~New Releases of Poetry from Ohio~

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Our Ohio poetry collection is out and hot off the press today, Sunday, September 24th of 2017.

Please read my poem representing Ohio poetry creation along with other talented poets’ contributing written work. This new publication is available currently on Amazon for purchase in a Kindle edition or in print paperback.

Remember to vote on the Amazon site via a reader review below the Ohio’s Best Emerging Poets: An Anthology. Vote for your favorite poet included in this Ohio poetry collection and remember to include the title of their poem with their name in your review. By reviewing their crafted poetic contribution to this unique Ohio publication, you will allow them to advance into a drawing for a full-book publication produced by Z Publishing House in the future. Don’t forget to include their name and the title of their poem with your honest review of this Ohio poetry collection of 2017.

 

 

Ohio's Best Emerging Poets

a href=”https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36294039-ohio-s-best-emerging-poets”

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A Tribute to the artist, Gilbert~

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~Whimsical Notions~

She browses the whimsical articles

Displayed on the table in front

Of her,

Thinking about which one she will

Ask for,

Maybe, her parents can honor

Her request this time,

Just one small trinket to fill her

Playtime in the sunny afternoons

on their garden veranda.

She attempts to formulate a plan to

Approach this delicate subject

Inside her head, as she decides on

Which item to pick for this

Planned purchase as the occupied marketplace

Continues to fill with diligent customers, harried beggars, and engaging ladies enjoying their tea and blueberry scones at small tables surrounding the square of industrious vendors

Doing their business in the summer weekend air filled with the aroma of fresh baked goods, displayed fish, and cut flowers waiting for purchase.

This particular display makes her decision very hard to make in the little time she must make up her mind and try to convince her parents that she must have at least one new toy to fulfill her assortment.

Her bright eyes wander from item to item,

The pretty dolls dressed in lacy frills, the horses on wheels, and the various accessories among the contrasting figures. Numerous reservations fill her thinking as she ponders her decision,

Would this hoop be more fun than dressing dolls up for a tea party held at noon?

A friendly lady calls out, “How are you this fine morning?” The little girl just bats her long lashes.

“Have you made up your mind yet what strikes your fancy on this lovely day?”

“I can’t decide.” Replies, the little gal dressed in dark velvet.

“Decisions can be difficult and often take time.” The nice woman tells her as tidies up the table and watches two women sipping tea near them.

“Can you tell me what one you would pick?” the little girl asks her as she waits for her parents to return from the meat stand.

“No one should make that choice for you because it wouldn’t be true to your spirit of inclinations.”

“I don’t know what that means–but, I think this hoop will provide more joy than the doll I admire.”

“Yes, the hoop could be aspiring and fill your yearning for movement as you enjoy the sunshine.”

Now, I have to convince my parents to believe the same notion.” The girl places the hoop against the table and she waves at the lady as she leaves to tell her parents what she desires from the whimsical toy display. 

©2017 in memory of the artist (V. Gilbert)

© 2017 Josie E. Cook M. A.

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The Worst didn’t Happen because of Him

To have his hand by me for comfort and safeness

After a day of thinking about the worst

And now happy that it didn’t happen

To Us,

His solid body next to mine,

As I think about how crazy it was to imagine

The worst,

Embarrassed by it,

However, a mistake is

What happens when I am preoccupied

By life,

Distracted and not looking at the details.

Accidents are accidents—not on purpose.

Closer to him now,

My body fits his shape well,

The residual effects are now gone

Because of him. –J. E. Cook (C)2017

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Musings on a Sunday morning~

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Opportunity or Fantasy

When something ends a bit badly,

It isn’t always a mistake,

Sometimes, we are reckless with our lives

And don’t think things through enough

Before acting upon our thoughts,

We often must pick through a lot

Of fool’s gold before a rare diamond is

Revealed. —J. E. Cook ©2017

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Bounty in the Countryside

 

Driving past the sage colored pastures

With cows gently grazing on the bounty,

Puffs of cotton clouds fill the pastel blue

Skies,

Old stone houses of varying sizes

Create a magical neighborhood among this

Countryside area of farmland,

One guest cottage with its own little

Garden patch calls to me,

It is quite a distance from the main house

On this farm,

Entering the cozy front room through

the turquoise door,

The hardwood floors shine back at me,

Light streams through the big window across

From the stone fireplace,

I quickly walk through and take in the cozy

Spaces

as I approach the back door,

And go out to see the flowering apple trees

The vibrant leaves fluttering in the breeze,

One picnic table by a small goldfish pond

And a dog napping in the sun,

I hear the murmur of the cows in the distance

As I am greeted with a basket of cheese, wine,

French bread and tart berries gave to me

By a familiar woman in white

with a quilt over one

Arm,

She hands the nurturing gift to me as she puts

The worn quilt over the rough boards on the tabletop,

The clouds seem to be following her to me,

we take our seats across from each other

And unpack the bounty in unison

to enjoy together,

In the afternoon sun with touches of shade

Now and then,

The hint of what will come causes us to toast

To this beautiful day on the farm.  J. E. Cook ©2017

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What are the ridiculous myths in life?

