© January 24, 2012
It felt like waking up on the edge of the earth. Something existed on the edge that I had been missing but had somehow managed to live without for the last thirty-two years. Of course, with there being no “six a.m. wake-up” app from my smart phone the day was half gone by the time I did get out of bed, but between those first moments of shock and panic dwelled something mysterious and peaceful.
The week started as usual with the kids fighting over God-knows-what and Jesse, the Saint Bernard, swiping bacon off Daniel’s plate when he wasn’t looking. I had a rule about no technology before breakfast so the fact that it was already one p.m. didn’t matter. I just assumed I had forgot to charge my phone the night before. It wasn’t until we arrived at church we realized something was wrong. There was no one there except Pastor Rob.
“Where is everyone?” Daniel asked.
“Gone home. Service ended three hours ago. The worldwide lock out really has you in a bad place doesn’t it?”
“My wife has this crazy rule about no tech –. Worldwide what?”
“That’s what they’re calling it. No one knows why but for some reason most of technology ceased to function as of twelve a.m. this morning. Don’t you watch the news?”
Daniel narrowed his eyes at me. I pretended not to notice. No technology means no technology. If it’s not required to make breakfast it’s off limits.
“No!” Our twelve-year-old daughter, Abby, fell to her knees hyperventilating. “Oh my God. No Facebook. Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”
I rolled my eyes and looked over to her younger brother, Nathan, whose eyes had glassed over. His lower jaw was hanging down to his chest and I could have sworn there was a little drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Lord have mercy. If my husband was as lost as my children we were all doomed. I looked around but Daniel had disappeared. I heard the sounds of someone vomiting and spotted him bent over behind the car, his head between his knees. I marched over, hands on my hips.
“What the heck is wrong with you?” I demanded.
“There’s no internet.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Don’t you understand?” He grabbed my arms and shook me. “No internet means no PS3. No live streaming from NetFlix. It’s the end of the world!”
“Enough!” I slapped him on the back of the head. He blinked and refocused.
“Thanks babe. I needed that.”
Satisfied Daniel was sane, for the moment, I went back to slap my children on their heads. “The three of you are going to get in the car and we are going to go home to a technology-free environment and be happy about it!”
“Yeah,” said Daniel. “Just because we’re descending into the dark ages doesn’t mean we have to be miserable.”
I shot him a look and he jumped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.
Three days later, not much had changed. We were still living in a technology-free environment and no one was happy about it. The kids were bickering non-stop, Daniel had become distant and I’d had a migraine since Tuesday morning. Board games had become boring and we’d had so much “family time” that we were way past the sharing point. It was hard for me to admit but without technology we weren’t a family. We were just four people who happened to share the same living space.
I looked into the den where Daniel was reclining in his La-Z-Boy, channel surfing through the six local channels we were left with. Nathan was sprawled on the sofa, tossing cheese balls into the air, trying to catch them in his mouth. Most of them were falling between the couch cushions. I found Abby at the kitchen table with an old lock box I recognized as my mother’s. It was the only thing I still had that belonged to her. It contained important stuff, like the deed to the house, as well as a few mementos: a wedding photo of mom and dad, locks of hair from the kids’ first haircuts, pictures from their younger days and the Robinson family recipe for chocolate banana cookies.
I poured a cup of coffee and sat beside Abby. “You look sad.”
“I was just thinking about how Grandma and Grandpa survived without technology. It must have been pretty hard.”
“Probably no harder than life would have been with it.” I took a sip of coffee as Abby gave me her you’re-an-adult-and-you-don’t-know-anything look. “Well, think about it. Is your life easy?” She opened her mouth and shut it again. Taking that as a no I went on. “Think about what life has been like these past four days.”
“Boring.”
“Well, yes, but has it really been hard?”
“No, but technology makes you smarter.”
“Okay, then. What’s one hundred eighty-nine divided by nine?”
She reached for her phone then remembered it didn’t work. “No one can answer that without a calculator.”
“Twenty-one. It’s not that you can’t live without technology. It’s just that you’ve become so used to it being there that you think you can’t. Do you remember your first day of kindergarten?” She shook her head. “Boy, I do. You caused such a scene. Kicking and screaming. You were so afraid that I wasn’t coming back for you. The first couple of weeks, Mr. Bromsturm would distract you with the building blocks while I would sneak quietly out the door. After that you couldn’t wait to see Mr. Bromsturm and I actually got jealous.” I chuckled remembering those days. “My point is, things change. Sometimes we don’t think we can live with those changes but we find a way to adapt and after a while we can’t imagine life any other way.”
