Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #4



The Rules:

Welcome to my new writing challenge!

Every Tuesday I will post some lovely retro-era eye candy as inspiration (think 50's-80's decades).  I will be posting photographs and advertisement ephemera that, perhaps, is quite different from modern day photography in hopes that it may inspire us to come up with parallels and concepts we might not otherwise make with modern art/photography.

Simply write a piece of poetry, fiction, flash fiction, or even create your own art-work.  Anything goes so long as you create/write something original!

Leave a link to your post so I (along with others) can visit and comment.  Please also link back to this page in your original post so others can find it.  

Most of all, have fun creating!


And now, for the prompt.


Retro Writes (Tuesday) #4


Look at the advertisement photo for a few moments and allow yourself to be inspired.


Here is my contribution:


She Dreamed in Color

Mary Alice wasn't your average lady; three-times a wallflower at the town Sock Hop and she had conceded love was not the answer.  Besides, men gave her a horrid case of the nerves and she deemed children an unwanted inconvenience.  She knew she could never commit to a life in the kitchen and dirty diapers gave her the skin itches.  Her ill-behaved attention could never concentrate, as need-be, on boring luncheons with middle-aged colleagues of her husbands career-bidding, whatever his vocation may be.

No, she was happy with her nine-to-five job at the type-writer making letter-head for old man Johnson on the city newspaper.  The salary paid for her small box-car apartment, which she fanatically decorated in shaggy shades of pastel.  A middle-class palace meant for a common working-girl citizen.  Besides, her time and funds were all her own.  She mined the library on weekly visits for erotic trash like Valley of the Dolls, for someone else's sordid story was romance enough for her.  Sundays meant a large chocolate malt at Pops Drive-In.  She'd watch the wives frantically chase children in a bid to please ungrateful husbands during lunch-hour and give silent thanks for her quiet one-bedroom seclusion.  And thanks to the snarky improvisation of Swanson, TV dinners were now a household thing.  

She spent languid evenings with Patty Duke and Dick Van Dyke, and oh, those lovely ladies from Petticoat Junction!  When life was lonely or the times were bringing her down, she need only bake her favorite cookies and lose herself in the other-world of the boob tube.  It added dimension to her quiet existence, a mental adhesive for some lost girl come unglued.

A common spinster
at thirty-three, Mary Alice
couldn't stop watching TV.

Saturday, January 28, 2017

Sepia-Themed!

I adore sepia tones, they remind me of old photos and those classic, vintage movies they still sometimes show at drive-ins.  I don't know, I just find them endearing.

This scared little lady reminds me of an old vintage gothic romance novel I once read about a girl who ventured to a tropical location at the invitation of an old friend only to be met by the horror of the Jersey Devil.

Hint:  If you can't find him, look at the far right.  He's stalking his prey in the background lol



The historic states along America’s Atlantic Seaboard have given birth to hundreds of ghostly tales and unusual stories over the years. One of the strangest is undoubtedly that of the Jersey Devil, a creature that is believed by some to be a mythical creature and by others, a real-life monster of flesh and blood. Its origins date back to when New Jersey was still a British colony.


According to the legend, Mrs. Jane Leeds came from a poor family who eked out an existence in the Pine Barrens of Jersey, a rugged place with vast forests, sandy soil and patches of swamp. In 1735, Mrs. Leeds discovered that she was pregnant with her 13th child. She complained to her friends and relatives that the “Devil can take the next one”, and he did. When the baby was born, he was monster! He immediately took on a grotesque appearance and grew to more than 20 feet long, with a reptilian body, a horse’s head, bat wings and a long, forked tail. He thrashed about the Leeds home for a bit and then vanished up the chimney. The creature, or the “Jersey Devil” as he was dubbed, began haunting the Pine Barrens.
-Info from Prairie Ghosts-


Created for an art challenge at Sunday Postcard Art.

"Hat's"

It's cold and wintry here this week.  Even had a few flurries.  So, I'm thinking about somewhere warm and tropical.  I think I want to go where she's at!

"The Summer Traveler"


Created for an art challenge at Digital Whisper.

