Tag Archives: creative writing

Spanking the Pomegranate – The Triumph of #Communication

19 Sunday Sep 2021

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Pomegranate

I cannot speak for other languages as I do not know any others fluently, (unless you are including Dlalth, but since that is one I made up myself for my story Dark Fey, it really doesn’t count) but the English language is a curious thing. Have you ever noticed how often we say things that mean something entirely different from what we are actually trying to say? Our slang is chock full of examples. (such as the one I just used.) Chock? How does a word that means to block or stop something from moving; a ships fitting or cable, or an anchor or brace, end up in an expression that means completely full? Even Wiktionary cannot say for sure.

I loved the Linguistics class I had in high school; learning all about words, phrases, slang and etymology; what’s not to like, really? For someone (like me) who spent their free time constructing grammatically correct, compound, complex sentences worthy of praise from Charles Dickens and then diagramming them (correctly, I might add!) just for fun; explaining that I enjoyed the systematic study of (the English) language is like saying Mr. Spock is Logical or Hobbits have hairy feet. It’s a given.

The variety of vernacular that exists, depending on the region (or country) you live in is truly amazing or, one might say, is enough to make your head spin or leave you gobsmacked. As I have lived in several distinctly different areas of the country (that country being the US) I’ve picked up more than a few catch phrases (although how I picked up an inanimate object and what exactly said object was catching I am by no means sure).

In South Central Pennsylvania, where I presently reside, there are a plethora of colloquialisms derived from the Pennsylvania Dutch community that are peculiar enough to make anyone who is not from the area stare at you like you just started speaking Klingon should you happen to use one. For example, if you are embarrassed about something you Feel Your Nerve. If you cannot sit still you are Ruchy. If you want me to move down lower in my chair or make room for you on the park bench you would ask me to Ruch Down or Ruch Over. Similarly, the milk bottle is not empty, It’s All, and you don’t turn off the light, you Make Out The Light.

When I lived in the South (Alabama to be exact, which was an experience worthy of its own bizarre post) I swore left and right (although I never actually turned my head) that I would not be Fixin’ or Reckon’ anything. Nevertheless, I often found myself saying things like It’s Fixin’ to Rain, which means It’s Getting Ready to Rain, or It’s Fixin’ to Get It, which means Things are About to Get a Little Crazy. Fixin’ simply means Getting Ready, unless, of course, you say I’m Fixin’ to Get Ready, which, literally translated, would mean you are Getting Ready to Get Ready, but in reality it means you are already Ready to Do whatever it is you are going to do. Confused yet? I Reckon’!

(Disclaimer to my friends across the pond: As I am not British, {a tragedy I will forever lament}, I believe I understand the proper use of the following examples of British slang, but should I be mistaken, please do feel free to correct me)

In America we say Ta! when we mean Goodbye and Cheers! when we mean Thank you; however in England they say Cheers! when they mean Goodbye and Ta! when they mean Thank You. In America we ask if someone is All Right? when we are concerned over their health or state of being; however in England saying All Right? to someone is like saying Hi, How are you? And if someone in England said to me Give Us a Bell, being American, I would raise a delicately arched brow and hand them a bell, when what they really mean is they want me to call them (or ring them) on the telephone. Perplexed? Me too!

The differences in our own language are endless and with all these intricacies, dialects, regional connotations, and interpretations about (or around, depending) not to mention slang usage and hyper-text abbreviations, it is a miracle that we understand each other at all. So the next time you (or I) labor for hours masterfully interweaving descriptors, plot, characters, research, and good old fashioned fancy into something post-worthy; yet it ends up sparking only minimal interest (or the editor/publisher requests an absurd number of rewrites), take heart! Even if only a handful of readers ultimately respond, you can still consider it a triumph of communication in a sea of chaff.

OH….any for those of you who were lured in by the double-entendre of this post’s title, Spanking the Pomegranate is simply a culinary term used for liberating those delectable little jewels of sweetness from the otherwise inconsequential husk of the fruit.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Photograph found on pinterest

Thank You for Humouring Me :) – #BloggingMilestones, #Friendship & #Gratitude

11 Wednesday Aug 2021

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Celebrate

****Originally posted on Jul 6, 2013.

Celebrating ONE MONTH of The Book and Volume of This Distracted Globe, or Book and Volume, or BnV, and it’s 145 current followers!
I want to say THANK YOU EVER SO MUCH to each of you for making the past 30 days ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE !!!!

**** A great deal has changed since I posted this, but one thing remains constant and true.  YOU!!!   Through my ups and downs, here and gones, serious moments and giddiness, YOU have been here, sharing the tides of life with me and, in return, I’ve shared some with you as well.   Nothing has changed in how grateful I am and, although I may be a bit less interactive then I was (which, I promise, I’m trying to return to), I still appreciate every one of you.

