Thursday, January 19, 2012

"Night Poems" By Ben Ditmars

One of my favorite bloggers in blogland is Ben Ditty (Ditmars).  "Night Poems" is his new book of poetry and I'm sharing my review which I just posted at Amazon.  Trust me, if you buy this book, it'll be the best damned dollar you EVER spent.  I love, love, love it and highly recommend it.  I say this often, but I'll say it again:  SUPPORT POETS:  BUY POETRY!!! 

Here's Ben's blog link:

And this is my review:

Unmasking the night from gloaming to dawn, Ben Ditmars' "Night Poems" shimmer and shine like sky diamonds in the black velvety heavens. From silvery moonlight references to a magical firefly's elusive glimmer, each and every poem illuminates the mind's dark corners and startle in their beauty and lucidity.

I thoroughly enjoyed each of the 29 short poems, titled with a time. One of my favorite poems is "02:20:

"a night so dead
the lights are off
playing footsie with the moon somewhere
beneath the clouds.

dim paths will unwind themselves as
street signs stretch and yawn."

If you like heartfelt, sincere, vibrant poetry, then you'll love these gems by Mr. Ditmars. I highly recommend "Night Poems". I can't wait to read more of his awesome poetry.


Ben, you ARE da man!!!  I hope you sell a gazillion books!



"You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you."  ~Joseph Joubert


Poetry, like the moon, does not advertise anything.  ~William Blissett


Sunday, January 15, 2012

Who It Is Accuses Us by Linda Pastan

Blythe, my tiny window sill doll.
Who It Is Accuses Us
By Linda Pastan
Who it is accuses us of safety,
as if the family were soldiers
instead of hostages,
as if the gardens were not mined
with explosive peonies,
as if the most common death
were not by household accident?
We have chosen the dangerous life.
Consider the pale necks of the children
under their colored head scarves,
the skin around the husband's eyes, flayed
by guilt and promises.
You who risk no more than your own skins
I tell you household Gods
are jealous Gods.
They will cover your window sills
with the dust of sunsets;
they will poison your secret wells
with longing.
From:  "Waiting For My Life" by Linda Pastan, page 34
Madness abounds at Casa Dragonfly.  We picked up Mama on Thursday.  Yesterday Ray had to take her to the ER for a bad cough and chest congestion.  Thankfully, she only needed medicine and is doing better today.  My nephew's house caught on fire and again, thankfully, he was nearby when the electrical fire started and was able to put it out with minimum damage.'s all about timing.  Had it happened in the middle of the night, they might have lost their lives...  All this made me think of the poem above.  I'm still deep into the Dark Tower series and loving every single word. 
So far, Winter seems to have missed us here in the swamps.  Today I saw a butterfly and a lady bug when I was outside.  I've never seen either in January.  My neighbor's vain Narcissus are blooming prolifically. 
I hope it's warm and toasty where you are.  :-)
Back to my reading. 
"My life has a superb cast but I can't figure out the plot."  ~Ashleigh Brilliant

Monday, January 9, 2012

Lady Marion to the Dark Tower Came

I have just discovered Stephen King's Dark Tower series.  All 7 books, 3712 pages, give or take an introduction or two and that's why I've been missing from blogland.  I made a resolution to not buy so many books this year, (ha!) so I had to be creative to get the books.  I collected a box full of DVD's that we no longer watch and took them to Hasting's and traded them in for credit.  I got almost exactly enough money to buy the 7 books.  But hark!  He has a new hardback coming out (which takes place in the middle of this series) on April 24, "The Wind Through the Keyhole" (yes, I did get into a fascinating, hour long conversation with someone at Hasting's who was a rabid Stephen King fan) and I did pre-order it.  Why?  Because I've spent the last three days deep in the world of Roland the Gunslinger and do not want to ever leave it and now I have something to look forward to.  For what are books but our drugs, our friends, our escape from winter's dark bleakness, our lifelines, passports to imaginary worlds?

I'd never been a big Stephen King fan.  My husband is, but even he had not read "The Dark Tower" series except for the graphic novels.  I'd only read a few of his books.  I loved "On Writing" his autobiography, which led me to his novels.  I really loved the newest novel, "11/23/63".  I read that one in only two days, never putting it down, even waking at 3:00 a.m to read. 

But what grabbed me is that the entire dark tower series was inspired by a poem by Robert Browning, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came".  It's also long, but insightful if you're reading the series and you can find it all over the Internet.

So I'm itching to get right back to it.  I'm on book three, "The Wastelands" and the series is picking up steam (pun intended, if you've read the books). 

I'll be in and out but mostly out until I finished reading this series.  Also we're picking up Mama later this week to spend a few weeks with us while her apartment is being remodeled.  She's not happy about leaving her nest, but she picked us to stay with.  (Tee-hee....I keep telling my sisters and brothers that I'm her favorite child and we've all known for 30 years that 'poor Ray' is her favorite son-in-law.)  So she'll be cooking for Ray in spite of my protests.  (When my step-father died, she bought a double headstone for the grave...his side had a deer on it because he was a hunter.  Mama had them put a STOVE on her side because, and I quote: "I've spent my entire damned life behind a stove so I might as well be buried under one.")  LOL!  But really, she loves to cook.

So my new year has started fabulously.  What bookslut would not be rolling around in pure joy at over 3,000 pages to read? 


Oh, and here's a magnificent book of amazing poetry that's a must-read:  "Blueshifting" by Heather Kamins.  I reviewed it at Amazon.  I even interruped my series to read all 16 of her luminous, amazing poems!  Check her out!!

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon

By Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am in love with him
to whom a hyacinth is dearer
than I shall ever be dear.

On nights when the field-mice
are abroad, he cannot sleep.
He hears their narrow teeth
at the bulbs of his hyacinths.

But the gnawing at my heart
he does not hear.


I woke to the wind dancing in the Pines across the street as my windchimes tinkled.  In the distance, birdsong.  A perfect start to the new year.