The Eruption~
This is a creation based on Van Gogh’s style and O’Keefe’s shapes. Can you find the hidden shapes and what they represent as you view this?
The Garden of Promises and Lies by Paula Brackston
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This third book in her series about spinners is amazing and hard to put down!
I truly became hooked near the end and I could not stop reading!
Found things, lies, and promises all mingling together along with the friendships. I will miss the characters of the manor and the relationships formed as the wedding takes place. The villain I will not miss and his end was quite well done by the writer! Suspense adds to his end and the book is safe with Liam appearing with it.
Evie still being missing after the death of the husband and the widow missing her sister. The events unfolding to the part where Liam becomes the lead of the next book, all of it, is too much for me not to read on with the next book!
This mystery spin of the where and why and play of events has the reader seeking the next book to see him home where he can work on his vehicles. A place where he belongs and is comfortable. Liam is missed by his village. When will he return and how? The call to spin must be answered.
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Pleasant Moments
Splendid feathers float
In the waters,
Timbered old buildings
In the distance,
Summer flowers nearby,
Gentle moving water,
The old metal railings
Of the bridge above,
It is a shallow stream
That moves slow,
A broad sweep
Of the meadow can be seen,
As the cattle roam,
And easing current
Comes close to their land,
Clear and the surface
Waving as the stock of tiny
Fish float by, clusters of rocks,
A chalk-colored bank,
Slate broken, cattail and reeds,
Charmed trees, the underwater
Creatures becoming overlapped
And browsing mermaids under the
Sea of floating petals and peaceful
Parting waters that move over the
Stacked stones and broke sticks
Slender in clusters making dams,
The surface is scratched by them,
Soon to be vaguely moving and hedged
Up, as the rain comes down to clear it. –J. E. Cook ©2023
Halloween Horror Story for me~
The September House by Carissa Orlando
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This story is perfect for October reading! There is dark humor to balance the horror of the ghosts and their pranks. A well-crafted ghost story with complex emotions charging through it.
The beginning was a little slow for my taste but it did not take away from the plot. As this unfolded, I could not stop reading. Toward the end, I thought, oh no, Margaret is not the person I thought she was but that became a curve in the story. I started to know what was being revealed when Hal returned to the house with the containers. Then, when the cops arrive again in numbers, I know what I was thinking about Edie is true and I am a bit sad that I am right.
Margaret is the main voice inside this red-cover novel where the walls bleed in September and the sounds get louder as the month passes- hopefully, September goes faster because sleep is impossible inside these walls as the blood flows down faster. I loved Margaret and her outlook on following the rules to keep the peace with the ghosts in her dream house. She struggles with these prankster ghosts that are dead children with missing parts, deep wounds, and haunting eyes. But, the real villain is in the cellar. Master Vale is not to be disturbed. Hal makes this mistake and the stakes are high. The attic is the only place the ghosts don’t go. Some of them stay in closets. Some of them don’t like fire and play the piano.
Margaret enjoys some of the ghosts. Fredricka is her favorite. Tea is her game. “Would ma’am like me to prepare some tea for her before I rest?” p.342 This ghost is amazing and I loved her, too. I could live with her around. Fredricka moves things all around the house and is constantly busy. She likes to stack things, hide things, and rearrange the furniture. “Does ma’am require assistance?” p.211 She appears in the doorway. She has moved all the knives to the bathroom sink.
Katherine arrives and things get rough to hide. The boards have to be removed from the basement door. Margaret is constantly stressed over her daughter being there and often discusses this with Edie on the porch while drinking tea. Edie is her closest friend and she never enters the house. Margaret spends her mornings with Edie. Hal does not care for Edie and Edie doesn’t seem to like him either. Katherine becomes concerned when her father, Hal quits answering his cell phone. Katherine cusses often and Margaret reminds her, “language”. Katherine arrives after Hal has left the house and she has not heard from him in over a month. She starts to play detective when she gets there.
Hal breaks the rules often and can’t seem to follow them or does not care to follow them. He stays in his office and writes or he says he is writing. He is controlling when it comes to Margaret. One ghost visits him in his office and stares him down which Hal hates. This ghost is a boy who wants his mother and he values his personal space.
Fredricka keeps to herself and does not interact much with the group of ghost children. They keep increasing in numbers in September. The month that Hal can’t stand. He is not happy about going through another September. Hal’s history comes to the surface and his daughter uncovers his secrets. Margaret’s family history is also revealed and becomes a focus.
Margaret starts to get pranksters’ names confused or can’t remember them as more arrive in September. She is running on hardly any sleep and trying to keep her daughter from seeing them or encountering them.
If you enjoy, horror stories, ghosts, and mysteries, then this is your Halloween story to read. The haunted house of the season. It is also peppered with family history, marriage struggles, and charming characters. Patterns of destruction are revealed. Psychological suspense keeps it interesting and brilliant. This journey of spirits and their backstories become a satisfying read.
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The Invisible Hour by Alice Hoffman
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I think this is my favorite novel by Hoffman!
A magical journey back and forth in time.
A daring girl with a dream and a passion to conquer an evil man who took her mother. To believe in magic and the secret, invisible gateway to love and the writer.
Beautiful scenes with touches of love, a grateful heart, and a loyal journey to succeed. Mia is strong and committed to her path to complete her quest.
Friendships become important in so many ways to Mia. She is secretive and private. Her dreams always carry her on. The library is her saving grace.
A story of love and growth where being immersed in water can create a bond of love. Hawthorne in her mind as Mia discovers her love for books and the writer. Mothers, daughters, and sisters are rich in character in this storyline. History mixed in, fates created, as the celebration of love and joy are magical realism to believe in the impossible.
Freedom is cherished. Redeeming the love and power inside books. Mia is a daring, female character that carries on and controls her fate.
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I loved reading about Georgia, the artist, and her life events.
Georgia: A Novel of Georgia O’Keeffe by Dawn Tripp
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I loved reading about Georgia. The Evening Star and how marriage is a very long thing.
“Those gorgeous German boys in their smart uniforms, …” (p.79. )
On to Part Two, …
As I turn pages, I want to read it all at once!
O’Keeffe comes to life in this novel. Beauty in the words of an artist’s life, vision, and artwork. Sensual scenes between lovers, artists, and the world they create together. Amazing in the subtle moments, the inner thoughts of Georgia, and how she deeply feels about her subjects. The artist is cranky and richly charged, and she is fascinating to read about and learn how she creates scenes on the canvas. Tripp’s novel has such lively details about the relationships of artists, poets, and writers and how they mesh together to become known and often compete to be popular.
The struggles of O’Keeffe and her family and her relationships are necessary to her art. The artist becomes a female leader in a world of men, even though, she does not think of it in this manner.
The lush images of her flowers, the bold lines of her buildings, and her essence for nature are apparent via her art.
When Georgia feels her relationship with Albert failing and her marriage falling apart, she creates another location where she finds herself and has peace in a land where the desert and force of nature surround her.
“…I will see my invitation as strange, …” Jean enters. She has visitors again. At the Lake, she hangs the Picasso drawing. Lake George, the typewriter echoes, and Georgia feels better.
Toomer enters her life, when she needs a caregiver and close friend. He carries her on and heals her. They share a charge for life and also know what loss can do to their souls. The scenes in the house between them are beautiful and so touching at that point in her life. I wanted to know more about their connection and relationship. This comes toward the end of the novel and I couldn’t stop reading it at this point.
It is unexpectedly nice to have someone to help out. She teases Jean. The cold moves in and the lake freezes. Frozen pipes, bitter cold, and the need to shovel. Jean Toomer is useful and he listens to music with her. They talk about art, politics, race issues, writing, and his wife. They share meals and reflect on life together. This relationship is beautiful. New Mexico and the small village there are things she shares with Jean. The hills and the earth she loves to paint. “That dust is different from the dust of any other place.” She asks Toomer to stay longer at the Lake.
“After”
The Ghost Ranch and the second house. The adobe smoothed by the locals, the garden, and the old stables come to her as a lovely setting. They are hers. Tomato jelly, cliffs, and the silence draw her to it. There is a quiet joy. Albert asks her to stay longer in New York with him. She refuses.
Georgia takes control of the gallery, and the rent fund, and tells Dorothy Norman to remove her things. She is disgusted with her and wants her gone.
In the fall, she is in New Mexico, and the mountain calls to her. She paints it, the snow, and the red hills. The blue wash of the sky and the river valley and her brush. A black bird flying…”I loved you once.” her thoughts fly by.