~Morgan~

The Meaning of Life? – #Musings and #Thoughts for #ChangingTimes

24 Saturday Jul 2021

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Book and volume

(A rewind post from 2013)

I need some BnV!

Excuse me??

Yes, you heard me, I need some BnV. I don’t honestly think I can live without it. (Book and Volume that is.)

I must confess since I began writing this blog, (which, if I continue confessing I wasn’t entirely sure about starting off with,) I have found myself wanting to write more and more and more and more, found I have far greater inspiration than I’ve had in years, and found an unparalleled sense of accomplishment in “seeing” (so to speak) that others find my particular form of creativity (or madness, whichever you feel is more relevant) enjoyable, interesting, amusing or, at the very least, frighteningly intriguing. (Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience with yours?) Well, let’s face it, BnV does have a certain indescribable quality about it that makes you scoff, shake your head, and yet, come back for more. (yeah, it has that affect on me too!)

But to come back to my original point, in the past 25 days (I know, just 25 days!) (yes, I agree, its seems longer) (you may choose to insert interminable here…) I have found such pleasure in writing again that it’s hard to put into words….which is a bit of a conundrum given that writing is, after all, the crux here. I’ve often wondered how writers can lock themselves away from the rest of the world, eat little, talk less, and simply immerse themselves in their craft, letting the world go on without them, little caring, little worrying (maybe), but I no longer wonder about that. Now it is me (or, to be grammatically correct, should that be I?) who finds herself wishing she could do the aforementioned: forget the world, the job, the tedious responsibilities of life (though not the cat!), lock herself away from all resort (rather like Ophelia) (sorry, I did it again, but don’t let me deviate into Shakespeare… just yet!) and write until I come up gasping for breath.

Without BnV, where would I be? I admit that sounds a bit dodgy, perhaps risqué. My apologies for the double entendre (I think)(it’s just so catchy, really), but in all honesty, I sometimes feel that compelled, THAT enticed….to write, that is, and to hope that whatever it is I am saying will either make someone out there in the byzantine blue smile, chuckle, or have one of those OH! moments. (or, at the very least, that said hypothetical person doesn’t run off screaming like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.)

Admittedly, 25 days is not very long to come to such a epiphanic realization that my writing means more to me than most anything else, but there it is in its undeniable, inexorable splendor. Sure, I’ve heard it said since I was a child that finding your passion and pursuing it is the only way to truly be happy working through the salt mines of life, but I’ve also heard it said, over and over, again and again, as I am sure many of you may have, that I should get my head out of the clouds and concentrate on the serious matter of getting ahead in the world. Making it big, securing the future, having a reliable, steady 9-5’er that will pay the bills, put food on the table, yadda, yadda, yadda. (To quote Elaine Benes) So who can blame me that it took this long to have the aforesaid epiphanic insight? (yes, I just like “saying” that word!) Well, besides myself, really, since I’ve known since I was 10 years old that writing was what I loved to do best.

Ok, so you’re probably wondering about now what my point is? Well, as I said in my very first post,(go ahead and re-read it, I’ll wait for you) I’m far more likely to natter on endlessly about nothing in particular than anything specifically, so in reality I don’t truly need a point right now; however, you are in luck because I do, actually, have one. No drum roll please. No tympanic reverie necessary. No triumphal horns pealing in proclamation; no, my simple and unadulterated point is just this: (ok, I agree, I adulterated it quite a bit in the last few paragraphs, but let’s not be mean spirited…) that I think Curly from the movie City Slickers put it best:

One thing

Curly (Jack Palance): Do you know what the secret of life is? [holds up one finger]
Curly: This.
Mitch(Billy Crystal): Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don’t mean shit.
Mitch: But, what is the “one thing?”
Curly: [smiles] That’s what you have to find out.

~Morgan~

Musings (About a Muse) – #Thoughts on #Inspiration and Nothing at all

08 Thursday Jul 2021

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So yes, here I am, 1:45 in the morning, wide awake, bursting with words, poems rhyming, chapters swimming, thoughts reeling, images filling my mind’s eye, so I really don’t have any alternatives other than to (theoretically) grab paper and pencil, Ie. My laptop, and create as much as I am able. To paraphrase the Master ( yep, Shakespeare again….don’t roll your eyes, its relevant, I swear!)
When Inspiration comes it comes not single spies, but in battalions! Yes, it certainly does.

There, then, that wasn’t so bad… was it?

