“Turn it off! Make it stop!” Polly commands. Yet dumbfounded I continue to stand. “Turn it off! Turn it off!” She continues to insist, but in my brain, I continue to resist.
“I don’t know how.” I hear myself say. All the while knowing it’s not what I mean to state.
Suddenly my brain and fingers, they won’t connect. I’m panicked, what would one expect?
I am shoved aside, and Polly flashes past with a mighty cry.
“Here, in the back, turn it quick!” Still the words in my mind will not stick.
Then I see the water is everywhere. And all we can do is stand and stare.
Finally, with me and the others tucked safely out of the way, my oldest granddaughter begins to wipe the flood waters away.
After a time, all is set to right. We sit having supper in the deepening night.
Sweet Eddy hovers near, in hopes a morsel to his paw will drop near.
All too soon we’re calling good night. For they must rise with the early morning’s light.
Into the van sleepily Polly’s six-pack of kids, my beautiful grands they will fall.
As sure as the sun will warmly rise into the morning’s sky. I already know tears of good-bye I shall cry.
So, my friends I say to you wherever you go or what you do, be sure to hold those nearest and dearest to you.
Because you never know when they will return to you.
What are your plans for your poetry going forward?
Until recently, I never gave it much thought but while rummaging around in folders looking for some pieces, I could use in a Paranormal Romance Science Fiction manuscript I’m working on I ran upon a few more poems I’d written while dreaming of love lost so, I’ve been thinking more about trying to learn how to correctly write poetry.
I can write it but I’m never certain if I’m writing in the correct form. But as with a lot of things I want to learn, I keep putting it onto the back burner to simmer while other works bubble happily on the front of the stove.
Here, is one of the poems which was written after an encounter with someone with whom I used to have a secret relationship with.
I hope it’s OK to share.
If Only a Moment
Patty L. Fletcher
January 22 2018
They stood, their backs to the world, safe.
Even if only for a moment, happy and content.
Their arms round each other, her head on his shoulder.
His body, strong and lien. Muscles at the ready, hands like a cloud of thunder.
His voice, deep and rich.
They move through the house, talking in each room.
Stopping in the hall for a kiss.
Going onward into the study.
There, only a moment.
Moving as one to the bed.
Tumbling together, in a tangle of hands, arms, and legs.
Fire between his fingers, cold, as ice, yet somehow flames on her skin.
As they flow together, their passion runs deep.
Her mouth on his.
Their bodies become one.
They melt together in the molten lava of their sex.
Their hearts fly.
Their passions rise.
Her need peeks.
His fullness she seeks.
Together they explode, the white-hot throbbing, hums low.
After, they stand.
Their backs to the world. safe, if only for a moment, happy and content.
What is your favorite poem?
Robbie, had you asked me this a month ago, I’m not certain I’d have had a great answer. Though several of my clients are poets and some of their poetry does speak to me nothing has spoken to me quite like A Poetic Apostrophe by Joan Myles, Annie Chiappetta and Winslow Parker.
Here it is below for you.
A Poetic Apostrophe
By Joan Myles, Annie Chiappetta and Winslow Parker
Good poetry is the expression of an open heart and a creative spirit. The ability to fashion these qualities into moving and meaningful word images develops with practice of course. Practice rooted in honest self-reflection. And sometimes, the honest mirror of self-reflection resides in another poet.
Several months ago, Annie, Win and Joan started coming together to be that mirror for one another. In weekly sessions they alternate between reading and analyzing famous poetry and creating their own. They use the craft of such notables as Robert Bly, Amy Lowell, and Wallace Stevens as tutor and springboard for experimentation with word choice, rhythm and style. The three are dedicated to the process of learning as they write, grounding their exchanged feedback in honesty– for the sake of the poem only.
When the trio found Edgar Allen Poe’s piece, A Valentine less than pleasing, they used Billy Collins’s poem Workshop as inspiration to devise a suitable response. While each response relates to a specific element in the poem, all of them acknowledge Poe’s use of the apostrophe.
The apostrophe isn’t only a punctuation mark used in writing. It’s also a form or style of poetry. The Poetry Foundation defines an apostrophe poem as An address to a dead or absent person, or personification as if he or she were present. An apostrophe may provide a structure or reason for the poem. It can also provide tonal and figurative effects such as giving the poem an intimate or ironic tone.
The literary apostrophe is a tonal element of Poe’s poem, to be sure. But the essence of the piece feels more like a riddle. You see, “A Valentine is an acrostic wherein the letters of the poet’s love interest are to be discovered.
Now for the Poe poem the trio studied
A Valentine
Edgar Allan Poe – 1809-1849
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Loeda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines! —they hold a treasure
Divine—a talisman—an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure—
The words—the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets—as the name is a poet’s, too.
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto—Mendez Ferdinando—
Still form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.
This poem is in the public domain.