She didn’t reply and I could tell she was mulling it over. I stared out the kitchen window. Jesse was in the backyard with his nose to the ground. Every now and then he would jump and put his nose to a different spot. Probably torturing a cricket. It was that puppy innocence that made me realize something. I tapped Abby on the arm. “Follow me.”
Entering the den, I snatched the remote from Daniel and clicked off the TV. At the same time I caught a cheese ball in midair. Everyone stared at me, wondering what wrath I was going to unleash this time. I simply said, “There’s a world out there and we’re going to go see it. So pack your bags because we are leaving tomorrow.” No one moved. They just continued to stare at me. I was glad they hadn’t complained but the silence was a little unnerving. “What?”
“Where are we going?” asked Nathan.
“Well.” Daniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We always wanted to take you kids to the coast. Now’s as good a time as any.”
It took about a day to get there, but several Mighty Kids Meals and bathroom breaks later we arrived at the coast of Maine. Almost instantly, a humpback whale broke the surface of the Atlantic. We had arrived at the edge of the earth and it was breathtaking. We finished out the week visiting every beach we could find and hiking the cliffs along Maine’s southern coast. We vacationed like we never had before; with no cell phones, no GPS, and no calls back to the office. The children actually went more than twenty-four hours without screaming at one another and there was more love making between Daniel and I than there had been on our honeymoon. Before we knew it, it was Sunday again. This time the “six a.m. wake-up” app was working just fine. Well, it would have been, if I had turned on my phone.
Video Bar
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
About Amber Rothrock
I am currently in college, striving for an Associates in Business Management. I have about a year left and it's really been a struggle financially. I've been jobless since I was laid off in 2009. After awhile I started to feel like it was my fault until I read stories of people who have Masters degrees and after 3 years and 1,500 applications still can't find jobs. At least I'm trying to better myself, but sometimes I wonder what good a degree will do if no one is hiring. Of course, there's always the option of starting my own business.
I have been writing poetry for 2 decades now and have appeared in several well known journals since 2005, including Children, Churches & Daddies, Westward Quarterly, and Haight Ashbury Literary Journal. Recently I've had a few selections of my artwork published as well.
Besides writing poetry I also publish it in Illogical Muse, an online literary journal I started back in 2004. It has really grown since then and now I include short fiction, artwork, and book reviews. I also do interviews when I have the time. In the past I have interviewed such great writers as Michael Lee Johnson, Shannon J. Prince, Lyn Lifshin and photographer Sam D'Cruz. It's by far the most exciting part of my job as editor!
I love outdoor activities such as camping, fishing, and hiking. Luckily we've had a mild winter in Michigan so I've been able to enjoy the outdoors more than usual this time of year. I also like to read, crochet and watch NCIS marathons. The most current thing in my life is preparing to move in with my fiance in February. I'm counting down the days like a kid counting down to Christmas!
Poem - Another Sleepless Night
© 2003
On another sleepless night
I sit on my porch of cinder blocks
In silence
Except for the rhythmic chirping of a cricket
And the occasional passing car
The trees appear as tall lurking strangers
Casting unfamiliar shadows across houses
The air is smooth and cool
And the gray-blue mass overhead is dusted with glitter
On another sleepless night
I sit on my porch of cinder blocks
In remembrance
I embrace memories of my childhood and regret
Only that I did not live it more freely
I recall moments like these and realize there are few
I look upon myself and my situation and wonder
What have I done to get here
Or have I done anything at all
Is it just my fate
I question myself and the man that denied me
On another sleepless night
I sit on my porch of cinder blocks
In love
In love with a man that doesn't exist
Dreaming things that will never be
Hoping for things that are impossible for a mere woman
I sit; filled with guilt worry and sorrow
My feet are in the grave and sinking fast
I see no relief from this pressure on my shoulders, cramping my neck
I see no way out of this black hole that I've been sucked into
I see nothing
Published at PoetsHaven.com Spring 2007
Friday, January 6, 2012
Review - City Of Bones
City Of Bones
By Martha Wells
Tor Books
ISBN: 0-312-85686-5
$14.95
City Of Bones brings to mind the motion picture Waterworld. However, instead of a world flooded with H2O it takes place in a land dry as dust, where water, not dirt, is the precious commodity. The main character, Khat, is equipped with a body that can withstand the desert landscape much like Kevin Costner’s character could breathe underwater. But that’s where the similarities end. While Costner had evolved to survive, Khat is a creation of the Ancients; sorcerers of a time that is all but forgotten.
Khat makes his living as a relic dealer in the trade city of Charisat. His talents draw the attention of Riathen who employs him to find a relic that will unlock the secrets of the Remnants and allow him to tap their immense, mystical power. Built centuries ago by the Ancients, they are the only thing keeping at bay an unspeakable evil. In his quest for power, Riathen fails to realize the dangers.