I recently told a friend that I have far more uses for the wee hours of the night than I could even conceive of having for the early hours of the morning. I’m a “Night Person”, have been since the day I was born…or rather, the night I was born. 10:45pm to be exact. A perfect time of night! Deliciously dark, bathed in moonlight, yet early enough to still find or create some form of mischief, and not so late (or perhaps I should say early) that the morning is already tinting the horizon with lavender and gray and your head goes nodding…..

She walks in beauty, like the night. No you’re not sleeping or dreaming….but to regain my thread, I am what the Greeks used to call a Moon Goddess, (although I cannot recall ever having been worshipped before), and I am much happier in darkness than in daylight. (When I say darkness, of course, I mean nighttime…)

So my point? Nope, don’t really have one, actually. I warned you about this early on…Indeed I believe it was my very first post. I sometimes just muse, ramble, prattle, and precious little can or does stop me when this happens. I could fabricate a purpose for all these words spilling out of me, but in all honesty, I don’t have one. Just couldn’t sleep. Too much of him in my thoughts, too many what about’s, what if’s, maybe I could’s. If you’re a writer, than I know you can relate, on some level. If you’re not a writer…than I offer my profoundest, most sincerest apologies for what must seem like out-and-out insanity.

As an act of contrition, (as I feel I at least owe you that much) I offer these few rhymed lines…something that just popped into my head. Hopefully, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Persuasion by a simple smile
You are all temptation and guile
Entwining me in your most intricate ruse
Day and Night, you are my Muse.

Sorry, that’s all I got…(I told you it just popped into my head!)…my brain is finally spiraling downward, longing for my pillow, and dreams….
(But I promise, I’ll finish it and post it later….)
Night Night! (Oh and Thanks for listening!)

~Morgan~

Amethyst Worldlet – #PoetryPrompt #Inspiration

29 Tuesday Jun 2021

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Amethyst Worldlet2

Amethyst Worldlet –
(For my niece Laura who prompted me to write a poem about Pluto)

There is an Amethyst Worldlet,
in the Vast Reaches of Space.
Far Far from the Sun,
Yet always Seeking her Face.
Circling lazily, he wanders, Repeating,
Endlessly drifting, gliding, Retreating.

Alone in the Cosmos to Ceaselessly Roam,
Mysterious, Shadowy, Amethyst Home.
Unseen, Unrivaled, Unquested, Unplumbed,
Icy and Bitter, permanently Shunned.
Yet in the deep Shades of Indigo Imagination
Pluto awaits, Dreaming of Inhabitation.

Crystalline Domes that Bridge Frozen Seas,
Terra-formed Gardens, Cloning Bees.
Dew Drops that Glisten, Rain of Snow,
Flowers that Jingle Just for Show.
Living on Pluto, where Amethyst day is night,
Ethereal Dreamer, My Little Plutonite.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Image found at: s2.goodfon.com

Annoyingly Effervescent – The #InternalDialog Vs. #External #Challenges

23 Wednesday Jun 2021

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Laughter Yoga

Someone told me the other day, (believe it or not), that I should be a bit more quiet, tone it down, reel it in, (shocking, I know!), and I was left staring at “said person” in utter amazement, not to mention bewilderment.

It’s difficult for me to explain how inane a suggestion this truly is, unless you know me, then you completely understand, but suffice it to say that this is like suggesting to a vegetarian that they should try hamster BBQ because they really might quite like it! I’m not saying that I’m in any way one of those persons who suffers from excessive personality (syndrome), not at all. I’m sure you know the type, one of those who shows up 20 minutes late even though they appear to recently have ingested, at the very least, enough caffeine to fuel the next flight to the moon; and I certainly am not one of those that shows up and shows out, licks everyone’s elbow, pats every bum, and generally makes a showy noise of themselves..nope, not me at all. I beg to differ. Quite the opposite, really.

However I do confess to a particular cheekiness (or impishness) that some less than cheerful souls might consider irritating, exasperating, even confusing; particularly because I simply love to throw a smile and a giggle in for good measure when I can see it’s the last thing in the world the person I’m conversing with would normally do. (You know how deviously satisfying it is to be excessively pleasant to someone who is exceedingly disagreeable, I know you do!)

Yep, Architect of Antics, that’s me! Prompter of Playfulness. Instigator of Insanity (comparatively speaking) After all, if you can’t laugh, why live? Why breathe? Why look at this goodly frame, the earth …this most excellent canopy, the air,… this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, …(if all you are willing to see is)… a foul and pestilent congregation of vapors. (Yes yes, Hamlet again… but I promise I won’t digress any farther, it just illustrated my point so well!)

