River of Tumbling Monotony,
Deluge of cacophony,
Through Silent Intrepidity,
Whisper in the Tranquil night
A Song to echo Infinity
While Sorrows stream from blackened Sight
A talisman of Surety;
Sing sweet Song
Wield your Harmony
Beyond the shores of Extremity
Into the Bliss of Infinity
As Night turns into golden day
And Light subdues her Amber rays
Sing lilting messenger of Gold
Into the masses
Into the wold
Of tempestuous struggles that fret and mire
Sing Sweet Song
and Never Tire!
Beautiful Original Photography found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You ~
The Whispers of the Breeze
Speaks Silence to my Heart,
In Shades of Indigo Brilliance
And Bright Luminous Mists of Tranquil Blue,
Speaking of Sweet Mystery,
Uttering Paradoxes, Timeless and True.
Unfettered upon this Whisper of Air,
Unchained from Grief, from Doubt, from Despair,
Into the Realms of Pearlescent Dreams,
Glittering Incomprehensibility Streams.
Beautiful Photograph found at HDQwide.com. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You~
Saffron tinges of Memory
Essence of Harmony
Singing on the breeze
Whispers of Captivation
Melding as it Frees
Enchanting through the Blush
Of Auburn Tresses Falling
Through the Tapestry
This poem was the result of reading another poets work (Roland of www.rolandsragbag.wordpress.com), seeing One word or in the case of his work one image that sparked my Inspiration (that being the word Saffron) and immediately opening a word.doc to capture the words and phrases that tumbled through my mind. whether the poem makes any sense or not, I shall not say, but it was a wonderful exercise of Creativity I encourage you to try.
Beautiful Photograph found via Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original Photographer. Thank You~
I have been quiet this week due to having just moved to my new home in Alexandria Virginia. I have been settling in as well as tackling the daunting task of learning a new job. I hope that you are all enjoying a fabulous May. Please know that I shall return as soon as possible, but as we are preparing to move again to a new condo across town at the end of May my return may be sporadic until we are completely resettled.
Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts and continuing to visit BnV for any of the guest bloggers I have scheduled during my hiatus. As ever I wish you all the best blessings and happiness.
Poetry is music, a song without instrumentation; a symphony of rhythm, meter, timing, flow and magic. It is a conundrum. The expression of an emotion through the use of language that seeks to instill emotion, but how does one create a concerto of syllables and verbs, adjectives, nouns and pronouns in order to adequately convey something that is often intangible.
Take love for example. How does anyone truly express such an inexpressible concept? A sensation so powerful it overrules all logical thought, yet so delicate it can be whispered in the softest tones and still be understood? It is exceedingly blissful and agonizingly painful; a tempest of temptation temptingly tempestuous.
Some poets are born to spin emotion into lyrical gold. Shakespeare, Poe, Blake, Dunn; they all had a unique style that reached hearts and minds within mere measures of words and are even today, hundreds of years after their lives, evoking emotion through the power of words. We, as contemporary poets, all seek to emulate, in our own way, magic similar to theirs; we all strive to convey emotion in an enduring and poignant manner.
Poetry is music. A Heartbeat; a pulse; a tempo to which the heart and mind dance. For some, creating that music is easy; for others a struggle. For me, it is magic that is indescribable; a romance between my hands that form the words and my spirit that feels them. I write with my eyes closed, waiting. Heart quiet in restful calm or pounding in passionate inspiration, and Spirit open, willing, questing, seeking, listening, as the words and images come tumbling down. Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, sparkling heavens;
Down from the clouds of thundering rain,
Down from the Starlight of glittering Refrain,
Down from the Breathless moon that Sighs,
Down from the Whispers of Silken skies.
I am there, an open vessel while my Spirit sings the Sweetest tune I have ever heard. Though I cannot physically hear it, though I cannot listen to the manifestation of music like I do when I connect to my playlists, I hear the serenade as clearly as that faltering music. The melody comes down.
Down from Heaven,
Down from the sweet, sparkling heavens,
Down from the clouds of Glittering glow,
Down from the bastion o’er the rushing flow.
Down like a Heralding triumphant horn,
Down from the Endless expanse of morn.
Eyes closed, waiting. Heart Quiet, listening. Spirit Willing, Questing. All for the lyrical Beauty that spills like an endlessly cascading fall of sparkling water from that inestimably breathtaking Source. I write, write as fast as I am able, unconcerned about spelling, punctuation, context, verbiage. I sit in Humble wonder as the Blessed words pour Down.
Down from Heaven.
Down from the Sweet, Sparkling heavens.
Down from the rainbow of Jubilant Praise,
Down like a star falling in radiant blaze,
Down like symphonies of ethereal balm
Down like thunderous, calamitous calm!
