A Selection of Poems by Christine DePetrillo

I often write poems when I'm experiencing writer's block. I'd like to share some with you today. Enjoy!

Here are two serious, nature-inspired ones:

LEAVES

Summer green

         fades,

autumn red

         flares,

to orange

yellow,

brown,

blankets the

         ground

awaiting the

         arctic veil

of

snow.

Fading sun

graying sky

frosty crispness

quiet hush

leafless trees

dark twigs

wait like soldiers

                  for the icy assault

flakes fall

frozen bullets

covering all in

         white

                  folds

                           of

                                  snow.

****

REFLECTION

Silent soldiers

standing tall in the ranks

needled arms raised

against the ambushing

sun

Autumn marches in

spraying its yellow, orange, brown

ammunition on the

vulnerable

Only the strong emerge

unscathed

true green

evergreen

Quiet river

remembers the battle

reflecting the victory

of the

pines

****

And here are two silly, food-inspired ones:

OH, THAT CRANBERRY SAUCE!

Wiggly

jiggly

red

sloppy

floppy

round

Sliding

off my

plate

headed

for  the

ground

Slipping

through

my fingers

landing

in a

mound

Grandma

steps

right in it

and it

doesn’t make

a sound

Sticky

icky

blob

three days later

when it’s

found.

****

SQUASHED

It’s orange.

It’s bumpy.

Mom’s is

Always lumpy.

It’s squash.

Serve it cold

Or serve it warm.

Either way

It’s got no form.

It’s squash.

Eat it now.

Don’t delay.

Best to get it

Out of the way.

It’s squash.

Take a drink.

Wash it down.

I’ll try my best

To hide my frown.

It’s squash.

Time for dessert.

Oh me, oh my

Cut me a slice

Of that apple pie.

Oh no…

it’s SQUASH!

Be sure to check here after Thanksgiving and into December for The Roses of Prose Annual Holiday stories! Free holiday cheer! Also, join the Facebook reader group I co-host with author Amanda Torrey at Small Town Hearts. We have a blast over there and we want you to be a part of it all!

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

Seasons of the Sun by Betsy Ashton

With the darker days of late winter settling in, with snow/sleet/icy rain falling, and with a kitty who is bored out of her freakin' mind but won't go out and get her paws wet, I offer four haiku to brighten your hearts.

SEASONALLY AFFECTIVE ORDER 

Whites, browns, yellows, blacks

Screeching, shoving—

Gang warfare @ the bird feeder.

Gently rocking waves

Lull one to sleep—

The nose peels.

Apple, cherry, pumpkin

Pies in the oven—

Time for the gym.

Ice-shrouded world

One slippery step—

Technicolor moon.

And on that last note, watch your steps, ya' hear?

Bob Dylan: Poet for the Ages by Alison Henderson

This year, when the Swedish Academy chose Bob Dylan as the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, I stood up and cheered—or more appropriately, I burst into song. I know some were surprised that a songwriter would be considered for, much less win, the prestigious award, but to me it was well-deserved. His lyrics are pure poetry.

I’ve never been much of a fan of poetry. I disliked the poetry sections of my high school English classes and truly hated being forced to try to write my own. Poetry simply isn’t my medium—probably because it requires such imagination and precision of language to say so much in so few words. Dylan is a true master. Take, for example, his 1967 song, I Shall Be Released. He was only twenty-six when he wrote this haunting ode to those in prison, both physical and spiritual. How could such a young man have this level of understanding of the human condition?

They say ev’rything can be replaced
Yet ev’ry distance is not near
So I remember ev’ry face
Of ev’ry man who put me here
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released

They say ev’ry man needs protection
They say ev’ry man must fall
Yet I swear I see my reflection
Some place so high above this wall
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released

Standing next to me in this lonely crowd
Is a man who swears he’s not to blame
All day long I hear him shout so loud
Crying out that he was framed
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released

And who among us could resist the ultimate seduction of Lay Lady Lay?

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Whatever colors you have in your mind
I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine.

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile
Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile
His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean
And you're the best thing that he's ever seen.

Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile
Why wait any longer for the world to begin
You can have your cake and eat it too
Why wait any longer for the one you love
When he's standing in front of you.

Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed
Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead
I long to see you in the morning light
I long to reach for you in the night
Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead.

The range of Bob Dylan’s body of work is astounding and iconic, from protest songs like The Times They Are A’Changin’ and Blowin’ in the Wind to the sweetly poignant Forever Young and the Western classic Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door. It’s a tribute to his genius that his songs have been covered by artists from The Band to Nora Young to Guns N’ Roses. If you haven’t listened to some of these songs lately, treat yourself to a trip to You Tube.

Alison

www.alisonhenderson.com

Poetry Walks by Christine DePetrillo

I left formal religion to worship nature. I find divinity in all the gifts Mother Nature has shared with us.