And below are the individual apostrophe poems written in response:
A Raven’s Dark Valentine
By Ann Chiappetta
There is only one poem I like, the
One with chilled somberness and a raven
This one, though, bores me
Taunts and jabs my intelligence
like the ebon beak
of the more Popular poem.
When I think of you
The sitcom comes to mind, you know
The one, with the altered family
Who lives on Mockingbird Lane.
And I snicker, recalling
the family’s clock that should have
held a black forest cuckoo.
I only wish what was once thought clever
Will never be more.
The Tell Tale Valentine
by Joan Myles
right off the rhythm grabs me line by line
a beating heart of sorts this valentine
but just as quick a mystery you pose
the name of your beloved to disclose
Greek allusions bleak confusions play
as I attempt the task and lose my way
I must confess I find it all a bore
your raven spoke with wisdom” Never More”
Poe’s Poem
By Winslow Parker
So, Mr. Poe,
Acknowledged mournful poet and macabre storyteller,
You wrote a love poem to Miss Frances,
Who died young,
Just like your tragic heroines.
You hid her name,
In the heart of your poem,
A clever way of declaring your love.
But then you spoiled it all with:
“You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do,”
Did you think so little of her intellect,
Her knot untying skills,
That you could not resist the impulse to make her feel small
In the presence of your mighty wit?
Is that love?
4/26/22
©2022 Winslow E. Parker All Rights Reserved
Annie, Win, and Joan encourage you to read poems wherever you may find them. Take your time to linger over the poet’s choice of words and images, to delight in shifting rhythms and rhymes, to let your mind and spirit play. And if you should find your thoughts stirred by an unexpected turn of phrase, or bedazzled by a sudden insight, a simple smile will do. For that’s the poet’s gift to you!
Why do you like this poem?
As you can see, not only is this an incredible piece of work by three poets but it’s as if the universe heard me grumbling about what I don’t know concerning the writing of poetry and WHAM! Just like that, a lesson appeared.
As I’m reading over this before sending to you, it occurs to me, I might have a poet somewhere within waiting to emerge.
Before I leave you today, I’d like to ask you indulge me with the privilege of sharing one more poem I wrote. This was written shortly after I returned from The Seeing Eye® with my first guide dog Campbell.
The Puppy Grew Up and Became
Once upon a time long ago,
When you were very small you know.
In the morning’s early dawn you were born,
But all too soon from your mother you were torn.
You were sent to live far away with a family you thought forever you would stay.
You learned the neatest and most awesome tricks.
So much more than chasing sticks.
You learned to sit to rest to lay,
You learned to obey in every way.
You did all these things so very well,
And every day you grew.
All too soon your life changed again,
And you made another new friend.
He was your teacher, your very own guide.
Would you forever walk by his side?
No! This was not to be.
You learned all you could from him,
And then,
You were given to me.
Fast we became best of friends,
And it is with me you will now stay until our work together ends.
In honor of Guide Dogs, puppy raisers, Trainers, and Handlers Everywhere!
Thank you, Robbie for allowing me to share a bit of my poetry with you. Though I’m sure you have more talented poets than I among your guests it’s been a pleasure.
Review of Pathway to Freedom – Book One: Broken and Healed – How a Seeing Eye Dog Retrieved My Life
What Amazon Says
In this, the first book in her memoir trilogy, Pathway to Freedom – Broken and Healed: Book One – How a Seeing Eye Dog Retrieved My Life, Patty shares how her decision to gain complete independence with the help of ‘The Seeing Eye Guide Dog’ school in Morris Town, New Jersey, reveals to her a glimpse into worlds she had never before known existed. Once home from ‘The Seeing Eye’ she soon begins to realize all is not right in her world. Watch your step as you journey down the pathway with Patty and Campbell, for there are many obstacles along the way. There are triumphs and tribulations, tears and fears, but through it all that forever guide by her side, King Campbell works tirelessly to keep her safe from harm.
My review
When I started reading this book I thought it was a memoir of the author’s experiences being trained as a guide dog handler by the Seeing Eye Institution in the USA. I was keen to read about Patty’s experiences and learn more about the process of both training a guide dog and also the handler of the guide dog. I’d realised from conversations and correspondence with a few non-sighted friends that the handler develops a very close relationship with the guide dog and I wanted to learn more.
This book did offer that insight into the training process offered by Seeing Eye and I followed Patty on her informative and wonderful journey of gaining independence through becoming a handler. I was interested in all the detailed including the different types of training the pair undergo including a trip to New York.
Right from the beginning of the book it was obvious that Patty was in a difficult relationship with a man who did not have her best interests at heart. This flawed relationship is also a major theme in the book and the negative impact on Patty of having to walk on eggshells around her partner in many areas of her life was evident and upsetting. Certain details about Donnie were also revealed that make him quite a difficult character to like the least of which was his ill-treatment of his own two dogs.
