NaWriPoMo and Photo Friday: Seven Signs of Aging

Day 18:  I’m not following a prompt today.   I based his poem on a memory of a grandchild’s candor that still tickles me.

Seven Signs of Aging

Said Little Boy, while sitting in the tub,

What are you doing to your face?

“It’s eyes and throat I rub.

An exercise in futility,

The wrinkles to erase.”

Said Little Boy, with smile all  broad and wise,

Better put some round the back.

O my Olay, I write to criticize?

More than seven signs of aging.

A child can tell you that.

 

 NaWriPoMo and Photo Friday:  Seven Signs of Aging

NaWriPoMo #16: Boston

Today’s prompt (optional, as always). After yesterday’s form-based prompt, today’s will hopefully be somewhat easier to get into. This prompt is from Daisy Fried, and the basic idea is to write a ten-line poem in which each line is a lie. Your lies could be silly, complicated, tricky, or obvious.

Boston

It was yesterday, when I first heard

Heroes twist and torn and  stumbled.

Nothing ventured, nothing learned

Never seen amongst the rubble.

All the measures are for naught

The predictable unpredictable.

Logic torn by hearts’ wrought,

Turning common into mystical.

Contrary to common belief,

A lie is harder than the truth.

 

 

 NaWriPoMo #16:  Boston

Come Meet Michael Allan Scott (and a book giveaway)

 

Author 1 214x300 Come Meet Michael Allan Scott (and a book giveaway)What does an artistic, recovering drug addict, who spent his jail time in solitary confinement,have in common with me?  I got a chance to sit down and chat awhile with Michael Allan Scott; the man with the storied past and compare notes.  We have more in common than you might think.

Michael Allan Scott entered the world loving a good story.  Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  He, like me, had a mother who read to him from an early age, and a father who loved to weave a good yarn.  Like me, Mike liked writing stories for as long as he remembers, but he never thought of it as a career choice until recently.  He’s also sees the spiritual side of life, and life-after-death as real, if you just open yourself up to believe.

Mike’s Indie book, Flight of the Tarantula Hawk, is his second noir crime/ paranormal novel with crime photographer Lance Underphal.  Lance is a reluctant hero, tuned in to the spirit-world and guided by his true love, his late wife.  This is a murder mystery, so the language and scenes can be a bit gritty.  Lance is dealing with the seamy underbelly, after all.

Without giving too much of the story line away, the Tarantula Hawk is an apt choice for the antagonist in Mike’s newest novel, set in Arizona where tarantula hawks abound.

Acht!  Just look at this picture I took on my latest Dozin’ with the Dino trip.  See how tiny the wasp compared to the spider?

As a teen, I read Mike’s kind of stories late at night while babysitting the neighbor kids.  That might be what terrified me on my short walk across their lawn, between the apple trees and the chicken coop, and into my own safe house.

Mike grew up in Arizona, with a mix of jocks, hippie-surfers, and Native Americans.  He told me he “never had much use for school.” He remembers crying all the way to kindergarten, “stunned that he got left in a strange land, with strange people.”  By high school, he felt like an outsider looking in.  He got kicked out because his hair was too long.  The thing that saved him writing and his rock band.  He played at dances and local bars and clubs.

Mike’s parents were pillars of the community.  He was a handful, but even then they stood behind him.  Mike liked conflict and turmoil.  Got into alcohol and drugs.

By the time Mike was 20, he was in jail for possession of heroin and marijuana when.  He went off the deep end in several directions.  It took that jolt to realize he had to make a change.  Got the idea quick.  Mike was beat up and sent to solitary confinement as a troublemaker.  He suffered through dry-out.

Back then “LSD it wasn’t even classified as a drug” He advises kids today to Arm themselves with information.  “The more you know the less likely you are to get involved with drugs.”  He lumps prescription drugs in there, too.