"Black, White, and a Touch of Red"

I just love kitties.  I had a fun time creating this digital art journal page.

"Here Kitty, Kitty"
All day I inevitably encounter a cat here and there
In the shadow of trees or out in the sun, around 
the pile of fallen leaves; 
I catch sight of him, deeply engrossed like a bee, 
with his own self
Embedded in the skeleton of white soil
Having successfully spotted some bones 
of fishes somewhere; 
But still, nevertheless, he scratches at the trunk 
of the Krishnachura tree
All day he moves about stalking the sun. 

Now he shows up here
The next moment he is lost somewhere.
I spot him in the autumn dusk playing around 
As if, with his white paws, he is patting the supple body 
of the saffron sun; 
Then he nets up the tiny balls of darkness with his paw
And spreads them throughout the world. 
-Vachel Lindsay-



Created for an art challenge at Take a Word.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #3




The Rules:

Welcome to my new writing challenge!

Every Tuesday I will post some lovely retro-era eye candy as inspiration (think 50's-80's decades).  I will be posting photographs and advertisement ephemera that, perhaps, is quite different from modern day photography in hopes that it may inspire us to come up with parallels and concepts we might not otherwise make with modern art/photography.

Simply write a piece of poetry, fiction, flash fiction, or even create your own art-work.  Anything goes so long as you create/write something original!

Leave a link to your post so I (along with others) can visit and comment.  Please also link back to this page in your original post so others can find it.  

Most of all, have fun creating!


And now, for the prompt.


Retro Writes (Tuesday) #3


Look at the advertisement photo for a few moments and allow yourself to be inspired.


Here is my contribution:


Waitress at the Malt Shop

Everything was brighter on Fridays.  The neon-lit signs and pre-lit panels-full of overhead lights seemed far more illuminated than they were on, say, a Sunday or Tuesday.  It's all those kids, she thought to herself as she waited tables and pre-percolated the coffee.  The young crowd crowed in their raucous laughter and their after-school stories ruined the calm coffee-and-cigarette atmosphere come weekend. 

The teenage girls were always so bushy-browed, almost as if they were excited about life.  Ever-expecting something swell.  Katie Lou supposed they were.  They, at least, had love affairs to look forward to, and the zany marches of the women's lib movement.  They still had time, and they adhered their dreams across it like an invisible blackboard.  Ah, but later marriage and children would warp those sharp-toothed smiles, then the she-wares of the next generation would fill the diner tables.

Some things never changed,
like bitter coffee and smoke rings
she accepted her fate.

Monday, January 23, 2017

Eventually Everything Comes Full Circle...


She's very Film Noir.  My kinda girl.

"Dangerous Woman"


“No matter the species, the deadliest gender is always the female. Men will fight until they die. Women will take it to the grave and then find a way back.” 
― Sherrilyn Kenyon


Created for an art challenge at Sunday Postcards.

It's All About the "Ice Box"

"The Sardonic Housewife #2

I can't believe he had the nerve to say something so silly as to ask her if she went to the store today!  It's not like she gets to enjoy a spa day.  Why, they don't even have a maid!


You can read more about my Sardonic Housewife project HERE.


Created for an art challenge at Digital Whisper.

Theme This Week: "Male"


"Fan of Edgar"

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. 
-Edgar Allan Poe-



Created for an art challenge at Take a Word.

Saturday, January 21, 2017

"Say It Again" Repetition in Poetry

The prompt over at dVerse insisted that we say something....then say it again and again.
So for today’s prompt I invite you to delve into the technique of repetition and bring it with you to the bar. I look forward to seeing what you come up with and if I’m a bit late—well, hey—it’s our anniversary.

Ah, its very confessional.  Most of my writing is.  Probably feminist as well.  It's about an eating disorder and a girl who learned better.  Thought I should clarify, since I'm so metaphorical and evasive (ha).  Enjoy.


Self-Liberation

My body was once
a vessel poured full
of someone else's ideas.
For a number of years
it maimed me useless,
a puppet with two hands;
but let no more be thought
of this mistake I made.