Khat, along with Elen and Constans must stop Riathen before it is too late. But each has his own agenda and does not trust the other. If they cannot put aside their differences their world is doomed.
I must commend the author on her originality and creativity. Though she draws on Middle Eastern culture the story takes on a life of its own. Description and narration take up a better portion of the novel but they do so without distracting from the action and dialogue. City Of Bones is a sand blasted adventure from start to finish.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Poem - Ghosts On My Computer Screen
Inspired by the contributors to Illogical Muse
They send me visions of lonesome wolves
and speak of twisted lives.
Empty pages are filled with truths
that are often hidden from human eyes.
Words that could never stand alone
come together to fulfill prophecies;
rendering me breathless and amazed
by someone else's atrocities.
Here among these shattered dreams
I will sometimes find threads of hope
that entwine and repair the frayed
fabric of an emotional rope.
They reach out to me
with words I never thought to say,
and bring a little excitement
to an otherwise boring day.
Their voices are unheard,
and they are never seen,
but their hearts are represented
by the ghosts on my computer screen.
Published at PoetsHaven.com Spring 2007
and speak of twisted lives.
Empty pages are filled with truths
that are often hidden from human eyes.
Words that could never stand alone
come together to fulfill prophecies;
rendering me breathless and amazed
by someone else's atrocities.
Here among these shattered dreams
I will sometimes find threads of hope
that entwine and repair the frayed
fabric of an emotional rope.
They reach out to me
with words I never thought to say,
and bring a little excitement
to an otherwise boring day.
Their voices are unheard,
and they are never seen,
but their hearts are represented
by the ghosts on my computer screen.
Published at PoetsHaven.com Spring 2007
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Article - Tax Breaks For The Obese
© March 26, 2010
While I was doing my laundry this morning I saw something on the Today Show that really pissed me off. Did you know tax breaks are now being offered for people on weight loss programs? WTF? If the super rich would quit being dicks and make healthier foods affordable to the general public, there wouldn’t be a need for such bullshit. All this organically grown shit is like three times the cost of junk food.
I tried dieting once. I was on the Special K diet (which is a healthy diet and it works). I lost thirty pounds in three months. But two bowls of Special K for ninety days gets boring, even with all the varieties that are on the market. I was eating so much cereal I started having wet dreams about it.
But I digress. I was pissed when I heard about tax breaks for the obese but I was infuriated when those skanky ass chickenheads started talking about all the problems obesity causes, like staying home because you’re too tired to go to work. I repeat, WTF?!? As unrewarding as a janitorial career can be I loved my job until my tight ass employers made cut backs “due to the economy.” The only reasons I missed work was because I was genuinely sick or my mother was in the hospital.
But I can’t entirely blame people for their uneducated opinions about obesity. I mean, let’s face it, who do we have representing fat people in America? What type of fat people do you see portrayed in Hollywood? Lazy fucking slobs riding on Rascals because they’ve spent their entire lives shoving Twinkies and Ding Dongs down their throats and all the fat has congealed in their thighs so if they were to actually put their feet on the ground it would tip the earth off its axis and send us hurdling towards a black hole. Fat, nasty sons of bitches. I don’t know what I find more insulting, the fact that this is the way the media portrays us or the fact that this is the way we allow ourselves to be portrayed.
Granted, being overweight does have its disadvantages. There are more health problems that could occur in an obese person than someone of a “healthy weight,” such as diabetes, high blood pressure, back and feet problems. But whoever said being skinny was so great? With no junk in your trunk what can you brag about? That you broke your boyfriend’s dick with your bony pelvis? Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against skinny people. I sit next to a skinny girl in class who can’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet. If she were to be caught in a gust of wind it would pick her up and carry her half way across the state. The two of us get along just fine.
I am just sick of the negativity and stereotypes that people want to label us with. That’s my biggest pet peeve, discrimination of any kind. Why should it matter to one person what somebody else does with his or her life? If a dude wants to screw another dude, that’s his business. If a woman wants to puff her life away one pack at a time, that’s her business. And if I don’t feel the need to shed a few pounds because I don’t fit the mold, that’s MY business. If you’ve got so much time on your hands that you can constantly worry about others then you need to reexamine your life. And if you’ve got a problem with all this right here, then you can kiss the fattest part of my ass!
While I was doing my laundry this morning I saw something on the Today Show that really pissed me off. Did you know tax breaks are now being offered for people on weight loss programs? WTF? If the super rich would quit being dicks and make healthier foods affordable to the general public, there wouldn’t be a need for such bullshit. All this organically grown shit is like three times the cost of junk food.