Beautiful Original Artwork: heartbeat_by_moonbeam1212
Knowing what to do after you’ve *finally* finished the first draft of your manuscript and have mopped up all the blood, sweat and tears that went into it can be a bit of a mystery if you’re new to the game. You know editing comes into it, and you may have heard about beta readers, but what comes first, and more importantly, how do you go get started?
To help with the cacophony of questions littering your head, I’ve made a general guide to help you get going. This is very much based off my own experience, and is not an exhaustive list:
So there you have it. Where you take your work from there is completely up to you. Whether you opt for traditional publishing, self-publishing or somewhere in-between (be absolutely sure you don’t head down the path of vanity publishing – an old but good rule on how to tell a vanity publisher from a real one is that money should always flow to the author, not away) make sure you do your research.
Kathryn is a children’s and YA author, and currently has her fantasy trilogy, Half-Wizard Thordric, published with Creativia Publishing. Her YA speculative fiction novel, The Origin Stone, will be published in March 2019 by Nuff Said Publishing.
An avid reader, she also writes poetry, book reviews and short stories. She loves animals and is a slave to a parrot and budgie, and currently lives on the Isle of Wight with her husband, a curious and eccentric being who never fails to provide her with inspiration. You can find her on twitter @KaptainKat90, or go directly to her website www.kathrynwells.co.uk.
Grandpappy’s Cows by Mary Deal
Grammy and Grandpappy had fifteen youngins of their own, so I had a mess o’ cousins. Most of the boys looked the same, with straggly dirty blonde hair and mean squinty eyes. We girls was better. We looked different from one another by our hair color and sizes of our bosoms.
Grandpappy moved lots of us to a run-down trailer park near the railroad tracks. Him and Grammy lived in a doublewide next to the meadow ’cause they kept a milk cow. As neighbors moved out, more of our kin moved in. No matter the trailers was abandoned ’cause they was old, we was a family that stuck together. Pretty soon our kin took over every useable trailer in that danged weed-infested field. The poor folk thought we was rich.
Everyone who visited asked to go see the rest of them empty trailers. I sneaked and seen ’em already and they was empty, except for some mattresses the hobos left behind. When I asked why my uncles always brought their girlfriends around to inspect those old trailers when they went out on dates, Grandpappy said, “They just want to bless our new home.” Then he’d slap his knee and bellow till his eyes watered and he started to coughin’. He never let me go see with the other people and got downright nasty when I tried. “You stay put, li’l girlie,” he said. “There’s time enough to learn about life.”
My daddy was a jack-of-all-trades and him and Grandpappy joined some of them trailers so’s you could walk from one to another without goin’ outside. When friends come over for some honky-tonkin’, those old trailers would rock and once the rotted tires exploded on one of ’em.
Effie May was my closest cousin. She was older ’n me. The boys said she was built like a cow. Sometimes when they headed off to the trailers, they said they was gonna go milk the cows. Like it was a dirty joke or somethin’. Effie May hung out with the boys a lot. She said they was her kissin’ cousins.
One day, Effie May whispered to me, “They calm my yearnins, ya’ know?”
I didn’t know. I saw her and cousin Wilma Lou, who my momma told me to stay away from, go in and out of them abandoned trailers on the other side of the park with a bunch of boys time and again. Effie May was awful smart, said she knew how to be of service to folks. She always had money. But me? I didn’t want to be nobody’s servant. Me and my momma was close. I was blonde-headed like the rest of my kin, but my hair picked up some of my momma’s red. I liked her the most, better ’n Effie May, ’cause Momma explained things to me.
As we kids was growin’ up, I guess Grandpappy thought he still had to feed the whole brood. One day after Grammy gave away the old cow that dried up, he come home with another.
“I’m tired of sittin’ around all day shaking the cream to the top of that jar just to make butter,” Grammy said.
“Well, we cain’t afford the store-bought stuff yet either,” Grandpappy said.
Johnny Jeb was one cousin always up to no good. He used to squeeze the cow’s udder so we could drink when we got thirsty while we was playin’. He’d squirt us just to be mean. We was lucky Grandpappy never knowed what the soggy stains was on our clothes and why leaves stuck in our hair ’cause sometimes after getting pushed in, we swam in the creek with our clothes on and he couldn’t tell the difference.
“You grandkids are dirtier ’n my own ever was,” he would say. “And to think you live better off today.”
Some of my aunts and uncles took a broom to their kids for coming home dirty. My momma just smiled and poured water into the old tin tub, throwed me a bar of Grammy’s lye soap, and said, “You soak good now, Darlin’.”