I bought love with a
lack of food, false smile,
teeth jagged as some
modern precipice made of
molten glass.   I was
a sea cipher,  calling him
into my arms as if flesh
I wore so thinly was the
only thing deemed worthy
of myself.  I neglected
the kingdom I carried inside.
This was the worst of oversights
but let's allow nothing more
to be remembered of this
grave mistake I made.

For years I was self-elusive
cradled inside a soap bubble,
thinking maybe the sadness
would fade itself in time.
I gave my 'twenties' to a campus
in a small town served of
my ancestors sins, donated the
heart of my body to some silly man,
made of myself a mere commodity.
I took false words of the hateful
and drank them like poison;
dropped the soul of myself into
the void-less notion of
something made in the media.
But in the end I pulled myself
across the edge, flesh tearing
as if razored.  I redeemed my
voice, accusations unswallowable.
I am the Pheonix, rather
metaphorical or romantic:
I threw my past into the fire,
survived head-first for the
mere seeking of some morning.
I am a woman, resurrected,
full-bodied and aware so that
my purpose could be remade
of the mistakes I made.

Let nothing ever be spoken again,
no light fade between the cracks,
nor any enunciation of voice chords
ever be uttered again of any
mistake I ever did make.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Steam Punk!

"Been Fishing"



Created for a challenge at Three Muses.

Word List Wednesday #9



Every Wednesday I select a list of at least 10 words (sometimes more).  I pull these words from a favorite literary piece that has inspired me. Usually it's another poem.  I always provide the poem author and title unless you want to go read it for yourself.

The idea is to take those 10 words and create a new, unique piece of writing of our own.

I love word lists/wordles because  they allow me to use words I don't often use, and those new words encourage fresh concepts and ideas for my poetry.

I first created this weekly prompt to inspire myself.  However, I am extending the invitation to others who may enjoy writing with my word list.  I invite you to link your work in the comments section if so!



The Word List for this week is selected from the novel Darkwater by Cecily Crowe.


Word List:
cocktail
minutiae
arpeggio
mountainy
granite
solitude
symmetry
microcosmic
home-baked
immaterial
inaudible


And here is my contribution to the prompt:

I Was a Time Traveler 

Restless of a wasted winter
I take my car into the
back roads.  Dreamer in
a cocktail dress and suede,
boots not meant for cold weather,
I throw caution to the thick-branches
of a mountainy impasse
and travel backward, believing
there is some type of parallel
symmetry between present
and the girlish world of some
other yesteryear.  I'm an empty
wishing well steadily dropping dreams
between the ancient granite hillsides,
a litter from the most unlikely tourist,
each one as inaudible to me
as a foreign language for I fear
I still do not know myself.
Time unravels inside the solitude
of this simple world, empty trees
cushioned between dusty roadways,
nearby bird-cries and someone's wash
hanging on the line, an isolated
kind of nakedness, a minutiae
heirloom of my grandmothers golden age.
There is an immaterial kind of complete
fullness, this dirt-road meeting the magenta
becoming of twilight, wheels rolling
steadily past civilization yet unspoiled
by consumerism.  My eyes swallow
distant mountains and a small
cemetery to my right, village churchyard
dipping into the valley to my left.
I imagine home-baked bread and
the grainy smell of Sunday potluck,
hand-rolled dough for biscuits,
the farmhouse with young chickens.
I think of life, of birth, the very
microcosm of lung-lining and
fresh breath and I think, albeit
mournfully, of the dead and all
the colors they cannot see.
Glory be to this fading day,
the light in my iris, an old car
flying its cylindrical fill past
fields of flower like a time machine
and myself guiding the wheel,
an alien among the innocent arpeggio
of nightlife in the deep forest sounds,
forlorn of an early country evening.

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #2



The Rules:

Welcome to my new writing challenge!

Every Tuesday I will post some lovely retro-era eye candy as inspiration (think 50's-80's decades).  I will be posting photographs and advertisement ephemera that, perhaps, is quite different from modern day photography in hopes that it may inspire us to come up with parallels and concepts we might not otherwise make with modern art/photography.