The last section of the book was a little unfulfilling for me as I didn’t really understand why Patty’s relationship with her trainer from Silent Eye and her daughter broke down completely. I could make a reasonable assumption about it based on the information provided, but I would have like a little more clarity. I would also have liked to have known a little more about Patty’s father and how he recovered from his ill health.
All in all, this is an interesting and compelling story and certainly a worthy read.
Purchase links
About Patty L Fletcher
Patty Fletcher is a single mother with a beautiful daughter, of whom she is enormously proud. She has a great son-in-law and six beautiful grandchildren. From April 2011 through September 2020, she owned and handled a black Labrador from The Seeing Eye® named King Campbell Lee Fletcher A.K.A. Bubba. Sadly, after a long battle with illness on September 24, 2020, King Campbell went to the Rainbow Bridge where all is peace and love. In July 2021, she returned to The Seeing Eye® and was paired with a Black Labrador Golden Retriever cross named Blue.
PATTY’S BLINDNESS…
Patty was born one and a half months premature. Her blindness was caused by her being given too much oxygen in the incubator. She was partially sighted until 1991, at which time she lost her sight due to an infection after cataract surgery and high eye pressure. She used a cane for 31 years before making the change to a guide dog.
WHERE SHE LIVES AND WORKS…
Currently, Patty lives and works in Kingsport, Tenn.
She’s the creator and owner of Tell-It-To-The-World Marketing (Author, Blogger, Business Assist), The Writer’s Grapevine Online Magazine and the creator and host of the Talk to Tell-It-To-The-World Marketing Podcast.
WRITING GOAL…
Patty writes with the goal of bridging the great chasm which separates the disabled from the non-disabled.
HOBBIES…
Patty’s hobbies include reading, music, and attending book clubs via Zoom.
FAVORITE TUNES…
Some of her favorite types of tunes are classic rock, rhythm and blues, and classic country.
FAVORITE READS…
Patty enjoys fantasy, science fiction, and books about the supernatural. She loves books by Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Norah Roberts, and many more. Some favorite books include Norah Roberts’ Hide Away, Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series, and J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series.
SPIRITUAL FAITH…
Patty describes herself as a spiritual Walker. She says she knows both Mother Goddess and Father God and embraces all they have to offer.
CONTACT…
Email: patty.volunteer1@gmail.com
Visit: https://pattysworlds.com/
About Robbie Cheadle
Robbie Cheadle is a South African children’s author and poet with 9 children’s books and 2 poetry books.
The 7 Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.
Robbie has also published 2 books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines.
Robbie has 2 adult novels in the paranormal historical and supernatural fantasy genres published under the name Roberta Eaton Cheadle. She also has short stories in the horror and paranormal genre and poems included in several anthologies.
Robbie writes a monthly series for https://writingtoberead.com called Growing Bookworms. This series discusses different topics relating to the benefits of reading to children.
Robbie has a blog, https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/ where she shares book reviews, recipes, author interviews, and poetry.
Find Robbie Cheadle
Blog: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/
Blog: robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com
Twitter: BakeandWrite
Instagram: Robbie Cheadle – Instagram
Facebook: Sir Chocolate Books
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Treasuring Poetry – Meet writer and poet, Willow from Willowdot21
Posted: June 15, 2022 Filed under: Interview, Poetry, Treasuring Poetry | Tags: Poetry, Robbie Cheadle, Treasuring Poetry, Willow Willers, Writing to be Read 44 CommentsToday, I am delighted to feature writer and poet, Willow Willers, as my Treasuring Poetry guest. Willow blogs at willowdot21.
Which of your own stories is your favourite?
Well Robbie, my real first favourite is a trilogy I wrote about young boys who get caught up in drug running gangs and knife crime. My real ambition would be to have a chance to read this to young people at clubs and schools.
The death
The bench was hard but he could take that, it was the pain in his side and chest which filled his being, everything else was flat.
Fear gripped his mind, he was so cold inside yet a sweat was rippling down his back. His sight was blurred, was he going blind?
Slowly a long hidden memory came to the fore. His mother had taught him it long before he had changed. “Gentle Jesus meek and mild look upon me a little child.”
OH! Jesus if you are there help me now, I did not need you then but I do now. Jesus this pain is f###ing killing me, help me help me please. Slowly he slipped forward onto the floor and darkness washed over him and he knew no more.
***
“Where are you going son. No, out, will not do! Listen to me boy I am asking you. Why must you run with that pack it seems to me now there is no coming back. What has happened to you, you were such a good boy at school I had hopes that you’d go far but your just like your brother playing the fool.
No your not wicked but you are not a fool and I am telling you this, in my book you’re not cool.”
“What are you doing with that? Give it me back , don’t you threaten me son I’ll give you a smack. OH! Please will you listen to me don’t take that knife it will not set you free from the boredom in your life. It will not get you a job, it won’t make you a man what has happened to you and your world changing plan? You had vision and hunger for work as a decent and pleasant boy not as you are now , just a jerk.”