I tried dieting once. I was on the Special K diet (which is a healthy diet and it works). I lost thirty pounds in three months. But two bowls of Special K for ninety days gets boring, even with all the varieties that are on the market. I was eating so much cereal I started having wet dreams about it.
But I digress. I was pissed when I heard about tax breaks for the obese but I was infuriated when those skanky ass chickenheads started talking about all the problems obesity causes, like staying home because you’re too tired to go to work. I repeat, WTF?!? As unrewarding as a janitorial career can be I loved my job until my tight ass employers made cut backs “due to the economy.” The only reasons I missed work was because I was genuinely sick or my mother was in the hospital.
But I can’t entirely blame people for their uneducated opinions about obesity. I mean, let’s face it, who do we have representing fat people in America? What type of fat people do you see portrayed in Hollywood? Lazy fucking slobs riding on Rascals because they’ve spent their entire lives shoving Twinkies and Ding Dongs down their throats and all the fat has congealed in their thighs so if they were to actually put their feet on the ground it would tip the earth off its axis and send us hurdling towards a black hole. Fat, nasty sons of bitches. I don’t know what I find more insulting, the fact that this is the way the media portrays us or the fact that this is the way we allow ourselves to be portrayed.
Granted, being overweight does have its disadvantages. There are more health problems that could occur in an obese person than someone of a “healthy weight,” such as diabetes, high blood pressure, back and feet problems. But whoever said being skinny was so great? With no junk in your trunk what can you brag about? That you broke your boyfriend’s dick with your bony pelvis? Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against skinny people. I sit next to a skinny girl in class who can’t weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet. If she were to be caught in a gust of wind it would pick her up and carry her half way across the state. The two of us get along just fine.
I am just sick of the negativity and stereotypes that people want to label us with. That’s my biggest pet peeve, discrimination of any kind. Why should it matter to one person what somebody else does with his or her life? If a dude wants to screw another dude, that’s his business. If a woman wants to puff her life away one pack at a time, that’s her business. And if I don’t feel the need to shed a few pounds because I don’t fit the mold, that’s MY business. If you’ve got so much time on your hands that you can constantly worry about others then you need to reexamine your life. And if you’ve got a problem with all this right here, then you can kiss the fattest part of my ass!
Monday, December 12, 2011
Poem - The Man In The Corner
© 2005
The man in the corner
Is drinking his coffee
He looks in my direction
But sees right through me
He’s getting nervous now
There are so many people here
He thinks he can’t do it
The girl behind the counter
The woman tending to her baby
This crowd of people
Never noticed him leave for the bathroom
We never knew how long he was gone
Before the man in the corner
Became the man in the body bag
He got what he wanted
Everyone noticed him
No one will ever forget
The man in the corner
Published in Children, Churches & Daddies March 2008
The man in the corner
Is drinking his coffee
He looks in my direction
But sees right through me
He’s getting nervous now
There are so many people here
He thinks he can’t do it
The girl behind the counter
The woman tending to her baby
This crowd of people
Never noticed him leave for the bathroom
We never knew how long he was gone
Before the man in the corner
Became the man in the body bag
He got what he wanted
Everyone noticed him
No one will ever forget
The man in the corner
Published in Children, Churches & Daddies March 2008
Friday, December 9, 2011
Article - Adventures In Cat Rescuing
© June 14, 2010
Being an animal lover with pet allergies isn’t easy and that’s why I turned to stray cats for companionship. I spent the majority of my childhood giving abandoned and unwanted cats a new lease on life. They had food, water, toys, and a place to sleep; yet they were free to prowl the streets and do whatever it is that cats do when their humans are not around. There was, Tigger, Junior, Squeaky, Smoke, Dusty, Curtis, Harvey, Blacky, and several others who weren’t around long enough to name. The most memorable, however, was Fritz.
Fritz was a pampered orange and white tabby who adjusted well to life on the street. Rumor was that he had once belonged to an elderly lady. No one else in the family wanted him so when she passed away Fritz was abandoned. He found his way to my house and that’s where he stayed until his death eight years later.
In that time, Fritz and I shared a special bond. There were others he went to for food and attention but he always came back to me. Perhaps it was because we had much in common. He also rescued abandoned cats. Junior and Squeaky were kittens that had followed him home. I believed he went back to the cats he mated with to check on his offspring and if there was a kitten being neglected by the mother he brought it to me. This made him even more unique than he already was. Most male cats will either ignore a litter of kittens or kill them so the female will go into heat again. Fritz, on the other hand, played babysitter while the mother was away.
