Saturday, October 31, 2015


My patio, a river...

Flooding, tornado warnings, thunderstorms, rain, flash floods, wind...Autumn is still being birthed painfully and messily this last day of October.  It's been summer-like here in the tomatoes & peppers are still making although my Moonflowers have gone to seed.   My back bedroom is flooded, but that's minor compared to the damage in Texas from tornadoes and flooding.  

Found a cool read this week and it's free.  Also check the author's web site:

Check it out:

Weather Channel
By Sheryl Crow

Sunny morning
You can hear it
Siren's warning
There is weather on both sides
And I know it's coming
Just like before
There's a black dog
That scratches my door
He's been growling my name saying
You better get to running
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got no one
Who will bring me a
Big umbrella
So I'm watching the weather channel
And waiting for the storm
It's just sugar
Just a pill to make me happy
I know it may not fix the hinges
But at least the door has stopped it's creaking
I got friends
They're waiting for me to comb out my hair
Come outside and join the human race
But I don't feel so human
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got lab coats
Who will bring me a panacea
While I'm watching the weather channel
Waiting for the storm
You won't want me
Hanging around the birthday pony
Even though it's just a game
You know we are the same
But you're the better faker

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

A Prayer By Marion - For Magpie Tales #291

                                  For Magpie Tales #291

A Prayer
By Marion

Now I lay me
down to pray;
I clasp my hands
in bright moon rays.

I close my eyes
as if in sleep,
draw in a breath, then
gently leap

into the arms of
of God above
and quickly rest
inside His love.

I lie here like a 
small child curled, 
encompassed in
His trusting word

of faith & peace
known simply by
those many souls
that to Him cry...

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Fliverapp - Fun & Fabulous

One of the most FUN, informative, fascinating, free apps I have on my IPad is the Fliverapp.  It's a collection of lists about everything from books to poetry, restaurants, food, fashion, recipes, name it.  The sky's the limit...or not.  The lists are in multiples of 5 with space to add a link with a little comment section at the end.  It's simple and easy to use and therein lies the beauty.

I went a little crazy when I first discovered it and became a top 5 list maker...and the cool CEO & Founder, Faraaz Ahmed, sent me a little gift:  Fliverapp socks!!  As I told him in a thank you email, "I love the app and enjoy it even more than Pinterest.  Nobody at Pinterest ever sent me cute socks... They've just stolen years from my life that I'll never get back."

I highly recommend that you all try Fliverapp, even if it's just to read all of the cool lists on your IPhone.
I'd keep reading it even if they never sent me cozy socks!  xo

Friday, October 23, 2015

Beautiful Chaos By Robert M. Drake

        Beautiful Chaos By Robert M. Drake

           Black Butterfly By Robert M. Drake

Robert M. Drake began posting his simple, beautiful poetry on Instagram (@rmdrk) and has developed a huge following.  His fifth book, "A Brilliant Madness" is just out.  His poetry is pure soul and emotion...and highly addictive reading.  I have one of his books and can't wait to read his newest volume.

It's hot, dry, cloudy and muggy here in the swamps with rain predicted for the next few days as an after effect of Hurricane Patricia.  Everyone in the hurricane's path, please stay safe.

Support poetry!!!!


"Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance." ~Carl Sandburg

                         My Autumn Rose...

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Bone By Mary Oliver

By Mary Oliver


Understand, I am always trying to figure out
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape 
and so, last week,
when I found on the beach
the ear bone
of a pilot whale that may have died
hundreds of years ago, I thought
maybe I was close
to discovering something 
for the ear bone


is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where
once, in the lively swimmer's head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing,
it was only
two inches long 
and thought: the soul
might be like this 
so hard, so necessary 


yet almost nothing.
Beside me
the gray sea
was opening and shutting its wave-doors,
unfolding over and over
its time-ridiculing roar;
I looked but I couldn't see anything
through its dark-knit glare;
yet don't we all know, the golden sand
is there at the bottom,
though our eyes have never seen it,
nor can our hands ever catch it


lest we would sift it down
into fractions, and facts 
and what the soul is, also
I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,
but looking, and touching, and loving,
which is the way I walked on,
through the pale-pink morning light.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

The Panic of Birds By Olena Kalytiak Davis

            Photo from Google Images

The Panic of Birds
By Olena Kalytiak Davis

The moon is sick
of pulling at the river, and the river
fed up with swallowing the rain,
So, in my lukewarm coffee, in the bathroom
mirror, there’s a restlessness
as black as a raven.
Landing heavily on the quiet lines of this house.
Again, the sun takes cover
and the morning is dead
tired of itself, already, it’s pelting and windy
as I lean into the pane
that proves this world is a cold smooth place.

Wind against window—let the words fight it out—
as I try to remember: What is it
that’s so late in coming? What was it
I understood so well last night, so well it kissed me,
sweetly on the forehead?

Wind against window and my late flowering brain,
heavy, gone to seed. Pacing
from room to room and in each window
a different version of a framed woman
unable to rest, set against a sky
full of beating wings and abandoned
directions. Her five chambered heart
filling with the panic of birds, asking: What?

What if not this?


Thursday, October 15, 2015

Write Now

I wrote my first poem at age 14 with a cartridge pen.  It was a love poem and the start of a lifelong love affair with ink pens and poetry. I wrote for 20 years with Schaefer Cartridge Pens (still available at Hobby Lobby).  They're the pens on the right.  My best poems were written with the red one in blue ink.  Then I discovered German made Pelikan Fountain Pens. (On the left.) They're the best pen I've ever used.  The green Pelikan pen is a wide nib highlighter.  I highlight in advance reader copies of books that I get from Amazon and authors to review.  It's a blast to use.  I'm glad I saved and splurged on the Pelikan pens.  I plan to pass them down to my grandchildren.

There's also my little pink Japanese Tasche cartridge pen...It writes sweet Haiku.  xo

"You can't write poetry on the computer." ~Quentin Tarantino

When dragonflies leave
At autumn's first appearance---
Butterflies appear!  ~Marion

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

A Letter in October By Ted Kooser

                     Autumn at a camp in the swamp. (Photo from Google Images.)

                                              My Catfish and a new friend. ;-)

A Letter in October - By Ted Kooser

Dawn comes later and later now,
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning
watching the light walk down the hill
to the edge of the pond and place
a doe there, shyly drinking,

then see the light step out upon
the water, sowing reflections
to either side - a garden
of trees that grew as if by magic -
now see no more than my face,
mirrored by darkness, pale and odd,

startled by time. While I slept,
night in its thick winter jacket
bridled the doe with a twist
of wet leaves and led her away,
then brought its black horse with harness
that creaked like a cricket, and turned

the water garden under. I woke,
and at the waiting window found
the curtains open to my open face;
beyond me, darkness. And I,
who only wished to keep looking out,
must now keep looking in.

'A Letter in October' from Weather Central (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1994), © Ted Kooser 1994


Monday, October 5, 2015

Wish You Were Here, Keith

A good, kind friend of mine who died of AIDS in the 1980's.
I miss you every day, Keith...  

Pink Floyd

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue sky's from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
And how we found
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.