***
Clearing up quietly the priest approached the last row when something on the floor that caught the suns last glow. Red and sticky he knew what it was but he prayed to his God that it would not be true. The boy lying his arms out wide, blood flowing from his side. A thought crossed his mind but he dismissed immediately. He looked like Jesus did, you see. Arms out wide , blood from his side a cut round his forehead dripping, blood in his eyes.
He took out his mobile and took a deep breath as he dialled, ambulance, police he begged his mind running wild. The operator was telling him what to do, “Keep him warm and stem the blood is what I want you to do.” He ripped off his cassock and swaddled the lad he then noticed blood on his jeans ( the best ones he had) He cradled the boy and prayed in his ear “keep trying to stay ask now, Jesus will hear.”
It was half an hour until anyone arrived the paramedic crew gently moved the priest to one side. It was too late the boy was gone, then with their radios crackling loud, the police taped the area off, people from everywhere arriving, such a crowd.
Standing back and looking around the priest said a prayer without making a sound. “Dear God take the soul of this boy who died here today and give him some peace, and if you have time help me find words to soothe his family, at least ” Then he sat down exhausted, he was just a man even though he was called a priest.
A woman on her way home from work regretting an argument at the start of her day was wondering how to fix things and what she could say. She always said never give up, never leave a good word unsaid. Never leave things, sort them before you go to bed. Passing the church she saw her youngest boys friends , he wasn’t there perhaps they could make amends.
The Cause
He awoke with a jump. It was his brother rolling in drunk! Damn only 4am please don’t go over what’s to happen again. I know I must do this. I must prove myself.
It was all too easy a year ago when his best friend introduced him to the boys “you need to know” It had been simple things at first making old ladies jump, stealing traffic cones all laughing fit to burst.
When he was really trusted, got himself a name.Things became more serious it suddenly was a whole new game. They met the older boys, the ones with big fast cars. They all wore hoodies, bling and they all had facial scars.
It was money and messages that he had to run he was fit and had a bike.Now that is how easily it had begun. He often skipped school though not always willingly. There really was not any choice, what the big boys said, had to be.
His teachers all asked him why his work had slipped away he had a brilliant future and he had thrown it all away. He was a little worried but he shrugged his shoulders and wandered off, his teachers called him back but his friends told them to f### off.
Mum, she was desperate working on her own doing all she could to keep the house, the boys and to make them a home. The oldest she had lost him he had gone to drugs. She had tried so hard but he just robbed her blind and made her look a mug.The young one she had dreams for she had prayed to the Lord each day but now he was on the wrong track, he was slipping the same way.
He knew he had become a waster, he knew that he was bad . It was the only way to be accepted and safe but the pain in Mum’s eyes made him feel sad. So he just avoided contact and hardened to her pleas. He was knocked back the other day when she begged him to stay home down on her knees.
He tried to ask his brother who ran with an older crew but he was useless as he was trapped there too. What chance was there, his brother asked, what was there for them to do there was no work or opportunities running with lads was at least something to do. It was all about status and how hard you are , what clothes you wore , what trainers and did you have a scar.
His brother had one, on his face, from a fight with a rival gang. Okay it hurt , six days in hospital 17 stitches but he was now a big man??
Today was his chance to join the glorious crew. To take part in the big ruck was all he had to do.
Two weeks he had known about the fight , where and exactly when. It was on his mind both day and night . His thoughts were full of dread , through his blood ran pure fear it was nearly six now, the day was finally here.
Later in the kitchen when he was taking the knife , his mother caught him and shouted at him. He raised his hand to her for the first and last time in his life. Luckily she was small so he pushed her to one side as he crashed through the door and out the gate . His mother sat on the floor and cried.
***
Later he met the guys when mum had gone to work, they knew a squat they could use to complete their plan. By 4pm they were jumpy they were ready to a man.They left the squat and through the railings ran. Jumping , punching the air and making feral calls they had it now they all knew the plan, they had all the balls.
He wished he’d picked a smaller knife this one was too large . As he was changing it’s position. Into him a couple of the lads all barged. At once he felt a sharp and stinging pain as he fell to the floor, it felt worse again. His side felt wet and his forehead was cut where he had scraped along the floor..
What’s wrong man, stop messing we haven’t got the time it’s 5 o’clock now hear those church bells chime. Oh! hey you’re hurt man what did you do. You stupid f### you stabbed yourself. We have to leave you here, no good to have a burden on the crew.
His best friend helped him into the church and sat him at the back , hold on, he said, laters. then ran off to join the pack.
So he alone now, life ebbing from his side thoughts of mum, school, his brother and he cried. He asked the lord for comfort but comfort did not come. He prayed a childhood prayer from deep inside his mind. The priest found him,and he was very kind. He wrapped his chest and held him and asked him not to go . He tried to but he couldn’t stay he felt too tired, too low.