Now, I will admit that I do have the ability to prattle on about nothing in particular with little or no contribution from anyone else, and (as I am sure you are already very well aware) I can write about anything or nothing the day long, but, in all honesty, it isn’t because I’m flighty, preposterous, or feather-brained (“Sometimes people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don’t they”)(No that wasn’t Hamlet, THAT was The Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, silly!) or because I simply like to hear the sound of my own voice…no, I have a brain, I assure you, honestly, trust me, (but the internal mechanics and knowledge of my mind are yet another post…)(Did I hear you shout amen?!)

I simply prefer to be happy.

I prefer to share the joy of living that overflows inside me; to give someone a smile for no apparent reason; to step even slightly out of my way to bestow a kindness, if only to see how they react with amazement or bewilderment and then smile back because happiness is, in actuality, infectious. Why not? Doesn’t it beat the alternative: waking up in the morning with a growl (ok, unless it’s before 5am, then growling isn’t necessarily the only thing I’m apt to do), arriving at work with a snarl (again…unless it’s before 5am!) and spending the foreseeable future, for all intents and purposes, mating with maliciousness?
So for someone to suggest that I should put a damper on that buoyant side of my nature is like trying to suggest to the wind that it really ought not blow in a certain direction, or for the tide to simply not rise or fall.

I’m Bubbly, ebullient, vivacious, perhaps even somewhat sagacious….ok and maybe, potentially, ever so slightly, annoying effervescent.

laughter

~Morgan~
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Images found on Google Image search

#Words – One #Writer’s #Passion

22 Tuesday Jun 2021

Posted by in About Me (since you Insist), Poetry

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written

Words

They are inescapably diverting. They distract me in the most intoxicating manner imaginable; they hold me hostage like a prisoner trapped within a cage of my own making where I pace, tiger-like, undeterred by the tide of day into night and night into day, where I can spend hours surrounding myself with them without saying anything at all.

Words

They fill my heart with yearning. They spread through my mind like a waking dream, impossible to ignore and as captivating as warmth on a freezing day, and I stand enthralled by the indescribably hypnotic sight of my thoughts and dreams taking visible form, filling my mind with ever increasing tides and torrents of relentless phrases.

Words

They touch the deep precincts of my mind. They betray the hidden secrets of my heart, speaking boldly for any who will listen what it is that my spirit longs to attain, to satisfy, to provoke, and I have no more control over the inevitable prophesying than one might have over the wind, blowing where and when and how it will.

Words

Like a drug I am powerless to resist, they send me into spiraling, dizzying, abstraction where I wait, transfixed and smiling like a Cheshire Cat, unabashed in my revelry, unhindered by convention, until the wave crests and crashes.

Words

Trivial or Tantalizing, Poetic or Lurid, I hear them, see them, feel them, taste them. They send me into irrational, inexplicable fits of splendor that only I seem able to experience. And yet, when those words are spoken by You, I see a mirror, a reflection; evidence of something more than just

Words.
written-words

#Rain – A #Poets View of #Weather and #Life

21 Monday Jun 2021

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Rain.

It is a beautiful thing. There are so many types of rain, really, and I couldn’t tell you which sort I prefer more (unless we are including the fluffy, white, frozen variety that I love most of all, in copious quantities, as frequently as possible.)
Silver Greenery

There’s the light, misty kind that I tend to envision whenever someone talks about Great Britain. That type of drizzly, foggy rain that hangs over the landscape, penetrating every crevice, enveloping whatever it touches in a hazy shroud, and leaving ten thousand beads of incandescent diamonds in its wake that sparkle and scintillate when the light reappears. (Sounds divine, doesn’t it?) Oh, it’s also that deceptively inconsequential form of rain that doesn’t look like much until you walk out in it without your bumbershoot.
Mists

There’s the freezing drizzle, or frizzle; that sinister variety of rain that usually arrives overnight and surreptitiously transforms the garden path, car park, or the front steps into a skating arena suitable only for Olympic athleticism. It’s that quirky classification of rain that warps and blurs everything into unrealistic, Photoshop-worthy deviations of reality that makes most of us grab our camera’s (ie. Phones) to record and share the surreal, Dr Suess-iness of it all. This category of precipitation doesn’t initially impress either, so you generally disregard it until you have to go out and then promptly wind up on your arse.
Winter's Icy Grip

There are a myriad classifications of thunderstorms as well. Those that pop up in the middle of a sweltering, summer day just long enough to make us all run for cover; the kind that create a lot of noise for 20 minutes and then disappear into a haze of steam. There are those that roll overhead in the hiatus of evening, fast and furious, full of sound and fury, (signifying nothing?) that do little more than make a mess, generally. And then there are those magnificent, cacophonous, tempests that jar you from sound sleep in the middle of the night with ear-splitting thunder and shocks of lightening that leave you wondering if you couldn’t hide under the bed with the cat.
Lightening

