Sunday, June 26, 2011

a world of doors


today is
a day of doors
red ones with squeaky leather hinges
oak doors with metal crossbindings
mint green ones with brittle peeling paint.

all say the same thing
the thing we were born to seek
the thing that's always hiding
behind the next door
no matter what its shape

and there are many
fat solid ones that stick in the damp
narrow splintery doors that
shudder when you rap on them
and doors with rows and rows
of diamond-shaped windows that
fragment the world beyond into a thousand pieces.

 if all doors were made of glass
there'd be no need to search
but then we'd have no doors
when a hailstorm hurricane tornado came
so we keep our eyes open wide
always looking around the next corner
for the impossible gift.

Friday, June 24, 2011

A little quiz...

Yeah... I'm not surprised. I would rather eat berries than cake.




My Result: Fruit
on quiz: What Kind of Writerly Snack Are You?
Who: Earth-lovers. Body-lovers. Sensitive souls and seasonal foodies.
When: Anytime! It's good for you! Just keep to the seasons. Cherries in the summer, apples in the Fall, orange segments in winter.


Why: Because fruit is healthy and delicious and isn't likely to make a gooey mess all over your computer. Because you want your head clear while you write, not fuzzy from your blood sugar spiking and dropping.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

opportunity is not a lengthy visitor


early in the morning 
while the sun is just untangling
itself from the sheets
opportunity knocks
with calloused knuckles.

so used to being ignored
it's quick to leave
you have to grab it before
it vanishes from your doorstep
like dew in the summer sun.

but once you've grabbed it
you've got to follow through
you can't just listen to it
with half a heart
you have to understand.

it may not look
like opportunity at first
it may be dressed in rags
but it will knock
it's your job to answer the door.


Saturday, June 18, 2011

Fallen (or Don't judge a book by its cover)


It was the cover art that grabbed me. The dark color palette, the dramatic texturing of draped tafetta against trees, the girl's pose (OK, I admit it, she reminded me of a Weeping Angel). I skimmed the blurb on the back cover, and cracked it open.

I expected the material inside to be as exciting as the cover appeared. It did not reward my hopes.
The story began with a prologue, which proceed to rob the book of all its mystery. It told the story of two people who could never be together- the girl would die the instant she got too close to the guy, who turned out to be a fallen angel.

Lucinda-the girl- made her entrance in the first chapter. She's had to enroll in a reform school, after her friend died in a fire that turned out to be deliberate. That wouldn't have caused suspicion to rest naturally on Lucinda- except for the fact that she can't keep quiet about the 'shadows' that follow her everywhere.

The reform school turns out to be filled (if you can call it filled, more like stacked) with barely fleshed-out stereotypical characters... the cheerleader, the nerd, the bullying princess, the rebel...
She is attracted to Cam, (stereotypical bad-boy character), but more intrigued by the mysterious Daniel (stereotypical mysterious-hero-with-a-tragic-history).
 He (surprise, surprise) turns out to be a fallen angel- and Cam is on the other side of the fallen bad-guy angels. 

This was a story that dragged so slowly that by the end, its heels were covered with mud. It was so predictable that I wanted to put it down, but I really, really hate stopping in the middle of a story, even it's as bad as this one was. It was a weak attempt to jump on the paranormal-romance-adventure (you could almost delete the adventure bit) bandwagon.
 I won't be reading anything else by this author- there are better ways to waste your time.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

another year, another step

(image courtesy of http://www.coolchaser.com/graphics/tag/purple%20converse)

blessed with
another year of living

the road untraveled
stretches out before me

mountainous with expectations
and dreams yet to be grasped.

thousands of miles yet to be traveled
explored and conquered

'every journey of a thousand miles
begins with a single step'

or so they tell me.
it's that single step that holds

a world of promise
the lever that moves the future

so I lace up my violet tennis shoes
and take another step.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

lessons from a stick of candy

horehound candy
 sweet sticks
in a smoky glass jar
"15 cents a stick"
I pull one out

it's broken
its cellophane wrapper
the only thing
keeping it from
falling to pieces


I pick another
it's broken too
dangling in its wrapper
like a fish
with a broken spine

maybe it's not
so different from us
fine on the outside
but beneath the skin
struggling to
hold ourselves together

tacked together
with cellophane
and tape
but instead of becoming bitter
we must stay sweet.
(somewhat inspired by Paramore's 'We Are Broken')

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Ruined: a ghost story


Rebecca feels about as out of place in New Orleans as a Mardi Gras mask looks at an Easter service. Not only is her hometown of New York thirteen hundred miles away, she's also separated from her father for six months. She has to stay with her tarot-reading aunt, who lives next door to a cemetery, which Rebecca's forbidden to enter. And that's not all. She has to put up with the jibes and bullying of the filthy-rich debutantes that rule her new school.
Finally, Rebecca makes a friend. Her shy neighbor Lisette offers her the best and the worst of New Orleans- and a world she's never seen.
Because Lisette is no ordinary girl. In fact, she's not a girl at all.
She's a ghost.
Lisette was murdered when she was only sixteen. She has a score to settle with her murderers- or more accurately, their ancestors. You see, Lisette died one hundred and fifty years ago. When she appears, she brings death in her wake.
Rebecca is drawn into the tapestry of secrets, intrigue and ancient curses that is her new life. But will this new life end in triumphant flames, like a phoenix rising from its ashes, or will it end in ruins?

Paula Morris, the author of Ruined, lives in New Orleans, and weaves her tale lovingly and accurately. It meshes actual history with wonderful characters, and is a knottily wonderful tale.