I hug trees. Maples are my favorite. They have a great eco-rhythm.

I dig my toes into sun-warmed soil and soak up the Earth’s energy.

I inhale oxygen and marvel over the science of what makes humans live off something colorless and without form.

I run my fingers over flower petals, leaves, stones, caterpillars, loving the unique sensations each bring.

I spread out in the grass, the blades cushioning my body, meshing with my hair, absorbing me into its green.

I am connected to it all, a giant wheel that constantly turns, grows, changes.

Most of the poetry I write is about nature. I spend a ton of time outdoors and frequently find inspiration in what I witness. A tree’s reflection in a pond. A bird’s flight across the sky. A cricket’s nighttime song. It’s all art and music to me, and I try my best to capture it with words so I can share the experience with others.

I took my students on a poetry walk through the outdoor classroom and nature trail we built behind our school. We stopped off to observe one of my poems that was put on a plaque and installed on a regal-looking boulder back there.

Cold Faith

Winter winds

howl their chorus

over frosted lands.

Leafless trees

heavy with snow

dream of budding.

For now,

they wait

as ice imprisons them.

Glassy branches

reach to the gray sky

in silent prayer.

Searching for inspiration, students brought notebooks and wrote down observations. They sat quietly and listened. They got on their hands and knees in the leaves and became part of the woods.

We don’t do that enough. Become part of the outdoors. The health benefits are many. The chances of finding your Muse are abundant as well.

Connecting with a high power in nature is a guarantee.

Students came back into the classroom and composed poems that rocked. Full of imagery and figurative language, they wrote as if fueled by an eternal flame. I hope they always remember that nature is there for them, just waiting to be explored, waiting to help.

Waiting to embrace.

Where will you walk today? What will you find?

Toodles,

Chris

The Maple Leaf Series, Book One – More Than Pancakes, always FREE!

Books Two through Five, available now!

Book Six, available for preorder now! April 29^th release!

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com   

The 5-Minute Spring Break by Betsy Ashton

My husband and I missed our winter getaway this year. Why? Because we didn't make reservations at our favorite Florida getaway in time. Now, with spring around the corner, I need a five-minute spring break. I turned to poetry, my own and others.

I'm not a poet. I don't pretend to be one, but every so often I'm moved to read poetry. I love books my friends have written. Sara Robinson's poems are profound and deeply personal as are Judy Light Ayyildiz's. Yes, I've read the great classical poets, but I love my friends' work as much if not more.

I most frequently turn to Japanese and Chinese poetry when I need inspiration. Or Rumi for something more mystical. I love Han Shan, the great Zen Cold Mountain poet, Li Po from the T'ang dynasty and, of course, Basho the haiku master.

It is the Japanese poetic styles of haiku and tanka  that draw me when I try writing something. The control you need for a 5-7-5 haiku or a 5-7-5-7-7 tanka are a challenge to a wordy fiction writer.

With winter winding down, I captured one last look at winter. I hope it's the last look, but who knows.

Storm moaning outside,
leaving behind wet ground and
powdered-sugar snow.

I wrote a series of haiku a couple of years ago for the four seasons. Titled Seasonally Affective Order, they go like this:

Whites, browns, yellows, blacks

Screeching, shoving—

Gang warfare @ the bird feeder.

Gently rocking waves

Lull one to sleep—

The nose peels.

Apple, cherry, pumpkin

Pies in the oven—

Time for the gym.

Ice-shrouded world

One slippery step—

Technicolor moon.

I leave you with a tanka, which actually has the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable scheme. 

Distant owl questions

Woodpecker raps out response --

Not here, not yet here--

Glass door slides silently open

Tai chi cat oozes outside

What is your five-minute spring break?

###

Betsy Ashton is the author of Mad Max, Unintended Consequences, and Uncharted Territory, A Mad Max Mystery, now available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Fangs and Claws for Halloween

Vampires are eloquent and sophisticated. They’ve been hanging around on this Earth for centuries. Nothing surprises them anymore for they have seen and heard it all. Except for Drake MacNeil, when one night a new fragrance fills his senses. Something he’s never smelled in his eternal life. Something he never knew existed. Something that brings him hope.

Werewolves are fierce and primal. Their claws have met dirt and flesh and are always ready to tear something apart. Footprints become pawprints when the moon is full, and the beast is unleashed. Arielle Boabhanshi, however, finds someone she wasn’t looking for in a crowded dance club. Try as she may, she can’t put him in the “food” category. There is something about him. Something she didn’t think she needed. Something that makes her world a different place.

Can love exist between monsters? Can it last an eternity?

