Friday, May 18, 2018


Random or are they really
Unexpectedly appearing in the early
Morning dew satisfying their thirst
Surviving when unnoticed
Through droughts and torrential floods
They rise proudly
A breath of fresh perspective
The Bain of the
Fanatical gardener in flowered gloves
Pots of perfect soil
Hours of tending and pruning
Sweat equity providing beauty
For afternoon tea
No room for a broke limb
Wilted roses be damned
I stand quietly
Clippers in one hand
Haphazardly my eyes roam
Upon the flowers
Growing wildly in my garden
With the wildflowers
Scattered upon the bare earth
Filling the world
Living their life on their terms
Calling sweetly to the bees
They touch my heart
Surprises of the sudden tears
My emotions overwhelmed
By the wildness
That overcomes me
A gardener by chance
A romantic in the most unexpected way.

@May 18, 2018

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Tell Me Your Name

Meet you in the middle
Where we root through the weeds
Finding some type of commonality
We aren’t sincerely different
Actually, we are the same

Strip away the clothing
Take off the gold and glittering chains
Wash the day from your face
The weariness residing in your eyes
Just tell me your name

Leave behind your passion
Opinions rarely reveal a helpful clue
Of the path you have obviously chosen
For I know not where you go
Stars in your eyes for fame

Lost and found is an empty box
Abandoned spider webs decorate corners
Dust upon discarded thoughts
Onward one must move methodically
From that which you came

The day is long and demanding
Dancing upon the ends of endurance
We rarely decompress completely
Ordering a drink as we sit to dine
Grousing as we seek something to blame

I sit and watch this manic dance
Faces contorted or bathed in defeat
Laughter tinkles like a crystal glass
Comfort in oneself do I rarely find
Please, won’t you tell me your name?

@May 17, 2018

Friday, May 11, 2018

Letter to My Ex

                A letter to my Ex seems appropriate now that time has settled down like a dirt road when the old truck is in the distance.  I have thought about all those years, all the months, weeks, days and hours.  What I have discovered is that there was no time that my feelings weren’t hurt by some little thing that he said or did.  My memories are less accessible today because I don’t want them to be and now I don’t wish to pull them back out of that cobweb memory bank.

          When did it go wrong?  When I thought that if you love someone they must certainly equally love you.  If you put a map in front of me like a board of candy cane, I would be able to bring up every wrong turn in a long journey.  The thing I can do now is not lay blame or commiserate with those wrong turns but to accept my own responsibility.  I am the only one who I could change.  I didn’t.  Not in the beginning, not down that long road, not when it was teetering, not until too many years passed.

          I know the saying that everything is for a reason and everything leads you to where you are at the moment.  That is true because each roll of the dice moves you forward or backward but it moves you.  If I had more control, more foresight, more initiative, I would not have taken the road I took.  If I had been brave.  I don’t want you to think I am diminishing my love for it was and is true and honest as any emotion I ever held.  It still as strong as it was in the beginning and that is why it took so long to bury that love long enough to step away from the relationship.

          Did he treat me bad?  Oh, my little bitty heart believes so and if that is the case I now know that it doesn’t break easily despite the jabs and punches [figuratively].  My relationship was like a dripping faucet that slowly wore away the porcelain on the sink.  It should have been a great relationship because I am a devout romantic.  I am in love with love only to find out that love cannot be isolated.

          I should write to him, tell him that we were just not really meant to be and that I should have known that in the beginning.  I feel bad that he spent so many years not happy but then maybe he just isn’t a happy man.  I don’t know.  I could not see past myself to understand that it wasn’t right.  I should let him know that I know that he truly tried but didn’t have the capacity to even express his feelings.  Maybe I didn’t allow him to grow into being romantic, maybe I didn’t expect enough or was even too insecure in the relationship to believe.  I don’t know.  I don’t know despite so many years, despite our strong friendship and despite love, I still have no answers just acceptance.
          I won’t write because I still think it might shoot me in the foot but I hope he is finally happy.


Thursday, April 19, 2018

My 14th Novel - The Seer and Miss Clark - Free Giveaway

My husband took me out to dinner tonight to celebrate the finish of my
14th Novel

Ten Union deserters made plans to rob the Union Payroll wagon of
seventy-five thousand dollars, the largest heist attempted during the Civil War.
Ten men who had killed for the President on the battlefield now killed for
love, money and the pure untethered pleasure of killing.
They ride with the dark man who is waiting patiently for their souls as he
tempts them with the very thing they seek.
Juliette cannot stop the carnage or save the victims he serves up
to the greedy men unless he allows her to.   That doesn't stop the taunting and the visions
that she can't block out.  He tortures her with forcing her to watch.
Juliette channels Megan Clark long before the afternoon in the cornfield.
It will be the struggle of both of their lives.