Now,
The American West, reclusive, and self-reliant, she chooses the desert. Mystery all around her. She walks with her dogs and has coffee and she is the Pioneer Painter. The tables in her studio are covered with her art. Enthralled with the zine of the land. Fierce woman on the cover of Life magazine. A legend that works in watercolors, oils, and charcoal.
Juan enters her life. Another truly amazing turn of events. He is good to her. A flirt and young man who understands her soul.
Ray comes to visit. Her sister’s grandson. He has a legal case in the area and joins her for the weekend. Georgia shows him her house, talks to him about her life there, and leads him to her tree. The tamarisk tree that she watches. Ray sees the gleaming shape of the Porter rock!
The rock was a beautiful story by itself. “See that was the not-true part. The Porters invited me for supper, and I stole it.”–I laughed, here! So, Georgia! Did Albert, laugh too–from above? He would admire this about her.
Stieglitz was perhaps hers but not totally. She knew this, and it became a thorn in her side.
The Sea is Vast~
Salt air all around,
Coldness,
A fireplace with Birch snapping,
The beautiful night skies
Of forever scenes,
Boardwalks over the cranberry bogs,
Standing at the water’s edge of wet
Shallows and odd bits of seaweed over
Rocks, looking for shells,
Tumbling in the sea,
Simple forms of circles,
Studies of water patterns,
I think of him,
My heart kicks with memory,
Remembering odds and ends,
Walks together,
Along the road,
A house of lonely feelings.
Missing you,
In the kitchen,
On a cushion,
The room filled with the scent
Of roses,
A heady scent of love,
A beautiful ache for you,
I feel you,
Inside my soul,
Moving there,
that scene of us,
Missing it,
Wanting you,
Sometimes, I have a clear
Sense of him,
That i can’t trade for anything
In this world. It is raw and the quiet
Remembers it, waiting for more as the grass
Rustles around the water so near,
That quiet stillness of memories buried deep
Inside me, coming the surface to release,
You are inside me!–J. E. Cook © 2023
The River Girl
She knows her way,
Her bracelets of silver,
Sway in the water,
So shaky from the night before,
She sits upon the rock,
The chime of the birds above her,
East and west, along the river banks,
Exposing the vast land,
The wings beat above her,
Like the boats tied along the shores,
Declaring the beats of her heart,
White linen is her dress,
Denied love for so long,
Odd chances,
Possible males visiting,
Far away, he rests along the inlet,
An invisible place inside her soul,
For him,
Calling out to him,
Into the sun, she looks,
Trailing the light rays,
Knowing he will not come for her,
Shimmering stars in the dark night,
Continue to haunt her,
Hope and despair linger,
Agony still present from the last visit,
The river carries on,
Her wishes buried inside her,
Flickering desires,
Tentative thoughts of him,
Green eyes await,
No idea how he feels about her now.
Piercing her heart,
Recognition that the past,
Can’t live here anymore,
She trembles with shed tears,
That said, pick happiness! –J. E. Cook © 2023
Wonderland
She created a wonderland
Of her own,
Crystal light fixtures,
With variegated rays on the
Walls, as they are switched
On, a geode, in a building of
Rocky walls, where decadence
Is present inside these walls,
Just one room of wonders,
Filled with toys, dolls, and stuffed animals,
The garden outside it,
Trees of green leaves and
Spirited stray cats play in them,
Nests of beautiful birds and stables
Of painted ponies,
Swooping feathered wings
Pass by, books of tales,
A glass-topped coffee table,
Chests of toy items,
Photos of memories,
Precious things gathered together
In one room, where hearts realize
A day of play can be a bearing
In their lives and an extravagant
Gift to their souls, wonderland,
A basket of stories can form
Inside the mind, while visiting
Wonderland.
Alone or with company,
Fabrications can form and grow
With creativity flowing inside the
Individuals as they, become lost
In play and enjoyment. –J. E. Cook © 2022
Alan L Boles
Favorites · 1h ·
Our Choice For This Early Monday Evenings Feature Of
Our Favorite Poet’s And Their Poetry In Our Spotlight…
May 1, 2022
Under the Sycamore
Not touching, but leaning close
To him,
Sensations passed between them,
Their arms brushed together,
Shifting shoulders and space closed,
In a second, the wind picked up,
Before them and surrounding them,
Numerous leaves burst from the branches
Above them,
Yellow sycamore leaves flying,
Slowly, soaring in the air,
Reflecting the light and swirling,
Some sailing and fluttering,
They rise and dance together,
As they try to catch these yellow
Treasures before they land,
He dives for a leaf before it hits
The mossy earth,
Giggles fill the air,
His gift to her in his hand,
She releases all her collected leaves,
Into the wind,
Many in her hair like gold,
Landing in her dark tresses,
As they float from their branches,
She whirls around to face him,
They stand facing each other,
An instant connection,
Staring into connected gazes,
Leaves raining on them,
Silently they touch,
Still as fresh snow,
Kissing under this tree,
He lifts a leaf from her hair,
And pushes another into her palm,
Gently, he touches her face,
Heartbeats wildly between them,
Ragged breathing,
Feeling a tilting world between them,
Her mouth is soft to him,
Her heart is full of life again. –J.E. Cook © 2022
Quinn has progressed well. However, she had a plate put in her knee this week.
She experienced a lot of anxiety after returning home. Quinn is doing better now after visiting with her family. She is quite the little warrior.
Bubbles and rays of sunlight
Of existence. –J. E. Cook © 2020, revised
After a visit with my aunt, I thought about the stories she shared with me. This was during my youth when she lived above a noisy bar in a small village known for its pony wagons. She showed me her collected books of images of mythologies, fantasy stories, and there were other magical images on the pages that made me dream about the worlds these creatures lived inside that were different than our world.
Now, I recall that time, and I write a little poem about one of the stories. Here it is and it was featured on the Dear John Show today where it was read by the host, John Kavanagh. (Welcome to The Dear John Show, Sunday 1st March 2020, with me, your host, John Kavanagh, and our meeter and greeter Chris Edridge. Live poetry reading of poets works from all around the world.) Listen at this address–https://www.facebook.com/thedearjohnshow/
I listen to the fairy stories
Of my aunt’s and I envision
Their garden,
Enchanting with the pastels
Of growth and the swaying
Blooms spreading the fragrance
In the bright light of morning
After the dew is gone,
Where a perilous journey
Is hidden from human eyes,
The stars are uncounted
And a fairy can’t be caught
But they have their own
Net of words that they share,
They memorize me in the garden,
As I digest their world,
The view is beautiful and untouched.,
Where they love so much without
hate,
Opinions buried and not shared,
A fairytale world,
Joyous and with all happy endings
Celebrated inside their group,
Grace in their land with hardships
Overcome through teamwork,
Usually comforting all,
Witnesses always helping out,
They can
Not be unmasked or sequestered to a
Box by us,
It is blistering difficult to be patient
To steal a glance at them,
Unaware of my presence
And they let me see them.–J. E. Cook © 2020
He was adjusting
His round-framed glasses
On his face
As he looked on across the
Pond,
Those spectacles
Reflecting the light
Of the sun,
Reminding me of such
Radiance,
He had plucked a volume
Of poetry from his bookcase
Before stepping out into the
Sunshine,
A slim book filled with
Thoughts of others,
He appeared jolly with
The readings he was completing,
Springing to life before my eyes,
Flashing a quick smile for me,
As I came into view from behind
A tree filled with flowing leaves,
Could he change my life forever
If I spoke to him?
He reminded me of the sun’s rays
At high noon,
The first edition in his slim fingers,
Signed by someone,
Random pages flowing through his
Mind as he viewed me,
Me brushing a tear aside when I see
Him there so merry with his thoughts,
Highlighting the scene with his
Image,
Involving me in his view,
I want to hug him close,
Feel myself bending towards him,
As he closes the book,
Clutching it in his strong hands,
Poetry inside his grip,
Intimate words shut now,
Looking down at the water before
Him,
I want a true friendship with him,
Gently I come toward him,
This man with the golden long
Hair,
Admiration in my eyes for him,
Possibly more,
Scattering thoughts inside my
Head,
Unopened letters from him,
In there,
The literature of oxford and the English
As near, in this scene,
Where I get to touch him,
Finally, and know his skin,
My legs shaking as I am near,
Motions not speeding by,
Or crushing this moment in
My history,
Like some Narnian adventure,
But jumping the time,
As his spirit is mine.–J. E. Cook © 2019
I have something for you,
He said, reaching out to touch
My hand so gently that I almost
Did not feel his slight touch
Of love,
It reminds me of you,
Because you changed my life
When you entered it,
And he slipped the ring onto
My trembling finger,
It is brilliant in the light,
With diamonds circling my finger,
One rectangle cut in the middle
Flashing before me,
A final word on my lips for
This moment in time.