Set on the straight-and-narrow, Mike never really considered art as a real career option.  Career was all about making money, being in business, raising a family.  So he became a successful commercial real estate broker, and kept his writing as a disciplined hobby.  He wrote and wrote, and wrote some more.  He scheduled himself deadlines and word-count limits by entering every “writers of the future” contest.  With the 2008 financial meltdown, his business collapsed.  That’s when he decided to take a good look at his career trajectory and put his energy into doing what he loves most:  writing.

All Mike’s practice and discipline paid off.  He is a master at setting the mood with words.

As Lance senses the presence of his wife:

”I hear her smile.”

As he surveys a crime scene:

“…the blinds are closed, leaving narrow band of dust particles to glimmer in the thin rays of light – a matrix of harsh glare and deep shadow, inundating his senses.”

But my favorite is his description of a migraine headache coming:

“I wake with a skull full of rocks, on the ragged edge of a migraine.”

Oh yes, Mike, you pegged that pain perfectly.

After butting his head against a wall the traditional publishing route, Mike read John Locke’s book, how I Sold 1 Million eBooks in 5 Months.  Locke inspired Mike to publish independently.  He advises writers to build a community:

  • Find a good editor in your genre;
  • Find a cover artist;
  • Find a publicist;
  • Find someone to format your book, if you need to.

In other words, writers do what they do best:  write.  There’s a world of experts out there that can help writers bring their book to market.

That said, if you’re a writer that reads, or if you just like to read, Mike can help you out.  He agreed to give away two copies of Flight of the Tarantula Hawk.

Please comment on this post and let me know whether you prefer an e-book or a traditional paperback.  Your name will be entered into a drawing and the winner announced here.

Oh, and here’s a peak at Flight of the Tarantula Hawk.   I watched the trailer after I read the book.  The trailer characters match my mind’s eye.

0 Come Meet Michael Allan Scott (and a book giveaway)

(But beware, you will see the seamy underbelly of the insect world!)

 

 

 

 Come Meet Michael Allan Scott (and a book giveaway)

NaWriPoMo #15: And the Beat Goes ON

Today’s NaWriPoMo challenge:   “write a poem in terza rima. This form was invented by Dante, and used in The Divine Comedy. It consists of three-line stanzas, with a “chained” rhyme scheme. The first stanza is ABA, the second is BCB, the third is CDC, and so on. No particular meter is necessary, but English poets have tended to default to iambic pentameter (iambic pentameter is like the Microsoft Windows of English poetry). One common way of ending a terza rima poem is with a single line standing on its own, rhyming with the middle line of the preceding three-line stanza.”

And the Beat Goes On

A friend is lost, a new one born.

I want to pause, but Life goes on.

Some time to laugh, some time to mourn.

My secret defense relies upon,

An unrequited interest,

In all things living and all things gone,

And souls that touch before they rest.

Sleep’s respite leaves time alone.

So waking finds me newly blessed.

DSC02220 300x168 NaWriPoMo #15:  And the Beat Goes ON

 

 NaWriPoMo #15:  And the Beat Goes ON

NaWriPoMo #14: Micro-environmental Disaster

Today’s NaWriPoMo prompt (optional, as always) is a little something I’m calling “Twenty Questions.” The idea is to write a poem in which every sentence, except for the last one, is in the form of a question. That’s it!

Micro-environmental disaster

Is it the sugar?  Is it the fat?

Is lack of exercise to blame?

Could it be simpler than that?

Diabetes? obesity? Asthma? Isn’t it a shame?

So many woes; What is the solution?

Chemical? Environment? Food? Are we doomed?

Could it be a re-evolution?

Your ‘crobes, my ‘crobes; Could be our micro-biodome.

iStock 000019088310Large 300x225 NaWriPoMo #14:  Micro environmental Disaster

 

 NaWriPoMo #14:  Micro environmental Disaster

NaWriPoMo #11: Dessert (and a photo)

Day #11 NaWriPoMo challenge you to write about wine-and-love.