There’s also the awe-inspiring, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks kind of rain that makes you stare out the window in astonishment, forces you off the road in your car because you can’t see one inch ahead or behind, and makes you wonder for a fleeing, transitory moment if there isn’t an arc being built someplace nearby that you perhaps ought to be booking passage on: those torrential downpours of cats and dogs (and monkeys.)
pouring-rain

Then there’s the steady, pervasive, day-long kind of rain that sweeps over the earth, softly falling hour by hour, never flooding, never rumbling, never wreaking havoc. This is the kind of rain that looks like a painting by Monet or Van Gough; that smells so sweet you inhale the scent of it deeply and can’t help sighing. It’s also that sort of precipitation that makes you want to pull off your shoes like a child, go out and splash in the puddles.
Gentle Rain

We can’t control the rain; what kind of rain it is, how hard it falls or for how long, but we can control how we respond to it so that we neither wind up soaking wet wishing we had protection from the rain, staring in dumb-struck wonder at the rain fearing what might happen next, nor landing on our arses because the unanticipated variability of the rain caught us completely off guard. Rather, we can stop to enjoy the rain, inhale deeply, and allow ourselves to be refreshed and renewed before we plod on.

Rainbow

~Morgan!
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Images found on Google

Mea Culpa – #MusicandMuse- #Poetry set to #Music

20 Sunday Jun 2021

Posted by in Music and Muse, Poetry

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Enigma

Mea Culpa

The Liquescent Chanting…. Ancient, Alluring, Hypnotic.

The Male Voice in all its Splendor…. Echoing, Entreating, Inviting.

The Heartbeat of Resonant Bass…. Rhythmic, Repeating, Intoxicating.

The Lurid Conjuring Suggestion….Captivating, Controlling, Paradoxical.

The Tribal, Primitive Longing ….Persistent, Perpetuating, Inescapable.

~Morgan~

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The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.

Pennies for Every Occasion – #MeditativeThinking for #ChangingTimes

19 Saturday Jun 2021

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Pennies for Every Occassion
Pennies for Every Occasion

Like Chinese water torture, the steady drip, drip, drip of thoughts in my mind is inescapable, inevitable, irrepressible and yet, I cannot imagine life without the unceasing narrative that runs the (hamster?) wheel of my mind. It doesn’t really matter what I see: good, bad, beautiful, ugly, frightening, funny, or Hallmark-worthy tear-jerking, the window of my imagination opens and the gale force bluster of my thoughts comes rushing in, scattering the gloom of the mundane like inconsequential pages.

Often, I hear the echoes of Shakespeare, words I hold so dear, (but I promise I won’t subject you to again,…not yet) repeating, repeating, repeating with unrivaled dramatic flare. Other times it’s the annoyingly simplistic verse of a song I can’t quite recall, so I keep getting stuck at the quintessential moment and am forced to repeat, repeat, repeat whether I like it or not. (You can relate, I know you can!) Most of the time, however, I’m submersed in the spell-binding thespian exploits of one of my favorite actors, (that moment when the actor steps beyond his customary offerings and reveals something far more indescribable than you ever anticipated) and suddenly I find myself cast adrift on a sea of words and poetic phrases. It’s at that moment that I have a choice. I am forced to either press pause/ignore what’s happening on the big screen, grab a pen/pencil/or reach for my keyboard and scribble/type furiously before the inspiration is lost, or I kick myself later for not having done the latter.

These little treasures of thoughts would fill coin purse after coin purse if I had collected them all as such. Unfortunately however, (and I’m sure you are familiar with this predicament) I’ve kicked myself more often than I’ve jumped out of bed, paused the DVD, or thrown my hands over the mouth of person I’m talking/listening to. Nevertheless, I always have a few pennies lying about somewhere for every occasion and the following is a brief offering…(since brevity is the soul of wit) (sorry, yes, I know I promised, but it’s nearly as impossible for me not to incorporate Shakespeare into what I’m talking or writing about as it is for me to keep the window of my imagination closed and block out the wind!)

Words are spoken, heard, seen, performed, felt and dreamed.

Family is treasure. Gold is just metal.

Love is the most desirable source of pain.

Soul mates know each other, even before they meet.

One is two halves existing together in perfect harmony. Half of one is the loneliest number.

Inspiration mirrors breathing, it happens without you ever thinking about it and is equally as vital.

Giggles breed.

Shadows lurk beneath even the brightest illumination.

Friends don’t let Friends fall down alone.

Loss is just an opportunity for gain.

A child’s laughter is a language every person on Earth understands.