Sunday, April 1, 2018

Easter Bunnies and Stuff

damn but I hate to admit that there are more years
behind me then in front but that's pretty much where I find myself
Easter is a religious holiday
that involved me getting a permanent
and a new dress in pink or lavender with Paten leather shoes
little white gloves and white hats with ribbons


 I will wish you the best day on this Easter Sunday
and admit that I love the traditions
which were so much a part of my life when young
the Easter Baskets
filled with candy, toys and eggs
[I didn't like hard boiled eggs or even eggs but I regress]
I loved the colors, the fake grass
and the jelly beans.
Back then there were only a handful of flavors.


I did have a black rabbit
we lived in North Dakota off of the base in a large house
the rabbits lived in a cage under the house
I don't know why I had a rabbit
but I did and then I didn't
because some nice person poisoned my rabbit.
Of course, that's what I was told
but when we left England I was told my black cat
was killed by a neighborhood dog...
this was the "we can't afford to quarantine her" solution
so instead I was emotionally destroyed
so I wouldn't argue at the age of seven.


I can now look back at all those childhood things
with a critical eye on the truth
and the necessity of bending it like light through a prism
the parental stories to handle a child
the fact that I remember these things and knew
then what I know now
makes me understand that those little stories
aren't always the way to handle things.


Alright...this is not a good Easter story
but more a story on morality
I accept more than I allow to change my world
I have adopted the old southern philosophy
of smiling, enjoying and telling others
"isn't that nice"

I am in the midst of getting ready for a large
art show and have two books in the air using one
to avoid finishing the other.
I think I have too much on my plate and have fallen
into a bowl of procrastination and noodles.

Have a great Easter and remember that spring is
a beautiful time of any year.


Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Investigations, Inc.