Grandpappy couldn’t figure out why the cow didn’t give much milk. He was attached to Bossie, his latest cow, and instead of getting rid of her, he brung home another.
Johnny Jeb loved that. He taught cousin Bobby Zeke to squirt and they had milk fights in the meadow. When the rest of us got to laughin’, we all learned to squirt.
Grandpa got a third cow just so’s he could get enough milk together for all our families every day. Anyway, between the three, they kept the weeds down real good. But it stunk some and the boys was put to scrapin’ up the cow-pies and tossin’ ’em into an empty field. Us girls stayed away from them dung fights.
Later on, when I started thinkin’ about boys, I looked in the mirror to see what they was a-winkin’ at. My bosoms finally growed like Effie May’s. My kin said I wasn’t bad looking and my hair always shined like sunlight.
“Why’d you s’pose that is?” I asked my momma one day.
“Musta’ been all that fresh cream you got in your hair when you was a kid,” she said.
I never knew she knowed. I have a right smart image of my momma now that I know she let us kids enjoy the fun we had back then. I looked at her real hard ’cause I admired her more all of a sudden. Her brassy hair was so shiny.
My daddy said I matured real nice. He always paced around lookin’ at me like I was the chunk of gold that was gonna make him rich or somethin’. I wondered if him and Momma would let me go honky-tonkin’. Effie May said she could tell me how to take care of my yearnins.
* * * * *
Find this hilarious story and others among myriad explanatory articles about writing, including examples, in Write It Right – Tips for Authors – The Big Book on Amazon. Here: https://tinyurl.com/y8m7fkkr
* * * * *
Mary Deal is an Amazon best-selling and award-winning author of suspense/thrillers, a short story collection, writers’ references, and self-help. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, Artist and Photographer, and former newspaper columnist and magazine editor. She is currently writing the third story in her Sara Mason Mystery Series. A long romance novel, which is a new genre for her is presently in process for publication.
She has traveled a great deal and has a lifetime of diverse experiences, all of which remain in memory as fodder for her fiction. A native of California’s Sacramento River Delta, where some of her stories are set, she has also lived in England, the Caribbean, Hawaii, and now resides in Scottsdale, Arizona. She is also an oil painter and photographer. Her art is used to create gorgeous personal and household products from her online galleries.
Find Her Online
Her Website: https://www.marydeal.com
Amazon Author Page: https://tinyurl.com/3z8pm31
Barnes & Noble: https://tinyurl.com/o7keqf7
Linked In: https://www.linkedin.com/in/marydeal
Her Art Galleries
Mary Deal Fine Art – https://www.marydealfineart.com
Island Image Gallery – https://www.islandimagegallery.com
Mary Deal Fine Art and Photography – https://www.facebook.com/MDealArt
LocalMe – https://www.redbubble.com/people/localme
Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.com/1deal
Sweet and still
Soft and Ethereal
to the Spirit
Guiding with Tranquility
Speaking of Eternity
If we pause to Hear it.
Beautiful Photograph found on Pinterest. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You~
Hi! I am really excited to be guest writing for Morgan’s blog! I am nowhere near as talented as she is but I thought I would share a piece that is already currently on my blog and something that I have been dealing with recently.
A little about me, my name is Amberlyn and my blog is called Lovely Dysfunction. I cover a little bit of everything over there. From hikes, to mental health, to makeup; I cover it all! I’m not the best writer but I feel like I get a little better with each post. I just moved from Georgia to Colorado for a new career in Marketing and that transition has definitely thrown me through a loop. The short essay below is about what I have been going through recently. If it resonates with you at all, please let me know. Thanks!
Post-Grad Depression…wait, that’s a thing?
A modernly renovated and beautifully decorated 2 bedroom apartment. It’s not the penthouse but spacious and affordable. It’s in the perfect location where I can walk to my favorite cafe and I’m only a block away from the subway stop. My job is so much fun, I am pretty damn good at it, and I get paid more than the average fresh graduate. I have loads of open-minded new friends and even an attractive and friendly stranger who I encountered at a bookstore one weekend that may be interested. I have started working out more and getting healthy. Life is beautiful and I am happy.
That is how I envisioned post-grad life for the entirety of my senior year. It’s probably one of the sole things that kept me motivated and marching toward that cap and gown. Don’t get me wrong, post-grad life is wonderful for many reasons but my vision was also terribly misleading.
At first, I was too busy to notice it. My parents were helping me unpack, I was meeting my coworkers, starting my initial work training, decorating my apartment, and so on. Then my Dad left and I felt a twinge of something, but I sucked it up and moved on. I am an adult now, right? My mom stayed a little longer. We are both control freaks so we butted heads quite a bit in that time period. To the point, that I found myself counting down the days until her departure. Then she left. I was fine for about a week. Drunk with new-found freedom that was literally like nothing I had ever experienced. I was self-sufficient, in a state hundreds of miles away from home, in my OWN apartment with an amazing job.
