b&n bunny

an old painting from a local art show I’d had titled “Creatured” – an amalgam of critters blended together – some whimsical, others ridiculous and some like that dopey orange bunny

descending the stairs

Light enters the foyer, he hears me descend the stairs
All fourteen oak planks slammed by my humping feet
His morning routine proceeds uninterrupted
It is I who must accommodate him every morning
He yawns and returns to slumbering on the sofa
I make oatmeal the same way every day–
blueberries, pinch of peanut butter, water and a splash of almond milk
Occasionally, red strawberries
I ascend the stairs with my favorite bowl still warm from the microwave
Without fail, he follows me
He won’t make his own breakfast and I always share mine
I know he loves me
I must believe this

The urge-to-express forbids genuine rest
All who write or art would say the same
We descend the stairs daily
Make our work
Then push ourselves into the closed arms of others
If what we’ve made is enticing it will be swallowed, ingested, absorbed, eaten
A chance of being crapped out forever nipping at our heels
Still, this incredible urge compels us
If what we create each time is desirable–
they’ll climb the stairs, even fourteen oak planks, again and again

Wish I knew my writing and art were appreciated
as much as the damn dachshund loves my oatmeal

Homage Picasso/charcoal



magical words, miraculous changes

it has been said
passed down from yuletide lips
Charles Dickens saved Christmas
not the man, ’twas the book
his story, we all know
if you don’t (your library copy might have gotten jammed in an 1843 chimney)

Industrial Revolution spinning at warp-speed
factory holidays are ghost shadows
we are living in the fast-pacing present–more is better
our dull, simple past soiled with slumming traditions–less was less
one floor above sweating basement workers, the future appears bright and shiny
a young boy’s father gets locked up in debtors’ prison
the child Charles, now forced to labor in a “rat-infested boot-blackening factory”

these formidable memories haunt Dickens

I imagine Charles back then
beneath winter’s moonlight
childhood terrors like bony hands slamming rusted leonine door knockers
he summons these all-too-vivid specters to do battle with his benevolent muse
the war won
A Christmas Carol is born

“…in 1867 Dickens reads A Christmas Carol. One of the audience members,
Mr. Fairbanks (a scale manufacturer) was so moved that he decided to break custom
and give his workers Christmas Day off and not only did he close the factory,
he gave turkeys to all his employees.”

magical words can inspire hearts to make miraculous changes

Little Tree

Little Tree

Charles Dickens, true to his words became an exceptional philanthropist. “…the welfare of the nation’s children was at the top of his list of concerns, and he used his pen and his considerable dramatic and oratorical powers to raise awareness of the plight of poor children and to raise money for children’s charities…”

sources in order of quoted appearance: Uncle John’s, Christmas Collection (yes, the Bathroom Reader, please don’t judge where I sometimes read😉), charlesdickensinfo.com, hharp.org

if my little poetry book love of the monster helps one heart, that would be a gift I’d keep trying to give😘

’tis wrestling season, my eyes close for 2 months

I listened last night
cresting waves
a ship
the gymnasium floor
covered in ocean blue and harvesting gold
home advantage
there you were
every time I closed my eyes
imagining the sea
rather than watching you twist and be twisted

my heart opened them
I must be like you
put myself out there
on the mat
face my fear, my folly, my foe, my friend
when did you become so you

my son

the little boy
I must one day
release into a hard world
with no soft wrestling mat beneath
should you fall
maxmy max is on the right, gold-stripe
so very difficult watching these wrestling matches
hoping none of these kids get hurt
but they do
must keep my eyes open

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
it is still available on my book’s site
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

a rose by any other name is just plain silly

please bear with me here
this is a little silly and I hope you don’t mind
it’s about a name
specifically, mine
I’m preparing to self-publish an illustrated book of verse
(or implode which ever comes first)
contemplating the horrors that are marketing and social media
I know there will be no shoving of any kind
no please, please, please like me
or buying readers lollipops (well, I might give lollipops)
while mulling over cover designs
then considering over-stimulated memories, over-saturated book shelves and over-saturated markets
I started pondering the length of my name much like Ebenezer Scrooge had to ponder the length of his chains
I began wishing my name wasn’t so name-ish
lyrical names: Virginia Woolf, J.K.Rowling, Mary Shelley, Maya Angelou, Sylvia Plath
these spectacular writers have glorious memorable names in equal measure
my name
just way too long (and a little funny;))
AnnMarie Roselli-Kissack
when I attempted a wee bit of creative retooling ‘odd’ things ensued
a rosekiss
well, I looked that up in the urban dictionary
anus kissing–this is not good on any day
(unless we’re speaking figuratively and I might have to at some point;))
wet between the ears and a migraine from stampeding animals
and my personal favorite
Ann R.K.
say this fast
and your present state turns immediately into disorder
the next attempt was a whimsical nom de plume
the best I could do was Ann Merlot
(this suggested by 2 women both over 80 years of age)
unsure, I queried a dear, intrepid writing friend
who suggested Ann Merlot might go well in a nightclub
(a very dark nightclub with shiny poles)
she smartly and wisely put me back on the path to name normalcy
so if and when this book of mine surfaces
as the leaves begin falling off the trees
and you once again dream of sugar plums and lollipops;)
there just might be a book somewhere out there
by a silly gal who goes by the name–
AnnMarie Roselli
set in bold, sans serif, 18 point type

oh yea, thanks DS

Pencil Cap