Two weeks after his death on July 23, 2003 I took in two kittens from a neighbor who no longer wanted them. I named them Smoke and Dusty because of their gray fur. They were extremely wild for house cats and after a battle over who was going to sleep by my head and who was going to sleep by my feet Dusty ran off and never came back. I don’t remember how long it was before Smoke contracted distemper but I believe it was about two years. She died shortly after her second litter of kittens, of which I kept one. I named him Naraku, after a Japanese Anime character.
Naraku loved to chase shiny objects, sleep in boxes, and bring live rabbits into the house. I think his favorite thing to do was bury himself in a snow bank and lay in wait for an unsuspecting victim to walk by and attack an ankle. He had a wild streak just like his mother, but he was the best pet I had had since Fritz. Although he never brought stray kittens home, he did allow another cat into his territory once.
Tigger was a severely abused orange tabby. I never found out what exactly was done to him who did it but the evidence was there. The back of his spine and his hips were crooked and riddled with arthritis. The abuse was also noticeable by how he shrank away when I would try to pet him. That particular habit disappeared as he came to realize no one was going to hurt him anymore. His habit of urinating on everything, however, did not. I didn’t know that his kidneys were failing him until it was too late to do anything about it. It wasn’t long before it consumed him and I just hope he found solace in the final days of his life.
Now, I only have one cat; another orange tabby named Mercury. She’s been a pampered house cat most of her life, ever since she was rescued as a kitten by a friend of mine. Mercury lived with her but, as my friend is approaching her golden years, the responsibilities of a pet were tiring her out and so she gave the cat to me two years ago. Mercury is now fifteen and the way things look she may very well live to be twenty.
I don’t know if the love and passion I developed for rescuing cats was always there or has developed after spending so much time in their company. I do know it’s something I will continue to do. I’ve also found that I’ve owned so many cats over the last seventeen years that I think my pet allergy gradually wore off.
Being an animal lover with pet allergies isn’t easy and that’s why I turned to stray cats for companionship. I spent the majority of my childhood giving abandoned and unwanted cats a new lease on life. They had food, water, toys, and a place to sleep; yet they were free to prowl the streets and do whatever it is that cats do when their humans are not around. There was, Tigger, Junior, Squeaky, Smoke, Dusty, Curtis, Harvey, Blacky, and several others who weren’t around long enough to name. The most memorable, however, was Fritz.
Fritz was a pampered orange and white tabby who adjusted well to life on the street. Rumor was that he had once belonged to an elderly lady. No one else in the family wanted him so when she passed away Fritz was abandoned. He found his way to my house and that’s where he stayed until his death eight years later.
In that time, Fritz and I shared a special bond. There were others he went to for food and attention but he always came back to me. Perhaps it was because we had much in common. He also rescued abandoned cats. Junior and Squeaky were kittens that had followed him home. I believed he went back to the cats he mated with to check on his offspring and if there was a kitten being neglected by the mother he brought it to me. This made him even more unique than he already was. Most male cats will either ignore a litter of kittens or kill them so the female will go into heat again. Fritz, on the other hand, played babysitter while the mother was away.
Two weeks after his death on July 23, 2003 I took in two kittens from a neighbor who no longer wanted them. I named them Smoke and Dusty because of their gray fur. They were extremely wild for house cats and after a battle over who was going to sleep by my head and who was going to sleep by my feet Dusty ran off and never came back. I don’t remember how long it was before Smoke contracted distemper but I believe it was about two years. She died shortly after her second litter of kittens, of which I kept one. I named him Naraku, after a Japanese Anime character.
Naraku loved to chase shiny objects, sleep in boxes, and bring live rabbits into the house. I think his favorite thing to do was bury himself in a snow bank and lay in wait for an unsuspecting victim to walk by and attack an ankle. He had a wild streak just like his mother, but he was the best pet I had had since Fritz. Although he never brought stray kittens home, he did allow another cat into his territory once.
Tigger was a severely abused orange tabby. I never found out what exactly was done to him who did it but the evidence was there. The back of his spine and his hips were crooked and riddled with arthritis. The abuse was also noticeable by how he shrank away when I would try to pet him. That particular habit disappeared as he came to realize no one was going to hurt him anymore. His habit of urinating on everything, however, did not. I didn’t know that his kidneys were failing him until it was too late to do anything about it. It wasn’t long before it consumed him and I just hope he found solace in the final days of his life.
Now, I only have one cat; another orange tabby named Mercury. She’s been a pampered house cat most of her life, ever since she was rescued as a kitten by a friend of mine. Mercury lived with her but, as my friend is approaching her golden years, the responsibilities of a pet were tiring her out and so she gave the cat to me two years ago. Mercury is now fifteen and the way things look she may very well live to be twenty.