Yes, I will be with you forever,
My love,
As he bends to touch my lips
With his and all become mine
With him there forever as mine. –J. E. Cook © 2019
Sher Chandley Beautiful, an eternity expressed in a moment. Great write.
John, the host, read my poem today among others he and his staff selected for their live show. Here the poem below that he read.
Moon Love
The moon goddess
Sold her tears,
By the bygone years,
As the silver moon
Rises,
On one dark winter night,
Hovering is the full moon,
Above a peaceful
A blanket of snow,
Falling into a waterfall
The snowflakes
Melted,
The dome of the sky
Reflecting on the watery surface,
As constellations are shown,
Gifts of nature,
Like dripping liquid silver.
Enchanting celestial objects
Floating in the clouds,
Made his desires for her
Stronger by the minute,
Her body on his mind,
As his pulse quickens,
Stars of twinkle brightness,
As rare moments,
Become real to him,
Their thrashing bodies
Immersed in each other,
Our earthly world
Slicing through time
Where pebbles and rocks
Connect and roll,
They roam the acreage
Of orchards and gardens
With no loner in mind,
Quite happy with each other,
Tucked under blankets
As they kiss,
Precious hugs
As time falls away,
Mundane tasks
Not remembered
Hungry for each other
As they caress
And share gentle touches
Of ecstasy,
Closeness so important
To them. –J. E. Cook © 2019
Isolated
Do I blame myself for this?
I don’t believe in placing blame
Anymore because it solves nothing!
Endless shifts in my life
That I can’t control come
So I ride the waves and try to stay
Above it all,
But, I feel banished
And forgotten daily,
In an awful place where
I am left alone to
Somehow exist on my meager
Wages,
Desperation often taking over
Inside my head,
Trying to gain some insight
Through meditation, writing, and reading
With the silence hugging me
And comforting me against the attacks
Of life,
It all must have some kind of limit,
Or maybe, it didn’t at times,
I feel myself coming undone
With this,
So farfetched into dark days and nights,
Every movement feels wrong to me.
My foundation creaks and moves on its
Own without warning,
I am restless and angry at the same moment,
I surround myself with books,
I think about being ancient and so alone,
Gossip makes me wilt inside,
Ominous noises and the weight of life,
Making me so desperate to change anything
To take it away,
Panic flows through me as I roam from one
Thing to another,
My tattered soul so weary and searching for
More from this life,
Trying to prevent from being too much to bear,
My psyche thick with sadness,
As I visit my music haunts for some
Guitar music that only comes to me
On Instagram and Facebook,
Trauma overcomes me sometimes,
I seek for my passion to overwhelm me
With happiness and chase away the blues.
That immediacy of such closeness
With me stunned by it,
Bodies and minds finding each other
In a dance of sunshine and beauty,
Wanting a bond and a real dedication
To love with each other,
To unhinge this feeling of lost floating
In a universe of blackness,
But, there was not one thing I could do
To save him,
As my ego became crushed with it,
All brave thoughts are gone,
Untethered fear still remains for him
And his lost soul,
He had entered my heart through
A big crevice
And found the opening
Where I really remained,
Hid from others,
His chance to bring warmth to me,
He brought a river of peace to me,
Something I sought all my life,
I felt loved,
His solid presence kept me
With him,
But it did not last long,
Revelations came to the surface.
My lost borders were making me
Heavy with fear,
I looked for strength and guidance,
My gratitude pulling me on,
I had wanted us to find our way together
Forever. –J. E. Cook © 2019
This will be read on The Dear John Show on October 6th so join me for this live broadcast and listen to this one live along with many other poems covering a variety of subject matter. Wonderful poetry readings of poets’ works from around the world, live on Facebook. With Christine Barker, Beth Evans, Chris Edridge Your Host, John Kavanagh.
Countries
Covering 5 of the six inhabitable continents
U.S.A, U.K
India, Ireland
Philippines, Australia
Nigeria, South Africa
Canada, Pakistan
Germany, Bangladesh
France, Saudi Arabia
Kenya, Iraq
Italy, Turkey
Qatar, Costa Rica
Czech Republic, Nepal
Indonesia, Egypt
Zambia,Tunisia
Trinidad & Tobago, Belgium
Ghana, Spain
Taiwan, Jamaica
Japan, Tanzania
Morocco, Algeria
Malaysia, Kuwait
Romania, Sri Lanka
Macedonia, Guernsey
Denmark, Norway, Gambia
On behalf of the host, John, Nina Thilo, Christine Barker, Beth Evans and Chris Edridge, a big huge thank you for all of your wonderful support.
Don’t forget to share each show and to help us grow the audience and our writing community!
I hope we do another class soon with these creative girls and their troop leaders.
One of my poems was requested by the host of The Dear John Show and read by Beth Evans live on the Facebook feed on September 1, 2019, and you can listen at this link:
***Hummingbird Memories***
Within
a mid-afternoon moment,
this little bottle of red sugar flowed,
As a little flint hung from a branch
then suddenly moved,
So suddenly, with such a buzzing sound,
The quiet air became full of
tiny colorful birds!
I had such exquisite excitement watching them,
Inside my soul, that kept my heart beating
Quickly as my eyes filled with tiny tears
Of loving joy.
These little birds chirped and flew about,
even a few landed near me,
Memories captured in my mind,
Of my garden visits with these
Little feathered beings,
of the treasured hummingbirds passing
The morning with me and my coffee
On our old deck, out front,
With so much meaning
On those cool mornings –just, thinking of you!
The little hummingbirds as the nectar flowed to them,
unbelieving to me, could they be, messengers
From you?
These hummingbirds suddenly
noticed me
in the white wicker chair in the corner
Enjoying the shade,
But they kept sipping,
And I became happier,
Even though, you were not by my side
As usual.
As they danced,
— with such glee from bloom to bloom,
I mentioned this miracle to my mom.
Again after that day, there was no need to worry.
For the cloud of hummingbirds returned each year,
They were little angels
in our Sunflower garden by
Our entrance to our home to see every
Clear morning.
The new owner would never know
This joy,
because he cut down all the trees
And, destroyed our built garden for them
Without any remorse for them. –J. E. Cook © 2019
I believe the important essential needs of growing into an independent adult should be incorporated into a student’s lessons and they have a huge impact on the person they become later in life.
The need to use control and be humble is very essential to cover in our lessons with children. As the child becomes responsible for their actions, there is a resilience in their image that others note when they encounter them. This creates maturity that is needed later in life and daily as the child grows up. Honesty is essential to strive for and it is also good to point out to reward them for this and this shows the child how important it is, to be honest. I think they will continue this practice if they are shown how important it is to us to see that they are honest and trustworthy. Trust is a building block in every good and lasting friendship along with being a loyal person. These together form a bond that leads to true love and lasting relationships.
As these traits become developed in their personality, it prepares them for their adult life with others and sharing becomes natural as a trait in their personality.
Self-control helps them to restrain from impulses later in their lives and also lets them avoid poor choices. Saying “no” to a child will help to develop this self-control. A parent and a teacher must mean it when they say no. This shows the child that they don’t always get what they want and prepares them for this fact later in life.
Children need to understand that actions have consequences and that the lack of self-control can cause undesirable results. They must do what is required in their classes to reach their goals without acting out and causing disruptions. It is important to establish priorities and stick to them. It is important to complete lessons before play. Recreation can serve as a reward for completing their lessons.
Self-control has better outcomes. Remaining calm while dealing with displays of anger can help in this process; however, it can prove to be very difficult if the behavior keeps happening and is not addressed by all the adults involved in the child’s life.
Giving the child an assigned area to think about these unwanted actions and also to reflect on what has occurred between them and others involved seems to work in my experience if this is practiced each time the child acts out against using self-control.
Being respectful to others in the classroom and their teacher should always be stressed. A teacher must be firm with the rules of the classroom and address those students immediately that are not following them and redirect them to follow the classroom procedures. If not, most likely, the whole classroom will become a disorganized mess.
Do not let students become arrogant and think the rules don’t apply to them. They should not think they are special or rather that they do not need to follow these guidelines because they don’t in other places. They must acknowledge that there are limitations in the classroom and they must be humble and respectful at all times.
Learning to be humble, will help the child both now and in the future. Avoid misleading maxims when speaking with children. Always stress reasonable goals and how it is important to work towards these to achieve them. Encourage children to apologize when they are wrong and hurt others. Stress to speak to others in a positive manner and to be appreciative when they are with other students in a classroom setting. A grateful spirit is wonderful in our world. This is better than being jealous and thinking one is superior to others around them. Building on these skills can be a building block in humanity and is essential to our natural world around us.