However, I had a ton of time by myself. I have my dog, who I am incredibly thankful for, but I had no one to talk to when I got home. This was especially damaging after a bad day. Yes, I could have called someone and I did some days but I slowly stopped this practice. It was easier to direct my energy to self-loathing and hiding in my bed than calling my mom. I was beating myself up over the smallest mistakes and overanalyzing every critique my manager gave me. I was miserable.
On top of this, all my closest friends were still in college, living happily in the comfortable bubble that I had left behind. They would send photos to me of them hanging out together and it would hurt because I knew I had no one like that in my new home…and because I missed them, obviously.
I went from being an extremely motivated individual to one who didn’t even want to get out of bed in the morning to go to work. I went from being so excited to hike every inch of Colorado to deciding to stay in and watch YouTube videos.
I feel bad even writing about this because I am incredibly blessed. I was blessed with the opportunity to go to and graduate college, I am blessed with a well-paid job with what I consider to be a very caring company. I have an apartment that fits my needs, and I have a family and friends that keep in touch despite our distance. However, I still feel sad. Some days are better than others and some days are really, really bad. Leaving the bubble of school and the world you create there is difficult. I’m sure some struggle with it more than I do and I am sure some people don’t struggle at all. I thought it would be a breeze. I thought I had it all figured out.
There are several reasons I think post-grad depression is a thing:
Most of us have been in school for 17 years (+-). School is what we are good at; it’s what we know how to do. Leaving that comfort zone filled with friends, a routine, and a purpose is hard.
In school, we have a definite purpose. No matter how miserable that one professor is you know it’s temporary and you are doing it to ultimately make yourself a better human. After college, most of what you do is to better your employer. You may be inadvertently bettering yourself but that’s often not your main purpose in your day-to-day life unless you make time for it.
Let me tell you, electing my benefits was one of the most stressful things I have done. I understand how incredibly blessed I am to be offered benefits but the amount of money that leaves my paycheck every other week should be criminal. In addition to benefits, I have had to deal with taxes, apartment hunting, driving a U-Haul 1600 miles, appliances breaking, emergency vet trips, credit bureau security breaches, and bills on bills on BILLS.
College was a pain in my butt at times but a lot of it was focused on learning about topics I enjoyed. In fact, college is really about what you want. While my job is in marketing, my major, I can admit it isn’t the type of marketing I ever really wanted to do. There are other positions in the company that align better with my passions but I’m not there yet. I am here. It’s hard waking up to do something every day that you may not necessarily love but I am smart enough to understand that not everyone gets their dream job straight out of the gate and I am willing to work hard to get there one day.
I still deal with this ‘depression’ every day. A lot of this post was written in past tense but it’s still very much an issue. This post wasn’t meant to discourage any current college students. I love being independent and not having to worry about finals or buying books. However, I do wish someone had warned me. I don’t know if there is really a way to prepare but take it as reassurance.
Post-grad life may not be everything you dreamed it to be, but life is about adjusting and overcoming and you will.
Thanks for reading!
Link to my blog: https://lovelydysfunction.wordpress.com
Link to my ‘About me’ page: https://lovelydysfunction.wordpress.com/about/
Silence comes in Shadows and Rocky Pools
Where Light Reflects the Glimmering facets
Of Hope and Faith,
Courage Shimmering on the surface of the waters,
Even beneath the canopy of Overhanging fear;
Ever Rushing onward
In the ‘plash of the River of Time.
Beautiful photograph found at: hqwide.come
Who Speaks to you?
What do you Hear?
Shades and Shadows Fullest Bloom,
In the Silent, Empty Room.
What Dreams Fill your Waking mind?
What Fears Shake your Fragile Thoughts?
Emptiness and hollow Promises,
Masking Guilt that Soft Disguises.
Hush Tears that Speak your pain,
Children Weeping like Bitter Rain,
Fill this Garden of Fertile Giving,
While I Sleep, Others Are Living!
.The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.
Beautiful Music Performed by: Azam Ali
A quiet corner for writers to get inspired one word at a time.
Over 150 Book Reviewer Bloggers Listed
Photographer, Personal-Travel blog, Motivator, Traveler, Conservationist, Volunteer & Lifestyle coach
Experiencing the World One Trip at a Time
Great Reads for Avid Readers
Photography, Blog & Lifestyle
Make PEACE ✌ Show LOVE❤
green, health, wellness, climate change, waterways, people,
The Bridge exists because we live in a world that desperately needs the love of Jesus.