Simply write a piece of poetry, fiction, flash fiction, or even create your own art-work.  Anything goes so long as you create/write something original!

Leave a link to your post so I (along with others) can visit and comment.  Please also link back to this page in your original post so others can find it.  

Most of all, have fun creating!


And now, for the prompt.


Retro Writes (Tuesday) #2




Look at the advertisement photo for a few moments and allow yourself to be inspired.


Here is my contribution:


Southbound Lanes

She was wild in a 
subconscious kind of way,
unintentional to the scattered
wreckage of broken hearts,
unresponsive to the reaching
limbs of a sad man
whose will she could not bend.
She was a mad thing
in bell-bottoms and blue hair,
a hellion for the feminists.
She sailed through 
college courses and swam
hallucinatory oceans surged
of cheap gas-station wine;
an under-stimulated and
misunderstood flower child
of the early 80's.
Disenchanted by the
monogamy of life,
she underlined a passage
by Ray Bradbury and
traded her best boots
for a ticket traveling South.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Water-Themed Art


"Expecting Rain"

Talkin' to myself and feelin' old
Sometimes I'd like to quit
Nothin' ever seems to fit
Hangin' around
Nothin' to do but frown
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down
-The Carpenters-


Created for an art Challenge at Three Muses.

Word List Wednesday #8




Since I haven't done a Word List Wednesday in a while, let me recap the details.

Every Wednesday I select a list of at least 10 words (sometimes more).  I pull these words from a favorite literary piece that has inspired me. Usually it's another poem.  I always provide the poem author and title unless you want to go read it for yourself.

The idea is to take those 10 words and create a new, unique piece of writing of our own.

I love word lists/wordles because  they allow me to use words I don't often use, and those new words encourage fresh concepts and ideas for my poetry.

I first created this weekly prompt to inspire myself.  However, I am extending the invitation to others who may enjoy writing with my word list.  I invite you to link your work in the comments section if so!



The Word List for this week is selected from the poem A Girl by Michael Field.


Word List:
deep-weave
forest-trees
aspen-leaflets
half-writ
mysteries
trembling
conception
breeze
lucent
knit



And here is my contribution to the prompt:


Breath Between the Void

It's 3am and I'm busy
seeking stars for the sake
of being awake.
The window frame contains
a lucent, deep-weave pane,
it contours an image of
light knitting a breathing pace
inside the space between
deep forest-trees and the
steady noise of night mysteries.
Winter will not arrive for
six more weeks and still
the aspen-leaflets barely survive,
a steady trembling against
the muffled clang of coal trucks
and city trains, the anonymous
footfalls of tired teenagers.
Somewhere beyond this city
another tired soul has caught her
leaping eye-view among
reality and creative conception.
Perhaps she, too, is wringing
her hands and drinking coffee,
thinking herself too plain,
wondering how cigarettes taste,
how good the free-fall of
a methamphetamine haze.
Meanwhile I'm a masterpiece
half-writ of caffeine and tears,
my mind boils memories that
reject the pens' conversation.
A breeze blows the window screen,
it tickles the ends of my hair,
wraps my chin in a kiss.
Mesmerized by the invisible bend of
wild air, I fall into its open shadows
and dare breathe deeply.

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Retro Writes (Tuesday) #1



The Rules:

Welcome to my new writing challenge!

Every Tuesday I will post some lovely retro-era eye candy as inspiration (think 50's-80's decades).  I will be posting photographs and advertisement ephemera that, perhaps, is quite different from modern day photography in hopes that it may inspire us to come up with parallels and concepts we might not otherwise make with modern art/photography.

Simply write a piece of poetry, fiction, flash fiction, or even create your own art-work.  Anything goes so long as you create/write something original!

Leave a link to your post so I (along with others) can visit and comment.  Please also link back to this page in your original post so others can find it.  

Most of all, have fun creating!


And now, for our very first.


Retro Writes (Tuesday) #1


Retro Advertisement


Look at the advertisement photo for a few moments and allow yourself to be inspired.


Here is my contribution:


Betty Lou's New Dress (Flash Fiction)

"I can't wait for tonight,"  Betty Lou whispered sultrily to her reflection.