Expect the child to help out daily. Duties daily will help them grow and be responsible. These should be completed before playtime. Emphasize how important it is to help out around the house and the classroom. This develops respect and encourages the child to be more mature and to have a positive identity in their community.
A resilient person bounces back after dealing with obstacles. Disappointments will be overcome with only occasional setbacks. Corrections are vital to learning in a child’s life. They need to understand what are the facts and how to deal with failures. Confidence is built as they overcome them. It is important to teach the child how to gain perspective on what has occurred. The child’s strategy will improve as this is addressed. The child will take charge of the problem and will not play the victim. Avoid fixing problems for them, instead help them to form a plan to solve it. Life is often unpredictable. As a parent, we protect our children from danger. But, we can’t always shield them from all that takes place in our world.
Constructive criticism is not bullying. It is guidance when it is needed for a positive change to take place. Teach the child to accept corrections so the child can learn. The benefits will come from this and they will not be miserable just because they were corrected. The benefits will appear in their new behaviors. They will learn from it and be happy in the end with what occurs because of it. Balance is needed and it reaps many positive improvements. Teaching in this manner is beneficial to their development. Errors in judgment have to addressed and corrected to overcome and be resilient.
Being responsible in life is being involved and completing tasks. A child’s capable cooperation begins with teaching. Cultures and parenting are involved in this learning process. Be eager to teach this lesson. Assigning chores and tasks to complete can help to nurture this process. Place value on the completion and always address how much it is valued by others and the community.
Adult guidance is essential to a child’s development. Interaction with the child is a fulfilling role. Teachers are often interacting with children to fill an empty void and also to mentor them. Instruction and guidance are so important. Grandparents are an important asset in a child’s life. Viewpoints, experiences, and influence come from family relatives. It also forms a child’s attitude and behavior. Major influences can provide strength and advantages in the long run. Learning to listen to elders can be so beneficial. Mentors can provide knowledge, natural inclinations, and the ability to be a leader. Peers in a child’s life will benefit from this respect and these values. Valuing adult guidance is very important and makes a teacher’s job go more smoothly.
Moral values are very important to teach and address in the classroom. Children that encounter distorted messages and morals can see this influence as a way of life. They become confused between right and wrong. They will accept media pressures as a good influence even if they are not to be considered a true source. Consistent teaching must involve the stressing of morals in life. A child must develop a conscience and a sense of logic. Honesty is essential and crucial. Commend good behaviors in the classroom. Correct bad behaviors daily and address them with discussion. Then, the child will develop correctly and they will value the morals gained by these teachings. Discuss the differences with the children in the classroom. Moral codes are part of their identity if they taught well. Comment on good behaviors as well as bad. Compare the two and address what should happen. Adhering to good values brings benefits. A value system is a matter of good teachings.
Do not let abusive speech patterns be present in the classroom. Actions and words need to be addressed when they are not positive or correct. A path of guidance can be so essential to children in a learning environment. The adoption of values is crucial. Clearly, training begins with the right principles provided and the correct influences apparent in life. Consistent teaching brings forth positive behavior. I enjoy teaching in this manner and seeing the results in my youth in the classroom.
Daisy and her friends fill the pages. The book was created by Tim Bugbird & Lara Ede. These fairies spend their days making colorful donuts together. Pirates enter the story bringing with them mermaids. Unexpected friendships form on the pages. In the blue seas, Daisy, Dolly, and Dee have days filled with swimming, flying and giving out donuts. Fairy wands help them. So, after reading this together, we made fairy wands as a table time activity. We used colorful pencils, foam stars for the tops, and ribbons. We also decorated them with stickers.
Pancake Pete entertained the boys in my reading group with his mates and their bird. Overboard goes some of them with donuts. Floating in the waves together, they bob to shore with the fairies and octopus. Grateful pirates are rescued by the fairies.
Lara Ede is an illustrator and a designer from the UK publishing and retailers. She loves patterns and color. Her work is often featured in children’s books. She lives in Newark.
This book became a great companion book to my pirate stories and mermaid stories. We built on our themes in our class with this one!
It is illustrated by Claire Keane. She is known for work as a visual development artist at Walt Disney. Her work is connected to some popular films such as Tangled and Frozen. She lived in Paris, France to study graphic design. Now, she lives in Venice Beach, Calfornia with her family. She created the Once Upon a Cloud picture book, too. Check out claireonacloud.com.
The story is an enchanting world with playful fairies and friends living in blooms and taking up residence in trees. Very poetic in nature and the style of writing. Dragonflies, bees, niches, and nooks fill the pages. Tire swings grace the trees with wagging dogs chasing butterflies. Cotton floors and Sparrow feathers adorn the rooms. Mushroom caps, mosses of green, and pebbles make up the little houses. They eat flower-petal stew and swing from branches in nutshells. They light up the forest skies at night. Safe and fancy-free journeys together as friends become alive on the pages. This is a wonderful book for group readings and sharing knowledge about nature and the magic it can bring to one’s life with a little imagination and building fairy houses.
The Sparkle Town Fairies are alive with make-believe ideas and music store dreams on these pages! What a wonderful way to read to little girls with this colorful book.
Lara Ede is an illustrator and her art is featured inside this book. Lara Ede combines her love of art with patterns with such quicky, vibrant images inside this story.
Join the Sparkle Town streets and see the interactions of these cute characters as they dance across the pages.
If you know a little girl that wants to meet some fairies, pick up this one at your local library or bookstore.
Alice is quite amazing to meet and to learn about while practicing reading.
She has a bunch of friends that grace the pages with her.
I enjoy finding very interesting and well thought out books to read to children learning from me. It is fun to find books that connect to each other and ones that also connect to the young minds, too where they want to listen and also browse at the colorful pages as I present the story inside to them.
I read Pirate’s Lullaby Mutiny at Bedtime to a group of varied ages and they responded well to this beautifully laid out story. It is by Marcie Wessels and the pages are filled with artwork by Tim Bowers. Wessels holds several degrees and she has taught Spanish at the University of San Diego. Bowers studied at the Columbus College of Art and Design and worked for Hallmark. He lives in Granville, Ohio.
This is an intriguing volume of Pirate’s talk between characters that engages the children and I am glad that I was able to read it to them together during a circle time activity. If you are looking for reading material for your class, consider this one.
The first one is titled, Mermaid Dance by Marjorie Rose Hakala and it is full of lovely images by Mark Jones.
I read this to my preschool class and they enjoyed the connection between the mermaids and nature with the party it forms by the sea filled with wonder.
If you have a child that loves fantasy characters, the water, and beautiful images this is the book for you to read to them!
Our class was focusing on the seasons and we were in summer when I read this one to them. We followed up by focusing on the moon and this book addresses both areas and bringing in a new season. The mermaids have a solstice party featuring the moon and everything that surrounds them.
We read Twas the Night Before Summer next by Anne Margaret Lewis and it is full of eye-catching art by Wendy Popko.
This book introduces children to the magical Luna Bee May and her voice of knowledge about the stars, owls, bears, and her bug ship enters the story to sail over rooftops and trees.
This is a very colorful story with summer in mind and it has a very intriguing character leading the story. Imagination and dreams are apparent with campfires and dancing.
As our class continued to study the season of summer and the moon, we read Nature’s Lullaby fills the Night by Dee Leone and Bali Engel’s art fills the pages.
The pages are filled with the creatures of the night and their sounds of activity during the moon’s presence. Starlit waters containing the life of fish and how nature says goodnight with the moon above our world are explored and included in this cute storyline about the night with a full moon.
As my class continued their journey with the moon and the dreams it often brings, we read Dreaming of You by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater and Aaron DeWitt illustrated the pages of this book.
This a fun little book to read aloud to classes for preschool-age children because it is so poetic in nature. You can visit amyludwigvanderwater.com for more like this and also visit aarondewittillistration.com for more of his artwork.
Sweet dreams with the Moon featuring animals that run free and forest nights lit by fireflies are featured with an owl in the trees and farm scenes present under a dark sky filled with stars and the glowing moon.
As my class completed this study of summer, the moon, and hidden fantasies containing mermaids in the sea, I featured a book titled, Over and Under the Pond by Kate Messner and the art is by Christopher Silas Neal. This book is a gem to link to a science lesson, too!
The hidden world under the boat is so alive with darting life containing beavers, minnows, and turtles. Secret worlds of little ones and also bigger creatures move right under the boat as it sails across the surface of the pond with its passengers. However, there is life above them too. As the cattails sway in the wind, they see birds building nests and flying away. The author has included a note about the ponds and the wetlands. The ecosystem is alive with nature’s gifts and this writer thought to include more details in the back of the book about this and each animal. Further reading is included with listed websites and a book list. The resources are included to help with science lessons in the future for your class.