Dessert
Ahhh...the perfect pair.
Not any red will do.
The salad, the soup, the main dish.
Some say it's more than fair,
That I found you.
A prayer, a hope, a wish?
Whatever.  We're the perfect pair.
dessert 300x225 NaWriPoMo #11:  Dessert (and a photo)

 

 NaWriPoMo #11:  Dessert (and a photo)

NaWriPoMo #10: Read More

 NaWriPoMo #10:  Read More

Burma-Shave slogans (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today’s NaWriPoMo challenge is to write an advertisement poem, like the old Burma-Shave.  Remember the little signs along the road?  Maybe you’re old enough.  Here’s a couple of examples:

 

Picture each line as a separate sign,  a few hundred feet away from each other.  Entertaining for the kids in the back seat.

I Heard it On NPR

Reading is to brain,

As user on cocaine.

Mind’s eye sees,

Like neurons on LSD.

Writer’s cock-and-bull,

Is nothing more than reader’s mule.

No wonder the book is always better than the movie!

(Note of explanation:  I’m an NPR fan.  A couple of weeks ago, I listened while I drove:  Reading transforms the brain chemically in the same way mind-altering drugs do, but with no nasty side-effects.  Unless, you count me wondering what the character is doing long after I closed the book.  Do you ever do that?)

 NaWriPoMo #10:  Read More

NaWriPoMo: Re-write Trees

Today’s challenge is to re-write a poem.  I choose one of my favorites:  Trees.

main img 2 300x94 NaWriPoMo:  Re write Trees
I Think that I shall Never Be

I shall never be a poet,
It's unnatural.  Don't I know it.

Still, poetry nourishes my body and soul,
Like the Lord resting, or a flowery knoll.

God is here, and God is there,
Oh God! You are everywhere.

God's creation blooms new. His seasons unfold,
The same with a poem, each time re-told.

Vanity of vanities. My heart is a knothole,
Interesting to look at, but impossible to know.

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

 

 NaWriPoMo:  Re write Trees

NaWriPoMo: Opening Pandora’s Box

And now, our (optional) prompt. Today’s prompt was suggested by Bruce Niedt. Here’s Bruce’s explanation: take any random song play list (from your iPod, CO player, favorite radio station, Pandora or Spotify , etc.) and use the next five song titles on that randomized list in a poem.  (I used seven song titles.)

Opening Pandora’s Box

holiday engagement 3 300x168 NaWriPoMo:  Opening Pandoras Box

Proclaiming the Future

Hey Jude, Here I come.

If I Had You,

we’d be like Pumped Up Kids;

Come Away With Me.

we’ll Slide into Old, On Violet Hill.

 NaWriPoMo:  Opening Pandoras Box

Facing the Future

 

 NaWriPoMo:  Opening Pandoras Box

NaWriPoMo: (Foolish) Inanimate Love

NaWriPoMo prompt for April 7 is “write a love poem to an inanimate thing.”  I’m a day late, I know.  Look for another poem before the day is over.

Ode to Candy Crush

(Foolish, Inanimate Love)

I love you; I hate you.  Or is it just a Sweet Crush?

I swear, I don’t even like you that much.

Over bridges, through Swamps and into the Hills.

Wrapped up in candy; King of Sweet Thrills.

I’ll champion 100 and then I’ll be done.

Or pass friends in Salty Canyon; that’ll be fun.

I see you all over, even the media seems hooked.

Melting chocolate, sour bombs and meringues overlooked.

Is it love?  Or are these stars in my eyes?

Of course this is foolish.  I know I’m unwise.

Goodbye sweet addiction.  Get behind me Sugar Crush.

I swear, I don’t even like you that much.

 

photo 300x225 NaWriPoMo:  (Foolish) Inanimate Love

 NaWriPoMo:  (Foolish) Inanimate Love

A Noun Blog

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