She glanced across the tiny calendar that lay upon her glass-mirror vanity.  The day, January 1st 1967, had been primly circled with red pen.  She'd never anticipated a date so vigilantly as she had this one.  Not even the eve of her own wedding had held so much pregnant excitement!

She dabbed some powders across the bridge of her nose and put one extra coat of lipstick on before sliding into the fluffy chiffon dress she'd bought for this spectacular event.  Of course, Hank had howled with disapproval at the cost but Betty refused to be seen at a gala New Years dance in anything less than the latest in fashions.

"How do you like me now," she said huskily in her rich Southern drawl.

"It's just great, honey," Hank said with barely a glance at her smooth-shaven legs or perfectly rolled hair.

It had taken her hours just to get her hair to set.  Her scalp still ached from the pinch those foam rollers left.  She spun again, just for the sake of watching the light-weight material rise.  The satiny, pink ruffles rose on air, climbing above the brown skin of her upper thighs.  Just as she expected, and just like always, Hank could care less.  He'd quit trying to please her the moment they'd exchanged vows.  And that had been ten years ago!

Ten years worth of wringing the wash.  Of slaving with a sponge across the formica counters.  Of bleaching her hands raw on the tough bathroom stains.  Ten long years of laboring over baked lamb and overcooked vegetables.  All those long hours of choking down Hank's disgusting obsession with gelatin salads and food flavored of vinegar.  And not one bottle of wine spent in celebration of her...not for a birthday or an anniversary.  Yet the old, gray hag held no reservations in popping the tops of their best long-necks for the dry-humored boss and his finicky wife who dined for the holidays, their lips dripping only complaints.  And what of his own, balding mother?  Why, that wretched woman...

"I really must go," his voice broke her train of thought.  "My flight leaves in twenty minutes.  I really must  cut this deal tonight if you want that vacation in Bermuda this summer!"

With nothing more than a casual peck on the check, he grabbed his overnight case and made for the door.  He halted at the doorway to the threshold of their bedroom and threw the words over his shoulder, "But really Betty, that dress isn't so becoming after all.  For a woman your age, shouldn't you be going for a more mature look?"

Well humph!  She thought to herself as she applied one more coat of red to her lips.

Dear old Hank with his business deals.  With his briefcase full of office accomplishments and his dreams of out-ranking colleagues at selling real estate.  Frank with his balding head, bad breath, and dead libido!

When the front door slammed of Hank's swift exit, Betty wasted no time crossing the room where she pulled a fat, heavily-packed suitcase from beneath the bed.  She flipped it open for the tenth time that evening, partly to reassure herself.  She already knew there was over thirty-thousand in cash.  Hank's complete life savings!  She counted the crisp bills one last time, for the sake of sound mind, before stuffing them into the inner zipper-flap.  The rest of the suitcase contained her favorite dresses and her best shoes.  Hell with everything else!

"Don't worry, Hank," she smiled slyly into the empty room as she uncorked an expensive red wine and gulped it straight from the bottle.  "I'm not wearing this dress for you anyway!"

Monday, January 9, 2017

Somewhere Inside My Childhood

Ah, childhood.  Such a magical, innocent, safe place.  I surely miss my time spent there.

Image via Google search.

90's Girl

Early evening is throwing shadows across the carpet.  Its light has carved a square in the wall.  I pretend it's a door for my dolls.  We crawl across the room together, a traveling band of children-gypsies.

I hear mother in the kitchen; she's stirring a pot for dinner.  The smell of basil and spice tickles my throat.  Carol Brady bounces across the TV screen, domestic goddess of the 70's.  I am safe as safe can be, nestled in a box outside the city.

I am ten years old,
sun glows between the curtains,
storybooks are scattered
among after-school debrees.
Grandmother hums as
she breaks beans at the table.



Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse.

Measurement!



"Miss-Measurement"

Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls.
~ Joseph Campbell


I don't know about you...but to me, 'bliss' is a good book.  Let the sewing wait another day!



Created for an art challenge at Sunday Postcard Art.