John, the host, read another one of my poems today! He did a wonderful job reading it and I appreciate it greatly! You can listen to the show at this link:
When the wind whispers
His name to me,
I know the moon warrior is
On his way to me,
I feel nothing but a slight
Breeze and the sounds
Of ancestors of yesterday year
Lingering in the background,
That sound vibrating
Through my being,
Chants of circles
Among the feathered dressed
As his spirit calls to me,
Upon the hill where he sets
On horseback,
Gazing towards the big black sky
Of collected stars,
Bathed in the moon’s radiant
Golden light,
With stillness and dead of night
Arriving,
White as a winter’s snow
Is his bird on his shoulder,
He mirrors the depths of feeling
Inside me,
As he tells me things, my soul
Did not know,
Mighty and brave
His form remains steely
With a resounding clear voice
Touching my ears,
“Do not fear me, only listen
To my message.”
Because of my sky father
I come to you,
As a fine warrior
In traditional dressage,
Watching the embers
Disappear
And I know the beauty
Of your heart
Always prevails over
The worldly opinions of people
Not taking charge for peace and
Grace among us,
Believe in chance
As the elders inspire
The world’s love
For most natural
Sweetness with loving care
And blooming beauty
The moon warrior must ride
So swiftly away to break the past
Spells of evil.
However, I know he will be
Back again to reach for the stars
Of glowing stark white
As the moon rises in the
Surrounding clouds of warmth. –J. E Cook © 2019
Welcome to The Dear John Show, Sunday 16th June 2019, live poetry readings of works by poets from across the world, here on Facebook. With Nina Thilo, Christine Barker, Chris Edridge and myself, Your Host, John Kavanagh.
My poem is the first one read by Christine Barker at this link on Facebook.
A Ride Around the Lake
Going into the woods
Among the brambles
Upon my horse’s smooth
Back,
Footing at times
A bit too slippery
For this ride,
Over the hills
Of Kiser’s lake,
Passing under low branches
And ducking,
As the mud sucks at her
Hooves,
I can feel her blood
Pulsing beneath her
Skin,
Smoke in the air,
She does not spook,
Not even when the pheasants
Fly out of the low bushes,
Or when we see deer
Drinking from the streams,
We jump over a fallen tree,
In the thickest part of the
Woods, my eyes feel almost
Closed with the darkness
During broad daylight,
Marshes here and there,
With golds and browns
Reflecting on the surfaces,
Herons among the tall grasses,
Inlets of the lake
Muddy and full of minnows,
An old apple tree
Surrounded by wild berries
Catches my eyes,
The ghost resides there
From a skating accident
Many years ago,
She fell through the thin ice
Her body recovered too late
For her to survive,
The icy waters causing too
Much damage,
In her hand now,
A frozen apple of red,
Captured in time,
Today it is warm
Unlike the day she passed,
Paintings of rowboats against
Starry nights were hung
In her childhood home
Her pale locks of hair
Tucked in a dresser drawer
From her first haircut,
Along with a first tooth lost,
Some yellowed school papers, and
Her doodles of winter sparrows,
It is said, her mother
Had hair the color of roses
After her death,
The girl reappears at this
particular Apple tree,
Greeting onlookers with her
Gentle smile,
Her white ice skates over her shoulder,
And a rusty compass hanging
Around her slender neck,
I whisper, “I’m not trespassing,
My horse loves apples, too”
The bright sun rays cutting
Through reveal her tears
On white cheeks that shine like
Diamonds,
She returns, “let the horse eat”
This touches my ears,
My eyes blink at the light,
I think about vodka over ice,
And the gin she had before
Her encounter with the pure, clean
Snow on the lake’s surface,
It was a party of teens that night,
Skating together,
She was the only unlucky one
To fall into freezing waters,
This would bring tears to anyone’s
Eyes,
I still can’t remember the date
Of this sad event,
But, her story is told
Around campfires,
So her legend never dies,
Her ghostly image is mild
And friendly–not scary at all,
Pale blue eyes,
A straight, narrow nose,
Looks a lot like her surviving
Brother,
Many call it a screwed-up
Family,
With many things buried
In their closets,
I actually think the tree
Is quite beautiful
But isolated from view,
She must be lonely here,
With her own sorrows,
It is so plain and simple
To me now,
That I am here,
Light glaring off the marshes
And her pretending to be happy
Beneath this apple tree,
I feel sick inside
Looking at her tired body,
Thinking about the broken
Hearts of her past,
She looks chilly,
As a flock of blackbirds
Pass over us,
Her words still ringing
Inside my head,
As she fades into the
Foilage of green,
I know I must go back. –J. E. Cook © 2019
Going into the woods
Among the brambles
Upon my horse’s smooth
Back,
Footing at times
A bit too slippery
For this ride,
Over the hills
Of Kiser’s lake,
Passing under low branches
And ducking,
As the mud sucks at her
Hooves,
I can feel her blood
Pulsing beneath her
Skin,
Smoke in the air,
She does not spook,
Not even when the pheasants
Fly out of the low bushes,
Or when we see deer
Drinking from the streams,
We jump over a fallen tree,
In the thickest part of the
Woods, my eyes feel almost
Closed with the darkness
During broad daylight,
Marshes here and there,
With golds and browns
Reflecting on the surfaces,
Herons among the tall grasses,
Inlets of the lake
Muddy and full of minnows,
An old apple tree
Surrounded by wild berries
Catches my eyes,
The ghost resides there
From a skating accident
Many years ago,
She fell through the thin ice
Her body recovered too late
For her to survive,
The icy waters causing too
Much damage,
In her hand now,
A frozen apple of red,
Captured in time,
Today it is warm
Unlike the day she passed,
Paintings of rowboats against
Starry nights were hung
In her childhood home
Her pale locks of hair
Tucked in a dresser drawer
From her first haircut,
Along with a first tooth lost,
Some yellowed school papers, and
Her doodles of winter sparrows,
It is said, her mother
Had hair the color of roses
After her death,
The girl reappears at this
particular Apple tree,
Greeting onlookers with her
Gentle smile,
Her white ice skates over her shoulder,
And a rusty compass hanging
Around her slender neck,
I whisper, “I’m not trespassing,
My horse loves apples, too”
The bright sun rays cutting
Through reveal her tears
On white cheeks that shine like
Diamonds,
She returns, “let the horse eat”
This touches my ears,
My eyes blink at the light,
I think about vodka over ice,
And the gin she had before
Her encounter with the pure, clean
Snow on the lake’s surface,
It was a party of teens that night,
Skating together,
She was the only unlucky one
To fall into freezing waters,
This would bring tears to anyone’s
Eyes,
I still can’t remember the date
Of this sad event,
But, her story is told
Around campfires,
So her legend never dies,
Her ghostly image is mild
And friendly–not scary at all,
Pale blue eyes,
A straight, narrow nose,
Looks a lot like her surviving
Brother,
Many call it a screwed-up
Family,
With many things buried
In their closets,
I actually think the tree
Is quite beautiful
But isolated from view,
She must be lonely here,
With her own sorrows,
It is so plain and simple
To me now,
That I am here,
Light glaring off the marshes
And her pretending to be happy
Beneath this apple tree,
I feel sick inside
Looking at her tired body,
Thinking about the broken
Hearts of her past,
She looks chilly,
As a flock of blackbirds
Pass over us,
Her words still ringing
Inside my head,
As she fades into the
Foliage of green,
I know I must go back. –J. E. Cook © 2019
Visions in my Sleep
I am looking for the most
Beautiful place on Earth,
With long, blue & green views,
And silhouettes of black twisted trees
On the distant skylines,
Fields of sunflowers in a variety of
Colors,
Sweet air drifting in on a slight breeze.
Endless expectations with lovely views,
Possibilities for fresh blue waters with
Cascades of showering droplets
Among the grasses of flowing fields.
The evening star against dark blue skies
Filled with pinpoint lights,
Pastures of horses & ponies roaming freely,
With moon against the black indigo at
Midnight,
Purifying richness in the hills of green.
Fading silver lights at dawn as the woods fill
With watchers of the night like weasels and
Raccoons and the lonely owls up high.
It’s a dream and it is mine. I am hypnotized by
The beauty of it in the visions I see. Gorgeous
Views with mild darkness set after the remains
Of the day.
To disappear from my bed into this world would
Be pleasant with a life of freezing coldness gone
Forever with roads of climbing beauty before me
Often without any real stress to bother me.