(Please share YOUR Pennies for Every Occasion in the comments cup below 🙂

~Morgan~
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Image found on Google

When – #Poetry of the #NaturalWorld

12 Saturday Jun 2021

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daylight

When ‘last the Light Escapes night drear,
Tis then Morn’ Stands upon the Mountain
And Jocund Day Waits, tiptoe, for Intent;
While Promise ‘pends upon the Balance.

forboding moon

When Yore consumes the Unsullied year
With rash and tainted Fervor,
‘Tis then foreboding haunts the darkness
And Muses Wait upon the Morrow.

Moodtide

When Twilight ‘parts with Fleeting shadow
And dark descends like the Immortal cowl,
Then my Soul Sighs Deep and Long
For the loss of all it once Held Dear.

~Morgan~
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Beautiful Images found on Pinterest.  Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original photographers.  Thank You.

Sleeping with the “Enemy”- A Thought About #ChangingPerspectives

10 Thursday Jun 2021

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spider

Sleeping with the Enemy

Let me begin by saying that I am arachnophobic. Always have been, always will be. I’m that person that goes into an unparalleled fit of screaming, shaking, and running in the opposite direction whenever those creepy-crawly eight legged monsters are around. I’m the person who wakes up in the middle of the night and strips her bed to the bare bones to make sure there isn’t one or millions of those hairy, spindly, multi-legged freaks somewhere amongst the covers. Or under the bed. Or on any of the coordinating furniture. Or lying in wait on the drapes until I go back to sleep, so it can then descend on me in the darkness of night to send me into the aforementioned paroxysm. I’m also the person who once had to single-handedly dispatch a gargantuan, tarantula sized, octoplet-limbed creature of terror who had taken up residence in my bathtub!!! (insert frenzied shrieking here!)

Fast forward now, from that ghastly day, to this morning where you will find me (hypothetically speaking) lying in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams without care; dozing the morning away because it’s finally a Saturday and I don’t HAVE to get up early. (and the congregation shouts AMEN!) I wake up, lazily search for the clock, realize it’s not even 8 AM, smile triumphantly, roll over and promptly resume my reverie. My mind drifts aimlessly through wisps of dreams still clinging to my memory; lingers over musings of hazy imaginings and teeters on the pinnacle between conscious thought and transcendental hyperbole.…until, at last, I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling… you know the sensation…trying to remember what planet I’m on.

My thoughts shift from mystical to rational, (darn it!) I begin to strategically plan out my day, workout and the subsequent primping and preening that follows, breakfast, errands, financial concerns, laundry…yeck! Oh To sleep, perchance to dream! (sorry, snuck some Shakespeare in there on ya!) But this fair thought, now ended; I must rouse myself to the full and stumble on…( that part’s not Shakespeare, that’s me being “poetic”. Shakespeare always merits Italics) So, up I get and up gets the cat (his name is Little Orange Pooz, but that’s yet another post). I turn to make up the bed and then I SEE IT! A black, fuzzy, eight-legged beastie fully the size of a quarter (OR for my British friends, a one pound coin) sitting on my curtain just above my pillow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Typically, this is the instant where the heebie-jeebies take over, the moment when rationale goes out the window and an inescapable spasm of insanity runs riot over me. I stare in dismay, but to my utter bewilderment and astonishment, I neither freak nor flee. Rather, although I have no comprehension of why, I stand there, LEAN CLOSER, and gaze at this little furry monster more intently. I can see he’s not moving; he’s almost curled up, and for half of a fleeting second I almost smile!!! He’s sleeping! Is he dreaming? What does a spider dream about, I wonder paradoxically. Does he dream about dropping down from the ceiling in the middle of the night onto unsuspecting, sleeping young women to send them into riotous fits of irrational fear all for the sheer hilarity of it?

Who cares!!!! I shake myself…it’s a spider!!! In any other situation, I would instantaneously grab the nearest shoe and start screechin’ n’ swingin’! But, instead, I find myself walking calmly (albeit briskly) to the laundry cupboard, retrieving a duster (a long handled one to be sure!), and returning to the scene of the crime to patiently coax this denizen of hideousness onto the fluffy fibers of his waiting conveyance so I can carry him (once again, at a BRISK pace) to the door and deposit him on the first green growing thing I can find.

Ok….what’s the deal? How can this be? What alternate reality did I wake to this morning that would find me inquisitively regarding and then effectively sparing the life of my lifelong nemesis and archenemy? Is there some lucid explanation for this, otherwise, inexplicable deviation from the norm? I spend the next several hours musing over the possibilities. It could be simply that I hadn’t yet had a sufficient intake of caffeine, was still half asleep and not thinking clearly. Or it could be, perhaps, that I was so surprised I didn’t have time to think about it, really, completely. Or my body could have been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and I was under some form of extra-terrestrial manipulation!