He heard the priests’ desperate call as he slipped away forget the ambulance he though and just pray for me today. The priest felt him go, but he would not lose his grip he felt he needed to guide this lost boy, some mothers pride and joy.
The Effect
Getting off the bus and heading home, she was tired her feet aching but she was determined not to moan. This was important, it had to be done she needed to put her whole being into saving her youngest son!
Pushing the front door shut behind her putting the bags down on the kitchen floor she looked into the living room but there was no one there. No television no shoot’em’up games standing in the hallway she called out both boys names.
OH! well, she put the kettle on and maybe she’d ring around she had both their mobile numbers but they did not always want to be found. The doorbell rings , damn she had only just sat down, walking toward the door the phone begins to ring.
There it is the sight every mother dreads, a policeman and a policewoman , OH! god she thinks someone must be dead.
The hospital was noisy but she didn’t hear a sound her lungs were filling up as she were about to drown. She had been waiting for an age now, would no one take her in. She was feeling really sick now and felt like things were crawling on her skin.
It was so cold in there and he only had a sheet on . God he looked so pale but she supposed that was what you would look like when all your blood was gone.
***
She woke up with the headache she had, had since that day, the shock of the police visit and what they had to say.
She knew she had to get up she knew she must today, it was the funeral and that would not go away.
Things had been different her elder boy had stayed home he seemed to want to help his mother and not leave her on her own. She dared not to hope he had changed but she was glad that he was there.
She slowly put her face on and then she brushed her hair.
His friends were at the church like they had been that day , he was not with them. Would this pain ever go away.
The priest seemed glad to see her and he offered his support, she felt close to this man who was with her boy when for his life he fought.
***
His favourite track finished and the last notes drifted away she stood up and looked at everyone and said she had something to say.
She knew that there was no work and that there was not much hope but joining gangs and using guns and knives was not the way to cope. Please listen, she pleaded you are slipping away too many lives are wasted too many die this way. Something must be done and it must be soon we are losing a generation it might be two if something is not done soon.
How many more mothers have to suffer like she.
We really need to sort this out……… her voice trailed off to silence as she repeated, how many more mothers like me?
What inspired you to write this particular poem?
I wrote this story in 2014 but with the news of yet so many gang related killings in London in fact all our towns and cities lately. There have been so many knife crimes these last years. In light of this I felt compelled to write about how easily you people regardless of their ethnic background get sucked into gang culture. I felt the need to show how far the ripples spread and how even the innocent are touched.
What are your plans for your poetry going forward?
I love my poetry and I hope to continue to write until I die. I would love to publish a book of poetry but something is holding me back. I don’t know what really.
What is your favourite poem?
My favourite poem is High Flight. by John Gillespie Magee JR.
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air….
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew-
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
Why do you like this poem?
It always makes me cry. It’s the fact that this young man born in Shanghai, China, to an American father and a British mother, who both worked as Anglican missionaries who flew Spitfires for Great Britain during WW2. died not long after qualifying in 1941 in a routine training accident.
The beautiful words are so prophetic, I hope he got to touch the face of God.
A poem by Willow: Broken Angel
My wings are clipped my feet are tied.
I need to scream, but I can not cry.
I need to run I need to hide,
Afraid to stay , too tired to fly
Alone under a moon lit sky.
Can I run, can I hide,
Can I beat this pain inside
Will it end, will I be no more
Will I find the key to the locked door.
Broken angel that is me
No longer blessed no longer free.
Shackled, so harshly tied down
Lost to all, now bound to the ground.
Find out more about Willow here: https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/about/
About Robbie Cheadle
Robbie Cheadle is a South African children’s author and poet with 9 children’s books and 2 poetry books.
The 7 Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.
Robbie has also published 2 books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines.
Robbie has 2 adult novels in the paranormal historical and supernatural fantasy genres published under the name Roberta Eaton Cheadle. She also has short stories in the horror and paranormal genre and poems included in several anthologies.
Robbie writes a monthly series for https://writingtoberead.com called Growing Bookworms. This series discusses different topics relating to the benefits of reading to children.
Robbie has a blog, https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/ where she shares book reviews, recipes, author interviews, and poetry.
Find Robbie Cheadle
Blog: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/
Blog: robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com
Twitter: BakeandWrite
Instagram: Robbie Cheadle – Instagram
Facebook: Sir Chocolate Books
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Treasuring Poetry – Meet author and poet Yvette M. Calleiro and a review
Posted: May 18, 2022 Filed under: Poetry, Treasuring Poetry | Tags: Book Review, Hyoe, Interview, Poetry, Robbie Cheadle, Treasuring Poetry, Writing to be Read, Yvette M. Calleiro 92 Comments
Today, I am delighted to introduce you to poet and author, Yvette M. Calleiro. I have read and enjoyed a few of Yvette’s lovely books and I am also a fan of her poetry.
Which of your own poems is your favourite?