 

Philosophy teachers lecturing about Plato to us

In college,

Believing that every person on Earth has

Another half, they must find to complete

them,

And they will fulfill all the needs of each other

After they fuse together to become one unit

Of love and happily ever after,

sharing

Vows to cherish until they part because death

Has arrived,

But never is a long time to consider

And vow to each other with promises to keep

attached

Until one dies.   J. E. Cook ©2017

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Quinn and Her Journey with Fibular Hemimelia

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Fibular Hemimelia Support & Awareness

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 limb length discrepancy, foot deformities, and knee deformities that are present at birth.

This is a shared post from my daughter’s Facebook page and this is Quinn, my granddaughter that will be three years old in November of this year.

Her mother’s words:

“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 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:

http://www.limblengtheningdoc.org/files/fibular_hemimelia_FAQs.pdf

 

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Quinn at Home

 

Quinn spent a day at the Zoo with her parents

 

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At the Zoo

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Then, going home she went to sleep.

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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

The Little Things and more

On a green metal bench, outside

Our favorite ice cream spot

We watch the dogwoods dance

In the breeze off the lake,

The sky is bursting with their pink

and

White petals

Reminding me of the delicate

Frosted flowers on the cupcakes

Across the street designed

By a young baker,

The smells in the air

Around us are intoxicating

And the blooms

Become confetti on the sidewalks

My cone contains sweet caramel

That is sex on my tongue

As I lick it,

A touch of sea salt and

Sprinkle of pecan nuts,

A swirl of whipped cream

And a shiny cherry on top,

What else would one want

While they watch the skies

With their favorite love

And forget all the foreign thoughts.

 

Being with the man of your dreams

Is always wonderful

Even without these added pleasures

His curly hair at his neckline

As his sudden smile appears

When he watches the ice cream

Drip onto my lap.

His presence is appreciated

And his eye contact

Makes me blush

My shoulders ache for his touch.

A hug that brings me in so

Close right before his lips

Caress mine. –J. E. Cook ©2017

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Remembering what You were like

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With me, you were often a different person…

 

Curled inside the new

quilt your mother made us

Feeling the warmth, it provides me

I love that feeling of the cool denim hugging

My naked body,

The blue lining keeping in the inner heat,

Our wedding anniversary of one year has

Arrived and gone,

You have been away for a while on business

In New Orleans,

I missed you so much,

But your phone calls kept me grounded

Here

I shiver and pick at a loose thread hanging

From the quilt’s corner.

You join me under it and many others

like it,

Glad to have you back inside with me,

I cuddle close to your muscled chest

Warm suntanned skin, as fresh balsam scents

with vanilla

are mixed into our shared air,

I rise to kiss your sultry closed mouth,

Our lovemaking begins,

A pin in the fabric pricks my tender skin

Along my inner arm,

I’m snagged by it and a trail of red

Smears me as I move with you,

This not being the first time your mother

Forgot a pin or lost one,

Your lips touch the wounded spot

And everything is better and forgotten

As you keep kissing my skin

Moving upward

To my breasts and lingering there

For several moments,

I’m drowning in your passion,

A devotion that I never considered

An accident,

It was what I once wished for

However, the price became too high

And it had so many strings attached to it,

Ones that were hidden and often dormant

Until they were unleashed by something

Unexpected and unwanted. –J. E. Cook ©2017

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I enjoy starting each day by reading…

Sometimes, it is a book and other times it is a small selection of admired poetry. Here are some of my favorites by poets in time. William Blake is the one I would have to pick if I had to site one favorite poet; however, I have many favorite poets, writers, and authors that I often turn to every morning while I sip my coffee or tea in those early hours as the sun rises and creates an inspiring image on our skies. 

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst, 
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not. writ over the door;
So I turn’d to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
–WILLIAM BLAKE~

‘Out, Out—’Related Poem Content Details
BY ROBERT FROST
The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them ‘Supper.’ At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. ‘Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!’
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

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An Unexpected Summons

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Come, you fragile poets filled with the sea’s liquid.
Come and leak your speech upon our parched beaches!
Come and sing with the ocean’s primordial influences.
Come and sanctify our living dictionary.
Come and listen to our seas–rivers–the many lakes.
Come and offer a levy to our tributaries.
Come and accompany us.
Come with your mask of shifting personas falling away.
Come with your torches burning.
Come add your bouquet to the existing aroma.
Come bring your artfulness for our sake of the art.
Come with your lacerations, tender, and red.
Come with your heart brilliant or obscure.
Come with your words for the distinguished dead.
Then go to the notorious graves and remember their souls.
And recite all of your remembrances.
Yes, come and find your passion; your true natural ability:
The marriage of thoughts to be esteemed hydration.

–J. E. Cook ©2016

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