No, I guess not.

I guess the most likely, if least appealing, explanation is that I’ve changed somehow, in some way as yet not quite realized, or at least not quite realized until this morning, and I’m left to wonder… Is it possible that change isn’t as tedious and complicated as we always think it will be? Perhaps, every now and then, change comes quietly, when we least expect it, like a furry, not so little, spider tiptoeing into our room without us even noticing it. Curling up beside us while we’re not paying attention, it lies, waiting to be discovered and, ultimately, it transforms us into someone we barely guessed we could be.

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~Morgan~

BnV???- A #Blog About #Words, #Shakespeare, #Poetry, #Positivity and so much More!

08 Tuesday Jun 2021

Posted by in About Me (since you Insist), Just Me Musing

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BnV???

So, here we are, post number two already and you’ve come back for more.  More, in spite of the askance glances you may have received or the incredulous responses to your description of your initial experience here to your friends or colleagues or strangers on undergrounds and, yes, perhaps, even against your better judgment.  Yet regardless of your reason(s)… Welcome back intrepid voyager!  And while I cannot offer you a tiny cup of refreshment or a miniscule packet of peanuts to fortify you on your journey, I might just be able to offer a few potential explanations as to why you may be here.

Morbid Curiosity?  A Predilection for the Bizarre?  Sheer Insanity?  Or maybe….just maybe….although you can’t positively say why, you actually enjoyed that preliminary assay into The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe.  If any of these are the case (and even if they aren’t), let’s get down to it, shall we?  The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe, Book and Volume, BnV…what does it all mean?  I’m sure you’d love to gain some insight, apparently, since you’re here again (a state of affairs about which I am over the moon, by the way), with that perplexed look on your face.  Lucky for you, I’d love to elucidate on that very topic.  (for clarity’s sake, the BnV topic, not the puzzlement on your face.  We’ll leave that for another post).

First and foremost there’s the obvious (and almost certainly not all that innovative) Hamlet reference (my absolute favourite Shakespeare play ever, of all time, always). For those of you unfamiliar with this marvelous tragedy: the following is Hamlet speaking about his Father, now a ghost, who only just told his horrified son about his foul and most unnatural murder…  (Go ahead, read it…I’ll explain, I promise!)

Ay, thou poor ghost, whilst memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee?
Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records…
…And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain,
Unmix’d with baser matter!

OK, so there you go…(although you had no idea you were going to read Shakespeare tonight and hopefully it wasn’t especially horrific or scarring for you.)  This Distracted Globe is, to put it bluntly, Hamlet’s skull and The Book and Volume is his mind and all that it contains.   So Yes, BnV- otherwise known as Book and Volume- is my brain, in all its splendid absurdity and eccentricity poured out for you…yes YOU…on the pages of this otherwise non-descript little blog.

I know…its positively intoxicating (or potentially terrifying), isn’t it?

Secondly, ( you forgot already, didn’t you, that I was talking about the blog and not the whirlings of my  mind) , BnV is a blog about nothing and everything, about the commonplace and the atypical; it’s a place where you may find poetry I’ve woven or tales I’ve spun;  it’s a place for me to share insights (or revelations, as I like to call them ) that I might have on any given day (which, with any luck, will hold some significance for you as well and not leave you sitting there wondering, yet again, what exactly it is that I’m blathering on about.)  Visiting BnV could also lead you to discover a new recipe I’ve created or could find you reading all about some character I’ve come across or created, or why I loved, hated or generally became nauseated by the latest flick I’ve seen or book I’ve read (although I am more often found writing my own rather than reading one by another). Potentially, you could also find yourself looking at a pictorial review of my day, should I have the most inconceivable impediment imaginable and find myself without anything to say (which, if you know me at all or even if you are just getting to know me is something you must be quite certain never happens).

So, BnV?  Yes.  And now you know why….or why not.

The Book and Volume of this Distracted Globe -#A #Blog’s Humble Beginning

06 Sunday Jun 2021

Posted by in About Me (since you Insist), Just Me Musing

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In Honor of BooknVolume’s Eight Blogoversary I am re-posting the very first post that brought us all together….