Reality returns in my old house with fifty plus years
Spent and my battered coffeepot filling the air
As it brews with a scent of waking,
As I think about the philosophy of living and death
Of strangers,
Dreadful histories glancing through my brain,
Outside my window, the birds sing and their pretty
Voices sooth my ears hiding the pain of all my years. –J. E. Cook © 2019
Artwork by Josie Cook from the 1980’s while attending Clark State.
She said, “long live chocolate, vodka, and Heroin.”
As she pulled the blankets over her head.
She only sought the darkness and warmth
Within this enveloping cave
Of close rapture,
And then her mind went on…
“I hope you’re thinking about me.”
She touched her hair,
“Why do we close our eyes when we
Pray?”
I do this when I kiss you,
The most beautiful things in my life
Are felt inside my heart not seen.
I watched the white roses die
That you brought me
Littering my window sill with them
all those
Dried, brown petals.
We were naughty together
Two days ago,
Sleeping in your parents’ room
Sharing a cold bottle of Gin,
We found in their kitchen
Mixing it with jarred cherries
And ice-cold Sprite,
While we
Snapchatted us,
naked
Bodies to our close friends,
I see nothing better // I keep him forever,
Plays over and over,
It is printed inside my head,
The smell of sulfur
Penetrating my senses,
As the Disneyland Princesses
Dance to the musical notes,
so, I’m still at that confusing stage,
I can’t wait to go home. –J. E. Cook ©2018
So very honored to have two of my poems included in this Sunday’s live show. Christine Barker and Nina Thilo read my poetry. The host, John Kavanagh requested one of them and Nina Thilo requested the second poem for today’s show. This is very unusual to have two poems read together on the same Sunday edition. You can listen to the show at this link address.
Taking in the beauty
Of the countryside
Rows of hay fields smelling so
Sweetly,
The apple orchards,
And the birches with their delicate
Leaves moving in the wind,
The woods are so full
Of miraculous treasures
Old fossiled bones, hiding creatures,
And so much more,
Here away from all the people,
Like wandering through a dream world
In a state of dizzy adventure
With a shuttering effect against time,
Apparitions in the trees above
Playing and becoming orbs to float about
In the cool, deep green
Of it,
With the smell of moss and earthy specks of dirt
As bands of light stream in,
The trees forming a delicate lattice
To defuse all the brightness
Stickers and briers on the border,
Visions bringing about strange
Circumstances inside my head,
Nothing became permanent to me
From trampling through those lovely woods
Except being enchanted by its beauty
And still thinking of him,
This one is gone,
The male that caused her to love him,
My solitary ways and moodiness
The result,
Locking myself away with a pile of books
Watching movies alone,
That feeling of melting in light
Always present
Our stolen time is gone forever,
I wait in the fields for your return
Even though I know it was not possible
Dusk has arrived,
I could smell your presence
Here in a world so green
But it is not human
There is nothing I miss more than your
loving touch,
I am aware you are now in another
World that I can’t access,
Except for this; the field of awareness
I’m without you,
Pollen in my hair, grass on my clothing
Your name is still on my lips
As I call it and no answer will ever
Arrive,
Your old letters inside a box
Buried deep in my closet,
Folds of your penned words
Still there,
If I chose to read them again,
My desperate mind on you.
We did belong to each other once
The mistake was you gave me up,
Time spent apart,
However, I still read to you in
The silent dark,
Sometimes gazing out the window
Thinking about the trails in our life
And being turned away
Knowing it was called a mistake
Delirious sometimes from lack of rest,
Peculiar moments not so distant,
Realizing you were only a man
Not some weed among the brambles
Looking for riches in the deep soil,
Just a man that lost his mission,
Our life truncated together to serve
Others and accommodate them,
All I wanted is our happiness to
Survive and be our story of life
But, it is a cautionary tale
Of a love gone bad leaping into
Blackness where I remain, the injured female,
By the monster you revealed living
Inside you,
Causing a flurry of panic
To me, that was an imaginary being
Until the horror was real
The absence of love,
I can’t speculate over that is banished
To memories that I can only access
Through my dreams.–J. E. Cook © 2019
**This session was live with Shannon Larisse Sharpe & Christine Barker.
Listen here:
I Am With You –
Written by John Kavanagh –
Music by Alan Johnson –
Narrated and produced by Hank Beukema
Copyright John Kavanagh 2015
All rights reserved
When you waken in the morning
and you open up your eyes
When the light shines in your window
And the birds sing in the skies
Do I still become your first thought
Do you still call out my name
Am I still your shining knight
Your life’s eternal flame
When you step into the sunshine
And feel the cool fresh air
Do you feel a little lonely
Do you wish that I was there
Do you think of me each moment
Does my memory bring you joy
Do you have those tender moments
When alone do you still cry
When you lay upon your pillow
and the moon is big and bright
Do you say a little prayer for me
and wish to hold me tight
When you drift into the dream world
And all again seems real
Does it help to ease your heartache
When you tell me how you feel
When you awaken in the morning
and your eyes are open wide
is your pillow wet from teardrops
Wept from deep inside
Do you feel it in your heartbeat
that things will be alright
for my darling I am with you
throughout each day and night.
John Kavanagh © 2015
All rights reserved
The Small Town Life of Rae Michaels
Cigar boxes, old trailers, and
a Texaco station
Past the Gardenia patch,
Skipping through the woods
On the dusty path,
Watching a group of tramps eat out of cans
By the still tracks,
Rae was restless and she wanted more
Than this small town gave her,
She thrashed in her cold sheets
This morning,
Rising early to greet the bluebirds,
Bucky right at her heels,
Scaring those little birdies away,
Her hands were empty of silver coins,
She wanted more from here,
Gleason’s Barber Shop was
Hopping with male chatter,
Her daddy was fixing stuff again
Outside the garage doors,
Bucky still by her side
With his tongue hanging out,
Jimmy across the street collecting
Nehi bottles in his wagon,
Hardy walking with him,
Telling him about the weather
Down South,
Curls & Stuff Salon
Full of ladies under pink dryers
With glam magazines in their laps,
And a cup of tea or coffee
nearby them,
Why couldn’t she find her
Happiness here?
Miss Martha lets her
Hangout at her place,
Her son a bit slow in the head,
Wears his hair clipped short
Because his mom wants it
That way,
She brings him sweets from
MacAlister’s Drug store
And Miss Martha
Always treats him like a baby
Still at the age of eleven,
Wiggly in his seat on the porch,
They watch the silos being filled
Together while Bucky naps near,
Mac arrives clutching his ball and bat
Against his chest,
Asking them to join him at the park,
Rae sits aside her book in her lap,
Miss Martha is inside making fudge,
Rae puts her nose to the screen
To tell her they’re leaving,
They race across the open fields
Of mustard and tall grass,
Bucky chasing them from behind,
Another afternoon in the sun
With friends on the baseball diamond,
The gang is there,
Daisy, Alice, Teddy, and Sam.
Rae decides maybe, life isn’t so
Bad here after all.
The game starts and she finds
Herself lost in the gathering of
Friends as the sun beats down on
Them together in the dust, the heat,
And the beauty of sharing with close
Friends and also competing for just a little while.–J. E. Cook © 2019
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2718963677
Such a talented writer with such passion for the land, the people, and small communities–she weaves a lovely story with history, pain, success while telling the inner story of young girl and her own struggles with her family ties and what she really feels and wants from life.
I didn’t want this one to end, and I am still thinking about her characters with their lives before them in this community of racial struggles. Krisher creates a real village of people that interact with such emotion and feelings about what they believe in, what is told to them, and what they are dreaming of happening soon.
This book is powerful as it relates to what we are seeing now in our world and what we are hearing about on the local news. It is sad that this is making a come up and it probably never left us but was hidden deeply from some of us that find it so ugly. Through Maggie Pugh’s eyes, the reader sees what is happening and also feels what she has inside her soul. With the help of her close friends like Pert, Maggie survives a lot and accomplishes so much with others throwing hate her way. This is Maggie’s story in a time of crisis, fighting, and racial struggles. She keeps going after many setbacks and keeps her head held high.
George Hardy becomes Maggie’s saving soul as she gets to know this secretive man. She wants him to accomplish his goals. While all along, Maggie feels torn about her connections to him as her own mother turns against her. Maggie’s sister is a focal point between them. Gardenia is more fragile than Maggie and also represents beauty to their mother. 1960 becomes a year to remember for this family that is struggling with each other, their community, and not having enough money to run their household unless Maggie can keep working her magic. Maggie’s camera becomes a unique tool for her to use daily as she uncovers so much hate. However, she also captures some deeply touching moments in these lives.
There is a strong sense of place inside these pages along with a cast of characters that the reader is drawn to in many ways, even though some of them can be very mean, stupid, and set in their ways. The wisdom inside this cover is brilliant and the story is so well-crafted!
