Friday, November 10, 2017

The Exposure of Assault




A simple truth
known in the depths of a woman
acknowledged in silence
found in the haunted forest
on a moonless night.

The rustling
movement of another being
painful memories suddenly flee
deeper into the dark
on a moonless night.

The daylight
the enemy of the fear
never seeps into the deep recess
where yesterday resides
on a moonless night.

He travels
upon the tails of his power
seeking the mew of the weaker
cowering in prayer
on a moonless night.

The smell
success shall be his this night
a hunt to satisfy his lust
need will multiply
on a moonless night.

Years past by
his presence always nearby
hunger for someone much younger
fear never leaves
on a moonless night.

A simple truth
known in the depths of a woman
acknowledged in silence
found in the haunted forest
on a moonless night.

barb

Trying to explain the stigma, the fear and the anger that being abused leaves
in the victim is impossible to those who have never experienced it.
To explain it to those who have takes no words.







Sunday, October 29, 2017

Black and White




Our eyes are the lens to life
the soul of our imagination
but... 
if our eyes told only stories
in tones of
black or white
only saw never straight lines
a distortion of reality
?
who is to tell the tale
untangling the moving wind
can you hear it whistle
moan between bare trees
as your ears betray
the chill that washes
your brain
?
so unholy dark
the black overcomes the shades
dominating all sight
eating upon the colors
fighting in the everlasting night
sleep sweet hues
sleep until the morning light
?
who goes there
when shades of gray display
movement in the wind
sounds rise from beyond
sharp scrapes running
along my grave
animal or man who goes there
?
loneliness reigns
sitting on the black throne
leaving behind nothing
night after night I wait
my eyes are dead
but my mind sees so clearly
hope upon my lips
?
I wait
an eternity is just that
a clock that ticks
longer under the dirt
much lonelier where I lie
I wait
for there is nothing left of me.

barb

 

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Apple Pie and Me



Can you smell it....?
I make the best pies in America
No really, I do and I have my MIL to thank for
teaching me when I was a young bride back in the olden days.
At the moment my house smells like apple pie
because on the stove is my second pot of apples
cut up in large slices from my Golden Delicious Apple tree.
It is fall and in the fall it is harvesting apples
now whether one tree makes me an apple farmer is really a question
that one probably never ponders...
I love any berry or fruit pies and desserts
but my family loved my banana cream pies which required
no talent other than the crust.
I don't make those anymore because I am not near my family.

Sweet apples growing on my tree
turning from apple green soon they will be
deep sweet yellow
falling one by one from my tree.

Crisp and filled with dreams
coated in sugar and cinnamon beans
deep sweet yellow
apple slices from my dreams.

Smothered in thin crust
a touch of sugar on top a must
deep sweet yellow
apples hiding under the golden crust.

Hot or very cold my friends
scoop on the ice cream always wins
maybe caramel maybe not
but best shared with good friends.

barb 


Friday, August 18, 2017

I Am Also An Artist!


I am a writer but also I am an artist.
Writing allows me to release stories that have been
hiding somewhere in my recessed mind.
Art is an expression of quirky
love for all things different and beautiful
to the eye of the beholder.

Whether it is a book, a poem, a movie
a song or a piece of art.
The eye of the beholder will decide for themselves
if it is pleasing or not.
Sometimes when not pleasing it might not
be pleasing but most times it is because
it is not that person's cup of tea.

The above piece was an old banjo
missing parts, in bad shape and only $10
at the weekend swap meet.
I have taken it apart and looked for parts
to renovate.  They don't exist so I moved to pure art.
The banjo had an old torn yellowed head
was missing hooks and the pegs
parts of the wood and of course no strings.

I first made sculptured glass magnolias
and leaves basing them off of a beautiful water painting
they were then inserted into holes drilled
into the center wood support.
The old head was cut and then I painted
magnolias and leaves as the background to the glass.
The front is clear glass.
On that I have painted magnolias, wild flowers
and morning glories.