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The Book and Volume of This Distracted Globe

Or Book and Volume

Or BnV

Admittedly, I am an amateur.  Sure, I’ve heard about blogs for years, heard people talking about posts round the proverbial water cooler, but I’ve never actually read one.  Nope, not a single one, but I know how to spin a tale; I understand and appreciate the basics of English grammar (although I don’t always obey proper form and I do love a split infinitive) so I thought, why not?  Give it a go.  Have a bash, what’s to lose, really?  Bit of time.  After all, how hard could it be, sitting at my laptop listening to the sounds of the ocean, or a nice thundery rainstorm, or the ethereal music of Delirium all thanks to the wellspring we know as You Tube.  And even If the only person who finds said blog interesting, amusing or, if I’m lucky, entertaining, should be me than that’s just splendid; because if you can’t take a little time out of your day to amuse yourself, then perhaps you’re taking things a bit too seriously. (but I digress)

So here it is, entry one.  Or post number one.  Or what have you.  Now, for those of you who do not know me (yet) perhaps this would be an opportune moment to insert some sort of disclaimer, alert you to some of my comparatively annoying idiosyncrasies, and enlighten you to some of my peculiarities. (Most of these are one in the same by the way)  So here goes: first and foremost I’m a word enthusiast, aficionado, and devotee.  I love, admire, aspire to emulate and find myself positively piqued (by) Shakespeare, Dickens, Austin, Blake, Poe, or the like.  Odd, perchance, but I’m quite certain you’ve probably already ascertained this for yourself.  Yes, words….words….words.. (to quote the Master).  They fill me with inspiration, they bring me to tears or sometimes they make me LOL, ….they can often, also, bore me to bits (insert government or math related blather here).   So you may find yourself reading ten pages of paragraph long sentences brimming over with 6 syllable words just to find out that all I’ve really said is I don’t actually have anything to say.  Yeah, I’m good at that.

I should also probably warn you that, although I find a great many things interesting and will, most likely, remark on any number of them in a given post, I don’t have a particular objective in mind ( at this point anyway) for this blog.  Variety is the spice of life after all, so one never knows what I may sit down and prattle on about, at length, mayhap insipidly, but at the very least ( and dare I say, hopefully!) you won’t find yourself feeling preached at when you’ve reached the end.  That, you may be sure, is not my intention.

So there you are and here I am, two partners in time; one sharing, one gaining (little or nothing, but perhaps at least a smile…if I am successful) giving and receiving, for better or for worse….(yes, I see the direction this metaphorical segment is taking and I would break off, but where this is going illustrates so well another of my quirks, which is, though I hate to admit it, that I do tend to find meaning in even the simplest things)…so to get back to my metaphor… if you think about it, being a writer and a reader is rather like being in a relationship ( I was going to use the M word, but we barely know each other yet).  There’s good, there’s bad, there’s mutual intrigue, there are laughs and tears, arguments and betrayals of one form or another, but in the end, it’s generally worthwhile.  (there, that wasn’t too bad, was it?)

Ok, so you’ve read four paragraphs now and, although I’m only going on instinct, I’m thinking I should probably begin to wrap this up.  Not very educational, to be sure; not very interesting, conceivably, but maybe, just maybe, when you are at work tomorrow talking to your friends ( or if you haven’t any of those at your job ) your colleagues, or when you’re stuck in traffic on your way in or way home talking to one of the aforementioned on your cell, or when you’re chatting with some stranger you just met on the tube, you might just tell them about what you did last night.

How you were sitting at your computer/laptop/iPad/electronic devise of some sort, bored with the mundane, hum-drumness of Facebook and Twitter and you decided, (possibly against better judgment), to strike out on your own.  It was then that you happened upon the most… (insert adjective of your choice here) (yes, interactive blog….nifty, eh?)… blog you’ve ever read in your life and, although you’re not sure if it was about anything in particular, you did have a laugh once or twice, but it didn’t last long and, while it seemed inane at the time and, although you thought you’d never be interested in reading it again, you can’t stop thinking about it.  In fact, you can’t even say why.  What you can say is that the author might just possibly be off her hinges, one pie short of a picnic, not quite reaching warp speed; still, she had a way of writing that made you want to read more….maybe,…although you can’t be certain because there was only one entry.   And now you’re left with the most annoying set of circumstances imaginable because all you really want to know is, what the heck is she going to be nattering on about next?

~Morgan~

Fervent Melody

24 Monday May 2021

Posted by in Poetry

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Fervent Melody

The Majestic Spectacle of this Brassy Night,
Filled with Clangor and Dismay,
Speaks to me in its Awe-Inspiring Sight
Of Resilient Bedlam amidst Chaotic Fray,
For, Although the Sky has Broken,
Pouring Treasure to the Yawning Ground,
This Tempestuous Urgency is a Simple Token
Of the Deafening Crescendo of Unspoken Sound
That my Heart would make, if Nature it Obeyed,
To Orchestrate its Candor in the Fervent Melody it Played.

~Morgan~
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Amazing Photograph found at: Wallpapersus.com