While many of us are staying ‘between’ our own walls during this difficult and strange time, we can do our part by sending good karma into the world. Doing our individual best to manage, stay as positive as possible, paint a smile on the mask, and share, share, share. Do not hoard, do not keep beautiful and remarkable works to yourselves. Uplift communities. Uplift souls.
I’d like to start sharing here by posting a link to some gorgeous and remarkable words by my dear friend, DS Levy. If you’re unfamiliar with her work, become familiar. DS Levy’s stories dig into bone while playing on your skin. Click highlighted text or the image below, and check out her exceptional work available on Amazon!
On a personal note, DS is one of the most forthright people I know, in life and in her work. Deb enlightened me about the writing submission process years ago. Through her selfless support and unyielding belief in my words and art, I began submitting work in 2017. Without her dogmatic persistence, excellent editing skills, and friendship—I’d still be writing in my room and reading work to my dachshund.
If you have a book out there, I’d be more than happy to share your work on this blog. Just email me at firstname.lastname@example.org with the link. (Please don’t send work that includes any gratuitous violence, pornography…you get the idea)
And please, do continue to stay safe. I hope all your loved ones and friends are managing.❤️
Hope you are all managing each day. ❤️
My daughter found this site.
I wanted to share the link for those who might not know this information already.
Some positive news…
(Just tap on highlighted text or image)
Gratitude, prayers, and humble thanks to all those out there in the world, going to work, keeping the world moving, helping the sick and all in need…much love, stay safe🙏❤️
I hope you are all managing okay.
This piece was inspired by a game of Clue that I played with my children yesterday.
Hope it makes you smile. 🙂 I did while writing it this morning. ❤️
The art is something I created years back. I gave this piece to my amazing sister Virginia—an endless champion of earth and all children.
I hope you are navigating okay in the world as it is right now.
This morning, I’m listening to a woodpecker attached to the metal gutter, a floor above my studio.
For a few weeks, every morning, he’s been happily pecking away.
His reason for pecking is not what you might think.
I wrote this poem this morning and wanted to share❤️ ❤️
Honored to have my poem “Stronger” published in Literary Mama-a beautiful testament to the spirit of motherhood…
“Literary Mama first started to take shape in 2002 as a class called Writing About Motherhood taught in Berkeley, California by Amy Hudock. A group of mothers continued meeting at the conclusion of the class, and within months, had connected with other mother writers who, like them, were producing work that was deemed too complex for glossy parenting magazines and too mother-centric for traditional literary journals.”
“…our current staff of 27 includes women from across the United States, Canada, and Israel. We’re communications professionals, university professors, writers, editors, copy editors, photographers, and moms. Our contributors hail from all corners of the world.”
a worn woman stands in my mirror
half-cocked smile working its way to the corners
my mother deserves a joyful daughter
my mother, the one in the mechanical bed
I remember a version of me
standing tall with my broad frame and big hands
(gifts from my dad)
ready to take on life’s traveling circus
I fancied myself a carnival strong-woman
all muscles and charisma
what of this beaten figure confiscating my reflection
proud shoulders curving toward the dirt
hands large like her father’s, now achy and brittle
I long for a return to those 360-mirror days
sauntering like a big cat
pumping fierce iron
positive in mind and powerful in body
yet here I am with the memory
unable to ignite the revival
my beloved weights, big stacks once impressive to many
abandoned on a cold gym floor somewhere
still I lift every day
my mother’s broken body like a heaving sack of flour
from bed to wheelchair to commode
up and down up and down
up ramps down ramps side ramps
in around and back again
with each passing day
I grow stronger