It is far from a finished piece of art
and despite the fact that I tell myself that it should be simple
I just let my muse control on how it evolves.
I love painting more than melting glass
but it is the combination of the two
that makes up my love of mixed mediums.
When I was younger, I did a series
of small paintings of old doors and cats
but the doors were made of clay.
I still have one in my studio but doors are a passion of mine.

I have never combined my love of flowers
love of doors and my muse.
In my writing, you will always find flowers,
doors that need to be opened or maybe barred against
the outside.
For now, I will finish the banjo
for someone out there will fall in love with my muse
and will put it in a place for enjoyment.

Life is always so full
when you do what you love and love what you do!

barb



Friday, August 4, 2017

So Humbly Yours...



You can put this entire summer in the can
and seal it up because I am over it.
After clumsily falling
or face planting myself into cement
literally making my right arm
totally useless and creating a fog of incredible pain
I finally have full range of my arm
though it still needs therapy to build up the muscles.
I remember my sister having a cast
on her leg after falling off a horse
and laughing because when it came off her leg
was spindly compared to the other.
I know my bad.
So being unable to do anything of significance
eight weeks of healing
pinched a nerve in my back or hip or somewhere
which defined pain that surpassed
the arm...like it went out the hatch pain
like I started to talk to God again pain
giving small tokens to any god who exists in
fantasy or sci-fi stories.
I couldn't walk...I couldn't stand for more than a moment
and frankly I was beyond mad at the world
because I hate pain.
Am I better...a little...I can at least start to stretch
by touching my toes and other stretches
and though I should not be so snarky
I have learned that there is a difference between
mental snarky and pain 'oh my God' snarky.
To those in constant pain...
I am so sorry.
Sorry that there is nothing that exists to lift
the pain that wears you down like a drip in the dirt
leaving a deep hole.
I am sorry that our bodies are not easy
to fix or to understand.
I want a machine that gives you 3-D view of everything
in your body...like a robot.
So I am humbly yours...missing the summer
and working toward taking control
of my own self.

barb

Saturday, July 15, 2017

The Setting In Story



Let us put aside the characters for just a moment and look at what is the backdrop.
Backdrop:
The time frame of your story
The place of your story
The temperature of the world affecting your story
The weather

Research is something that is both important and not so much
but I find that understanding that moment in time
putting yourself in the 'timeframe' of the social graces and
the political fever.

Once you are comfortable with knowing your backdrop
you can start outlining your story line.
There should always be rocky roads that work
against you, misdirection and treachery.  All of these can be
blatantly or just under consciousness.

You have to weave history with your story but like
describing the weather you need to do it with the interactions of your characters.
The most important part of a story is the characters.
Paint them with a full palette but don't over paint them.  Don't
wear down your reader by telling them the same thing over and over
but by having your characters capable of embracing
the backdrop, embracing the dangers and rocky roads with succulent
human reactions in real time.

Know your history, know your time
know the minute details of society and then form your characters.
Writing is difficult, avoiding cliques is important but keep your backdrop
simple and concise
and your characters as rich as a triple layer chocolate cake.
Fall in love with your characters
Invite them to your screen and into your world.

barb 


Thursday, July 6, 2017

Ghost Stories Within My Heart




We all cheer on the heroine
urging her to overcome adversity
so sweet...so very, very likeable
that we reach into the pages
pushing her toward success and happiness.

It is the morally reprehensible
the lack of character
the rise of your pernicious side
that should garner your sharp eye
for a story must have evil to understand good.

The antagonist
against what the protagonist must surely,
as does the rain fall, contend
a battle of sorts in heaven or on earth
rises from the depths of our living hell.

Bells chiming from the fallen church
through the graveyard
on that ultimately moonless night
there rises the bone chilling fear
everything antagonistic.

Paint your evil
with the blackest of hearts and souls
pulling the strings of dramatic breath of conflict
for he is as vital to a story
as the sweetest of heroines.

barb