Sunday, January 8, 2017

Story as an SMS (Text Message)

Today my interest was piqued with the prompt over at MindLoveMisery, the idea was to write a story using the idea of a text message as basis.

Write a piece of flash fiction or a story where the narrator is telling the story to someone via text messages

We were also supposed to use this piece of artwork as inspiration:

Art Found HERE.


Here is my attempt.  I'm rather long-winded when I talk via text and online.  Particularly if I'm telling a story, I'll break it up.  So let's just pretend my character in this text/flash shares my same texting etiquette.

Jenny Had a One Night Stand

Sent (2:27) I did it tonight, I really did it.

Sent (2:29) I was just sitting there smoking a cigarette, legs crossed, fiddling with my drink like a regular old bar maid when he approached me.

Sent (2:32) He asked me to dance and I pushed my head toward his face, really close like people do when they can't really hear.  Only, I could hear, I was just trying to flirt.  He was a cute guy.  A nerd.  The sort you'd find dousing their bran of comics at the corner of Barnes and Noble.  His vintage tie was totally hipster, not to mention the glossy seventies look to his plaid pants.

Sent (2:35) He was just my type, and so I insisted.  I said to him, "I was never much for dancing, I sorta just sway.  But I got this cool place right around the corner and my roommate is away...."

Sent (2:37) The rest is really history.  Honestly, I can't remember much after the vodka and juice.  Only the Dear John letter he left.  He said I was the best.  He said he had to get back to his wife this morning, to excuse his lack of manners.

Sent (2:43) Are you there Meg?  Are you listening?  I didn't even get his name!

Housewives are People Too!

Lately I have been collecting vintage advertisements for my digital collage art hobby.  The marketing experts were really onto something back then in relevance to advertising.  Not only were the illustrations endearing, but they were just so colorful, almost psychedelic!  I can clearly understand how they made olive salad gelatin seem appealing!  However, the downside to the pre-80's era was the total lack of equality between the roles of men and women.

It is for that reason that I was inspired to begin creating these satirical, albeit comical, art-journal-like representations of a housewife who is just fed up!

This is the first in what I hope to be many of my 'Sardonic Housewife' digital pieces.


The Sardonic Housewife:  #1

For many years, women suffered a sense of dissatisfaction; however, each woman struggled with the problem alone [6] . The materials that were published on women emphasized on enlightening women to seek their fulfillment as wives and mothers. Repeatedly, women were subjected to conventional voices and Freudian sophistications, that they should not desire a greater destiny than their own femininity. The published articles emphasized on educating women on catching and keeping a man, breastfeeding, handling toilet training, coping with sibling rivalry, and breastfeeding; how to purchase a dish washer, bake, and to cook gourmet snails. Furthermore, women were taught on looking, dressing, and making their marriage successful by acting in a feminine manner; and on how to keep their husbands youthful and their sons from becoming delinquents. The lessons also emphasized that women should pity rather than envy the irrational, unfeminine, and unhappy women who sought to be poets, psychiatrists, and presidents. Women learnt that a true feminine did not pursue professions, higher education, political rights, and the opportunities sought by the old-fashioned feminists [7] . Therefore, a significant number of the 1950s women devoted their lives from an early age to seeking to find a husband and bearing children.



Art created for a challenge at Take A Word.

"Puppies"

"Folly"


“I like dogs
Big dogs
Little dogs
Fat dogs
Doggy dogs
Old dogs
Puppy dogs
I like dogs
A dog that is barking over the hill
A dog that is dreaming very still
A dog that is running wherever he will
I like dogs.” 




Created for an art challenge at Digital Whisper.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Twittering Tales: 140 Character Tell-Alls

This is my first time attempting a flash so short, but I had fun and really like the comical outcome nonetheless.  I hope to make this form a habit!




His Cheating Heart

"Where are we going," he asked. as he readjusted the blindfold.

"We're almost there," she answered as she guided him toward the cliffs edge.

(139 Characters)


Written for a Twittering Tales prompt.

Practicing Choka-Form Poetry



We are all so insignificant when compared to the grandiosity of our world, the universe...even the earth we stand upon is so large with it's sky set against us.

