A Treasure Chest--And It Could Be Yours

        My favorite poet is Mary Karr  Adrienne Rich  Emily Dickinson . Okay, I have many favorites, and it depends on my mood. I have many collections of poetry on my bookshelf.

        But daily, I turn to Shay and Mama Zen for their mind-blowing poetry. Every day--sometimes twice a day in Shay's case) they post poetry. Shay's is sometimes whimsical, sometimes sharp but always inspiring. Mama Zen can do more with just a few lines than anyone I know. On the back of their book it notes that Mama Zen (Kelli Simpson) "is the Mistress of the short poem" but I would beg to differ; I think she's the dominatrix of short poems. She's fierce, she's most likely rocking some gorgeous boots, and she's always cracking the whip, reminding us that every word counts.

        Now I have another great collection of poetry to savor--created by three contemporary poets.

I'm sorry, but I cannot manage to link this book cover to Amazon, but you know
how to click onto Amazon and buy a copy or two, don't you?

         Hedgewitch (Joy Ann Jones), the third point in this triangle of talent, joins Shay Caroline Simmons and Kelli in this poetic powerhouse.

         When this book came out, I bought three copies. One for a dear friend, one for me, and one to give away. It's a true treasure of a book.

         To get a chance, leave a comment. And since I don't want to go to jail over including any of their poems/lines to entice you, I will share a poem that Shay wrote especially for me (I gave her the topic and she delivered). This poem is framed  and hangs in my study:

                           Damn the Match

I said, damn the match that set me on fire
But no one heard--
So I fanned myself with books, and oh
How I burned.

Damn the one who made me feel nothingly small,
This lonesome girl--
Then I spit my anger on a black-curling page,
And blistered the world.

Damn the distance that keeps my love from me,
The miles are sin--
Then I wrote out my love as a pink-fire dawn,
Warm on her skin.

Bless the match that each finger is,
To strike what I feel into words that be
An incendiary flow from soul to sky,
One burned-bright star that's made from...me.

                                    --Shay Caroline

(Hey, Shay. If this is a copyright infringement, please send the police immediately. It's the end of the school year and I would loooove to be in jail right about now, so I can miss the last couple of crazy weeks.)


       So, leave a comment. I'll announce the winner in a week. Good luck.

Poetry Contest and a Flash Fiction Contest

Emily Dickinson
photo by Amherst College Archives

         Saturday Writers is having two contests this month--poetry and flash fiction. The deadline is April 28. Poetry is limited to 50 lines; flash fiction is limited to 500 words. The entry is fee is $7, with a maximum of 3 entries per person per category. (If you're a member of Saturday Writers, the entry fee is only $5 per entry.)

        I wrote a murder story for the March contest, but after searching (in vain) for a way to make a cigar poisonous (I was killing off Rush Limbaugh) I had to alter my story; my victim became Steve Tilley, the Missouri politician who has idiotically decided to honor Limbaugh in the state capitol with a bronze bust. (The thought makes my shirt bust open in pride! Not only is Missouri the meth capital of the country and not only are we the puppy mill mecca, we also have some of the stupidest politicians.)

       Now, I have to think of a poem to submit, even though it's not my normal genre. Flash fiction as well? Who knows...

        I have a writing friend who writes poetry almost exclusively. (Barb)

        I have a writing friend who writes humorous poetry. (Linda)

        I know a writer who writes mind-blowing poetry, and even channels Emily Dickinson at times. (Fireblossom)

            I know a writer who writes wonderful microfiction; I'm sure Lisa could submit at least one or two flash fiction stories.


        I know of a couple of other writer who are phenomenal poets. (Hedgewitch and Mama Zen).

         How about it? What's stopping you?

Jodi Picoult's House Rules

photo by amazon.com

             I just finished House Rules by Jodi Picoult. Like all of her novels (at least all of the ones I've read so far), the story swirls around a family. And after she puts the characters and issues into her  magical tilt-a-whirl, the stance you might normally take gets blurry. And then Picoult is able to sit back and smirk in a self-satisfied way...

             At the center of the story is a young man with Asperger's who is accused of murdering his social skills tutor. Jacob's  daily "demands" on his family (a single mother and a younger brother) wear and tear at them; the murder trial is just added stress. 

          A child with Asperger's seems normal. They're intelligent---sometimes highly so.  But if you scratch the surface, you notice their inability to maintain eye contact or to feel empathy, their difficulty initiating a conversation, their strangle-hold on "habits" they've created...and you soon realize that this person is very different.

          Like all of Picoult's books, there is a twist at the end; it doesn't end up quite the way you think it will.  What starts out as black and white turns to many shards of gray...

          And after all, what about life is black or white?


          To finish this post, I'd like to welcome my newest follower.  Hedgewitch has two blogs. Please stop by and check out her blog.  Hedgewitch writes poetry that makes me think (and sometimes her poetry is beyond my thinking-ability). Thanks for following me.