So very honored to be included in, Better Than Starbucks! “Mary, I Am Learning,” is an homage to Mary Oliver—her poetic voice
peels away distractions created by an industrial world and reminds us to cherish nature.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
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
hmm, this might be sixth grade-don’t miss the snap tie and blue knee socks
awhile back I wrote about my childhood crayon thievery – if you’d like to read just tap the magic red here 😊
After experiencing several monster-sized issues, my eBook is now available. Truth be told, post-problems it was ready in late January, but at the time, I had not the heart to promote it. So without further ado – some new illustrations and a new poem too – love of the monster – is yours for the downloading (oh and a tiny $2.99)
New flash “KINDER HOURS” and one of my illustration’s “UNIVERSAL WIZARD” together
Words and art keep each other company during this magical holiday season
Published in an excellent zine, FREELIT
Across the bridge where snow meets the sea, I comb my hair while wishing I were a swan. His broad hands stroke my delicate neck, gentle and curving on the point of a star.
I wake. Those same comforting hands are strangling me in the emptiness of shadow. Moonlight gives him the power to see my neck breaking, my jugular turning deep violet like the purple bed sheets of his new lover.
There was a time I would have gladly fallen beyond salvation. I’d have welcomed the pain. A tailspin drop to his bed, his mouth, his body. He touched my flesh and treasure books lost their gilded words. Warm gold lines melted into my bones. His shield of dragon horn turned silk upon our pressed bodies. He was magnificent. Those beautiful lips once whispered, “I love you.” The simple act of survival taught me to fight back. How many times must I do battle. I’ve grown weary. One weakness bests another. Pain rouses conviction, but I no longer possess the courage to face morning upright.
If my wand held an ounce of magic, I’d demand my mind dismiss its owner of memories. Dreams collect in a thick midnight veil, and waking hours are cloaked in cold light, light we once practiced magic in. A barred owl screeches as it lowers for a kill on the dark flattened tracks. The silver train streaks across the sky, but I’m not in a rail car. Trapped in a place that’s damning me, I will not adjust to the light. The sun is much too bright. It scorches earth and steals water. Charred holes open up into blackness and I watch all the white rabbits disappear. In darkness, I might remember the moon in kinder hours. Gentle arms cross my body where we lay together. Gold melts into my skin. His hands caress my neck. I scratch at his eyes then fly away.
created with prisma pencil