I don’t know if the love and passion I developed for rescuing cats was always there or has developed after spending so much time in their company. I do know it’s something I will continue to do. I’ve also found that I’ve owned so many cats over the last seventeen years that I think my pet allergy gradually wore off.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Review - The Lost American
The Lost American: From Freedom To Exile
By Michael Lee Johnson
iUniverse
ISBN: 0-595-46091-7
$13.95
When I first began reading Michael Lee Johnson’s The Lost American: From Freedom To Exile, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve read several of his poems in the past and our styles and experiences are greatly varied. There is a whole generation between us and our backgrounds haven’t that much in common. For these reasons I was – at first – skeptical. But this book – containing 87 poems divided into 4 sections – opens with a richly painted biographical poem titled, “Skinny Indiana Boy.”
With a heart as big as Texas
or Alberta where he came from
the draft resister tries to erase
the memory of his sordid past . . .
The imagery alone is breathtaking . . .
. . . coming out of the Rockies
down over the slate, out of self imposed exile,
he leaves the northland shaking his bandaged fists at the prairie sky . . .
But when the author mixes it with raw emotion . . .
The night looked long in his deep green eyes
robbing his faint life away
The scream of loneliness has turned
his innards inside out to pity . . .
It creates a stirring piece, making it the perfect opening poem.
Several pages later the emotions are more deeply felt by this reader in a poem dedicated to the author’s mother titled, “Speaking Of Death – Mother.”
. . . I come to you
blurred eyes, crystal mind
countenance of grace
as yesterday’s winds
I have consumed you
and taken you away . . .
There is a gentleness to this poem as it takes one through the pain, grief and acceptance of the death of a loved one.
As I continued reading, delving deeper into the context of The Lost American, one thing became clear – Mr. Johnson is very dedicated to his craft. Having revised and refined poems written as far back as the sixties to create this book. This book that was forty plus years in the making.
“I felt proud,” beamed the Indiana-born poet during our recent interview. “I was surprised that it turned out to be a poetry book since I expected it to take the form of a narrative novel or biography.”
This book is a must have for anyone who struggled during the Vietnam Era. Because as the Prelude states, The Lost American is about one man’s journey into exile during the Vietnam War many years ago, his struggle, his survival, his road to recovery and strength manifesting itself through his prose and poems. From the simplest of love poems and lyrics, to the more complex, exposing his inner self – he stands firm with his convictions over time!
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Poem - The Mummy
© 2005
The creature awakened from his eternal sleep
Bringing with him the ten plagues of hell
Causing tears of fear and panic to weep
As all of Egypt fell under his spell
Searching for the love that he held dear
This walking corpse became the living's worst fear
The treasure hunters---they came, they saw
Unfortunate they wouldn't live to tell
They fell victim to the undead maw
As it devoured the life force with in their cells
Not even the Egyptologist could survive
Nor the "superstitious bastard" that served as their guide
In time the monster would become unstoppable
With the ultimate control of the sands
With his beloved by his side, he'd be all-powerful
Ruling wickedly over every land
Only three could bring this torrent to an end
Two British folk and their Yankee friend
The Book of Amun-Ra they did require
As it was, lost inside the mummy's tomb
Within the statue of Horace laid their desire
'Tis the fate of the world---saved or doomed?
But before they could take what they were after
The beautiful librarian was under capture
The heroic deed now left to the men
A brother, a lover, along with the Magi
Could this battle they possibly win
Or be forever lost in the sands of time
Quickly, you brave fools! onward to Hamunaptra
For there will play the finale to this desert opera
Scripted in the Book of Amun-Ra they must use
An incantation to steal the mummy's immortality
"Kadeesh mal, kadeesh mal! Pared oos, Pared oos!"
'Fore O'Connell can deliver a righteous fatality
Thus, an ordeal they will not soon be forgetting
For death . . . is only the beginning
The creature awakened from his eternal sleep
Bringing with him the ten plagues of hell
Causing tears of fear and panic to weep
As all of Egypt fell under his spell
Searching for the love that he held dear
This walking corpse became the living's worst fear
The treasure hunters---they came, they saw
Unfortunate they wouldn't live to tell
They fell victim to the undead maw
As it devoured the life force with in their cells
Not even the Egyptologist could survive
Nor the "superstitious bastard" that served as their guide
In time the monster would become unstoppable
With the ultimate control of the sands
With his beloved by his side, he'd be all-powerful
Ruling wickedly over every land
Only three could bring this torrent to an end
Two British folk and their Yankee friend
The Book of Amun-Ra they did require
As it was, lost inside the mummy's tomb
Within the statue of Horace laid their desire
'Tis the fate of the world---saved or doomed?
