The sweet leather smell, brings dreams to my mind

of treasures and islands, and love so divine.

Remembering Austen, Bronte, Dickens, Carroll and Suess

Their words were so focused, their stories, bits of truth.

Society lies. Current styles are just snippets in time.

Ugly, silly, dark stormy nights, humanity grieves and repeats the lies.

Over and over, here we go again, recycling fashions, battling wars,

someone gets dead, someone gets more, but wealth is not the all of import.

The ingredients for good story are love, money and/or lack of these.

The writer writes with flourish, as protagonist falls to their knees.

A hero arises, be it male or female, a villain’s destroyed, by an unknown skill.

Words flow onto pages, be it computer, typewriter or paper and quill.

Give me my books for I cannot deny, I’m addicted to story,

Reading, writing and applying those words to my life.


Word Fun

This is just a fun exercise to say aloud fast… try it!

Riddle griddle fiddle middle

little missile whistle kissing missing

wishing dishing fishing fighting

writing kiting lighting biting biking

speaking squeaking tweaking leaking

bleating meeting greeting fleeting

flicky picky sticky hicky mickey

makey flakey bakey basty.

This Ohio Winter

What is this I see?

It’s no snow in January.

Where has the snow all gone?

Global warming, anyone?

Growing up in Minnesota

in winter, we always had a coat on.

Shoveled the sidewalk in New York,

to get to the snow blower, for easier work.

Though at times I think

California’s climate is the pink,

While I live in Ohio

I really don’t like it so mild.

This pathetic winter we’re having

has my whole family scathing.

When can we light the fireplace?

When can we go ice skate?

The heating bill is low,

can’t complain about that – I know.

The coffee, hot chocolate and tea

all still taste the same to me.

Though I may sit and imagine

And work yarn – as is my passion –

the truth is… the grass is still green;

though I just pretend not to see.