My book of gothic romantic poetry, Night Eternal, explores these questions and this odd relationship. It is a love story, a tragedy, a battle. Poems are exchanged between Drake, whom I write, and Arielle, brought to life by author Joseph Mazzenga. The poems are from their hearts…whether they beat or not.

For example, here’s one from Drake on becoming a vampire:

 

Birth of a Monster

Looking for trouble,

down a dark street.

Trying to hide

from the day to day.

Wishing for more,

always getting less.

When he offers me

a smoke,

this shadowy figure,

I shrug.

Why not?

Haven’t done that before.

Time for a change.

Inhaling, I cough,

sputter, choke,

but not on the smoke.

His hands are around my neck,

strong, icy cold.

The edges of my vision blur.

The haze is not enough

to mask the pain.

Twin knife pricks to my neck,

a slow fire in my veins,

cooling as the blood

leaves me.

The metamorphosis

is

instant.

I’m no longer what I was.

I will never be again.

One chance encounter

and I’m gone.

And one from Arielle on becoming a werewolf:

A Hollow Moon

Footsteps.

Always footsteps.

Harbinger in hindsight.

Blind as total nightfall.

I am honored by the hunt.

My soul is a chasm of emptiness

Until that which is unholy stalks my very shadow.

Closer.

Unnatural winds nip at my skin,

Ancient instincts, old and useless, stir.

Telltale heartbeats stating the prey.

It is I.

There is no seduction,

Only futile flight.

There is no fight save for the aggressor.

I tumble across time to the primeval.

I am the prey.

Dawn is no savior.

Only my fear is the beacon.

My screams are for the dead to hear.

One cut,

One slash,

One blood,

One curse....all for the prey,

All for me...

With the ashes of daylight,

With the cloak of the moon,

Resurrected.

I am the cutter.

I am the slasher.

I will now spill the blood.

I am now the cursed...

You can see they are a tortured lot, but they have been brought together by the night eternal and only the night knows what will become of them.

Follow Drake and Arielle at Night Eternal for only $0.99. They are waiting for you…and so is the night! Tiptoe through the shadows and have a peek. 

What two paranormal/supernatural characters would you like to see fall in love?

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

Character Poetry

Sometimes I write poems in the point of view of my characters to get over writer's block. When I feel out of touch with a character, I close my eyes and try to BE that character. I review his or her goals, motivation, and conflict. I put myself in his or her situation. I regard his or her love interest and tap into the emotions.

Here's one I wrote after what we in the romance novel world call "The Black Moment." It's that part in the story where you're not sure the hero and heroine are going to get that happily ever after.

Slaying Silence

Silence hangs

between us

like summer night heat haze

across the faraway moon,

blurring her light,

her vision.

Blackness mutes

the celestial edges,

and I am small,

alone,

unwanted.

It would take

but a touch of your hand,

a brush of your lips

against my skin

to lift the fog

and silence the silence.

Your heartbeat would fill my ears,

caress my soul,

connect me,

save me.

After I penned this poem, the juices started flowing again and I wrote the ending to this character's story. This method may not work for everyone, but it's always been successful for me. It unlocks my mind and gets me back in tune with what I'm trying to convey to my readers. It brings the emotions to the surface.

The next time you are stuck, give character poetry a whirl. You just may find the words you're looking for. 

  

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

The Maple Leaf Series, available now. Book One, More Than Pancakes, is always FREE in ebook.

Salvation Eternal

What does it mean to be human?

Breathing oxygen. Walking upright on two legs. Sentience. Language. These are definite characteristics associated with human beings, but do they get at the heart of what it means to be human? Don’t they fall a little short on explaining the awesome power humans wield? Don’t they fail to reveal the layers to our humanity? Our potential?

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines human as “a bipedal primate mammal.” Rather cold and scientific, don’t you think?

Being human means so much more than giving birth to live young, being warm-blooded, and having hair covering most of our bodies. Being human means possibilities, opportunities, and journeys. It means setting goals, striving to reach them, and celebrating when we cross our personal finish lines. It means having not only an intellectual response to literature, art, and music but an emotional one as well. It means creating literature, art, and music. Humans express themselves, build connections with other humans, make mistakes, learn from those mistakes, then make more mistakes.  

We are experiments in progress. Variables change. Adjustments are made. Results are analyzed. Then we toss all that aside, live through the pain, fight for what we want and believe and deserve. We lead with our heads and our feet. We listen to our guts, our sixth senses. We let our hearts be in charge every now and again just to see what happens. We defy the odds.

Another day dawns after a cold, dark night, and we relish the feeling of the sun on our faces. We are part of everything around us. Being truly human means tapping into all that the Universe offers, drawing energy from nature, from our relationships, from deep within ourselves. Our bodies represent us, but our souls define us.

And our actions will be how we are remembered.