But before they could take what they were after
The beautiful librarian was under capture
The heroic deed now left to the men
A brother, a lover, along with the Magi
Could this battle they possibly win
Or be forever lost in the sands of time
Quickly, you brave fools! onward to Hamunaptra
For there will play the finale to this desert opera
Scripted in the Book of Amun-Ra they must use
An incantation to steal the mummy's immortality
"Kadeesh mal, kadeesh mal! Pared oos, Pared oos!"
'Fore O'Connell can deliver a righteous fatality
Thus, an ordeal they will not soon be forgetting
For death . . . is only the beginning
Friday, December 2, 2011
Review - A Tiara For The Twentieth Century
A Tiara for the Twentieth Century
By Suzanne Richardson Harvey
Fithian Press
ISBN: 978-1-56474-489-0
$14.00
Suzanne Harvey writes words that embrace the reader, at times with a gentle hug and at others like a vice grip. The emotional detail and grittiness of her poetry will leave readers nodding their heads in agreement. She is a true writer, meaning she uses her life experiences to write poetry many can relate to; as can be seen in this excerpt from “Sins of Omission: Remembrance for a Birthday.”
Sometimes all you remember
Are the mistakes you made
The things you didn’t do
Those small sins
Of a mother’s omission
That can wear a hole in a child’s heart
Like the time
He cried from 10 till 2
You shut the nursery door
Till all the tears dried up
You wonder if they left
Some permanent desert in the heart
One poem I particularly like is “The Velvet Garrote.” It reminds me a lot of my mother and me. It displays the lengths a daughter will go to for her ailing mother. It also shows some slight bitterness to someone else (perhaps a son?) who enjoys the finer things in life while his mother is reaching the end of hers.
I feed mother broth
Scrub out the grime between her toes
Clean her crotch
Stick a Q-tip in her ear
You’d be coasting at anchor in Sausalito right now
Or maybe dipping escargot in spinach sauce on Fisherman’s Wharf
Perhaps you’re fondling a jade Buddha in Chinatown
Or worshipping the beach at Monterey
If you have read the works of Suzanne Harvey than you already know that she has a gift for bringing skeletons out of the closet and making them stand up and be counted for with elegancy. A Tiara for the Twentieth Century is a full length collection of her poems and a must have for anyone who enjoys her poetry.
Poem - Legacy Of The Red Admiral
© 2005
He floats on a string of blue mist.
As high as his wings will take him.
Higher and higher
and higher still.
He hasn't caught on to his insignificance;
too small in a world too large.
Riding the swell,
he'll live and die with the rest.
But he will live gracefully.
Published in Westward Quarterly Spring 2006
He floats on a string of blue mist.
As high as his wings will take him.
Higher and higher
and higher still.
He hasn't caught on to his insignificance;
too small in a world too large.
Riding the swell,
he'll live and die with the rest.
But he will live gracefully.
Published in Westward Quarterly Spring 2006
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Article - Writing Without A Muse
© March 25, 2010
“My fingers were poised over the keyboard like a row of ghastly knives ready to sink into soft, human flesh. But nothing came. I wasted the entire afternoon.” * This quote from Stephen King is proof that even the greatest writers get stuck from time to time. Everybody has the need to communicate their thoughts and feelings to the world. Writers do this through poems, stories, and letters. Okay, so maybe you don’t have plans to become the next J.K. Rowling, but at some point in your life you will be required to put your thoughts on paper. Whether it is for a college essay or just a letter to grandma. Writing can be an effective communication tool but the meanings of written words can be misunderstood, therefore breaking down the writing process into three phases will assist in creating and communicating your ideas.
The first phase is probably the most difficult, most time consuming, and by far the most important. By employing the suggestions given in this first step it will be much easier revising your paper later. First find a quiet, secluded place to do some brainstorming. My best ideas come to me when I’m relaxing by the riverside. You can also brainstorm on-the-go while out hiking or riding your bike. Be sure to take a tape recorder or a small notepad and pen with you so you can record your ideas before you forget them.
Another useful method for developing ideas is called free writing. I use this most often when writing fiction. I jot down ideas that I may have and continue writing until I’ve gotten everything that’s in my brain onto paper. This could take mere minutes or half a day so it’s best to make sure you will have the time to write down everything you need to.
Many texts will recommend outlining your paper before writing it, but I have always found this to be both tedious and constrictive of the creative process. The only time I would suggest using an outline is when organizing your research notes. Summarizing, on the other hand, I can vouch for. Summarizing requires you to take the most important details of each paragraph and sum them up in a few, short sentences. For example, the summary of this paragraph would look something like this: Outlining your research notes is helpful. However, outlining your paper can be a burden. Summarizing each paragraph before writing is more efficient. Write each summary on a separate sheet of paper or index card to allow room for any details you might want to add later.