The Windham-Campbell prizes are unique in that authors generally have no idea that they are in the running for one. Administered through Yale University in the US, they do not have an open submission process but take nominations from appointed members of the literary community.
“My son and my grandsons are moving back to South Australia in the next few months, and it will just allow us some stability to grow up together under the one roof,” she said.
“I haven’t really had that option before in my life. Just the thought of maybe being able to purchase a home or rent a home, and for us to be together and have that stability is something pretty new to me.
“I’ve been so grateful for the recognition of my work so far, and could never have foreseen something of this magnitude.”
“It also feels like an award that is honouring my family’s story, and the three generations of us that didn’t grow up together,” said Eckermann.
“I want to accept this award on behalf of my grandmother who walked out of the Maralinga bombs [the British nuclear testing that occurred near Maralinga, South Australia, in the 50s and 60s to the great detriment of local Indigenous people] with her little children, and then my mother was taken from her – to my grandmother and my mother, who were so dignified in their pain. Life changed so dramatically for them, and they stayed really dignified and that’s the legacy they’ve given me.”
I love it when people are given a chance to be something better because they worked so hard for it, and finally, it pays off, even though it is their passion to create instead of working in some dead-end position where they will never bloom into what they dreamed of being during their lives.
Among the tapering, tall trees,
I view the willows by the water
The sweet locust full of fiery colors,
The blue beech, river birch, and the white pines,
All give me such hints of gladness, with joy
For this wilderness hike.
Daily doses of nature
Could provide me
With a spiritual renewal,
Since I am so distant from this land
I seek this for myself,
in which I see purity and beauty,
And I never hurry through this sweet
Glen of Helen,
but I do walk slowly, and stop often.
Around me, these trees, show their leaves
and call out to me, “Stay here with us.”
The sun’s light weaves through their branches
Creating orbs of floating colors.
And they say again, “come to us”
In their world with rays of light to shine forever
Among them.– A tribute to Mary Oliver (1935-2019)– J. E. Cook © 2019
Welcome to The Storyteller, with me, Your Host, John Kavanagh. These are story poems by a wonderful writer named Flossy Figtree.
Dandelion Fairy Hatch Patch~Fantasy painting in acrylics, glazes, & gloss finish. I love creating unique designs with nature incorporated. This is my February art project after finishing my Valentine’s themed art. Thinking of Spring and new growth.
Order this design on bags, journals, leggings, skirts, pillows, phone cases and more at this link below:
My family is raising awareness about this condition and these ongoing stages associated with this serious condition involving their growth rate and their limbs. Many children all over the world have to deal with this condition called Fibular Hemimelia upon birth. Fibular Hemimelia is a birth defect where part or all of the fibular bone is missing. It can be associated with limb length discrepancy, foot deformities, and knee deformities that are present at birth.
“This is Quinn. She is my everything and my hero. Although, she is my daughter I find myself looking up to her a lot for how strong she is. She was diagnosed with fibular hemimelia at four months old after I noticed her legs were not developing at the same rate. She also had a foot deformity that doctors just kept saying was nothing more than a congenital foot deformity. I am so glad I pushed for answers so she gets the correct treatment as some, unfortunately, do not. She has had approximately 10 X-rays since birth, two braces, seen about 5 different specialists and just recently got a raised shoe. I know we have a long road ahead to get my baby two semi-normal legs. We will face the possibility of knee and ankle reconstruction and leg-lengthening but my biggest worry is making her feel normal. She wears two separate shoe sizes and it is a struggle just to find something as simple as a pair of shoes not to mention adding the lift modification to the shoe. I find it so important to educate society on limb difference and to help others realize they are not alone. I find the more educated people are the less judgment they are. Myself and many other mothers are writing to you on behalf of the FH community to get support and get the word out. People go undiagnosed and misdiagnosed on a regular basis and we would love to help decrease this and let people know there are options. We love our FH warriors.”
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10155140034492535&id=592472534
For more information about this please go here: http://www.paleyinstitute.org/orthopedic-conditions/fibular-hemimelia/fibular-hemimelia
Or here for questions to be answered:
Click to access fibular_hemimelia_FAQs.pdf
Quinn at Home
Quinn spent a day at the Zoo with her parents
At the Zoo
Then, going home she went to sleep.
On September 13th of 2017, Quinn was diagnosed with Duane Syndrome. I noticed that one of her eyes seemed to turn differently than the other one at times. After seeing it continue, I asked her mother, Miranda to check with her doctor about it. Today, we learned that she has this syndrome. The condition is associated with fibrosis of the muscles that move one’s eyes.
**For more information on this syndrome go to these web links > https://www.genome.gov/11508984/
http://www.childrenshospital.org/conditions-and-treatments/conditions/duane-syndrome
On April 9th of 2018, Quinn spent some quality time with her grandmother (me). We painted together. Here is our work.
We used Quinn’s feet and her hands to create these paintings. Quinn had to add red glitter to her crab. Her unique style always comes through and shines brightly.
Hello to all following Quinn’s progress with her leg growth. Here is a new photo of her leg and how she is doing after her procedure. She is doing well with therapy sessions and also her pain management. Quinn has reached her goal in growth. Now, her leg needs to finish healing so she can get this fixator removed soon. I am very proud of her for hanging in there and reaching her goals. (08/12/19)
After her visit, she enjoys playing in the dirt! Such a cutie. I love her smile and how she keeps going no matter what is going on with her body. She has on the shorts I got her and I love seeing this!
The last x-ray of her leg before this visit:
Past photo of her leg:
When she reached her growth goal:
Her mom wrote:
4.5 cms of growth in all and we are DONE lengthening 😊🎉🎊 Quinn is super happy and proud!!! We have 2/3 months till it comes off due to healing but we are getting closer to an end. She will be getting the bottom ring removed in a few weeks which is a start. This is a big day for her, she has two legs that are the SAME LENGTH 😍🤩
Quinn at the baseball game–enjoying the weather and the company.
At 4 cm:
This right here is growth 😊 3+ cm 💙: (below)
At the street fair in Yellow Springs with me:
May 2nd:
Her mom wrote:(below photo)
We are five days post-op and Quinn goes in to get her pain caths out. She is up and walking with the use of a walker from time to time. Today she was willing to move to the other couch and walked to the bathroom.
The day of her procedure:
After the procedure with her bestie:
At home:
Quinn is off for her first day of Pre-school! She is excited to be in class on this Monday morning. Her family made sure she got off to a good start.
She has wonderful energy inside her that radiates out through her smiles and her actions.
Her Grandmother, Netty, wishes her a good first day as she mimics Baby Shark that we practice together often because she loves music and dancing. She says she wants to be a Vet when she grows up and I remember her Aunt Tee saying the same thing when she was growing up, too. However, Aunt Tee is now a hairstylist and make-up artist. So, one never knows where life will lead you. But, I know Quinn will do wonderful things as she grows up.
A Poem by Josie E. Cook M. A.
” A prose poem of love…realization. ”
A Girl named Rose
The young woman called Rose
misses the crisp autumn in her hometown,
With many amazing sunsets against the forest trees,
She often sat on the top of her building
Watching those same trees with her early morning coffee,
This October is bringing out the Halloween sprites, ghosts,
And a variety of candy in the local stores,
She has visited the Nevada desert several times
In her travels,
Watching the peculiar animals living there,
Noting the absence of trees,
Her campsite always smelling of simmering beans
and dying wood,
Her merry band of waifs and adventure seekers
Filling the circle around the warming flames
As they talked about their dreams and lost hope.
Billy, her steady travel partner,
The creative one, so imaginative and funny,
Keeping her going and sometimes grounded too
Long in the same spot,
They were high most of the time when they could
Afford to buy or someone was sharing it,
One morning, Rose found Billy’s tattered sleeping bag
Empty,
She started dreaming of visiting Mississippi,
As she watched another sunrise
Alone and feeling lost,
Sometimes she thinks she smells bacon
Frying in the morning, before she rises,
But it is only the smell of beans lingering
Rose desires to taste her mom’s
Cooking again,
Her group leader decides to take
Them to Colorado instead,
Some weary participants
depart for San Francisco leaving
Early before Rose is packed up for departure,
So early, they can see the fog in the distance
Before the sun burns it off,
Her memories come back like a flowing
Stream,
Rose wants to see her home place soon,
Where the KKK had a history and civil rights
Brought so much drama,
She buys a bus ticket with her last coins
and few dollar bills, hide in her pack’s lining.