This is such a difficult question because I’m quite critical of my poems, most likely because many of them come from deep within my soul and scrutinize aspects of my mind and heart which have spent a long time being hidden. One of my favorites is “The Battle Within.”
The Battle Within
I am brave.
I am strong.
I am confident.
My reflection tells me so
Every morning and every night.
I believe her
Until at some point in the day
My inner voice awakens
And slithers through the slopes of my cerebral cortex,
Seeking a soft space to enter
And inseminate her vitriol.
Her termites gnaw
At the foundation of my strength
Until it shatters into splinters
And crumbles them to dust.
She pours gasoline to fuel the fire.
The flames scorch the blanket
That tries to shield me from
The stream of searing scenarios
Of what ifs and maybes and if onlys.
Her berating mantra
Batters against my brain,
Bullying me into accepting
Her truth as mine,
But I refuse to accept her broken record.
I refuse to let her have control.
She is not me
No matter how convincing she can be.
She lives in the darkest recesses of my mind,
And I have the power to prevent her
From gaining more ground.
I breathe deeply
Once
Twice
In
Out
Inhale peace
Exhale fear
I gently shut the doors
So her access disappears
For now.
She will try again,
But I’ll be ready
For I am brave.
I am strong.
I am confident.
What inspired you to write these poems?
I developed an anxiety order about a decade ago. It took me a long time to learn to manage it, and it is something that I actively attend to every day. My anxiety manifests through negative ruminating thoughts, and for a long time, they completely drained me of my strength and energy. Through many types of therapy, I have learned to regain control of those moments. I have setbacks every now and then, but more often than not, I prevail. “The Battle Within” depicts that struggle but also reminds me of my true inner strength.
Mindfulness and meditation are huge parts of my life. They are two tools that have helped bring me peace in my anxious world. I wanted to create a poem that emulated the calmness that comes when meditating, and “Be In The Moment” is what emerged from my mind.
What are your plans for your poetry going forward?
I’ve written poetry since I was 12 years old. Back then, they were silly, rhyming poems. I have since evolved as a poet and continue to enhance my craft. For years, I only wrote free verse, but I’ve recently been learning about syllabic poetry through Colleen Chesebro’s #Tanka Tuesday challenges. Ultimately, I hope to publish a book of poems that encompass my life’s journey into poetry.
What is your favourite poem?
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Why do you like this poem?
This poem has always resonated with me. It speaks of choices that must be made and of accepting the consequences of those choices. Making decisions has always been difficult for me. I overthink the options and wonder about the options I don’t choose. This poem reminds me to embrace my choice and move forward. I also love using the poem in my classroom with my students. The conversations are always so rich and meaningful.
My love for poetry made its way into my newest novel, HYPE. One of the characters, Gaby, uses her poems to express her deepest, darkest emotions and secrets. Here is one of her poems:
A Lit Candle
For years, I was the beautiful centerpiece,
The elegant, most prized decoration of the home.
I was bright and cheery, tall and elegant.
Everyone always stopped to admire my beauty,
To comment on how special I was.
Until one day, someone thought
It would be a great idea to light a match
And see how well I could withstand the heat.
I could smell the rancid sulfur
As the matchstick caught fire.
It was then that I discovered what true fear felt like.
The sensation of the intense heat
Violating my wick
Was too much to endure.
I screamed and crackled
As the fire invaded my wick.
I cried tears of wax
As the blaze melted my beauty away.
I wished there was some way to stop it,
To keep it from taking away
All that was pure and perfect about me.
I wanted someone,
Anyone,
To blow out the flame,
To save what was left of my beauty,
But no one could hear me.
No one was even paying attention
To my withering loveliness.
I cried and cried
Until there was no wax left to cry with,
And when all my beauty was gone,
The flame finally burned out
And I was discarded.
No longer did anyone admire me.
No longer did anyone care.
I was alone,
Abandoned,
Dead.
Thank you, Yvette, for being a lovely guest.
My review of Hype
What Amazon says
Cici’s junior year in high school is going to be the best year ever. Popular co-captain of the varsity cheerleading team, she’s dating the starting quarterback. Even her jealous co-captain’s attempts to steal her boyfriend can’t curb her enthusiasm.
When her mom moves in with her fiancé, a handsome, wealthy man, only one small detail threatens Cici’s perfect life. The school’s social pariah is about to become her stepsister, and Cici wants nothing to do with her.
Everything changes when someone Cici cares about throws her life into a tailspin, and the one person Cici couldn’t stand becomes her only ally.
Warning: This story contains scenes of sexual assault.
My review
Hype was a most interesting read for me. I grew up and attended school in South Africa and my experience was very different from the life of a school girl described in this book. I couldn’t help thinking that the strict rules I grew up with were helpful in preventing some of the prejudices towards other people, based on their appearance and behaviour, that were described in this book. We wore school uniforms, had to tie our hair back and wore no makeup. We most certainly did not demonstrate affection towards the opposite sex during school hours. It was an excellent insight into school life in America.