In phase two you will write a rough draft of your paper. Keep in mind that this is a rough draft and not the final copy. The process of free writing will once again come in handy, but this time stick to your topic using your research notes as a guide. Don’t worry too much about spelling and punctuation. You’ll have time to come back and correct your mistakes in phase three.
Remember to write like you’re human. After all you are, aren’t you? You want your paper to be entertaining as well as informative, but you don’t want to put your audience to sleep.
Now you deserve a cookie! Take a break and go do something fun. Come back to your paper with fresh eyes. It will be easier to spot your mistakes. Check for spelling and grammar but also check for structure. One paragraph should lead smoothly to the next and sentences should stay on point. If you’re writing about the mistreatment of hogs in California slaughter houses, don’t harken back to your days growing up as a Louisiana pig farmer. While this gives you invaluable knowledge of your topic, the readers aren’t interested in your life story. Once you’ve cut out unnecessary details, paste together the remainder in a coherent manner.
Now that the writing process has been broken down, it should be a little easier for you to tackle that five thousand word master thesis on Darwin’s theory of natural selection you’ve been dreading. If you’ve properly prepared you paper, and researched your topic thoroughly, then you can zip right through the writing and revising stages. The end result will be a testament to the creativity that you didn’t even know you possessed.
* Ray Grant, “Stephen King Gets Writer’s Block For Several Hours,” www.deadbrain.com, published 08/16/06, accessed 03/19/10.
“My fingers were poised over the keyboard like a row of ghastly knives ready to sink into soft, human flesh. But nothing came. I wasted the entire afternoon.” * This quote from Stephen King is proof that even the greatest writers get stuck from time to time. Everybody has the need to communicate their thoughts and feelings to the world. Writers do this through poems, stories, and letters. Okay, so maybe you don’t have plans to become the next J.K. Rowling, but at some point in your life you will be required to put your thoughts on paper. Whether it is for a college essay or just a letter to grandma. Writing can be an effective communication tool but the meanings of written words can be misunderstood, therefore breaking down the writing process into three phases will assist in creating and communicating your ideas.
The first phase is probably the most difficult, most time consuming, and by far the most important. By employing the suggestions given in this first step it will be much easier revising your paper later. First find a quiet, secluded place to do some brainstorming. My best ideas come to me when I’m relaxing by the riverside. You can also brainstorm on-the-go while out hiking or riding your bike. Be sure to take a tape recorder or a small notepad and pen with you so you can record your ideas before you forget them.
Another useful method for developing ideas is called free writing. I use this most often when writing fiction. I jot down ideas that I may have and continue writing until I’ve gotten everything that’s in my brain onto paper. This could take mere minutes or half a day so it’s best to make sure you will have the time to write down everything you need to.
Many texts will recommend outlining your paper before writing it, but I have always found this to be both tedious and constrictive of the creative process. The only time I would suggest using an outline is when organizing your research notes. Summarizing, on the other hand, I can vouch for. Summarizing requires you to take the most important details of each paragraph and sum them up in a few, short sentences. For example, the summary of this paragraph would look something like this: Outlining your research notes is helpful. However, outlining your paper can be a burden. Summarizing each paragraph before writing is more efficient. Write each summary on a separate sheet of paper or index card to allow room for any details you might want to add later.
In phase two you will write a rough draft of your paper. Keep in mind that this is a rough draft and not the final copy. The process of free writing will once again come in handy, but this time stick to your topic using your research notes as a guide. Don’t worry too much about spelling and punctuation. You’ll have time to come back and correct your mistakes in phase three.
Remember to write like you’re human. After all you are, aren’t you? You want your paper to be entertaining as well as informative, but you don’t want to put your audience to sleep.
Now you deserve a cookie! Take a break and go do something fun. Come back to your paper with fresh eyes. It will be easier to spot your mistakes. Check for spelling and grammar but also check for structure. One paragraph should lead smoothly to the next and sentences should stay on point. If you’re writing about the mistreatment of hogs in California slaughter houses, don’t harken back to your days growing up as a Louisiana pig farmer. While this gives you invaluable knowledge of your topic, the readers aren’t interested in your life story. Once you’ve cut out unnecessary details, paste together the remainder in a coherent manner.
Now that the writing process has been broken down, it should be a little easier for you to tackle that five thousand word master thesis on Darwin’s theory of natural selection you’ve been dreading. If you’ve properly prepared you paper, and researched your topic thoroughly, then you can zip right through the writing and revising stages. The end result will be a testament to the creativity that you didn’t even know you possessed.
* Ray Grant, “Stephen King Gets Writer’s Block For Several Hours,” www.deadbrain.com, published 08/16/06, accessed 03/19/10.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)