Peppermint Pigs, Not Pickles

Peppermint PigsI still remember about two decades ago being amazed that a Christmas enthusiast such as myself had never heard of Peppermint Pigs—hard-candy peppermint (pig-shaped of course) broken into sharable pieces for good luck in the new year. I also recall learning about the Christmas Pickle, but due to studio ventilation issues at the time, I opted for pig models over vinegar.😉

I enjoyed creating this piece a few years back for my talented friend, DS Levy. ‘Twas my first crack at a peppermint family🎄 click to check out DS Levy’s creative mind!

nearer to giving thanks

This piece is near to my heart, as are many of my pieces, but if all my creative efforts remained in my heart heaviness might collect there
I’ve shared this piece before, it’s time to share again
after all, ’tis the season of warmth, good cheer, fellowship and peace – I pray❤️

National Poetry Month

thanks to my dear friend and fellow writer DS Levy for the tee-shirt gift, and thanks to the handsome model, my dear little teenage son

a link for you if so inclined to throw coins into a writer’s cup

I am vain

This piece inspired by my face, currently a disaster of stress rash. Apparently, holding back, in an attempt to be monstrously strong, isn’t good for you. I can now use my face like a 70’s mood ring. Never believed I was vain, but lately I’m hiding in the shadows along with my creatures.

a truth at ten

a truth at ten

I’m burning inside the confessional. I already know I’m lying. Always do. I hope God forgives me someday. Bread in the toaster has a better chance of not getting burned between heaven and hell. Can’t tell my truth to the wrinkled priest who is so old I hear his eyelids scratching against his pupils. He’ll never understand what I don’t. I’m hoping God gets me. God reminds me of Santa, except he’s much more fit and his eyes don’t twinkle. The priests’ eyes don’t shine either. There is nothing endearing about their silk garments or the weird mellifluous odors permeating my church. Why does it smell hot like hell. How can I tell the truth when I’m locked in a dark smelly box-like a demon trap. In blackness, where the best of me is at my worst. All the horrid things that tell me I’m going to hell. Don’t like myself in the daytime. Hate myself at night.

Jesus is stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I don’t know what to do so I giggle. A nun slaps the back of my head. Can’t stick my finger in my mouth while wearing a Communion dress that makes me feel like a roll of toilet paper. I don’t feel very pretty in this white flouncy dress. I pictured feeling like a princess. I don’t look at all like what I imagined. I’m fat. I’m ugly. I look like squeezable Charmin. I wonder if Jesus uses toilet paper. Mary is so pretty and slender and doesn’t kiss anyone. No one slapped her on the back of the head. And now Jesus is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m parched. I fainted last week while my class stood outside in the blazing sun reciting the rosary. I remember my sweaty thick fingers trying to count the beads.

I won’t tell the priest anything. He has no right to know what’s in my head. I don’t care if I’m supposed to tell him the truth. Closing my eyes, I practice being in the dark on my knees pretending I’m going to divulge my darkest thoughts. The old smelly priest will tell me to say thirty Hail Marys so my sins will be forgiven. I know I won’t do this either. I wonder if devils can turn their horns into wings. I’m a slice of Wonder bread in the toaster burning on both sides. There is no holy peanut butter to hide my black thoughts. I prefer Santa Clause over God. I want to kiss boys even though they don’t like me. I look like toilet paper.

Angel Cone

Angel Cone

this writing is a combination of my childhood years – Communion is received in second grade – if memory serves I’d have been 7 at the time – the confessional reoccurred throughout my Catholic school years

well, this is just freakin’ amazing

well, this is just freakin’ amazing
apparently my little book
has gone “temp out of stock”
on both Amazon and B&N
why I’d love to believe it’s selling out like Harry Potter😉
the reality probably is
because it’s a self-pub title
they don’t take it very seriously
and don’t order that many copies initially
geez
it is still available on my book’s site
loveofthemonster.com
but most folks
are going to Amazon or B&N to buy
darn this selling stuff
I’m going to start peddling door to door
so if you hear someone crying
in your hedgerow
late in the afternoon
it will most likely be me
cover-image-jpeg

it is

well
it is
done
a book
mine
thin and monochromatic
beast and verse
love and madness
what we do to ourselves
what I’ve held
and continue
to store in my own heart
through personal trials
and gentle outward observations
it is
done
a book
for my children
something to hold in their hands
one day
when they need my heart nearby
I might be here
when they seek my heart
but if I’m not
it is

I’m of the old school belief if something is worthwhile eventually it will find its way, not a wonderful sales person for my own work, I must make an effort especially for my talented and generous friends and family who helped me realize this first publishing dream, so my friends, my very first illustrated book of free verse (some call them poems, my father believes poetry should rhyme – these verses do not) is available on my booksite – loveofthemonster.com
cover-image-jpegI thank you – how very exciting it is this morning to write this as the first white of winter presses against my studio door:)

mockery II: a plain amazon


it wasn’t you
it was the giant girl with the giant hair down to her backside
it was the girl who primped for an hour
trying to redeem something she couldn’t find in a mirror
for some reason that girl wore heels too, six feet plus
but later in the dark
stripped of the night’s magic
and several gin & tonics
she
disappeared
come daylight, she was still an amazon
but a plain one

hairzillaThis ‘lovely’ image has made its way around a post or two. Geez, good thing we grow up. Now, I think if I saw this girl coming at me, I’d run in the opposite direction. Luckily, the hair and the girl eventually learned how to relax and both managed a boundful leap into adultness. Today, she tells her kiddies the very same…

cloud dancing

april 21
three am
her spirit smashes the institutional window
the glass doesn’t shatter
what is left behind
the peace in knowing
her suffering is the only thing that has died
let it stay dead
on she goes
dancing with her petite feet
pain no more
glenn miller is in the mood
upper teeth biting her lower lip as she spins
she’ll use those teeth when she laughs
she laughs backwards, sucking in lots of air
the clouds are sailing across the sky today
nina must be on a roll

Winged

Winged

Keep those clouds moving, beautiful nina…xoxo


nina2012 (left to right) big son, aunt dee, giant husband, aunt nina, uncle bucky, sis dolores, delicate daughter

 

Glow Little Glow Worm

Here’s  a little something sure to lighten your heart. I love 1940’s-50’s music and I adore the Mills Brothers. My dad would often play his Mills Brothers records when I was a kid. Their clear harmonious voices made him smile, they made me smile too. I hope you enjoy Glow Worm as much as I do. Below the boys’ video, you’ll find another friendly glow worm (well, okay – he’s really a snake – sshhh – please don’t tell him) 🙂

Sss

Sss

May your dreams be bathed in warm moon glow and happy glowworms 🙂

SSS done with Prisma a few months back – previously posted