I’ve always found that writing-like creating something with my hands-helps to exercise the demons…
I’ve been working on this particular piece of writing off & on the last month or so. It’s funny, one never knows when their work is truly finished….
I’ve been crawling through the basement of my creative left-behinds & freeing their souls to do as they will
Despair is a fast trade commodity these days. I post these words-because I do despair-but I’m not giving up. Writing like this helps me face my fears-and once you face the monster-you see the best ways to defeat it…
onward & upward
am:)
To my dearest friend — thank you for sharing your brightest life
your infectious joy, your brilliant smile
each day softening these endless farewells
so—goodbye, beautiful lady—goodbye, Mom
but—hello again, always—hello again…
I miss you I adore you I love you
(above) Millie, at 80, riding the Coney Island Cyclone (1996)
xo❤️💐
Millie passed in 2021
The Woodpecker
outside my daughter’s window, the woodpecker hammering the aluminum gutter
knows nothing other—than what he knows
this incensed bird will wake my teen who already sleeps fitfully
beneath the creatures who suffocate her dreams:
they claw earth; pollute water; rape land;
tear friendships; rend families; decimate futures
they alter climates
they type in ALL CAPS
the woodpecker continues his assault on the gutter outside my daughter’s window
if this red-headed madcap mirrored humanity at all, he might desist
but he doesn’t know anything other—than what he knows
the hammering bird hunts for his brand of love;
his brand of sustenance;
his right to expand his territory;
his need to collect like-minded-birds who would adore his amplified walloping
so, I must continue thinking of ways to deter him—or at the very least send him elsewhere
but how unkind would that be—he’s only a bird after all
the inane walloping is coming from elsewhere
(Prisma pencil pecker created about ten years ago)
I hope you’re all managing okay.
I take in every headline without breathing
A gleaming motorcycle arrived via flatbed to our suburban ranch. Six children are warned not to touch its chrome and attitude. Dad has never ridden a motorcycle before. He tells us he’ll be back later — he’s taking the bike across the George Washington Bridge. Wearing a button-up shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, black knee socks and brown loafers, no one ever looked more badass.
Holding My Friend to a Promise (originally posted 12/9/24)
For over thirty years my friend Robert Milby has been reading his poetry throughout the Hudson Valley, NYC, Long Island, NJ, PA, and New England. An engaging speaker, Robert has made 1,500 public appearances and has done hundreds of readings, open mics, lectures, presentations, participated in radio commentary and festivals, and has been spotlighted on independent tv shows. Robert has shared his enthusiasm and poetic talents through reading and writing workshops in schools and culture centers and has been a guest poet at higher educational institutions.
Robert’s numerous works have been included in magazines and anthologies. Add to his stellar resume and his four poetry books, his chapbook, Gothic, Orange was published through the County Historian’s office in 2018. He has been a Kirkus Reviewer, a “Best Poet” winner and a longtime Woodstock Poetry Society member. In 2017, Robert was honored with the title, Poet Laureate of Orange County, NY. His relentless devotion to poetry has never ceased. Until now.
Robert is battling stage IV pancreatic cancer. As a freelance writer, he has been unable to work for the past nine months. I understand this is a difficult time of year to ask for donations, but any amount you’re able to make will help Robert pay for his mounting medical expenses. (Go Fund Me link)
I would have given up reading my work in public, if not for Robert. His dedication and encouragement inspired me to share my own work beyond the written page. A deep-reader and researcher, Robert promised me that he’d share his voluminous knowledge of UFOs over coffee one day. I am holding him to that promise.
Thank you in advance for your generosity. (Go Fund Me link)
I leave my husband, daughter, homeland, and slip away in the dark shroud of night.
The orange-red glow of the moon is veiled with clouds, Artemis’ hand already at play in this.
My own hand wraps around Paris’ fingers, my heartbeat is the phantom of Menelaus’ footsteps behind me. The ship waits at Gythium, water lapping its sides, gentle like my fingers stroking Hermione’s face.
wind whispers
a crow caws
Apollo’s triumph
We board the ship, my feet numb like ice. My skin smells of the salt-spray of the sea, the night air,
the heavy-wine scent of the watching gods – I know they are there, have known since Paris sent that knife-gaze into my heart. His hand cups my face, the thief coveting his prize. We raise anchor, and sail with the dawn.
the sharp horizon
a knife across the sun
blood in the water
—Caroline Hron Weigle
This gorgeous poem was written by the lovely Caroline Hron Weigle. Remember her name – she is an up and coming historical romance writer.
I painted the piece above a few years ago. I’d never given much thought to her name before – now she has one.
I hope you’re all doing well.
annmarie:)
2022 dances in as a benevolent ballerina in a shining tutu (2 2)
Her flowing muslin calms our hearts, her beautiful resilience eases our minds
With universal joy, our eyes gaze upon her, bitterness and worries of the past forgotten
What a lovely thought to embrace…
Through all that remains ahead for us (and it is quite heavy), may we resolve to pull through together
I wish you all peace, love, kindness, and good health in 2022 – Year of the Benevolent Ballerina
Well, my friends – I stopped advertising my illustrated poetry collection a year after it came out. Like so many of us, I’m not great at self-promotion. Since we’re stuck between walls right now, I’ve adopted a devil-may-care attitude. At least for the moment😊
Just click on the pic or here and it flies you to Amazon for the ebook version and whatever remains of the printed version. (My book also rests on this blog’s first page) The bulk of printed books are sitting in boxes in my closet. My mother and I were planning to joyously peddle them at fall festivals. I haven’t had the heart to go at without her, though my lovely daughter has volunteered.
Once we all get through this insane period in time, and we will, I’ll peddle away come Autumn. ❤️
Stay safe🙏
Thanks and prayers to all those leaving the safety of their walls to help others. Thanks to those going to jobs that keep our world moving… Thank you and stay safe.
anntogether 