As Rose sits down in the back of the crowded bus,
She sees two pregnant girls sharing a bag
Of powdered doughnuts and giggling,
Her stomach growls loudly and she coughs,
They turn to stare her way,
Rose turns to the window and watches
Half-naked children play in a big mud puddle
Outside a rundown apartment building,
She never dreamed of having babies or a family,
Her mom passed on her dreams to Rose
As she rocked her in the mornings.
Back in her old town,
Rose seeks her own room,
A room she knows her aunt
Has waiting for her return,
She thinks about how her only aunt
Brought her soup in bed and checked her forehead
When she was too ill to attend school,
Some prissy lady passes Rose on the sidewalk
And Rose does not miss the look in her eyes
As she goes by,
So, condemning and hateful,
Rose wonders if she smells bad or if it is her
Ratty hair and soiled clothing that brings this on,
She has bathed in gas station restrooms and begged
For rides on this trip to reach home,
Rose reaches her favorite tree before her home,
Inside a park near it,
She stops to visit and sits at the base of it,
Enjoys the shade it brings and gentle breeze
Coming from the moving river,
Her mind empties and she closes her eyes,
Rose is weary and frightened at the same time,
Sleep comes,
She remembers overhearing grown-ups
Talk at the kitchen table about the floods
Of the 1920s,
Babies crying in the background,
Rose thinks about mothers and daughters,
Their similar ways and mannerisms,
She remembers that she hasn’t visited
New Orleans yet,
The river was always a boundary for her own
Mother,
One created by a man in her life,
A river can sweep up everything in its path
Like a man,
Your destiny becomes someone else’s
Leaving behind your dreams,
Decisions made by someone else
Crushed options and plans abandoned
As the path changes,
Rose wants the bad involvements to go away,
Her destiny feels not like hers,
She falls to sleep recalling
Her own plans,
She wants to figure it all out on her own,
A smile touches her sleeping features
As a shadow moves over her form.
A familiar young man gently picks her up
And he gathers her close,
Carrying a sleeping and exhausted Rose
To her home.
She wakes up in her room
Surrounded by her aunt and her family,
And it all comes back to her,
As Emily, her younger sister pats her hand
And starts introducing her to
The strong man that delivered her to them
A man, from her past, her first love,
And her destiny.
Rose has been dreaming of this day,
But she never believed it would be true
In real life,
Tears fill her big green eyes,
And she sits up to hug him to her,
He whispers in her ear,
“What took you so long?”
She says, “I wanted to explore the world
Around me, before I landed.”
“You were always so much like a Monarch
Butterfly seeking its destiny.”
He tells Rose this, as he kisses her cheek
And considers her wet eyes.
–J. E. Cook ©2017
A Wonderful Spot
A place of solitude and peace,
Accustomed to living alone,
Making adjustments to
Life in the city,
When I miss the solitary aspects
Of the country and the farm,
Here, I put my things into
Perspective while viewing
The new growth,
Missing the countryside scenes,
It always, clears my head here
As I piece together thoughts of
Distant memories and scenic
Sights of slow streams
And green fields of spring,
This clearer view on days of
New seasons and anew
Are especially wonderful
And carefree to me,
With streets wet here and
The starlight filtering to them,
As clouds pass and reveal
More sparkling specks,
Illuminate this and I exhale
And gaze into the sky of
Midnight blues, the breath of
This city, pausing with a moment
Of silence and purpose,
Circumstances brought me back,
To this place of noise and pulses of
Smells and nights of interruptions,
Not of my own making but here
To a cityscape of lights and active
Views, where the world is wound
Around activity and flow of traffic
That causes me to see no peace
At times, it is a reveler that drifts
To distant places where a light
Breeze can be the rather to lessen
The smoke and stink here, a bitter
Taste of city life that spreads so far
And wide leaning into the woods
And fields of yesteryear and taking
More away from a wonderful spot
Of magic and silence in the green
Forest of nature. –J. E. Cook 2024
The Yonahlossee Riding Camp for Girls by Anton DiSclafani
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
I cherished this story. The spell of this writing kept me turning the pages! I could not put the book down and yet, I wanted it to go on forever. Thea is a character that is unforgettable.
I am on page 118 now,
As I read on, the sadness is conveyed more by the reading of the letter from her father. The letter shows how much her family is their own little bubble and how they have forgotten about her. Thea’s only support is having her friends at school like Sissy. Then, there is Decca during the holiday break. Thea truly misses Sam, her twin. Decca takes Thea’s hand and leads her to the head table–an endearing moment.
Learning that she was not going home for the holiday, crushed Thea and she became angry at her family it was a reaction that I can relate to and feel her emotions.
Rumors. As I read, the thoughts inside Thea’s head made me think about how she is being affected by her situation. Those true thoughts come to the reader, she notes the pain of others and how they react to it. Leona is someone she thinks about and is always noticed by her when she enters a room or a space. Rumors surround Leona’s family and also surrounding Mr. Holmes. Thea begins to hate her family for her situation. The Holmes girls have given her a meaning there. They transform Thea and she suddenly feels needed. “Children were careless and unpredictable, …but that was the fun of them.” (p.111) Rachel asks about snakes and alligators. Thea thinks about domestic arts.
Rachel is a sensitive child who is corrected by her stern mother. She breaks easily and is emotional. Mr. Holmes explains this to the others. After the dinner is over, Leona approaches Thea for a night ride. This builds excitement inside Thea. Leona and Thea share a love for horses. The writer conveys this well during their night ride. Leona reveals her thoughts to Thea. “I could do this forever, was how I felt, and what else is there to say about galloping?” This statement conveys the true way riders feel about their love for riding! her mother and she shared this passion.
Thea writes her twin, “You can’t know how lonely I am sometimes.” this is the first time she has written to Sam. She wished to give him a gift like a book but did not for their birthday. She was grateful. Her love for books like the ones that were like her life. Then, there was bliss!
Gentle horses and fierce ponies. She continued to teach the Holmes girls to ride and care for these animals.
Then, there was Jettie and her perspectives on life.
The snow arrived, contemplative. Thea wanted to be with the Holmes family for the holiday. The coat is not enough. Stuffed away.
Evergreens, riding again, the coldness of the second month of winter, and Thea is still teaching until they leave with their mother. The Holmes girls are gone and Thea is with Sissy and Boone.
I got to page 216, where Mother tells her son that since Thea is a girl, she doesn’t matter! Here, the mother’s real soul is revealed–that dark, impersonal type that thinks she is better than others, not just different. Georgie has taken Thea’s budding girlhood, and he plucked her innocence from her. Her Mother is blindsided but not capable of forgiving Thea. Mother makes the decisions in this family and calls the shots.
Then, that same Mother character hurts her daughter more by sending a damned letter to her daughter revealing that they sold the family home in her absence. How could she be any crueler? Where did Sasi go? Her beloved pony. Questions that were so painful to Thea’s soul.
Technically Flawless –not a bad thing at all. However, someone’s character is not looking good to her now, but she still wants him.
She is thinking about “slinked” and it does not sit well with her. Nasty thoughts. Happy is what she wants and her mother has rubbed her the wrong way. Distracted by all the things bothering her. Thea wants some peace.
I experience a shift in the writing, where the author tends to tell instead of show. Thea is telling it, via her memories and experiences she recalls.
Henry Holmes is mentioned as the one to Crédit for her continued life with her family. He made her understand her situation with her family. Sam stayed and she left. Sam continued to stay with their family in a sheltered life where he belonged because of how they raised him.
Horses were her life. Thea felt deeply and her passions were always her joy. “…my life is mine.”p.386 Thea claimed it, she chose to live as she wanted.
Thea believed that being a twin has some downfalls and that Georgie would have lived if Sam wasn’t her other half. Sam follows his father’s footsteps and he no longer visits the natural world but stays inside. Her wants were dangerous. “Woe be to you, Thea.” p.386 Destruction, no matter.
“We have no say in who we love.” p. 387 life happens. Selfish or not. Sam never left. Georgie’s first love was his last. Lives twist and turn. Theodora and Naari would remain on the wall to remind others that she was there at the school she left behind. A photo of what she accomplished with a horse.
1931, she became a tradition like Leona on that wall. Her photo in the Castle. Just her on a horse, like the other girls.
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~Writing~
Finding words,
Over time,
They change, grow,
Fly, and become a voice
Inside my head,
Words.
Take unexpected paths
And detours, are a constant
Echo inside me,
Searching to become a story
Or poetry,
Limitations are there,
Iterations waiting to step in,
Spaces in the years of growing,
Where I watch, listen, and learn.
Conversations remembered and
Awaiting, with characters plotting,
Voices change and become silent,
Points in the universe,
Gazing to the future of untold stories.–J. E. Cook ©2023
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