Saturday, April 25, 2015

"Lace and Lilac" presented by A. F. Stewart during National Poetry Month




Light through a prism, and we see colour. 
Colour is all around, enveloping our lives and feelings. Through tinted shades we see the world, with emotional ties that bind. 
Within the book, Colours of Poetry, you will find eleven sections, all representations of different hues, each featuring seven poems that explore the intricacies and fallacies of our world. Come and sail the Sapphire Sea and Sky, cringe at the Crimson Bloodstains, wonder at the Emerald Creation, dazzle in the Lemon Daybreak, linger in the Tangerine Sunset, sniff the Violet Petals, feel Umber the Earth, let the Black as Night and Death surround you, shiver as you pass by White Winter Bones, lose yourself in the Grey Haze, and stare up at the Silver Stars…




 "Lace and Lilac" spotlighted today during National Poetry Month...

















Lace and Lilac

The memories smell faintly of fragrance,
that sweet floral scent haunting the air
A dried sprig of lilac, sheltered by lace,
in a faded box, wrapped with red ribbon

That sweet floral scent haunting the air
recalls an image, a hint of the morning dew
of youth, of laughter, of the warm garden sun

A dried sprig of lilac, sheltered by lace,
given with love, once fresh, wild, and alive
flowers wilted, brittle, yet preserving time

In a faded box, wrapped with red ribbon
rests a mislaid hope, a lost love mourned,
eternal adoration made of lilac and lace
~~~
ALSO
By A. F. Stewart
Reflections of Poetry
~~~

Friday, April 24, 2015

A. F. Stewart Shares "Shall We Dance with the Angels" from her book, Colours of Poetry...




Light through a prism, and we see colour. 
Colour is all around, enveloping our lives and feelings. Through tinted shades we see the world, with emotional ties that bind. 
Within the book, Colours of Poetry, you will find eleven sections, all representations of different hues, each featuring seven poems that explore the intricacies and fallacies of our world. Come and sail the Sapphire Sea and Sky, cringe at the Crimson Bloodstains, wonder at the Emerald Creation, dazzle in the Lemon Daybreak, linger in the Tangerine Sunset, sniff the Violet Petals, feel Umber the Earth, let the Black as Night and Death surround you, shiver as you pass by White Winter Bones, lose yourself in the Grey Haze, and stare up at the Silver Stars…


"Shall We Dance With the Angels" spotlighted today during National Poetry Month...













Shall We Dance With The Angels


Shall we dance with angels
far above the velvet clouds
where the stars whisper light
and cast it to the eyes below

Far above the velvet clouds
to the Heavens wide and infinite
with angel song in splendour

Where the stars whisper light,
that radiance from our dreams,
to the wayward, celestial corners

And cast it to the eyes below
that rarely see the beauty born
of gossamer and winged grace

~~~

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Cody Reel Presents "The Beautiful Breath of Death" during National Poetry Month...



The Beautiful Breath of Death
What a beautiful day that will be
When I finally get to see
What God has prepared in store for me
When I finally get to see with my brand new eyes
The perfect prize
That lies above the celestial skies

When I am finally embraced
By the perfect embrace
And see the Heavenly Father’s face
I can hardly imagine what I would feel
And right now, it almost seems unreal
While I wait with anticipatory, patient zeal
I’m not just a kid from a small town
Who has to fight when the world pulls him down
While I stand in awe of the most loving Crown
I want to jump up and be sucked into Your arms
Even though that would probably cause me harm
Falling stories and stories onto my feeble arms
But I know that someday
We will both have our way
And I will have nothing to say but insufficient praise


Ruby by Cynthia Bond - Latest Selection for Oprah Book Club...

About the Book:

Ephram Jennings has never forgotten the beautiful girl with the long braids running through the piney woods of Liberty, their small East Texas town. Young Ruby, “the kind of pretty it hurt to look at,” has suffered beyond imagining, so as soon as she can, she flees suffocating Liberty for the bright pull of 1950s New York. Ruby quickly winds her way into the ripe center of the city–the darkened piano bars and hidden alleyways of the Village–all the while hoping for a glimpse of the red hair and green eyes of her mother. When a telegram from her cousin forces her to return home, thirty-year-old Ruby Bell finds herself reliving the devastating violence of her girlhood. With the terrifying realization that she might not be strong enough to fight her way back out again, Ruby struggles to survive her memories of the town’s dark past. Meanwhile, Ephram must choose between loyalty to the sister who raised him and the chance for a life with the woman he has loved since he was a boy.
Full of life, exquisitely written, and suffused with the pastoral beauty of the rural South, Ruby is a transcendent novel of passion and courage. This wondrous page-turner rushes through the red dust and gossip of Main Street, to the pit fire where men swill bootleg outside Bloom’s Juke, to Celia Jennings’s kitchen where a cake is being made, yolk by yolk, that Ephram will use to try to begin again with Ruby. Utterly transfixing, with unforgettable characters, riveting suspense, and breathtaking, luminous prose, Ruby offers an unflinching portrait of man’s dark acts and the promise of the redemptive power of love.


Due to extreme violence and child abuse, my review is available by clicking to my adult blog... 

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Guy Graybill Uses Poetry as Social Commentary During National Poetry Month...


WHO SPEAKS FOR THE WARTHOG?


We watch the lioness a-stalking;
The warthogs oft provide their feasts.
But, lions aren’t the kings of wildness.
We humans are the royal beasts.

The warthog, soon consumed by terror,
Goes racing, vainly, o’er the veld.
Full soon, the lioness is clamping.
The warthog’s now securely held!


The lioness sinks claws and canines.
The warthog’s desp’rate cry is shrill;
A plea for aid that goes unanswered.
One final squeal; then all is still.

Just as opinion backs the feline,
It favors human adults, too.
The fetus is without a champion.
The forceps grips, and rips, on cue.
With our own bestial rules applied;
We will not stir for feticide.

]]]  [[[

                                                 © Guy Graybill


Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Cody Reel Shares "The Best Memories of My Life" Take the Trip With Him...

English: Santa Claus in Sanok, Poland Polski: ...



When I was a kid

There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do
To make it Christmas as soon as possible

Although I knew Santy Claus wasn’t real
I still enjoyed the surprises and presents 
that I knew my parents had bought for me
The magic 
Was not 
Real magic, as that doesn’t exist
And yet,
It was still really magical
And it still is to this day
I wish
That I could stay in that same state of mind
As I had when I was a kid
No doubt
Those were the best memories
Of my life
Childhood
Is a blessing
That most of us get to experience
No doubt
Mine wasn’t perfect
But there isn’t anything that can take
 those memories away from me

I can only hope
That Heaven
Is reliving those days over and over again





About the Author

I have loved writing as long as I can remember. I had an extreme desire to write in elementary school. Writing exams were the best, and it was my FAVORITE thing to do. I remember writing in 4th grade a creative story for class on something called an "AlphaSmart", and from then on out, I ALWAYS wanted my own laptop so that I could always write whenever I wanted to. Just the mere act of typing excites me: I don't care what I say, the feeling of those little buttons clicking is satisfying to me, as is typing very fast. I don't care what I say. However, thankfully, I also have things to say so I put them down either on notebook paper or the magic of the computer. I'm trying to make a lot of money so that I can become a full-time writer (meaning that I can make a lot of money from my stories and then take long breaks whenever I want to without having to wake up for work). I write fiction when I think I have a good story down.