          Jack picked up the glass and sipped as he looked at the report before pulling the paper from the typewriter.    The chair squeaked as he leaned back and put his feet on the desk reading it over one last time before slipping it in the envelope.
          The rain had become heavier and promised to continue through the night which meant he wouldn’t be setting up surveillance at 310 Park Street.  Interesting job that one.   The man who had hired him was not her husband and he got the impression that this was a reverse situation where the boyfriend did not believe whatever story she told him about her marriage.  Frankly, there were way too many women in this town to pay to follow a married woman or even care if she was still keeping her husband happy as long as she showed up in the middle of the night with promises of succulent pleasure. 
          Two things kept his business brisk, one was love and the other was money but in the end it always rolled around sex.
          Jack smiled as he thought about the girl he accompanied home from the bar the night before.   She was your typical sad story of nursing a broken heart needing to feel like someone thought she pretty enough to approach.  He didn’t think he would have turned to her if she passed him on the street but something last night just called his name as he sat down at the end of the bar. 
          “Charlie, usual please.”
          The bartender threw the towel over his shoulder as he reached back and picked up the good whisky pouring a shot setting it in front of Jack.
          “Early night or just getting started?”
          “Early night.  Love it when they give me what I want before nine.”
          He sipped on the whisky as the bar filled up with the regular characters from the neighborhood.  Several stopped leaning on the bar talking to him before moving into a booth or table.  It was a small bar where a lot of people came to just unwind or sit and talk to friends.  
          The jukebox played Frank Sinatra in the background but it was so low that you forgot that it wasn’t just part of the decor.  He leaned forward looking at her as she sipped on a glass of wine.  She still had her coat on and looked uncomfortable almost afraid to stay and afraid to get up and leave.   He looked into the big mirror and watched her.  She looked up at herself then looked away. 
          Jack picked up his glass and walked down past her as she watched him move in the smoky mirror.  He picked up an ashtray on the other side of her and sat down in the empty stool to her right taking out a cigarette and offered her one.
          “Thank you but I don’t smoke.”
          He put one in his mouth and set the pack on the bar as Charlie reached over lighting it for him.  The smoke drifted up around them as Sinatra crooned a lonely heartbreaking song.  He picked up his whisky as she watched him in the mirror.
          “You look like you are carrying the woes of the world on your shoulders.”
          She sipped her wine and he watched the slight tremble in her hand as she slowly tried to put it down without spilling it.  If she could take back her decision to walk through that door then she would do it that very instant.   She swallowed then looked at him.
          “I need to leave.”
          “Well, that part is obvious since you have probably never been in a bar or at least not unescorted.”
          “I’m sorry, but…”
          Jack reached out and touched her hand which immediately caused tears to form across her green eyes.   If he had a nickel for every time a woman sat in front of him in tears, he could retire to Vegas.  He thought there was little difference between Charlie, him and Father O’Flannagan.  They all drank and they all listened to confessions of the heartbroken world.
          “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”
          “Thank you but this was a mistake.”  She took in her breath and it rattled with the sobs that just didn’t want to come out in public.   She slid off the stool and picked up her purse turning to him.  “Thank you but it is late and the rain seems to be getting worse.”
          “Can I walk you to your car?”
          “I didn’t drive.”
          Jack smiled because she lived nearby. “It’s not safe to walk this late at night.”  He put a five on the bar and told Charlie he would be back after he made sure this young lady got home safely.  Charlie looked from one to the other and nodded.   Someone would be saying hail marys in the morning for sure.
          Jack opened the door as she stepped out.  “I can get home fine, thank you.”
          Jack opened the umbrella raising it.  “I need the exercise and I would feel bad if something happened to you because I wasn’t a gentleman.”
          She lived two blocks from the bar up the hill in a small brownstone.  He talked and she responded but not with any great conversation.   She had her arms wrapped around herself more as a protection then cold.   When they climbed the steps to the front door of the building he opened it and she passed him then turned back.   He smiled but didn’t follow.
          “Would you like to...” She hesitated.  “I don’t have whisky but I can offer you a cup of coffee.”
          Jack looked at his watch then followed her into the building.  She opened her purse and took out a sole key and unlocked her door walking in.  He closed it as she walked across the room putting her purse on a small table then unbuttoning her coat slipping it off.   She had on a soft white blouse and black skirt that was shaped to her hips so perfectly.   She laid the coat over the chair then walked into the kitchen and he heard the water running as she was filling up the coffee pot.  Jack walked around the room looking at the d├ęcor before he picked up a book that was open on the coffee table. 
          “I didn’t ask your name.”  He had his back to the kitchen as she walked out carrying too cups of coffee.
          “You like Hemingway?”  He was reading the back of “Across the River and Into the Trees” which of course had a picture of Ernest as eccentric as you could get.
          “I’m not sure.  I think he’s very strange and his characters are so self absorbed and dramatic.”   She sat down on the couch as he sat in the armchair flipping through the book until he reached the page where she had a slip of paper marking her spot.  “I find this particular work to be lacking in a lot of things even for Hemingway.”
          Jack nodded and put the book down.  He wasn’t a Hemingway fan because he found his work to not only be depressing but would cause depressive people to fall further into the tumbler which is probably what the author did as he sat at that old typewriter trying to put words together so that he could afford to be eccentric. 
          They talked for a while about authors and books they liked.   She worked as a bookkeeper for a shirt manufacturer and had lived in the city three years.  He assumed from listening to her that other than work her only life was probably an affair with a married man.   He finally thanked her for the coffee and told her he had an appointment to keep.
          “Who has appointments this late at night?”
          Jack smiled and told her it was just part of his work.  He walked toward the door as she stood and followed him.  He turned again to thank her when she put her hand on his shoulder and reached up kissing him then she pulled back.  Jack watched her eyes which were neither embarrassed nor mousy as they had been in the bar.  He wanted to tell her that there was no safety in taking a stranger into her home. 
          His hand went out and around Carolyn’s waist to her lower back as he brought her back to his lips.  She came to him so easily and so willingly that he wondered who was coercing who this night.   He could feel his reaction as she leaned into him so softly and her hand slowly slid down his chest and around his leg causing him to stiffen against the cloth of his slacks.  This was not a mousy woman at all.
          He didn’t remember undressing her or even taking off his own clothes before he pulled her down on top of him.  The bed was soft and filled with fluffy pillows that seemed to just envelope them as they moved across it still lip locked and hungry.  He couldn’t recall having a desire so strong in a long time and he loved the softness of her curves.
          Carolyn was unbridled in her wants and consumed him with a fire that was totally out of control.   Whatever she was trying to forget, Jack was more than willing to be the instrument she used to release all of her pain.   He ran his hand up the outside of her thigh to her hip which made the silk panties push up against him.  A small moan escaped her lips. 
          He loved the smell of the passion mingled with whisky.  This mousy little girl was so hot that the fire department would have trouble putting her out.   She pushed against his shoulders rolling him off of her and he hesitated until he met her eyes.   They were dark green and seemed to be holding a secret he knew he would never unlock.  Without effort she took his breath away.  Her eyes were closed; her head back and her lips spoke volumes without words.
          Jack pulled her down into his arms and kissed her as she sighed then curled up around him.  He wanted a cigarette but didn’t know where his clothes were nor did he think he had the strength to get out of bed.  Jack fell asleep and woke up alone in the bed.   He found his clothes on the chair in the bedroom with a note.
          “Thank you for walking me home…Carolyn.”
          He lit a cigarette and put the note in his pocket.

Barbara Svetlick                3/6/18

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Book 5 and 6 of The Visitor Free Download

The final two books of the six book story

will be free to download on Saturday and Sunday
March 3rd and 4th