Cici is a popular cheerleader and her boyfriend, Ryan, is on the football team and is also popular. He is voted Homecoming King which demonstrates his place on the schoolboy social ladder. Cici is an interesting character as she is totally self absorbed and selfish in many ways, but she is devoted to her mother and wants the best for her. This love is exploited by a predator to keep her quiet when she is sexually assaulted later in the story. Despite her giddiness and obsession with maintaining her social position at school, Cici is naïve and innocent. This aspect of her character is demonstrated a few times in the book.
When Cici’s mother, a successful lawyer who works long hours, decides to marry a man she met six months previously, Cici discovers that one of the most uncool girls in the school, a Goth the students call Grub, will become her step-sister. Cici is most displeased abut this situation and doesn’t want Grub raining on her parade. Cici, however, comes to realise that bad things can happen in life and these events can shape a person and cause them to exhibit certain behaviours in self defense. Cici comes to appreciate Grub when her own life spins out of control.
This book tackles the difficult subject of schoolgirl rape and I felt those scenes were well handled and appropriate for a YA audience. The horror of the situation was conveyed without the author going into to much detail. Sub themes are not to judge someone by their appearance, and not to trust people you don’t know really well. The book also covers the type of counselling and student support that is available in the American school system which was interesting.
I enjoyed this book and it is well written and and has good flow.
Purchase Hype by Yvette M. Calleiro
Yvette M. Calleiro Amazon Author Page
About Yvette M. Calleiro
Yvette M. Calleiro is the author of the Chronicles of the Diasodz fantasy series, HYPE, and two short stories. As a heavily addicted reader of both young adult and adult novels, she spends most of her time pseudo-living in paranormal worlds with her fictional friends (and boyfriends).
When she’s living among real people, she is a middle school Reading and Language Arts teacher. She’s been sharing her love of literature with her students for over twenty years. Besides writing about the various characters that whisper (and sometimes scream) in her head, she enjoys traveling, watching movies, spending quality time with family and friends, and enjoying the beauty of the ocean.
Yvette lives in Miami, Florida, with her incredible son who has embraced her love for paranormal and adventurous stories. She also shares her space with an assortment of crazy saltwater animals in her 300-gallon tank.
About Robbie Cheadle
Robbie Cheadle is a South African children’s author and poet with 9 children’s books and 2 poetry books.
The 7 Sir Chocolate children’s picture books, co-authored by Robbie and Michael Cheadle, are written in sweet, short rhymes which are easy for young children to follow and are illustrated with pictures of delicious cakes and cake decorations. Each book also includes simple recipes or biscuit art directions which children can make under adult supervision.
Robbie has also published 2 books for older children which incorporate recipes that are relevant to the storylines.
Robbie has 2 adult novels in the paranormal historical and supernatural fantasy genres published under the name Roberta Eaton Cheadle. She also has short stories in the horror and paranormal genre and poems included in several anthologies.
Robbie writes a monthly series for https://writingtoberead.com called Growing Bookworms. This series discusses different topics relating to the benefits of reading to children.
Robbie has a blog, https://robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com/ where she shares book reviews, recipes, author interviews, and poetry.
Find Robbie Cheadle
Blog: https://www.robbiecheadle.co.za/
Blog: robbiesinspiration.wordpress.com
Twitter: BakeandWrite
Instagram: Robbie Cheadle – Instagram
Facebook: Sir Chocolate Books
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A Very Special Mother’s Day Post
Posted: May 8, 2022 Filed under: Poetry, Writing to be Read | Tags: Mother's Day, Mothers, Poetry, Tribute to Moms, Writing to be Read 6 Comments
Mothers are Special
A while back, I put out a call for poetry about why you think your mother is special. I wanted to do a special tribute to all mothers on their special day. I didn’t get the response that I had hoped for, but I did get one submission, from Robbie Cheadle, which is pretty special all on its own.
Our Mother
There she sits, small, and yet so tough
Always ready to tell us when enough is enough
Our number one fan when things go well
Always there to help us up, when down we fell
Her home cooked meals are a delightful thought
As are the important messages which, to us, she taught
The best ways to get a cake to rise
Never to tell our friends or family lies
How to eat nicely with a fork and knife
How a little kindness goes a long way in life
Amazing mom, we are blessed to have you near
As you are the person, we hold most dear
Thanks Robbie, for sending this. I can see your mother was quite special to you.
I know my mother was a special person. She was kind and considerate, and she’d offer the shirt from her back if she thought it might help another. My mom was a fixer. She hated it when there was any kind of conflict and would strive to find a way to make things right and smooth things over, a trait which I seem to have inherited.
My mom was a sucker, and people often took advantage of her. I remember when she traded away the diamond ring she had longed for all of her life because I wanted a trampoline. She didn’t have the money for the trampoline and when the trampoline owner offered to trade for the ring and my mom’s glass coffee and end tables, (which alone were worth more than the trampoline), my mother did it without a second thought. She did it because she wanted me to be happy. (I was an only child, and yes, a spoiled brat.)