My poem was also inspired by this song and the amazing video (which has been a source of inspiration for me since I discovered it a few yeas ago).

This is my attempt at a Choka poem. I tried to stay consistent with the 5/7/5 line scheme.


We Are But Flecks of Dust Against The Sky

Early morn I watch the moon
hide behind the sun
he breathes his last fading beams
across the suns crown,
pulls a hood across the stars.
And come early eve
I watch the sun sparkle-dance
at the rounded edge
of a dark, gloaming twilight
she curtains the moon
as he skips across the sky
and I become but
a brushstroke across canvas,
a sack-full of stars
I am a grain among the sand.
And at once I know
I am not magnificent,
at best I am skin and breath.


Written for a poetry challenge at dVerse.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

My Word For the Year

"Life is Beautiful."  Not just my word, but a way of life!

Life is too short to wallow in silly mundane miseries.  It's too short for grudges and arguments and bad memories.  Someone once told me that in life, you must choose to take the good, leave the bad, and move on because time stops for no one.

It took me quite some time to adhere this simple value to my way of living, but as of late I am really integrating this idea into my life.  I have a daily gratitude journal, I also enjoy random acts of kindness bestowed to others when I can.  Compassion is a beautiful thing, in and of itself.

Life is about loving.  It's about the good things.  That is my focus for this year.  Life is a beautiful journey and you never know when your ticket is up, so live.  Live it to the fullest!  Be weird, be daring, be ridiculous.  Kick your shoes off, run barefoot in the sand, lay in the grass and talk to the stars.  :)



Created for an art challenge at Three Muses..



Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Laying Across the Grass at Night

I always love writing to a photograph as was the prompt today at MindLoveMisery.

–Photo graph by  Ilmari Nen_


Wherever she may graze,
rather palms down in cat pose
or heel-to-the ground
face toward the wind,
the sun is always but a shadow
against the thunder-colored aura
of a January night mist.
She tells the stars her stories,
girl of brittle heart and careless hands,
her pen but a half-silent repose,
but they are too busy watching
the moon skip stones.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

"Wings on Things"

I just love this little fairy.  She seems almost as if she were lost in deep thought.

"Firefly Lane"


Created for an art challenge at Take A Word.

Happy New Year!!

New books, new year...same me!

I suppose this symbolizes me in a nutshell...comfy chair, plenty of great books, clock ticking the new calendar year in the background....totally oblivious to time, though.  Love losing myself in some good literature.

So much fun with this challenge.  Here is my result (self portrait really).




Created for a prompt at Sunday Postcard Art.

"The Moon Won't Leave Her Alone" (Flash Fiction)

Flash Five: Pot Luck: Choose a photo (yours or someone else’s – give accreditation) and write a piece of flash fiction 75 to 200 words based on the photo.

"leaving it all behind"
original art by Jimmy Lawlor



Every night she assembles her creative space.  She hangs painted replicas of the middle ages like props to the most bizarre photo shoot.  Tiresomely, she drags her own acrylic masterpieces and rearranges them haphazardly across the yellow-plaster walls of her writing room.  Her 'creative think-space' she calls it but really it's nothing more than an over-sized closet nestled into the upstairs corner of her over-priced apartment.

She longs to be an artist, some call her a hobbyist.  She flips her hair and her middle finger because even girls in small towns have dreams!  She never asked for the inclination of words, the brain-carved pieces of scattered pictures.  They homed themselves behind her eyelids long ago.  Now days, she merely obeys.  Mr. Whiskers observes from the corner (a naturalist among shadows), her tipsy cup of tea and the shutters she bangs shut lest the moon jump across the makeshift balcony to wedge his livid, oval expectancy, between her shoulders.


Created for a prompt writing at MindLoveMisery.

New Year 2017

Completed this quick little inspirational piece for a theme challenge over at Digital Whisper.

I wrote a list of new years resolutions, some most notable are:  read more books, learn acrylic painting, complete my Gothic Romance manuscript.

And here is my little adventurous digital lady, inspiring us all to reach for our dreams in the coming year.