Our home was a beehive of activity, with always something going on. My mom offered shelter to those in need and there was always someone coming or going. No one bothered to knock. Most folks knew that my mom’s door was always open.
My mother was a kind and loving woman, in spite of her faults. The thing she wanted most in the world was to be my best friend, and in many ways she was. I could tell her anything and know that I was still loved.
People took advantage of my mom and neglected her until her dying day. I tried to step in and stop it, but I was too late. I still miss her today and hold her memory dear.
Here I share the poetry that I wrote about my mother. I hope that you enjoy it.
Mom
I miss how your face lights up when you smile and makes you shine.
I miss having someone to turn to who trusts and believes in me.
I miss your kindness, and your generosity, your willingness to share.
I miss how you always see the glass as half- full.
I miss your energy and enthusiasm.
Most of all, I miss the way your arms enveloped me in your embrace.
I miss you, Mom.
Love you, Mom. ❤
Thank you all for reading.
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Wrapping Up the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships” Book Blog Tour
Posted: May 2, 2022 Filed under: Blog Tour, Book Promotion, Books, Poetry, WordCrafter Book Blog Tours | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Colleen M. Chesebro, D. Avery, Elizabeth Merry, Harmony Kent, JulesPaige, Kaye Lynne Booth, Lauren Scott, Leon Stevens, Lynda McKinney Lambert, M.J. Mallon, Miriam Hurdle, Poetry, Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships, Robbie Cheadle, WordCrafter Book Blog Tours, WordCrafter Press 25 Comments
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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Day 5 of the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships Book Blog Tour
Posted: April 29, 2022 Filed under: Anthology, Blog Tour, Books, Poetry, Treasuring Poetry | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Colleen M. Chesebro, D. Avery, Elizabeth Merry, Harmony Kent, Leon Stevens, Lynda McKinney Lambert, M.J. Mallon, Miriam Hurdle, Poetry, Poetry Anthology, Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships, Robbie Cheadle, WordCrafter Book Blog Tours, WordCrafter Press 9 Comments
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
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Welcome to the WordCrafter “Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships” Book Blog Tour!
Posted: April 25, 2022 Filed under: Blog Tour, Book Promotion, Book Release, Books, Poetry, Treasuring Poetry, WordCrafter Press | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Colleen M. Chesebro, D. Avery, Elizabeth Merry, Harmony Kent, JulesPaige, Lauren Scott, Leon Stevens, Lynda McKinney Lambert, M.J. Mallon, Miriam Hurdle, Poetry, Poetry Anthology, Poetry Treasures 2: Relationships, Robbie Cheadle, Treasuring Poetry, WordCrafter Press 34 CommentsIn 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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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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The Many Faces of Poetry
Posted: April 8, 2022 Filed under: Poetry, The Many Faces of Poetry | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Poetry, The Many Faces of Poetry, Writing to be Read 13 Comments
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.
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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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The Many Faces of Poetry: Routinely
Posted: July 29, 2022 | Author: artrosch | Filed under: Commentary, Poetry, The Many Faces of Poetry | Tags: Arthur Rosch, Poetry, Social Commentary, The Many Faces of Poetry, Writing to be Read | 1 CommentRoutinely
Routinely. We
Drive 3 ton vehicles seventy miles per hour. We do this in swarms, crowds, jams, at all angles and approaches. Routinely. Somehow it’s unusual to die in traffic on the way home. I don’t understand it.
Routinely. We
Bathe ourselves in electronic light. Hours and hours each day the photons emitted by our gear pass through our bodies.
Routinely. We Eat food that amounts to tenderized and processed glue.
Routinely. We stay indoors for hours, days, weeks, even months. It’s what we’re SUPPOSED to be doing. Right?
Routinely. We talk to no one for months on end. We have plenty of chat, little real talk.
Routinely. We expose ourselves to huge clusters of information in the form of digital glop, yet somehow we only go slightly insane.
Routinely. We breathe toxins generated by our culture without being aware of it.
Routinely. We witness horrors on the news and barely shrug because we are numb to horrors in this age of surfeit of horrors.
Routinely. We vote for callous lying cretins and elect them to public offices they don’t deserve. Routinely we continue allowing venal malicious fools to exploit us without doing a goddam thing. Routinely we accept a political situation that would not be too difficult to change but we don’t change it even though it’s destroying us.
Routinely. We juggle scenes of increasing complexity.
Routinely. We melt down when the complexity is overwhelming. The crazy shit we do depends on who we emulate. Do we shoot up a supermarket or do we binge on ice cream?
Routinely. We are surprised by what happens when we process this degree of overstimulation and make terrible decisions. Routinely our judgment is flawed by the input of mis and dis information.
Trust nothing but your own experience. Routinely.
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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
______________________________________________________________________
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.
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