We are humans, and the road is not always an easy one. Our duration is unknown, but we take comfort in the fact that we are not alone. Though our voyages may not be the same, we share a lifeblood that binds us all. We find our place. We fit in while struggling to be unique. We accept the embrace and though we know eternity will never be ours, we enjoy our fleeting trips and hope we haven’t wasted the gift that is life.     

SALVATION ETERNAL is gothic poetry in two voices and the second book in The Eternal Series. Author Joseph Mazzenga supplies the voice of Lucia, the female demon, and I am the voice of Father Nathaniel, the male angel.

Excerpt:

Good Evening.

Darkness. Cold, unforgiving, and muting all in existence. Humanity’s sight was forever entrenched… until there was Light. 

Souls are tender things. Unseen by human eyes, but eternally precious. We battle for their preservation every second of every day. Intangible, yet fragile, our souls need protection from the Darkness that seeks to blacken our existence.

The Light searches for us, our salvation its mission. Warm and expanding, it wishes to fold us in a tight embrace. All sins are forgiven for those who repent.

But do we lose ourselves in the process?

Might there not be perfection somewhere between the Dark and the Light?

The Cast

The Demon

And when time finally stands at rest, I will be my only companion.

Framed. Reviled. Driven out. Yet it will end in a lonesome stead.

When humanity was called mankind, I hefted the moniker of devil for I was birthed with accused blood relation.

Misunderstood. Misguided. Mistaken. All under the guise of demon.

I am not of Him or with Him. I am untaught with isolation.

I am Lucia Demone Cavaliere.

I suffer evil. I repulse all that is good, nonetheless a starless night is not a white shore. I am never fully unspoken.

So be it.

Humanity calls on me, alone. They call me to do their bidding hitherto they are pawns in the offing of death.

Dimness instead of brilliance. Look for me not in what you call Heaven.

Look for the demon in your life that you call Hell…

The Angel

Saving souls is a daunting task.

There is no shortage of lost ones in need of redemption. Their numbers multiply by the second, but I am only a solitary guardian, doing what I must, what I have been charged with by Him.

I’ve heard The Call, chosen my fate, accepted my destiny, and the lost shall not stay lost. Not on my watch.

I am Father Nathaniel O’Ryan.

His Light flows through me and seeks the Darkness. Souls reach out to me, often without the permission of their hosts. I deny no one, for each soul started with Him. Each soul has the Divine Light. It may dim, but it is never extinguished. Not fully. I can always find it. Through me, He rekindles, reclaims, rejoices.

Some resist, but I am not easily discouraged, for He walks with me

We can all shine in His embrace.

I am here to make sure we all remember this. I am here to save you.

 

Summer’s Eve

I miss all that is bitter

The bite of winter is no more

Surrounded by the stench of roses

To the death for an autumn breeze

There is no home

Save for the dark alley

The path of the ill gotten

Mist that fills me

Desire that takes me

A devil in disguise?

Worse yet

I am right before them all

~Lucia

Solstice Song

More hours of precious sunlight

to shine into the souls I seek,

the souls which don’t accept

the light,

the warmth,

the embrace.

With the coming darkness,

blackened spirits

will summon me,

sing their songs of misery,

then reject my outstretched hands.

My offers will be many,

unlimited,

unconditional,

but acceptance equals defeat

in the eyes of the broken.

Healing is not for the impatient,

nor the weary.

A strong heart

must decide to be strong.

⩫ Nathaniel

You can read the rest of Lucia and Nathaniel's story by downloading SALVATION ETERNAL for only $0.99.

What do you think it means to be human? Would you rather be a supernatural creature? If so, what kind?

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com 

Poems Come From Life by JoAnne Myers

Please welcome today's guest to The Roses of Prose, JoAnne Myers.

Thank you for having me. My newly released poetry collection, "Poems About Life, Love, and Everything in Between" is a poetry collection that provides a glimpse into my heart, mind and soul. The book is a heartwarming read, written with love and respect for others. Some poems were written in times of sorrow, while other poems were written in times of joyous celebration. Life is like that.

Here are two poems from my book.

 

I WAS

I was afraid to grow up.
Afraid of life.

I worried myself to death.

It was hard to breathe.

Like a fish out of water.

Like having asthma.

High school was hell-crazy wild.

My only plan.

Just get up and go.

Cant be like mom.

She always had a plan.

Living her life without any man.
Cant think that far.

Felt out of place.

Like dust floating in space.

Scared out of my mind.

Of what I might or might not find.
Cant hack relationships.

More drama.

Why waste the time.

Still confused, but still craving knowledge.

I need to do what I want-for myself.

Even if its just me who cares.

Even if no ones there.
It was a long hard road.

To get my act together.

All bad choices, solely I sowed.

Working for nickels and dimes.

Like a newborn.

Taking one step at a time.

　

SCARED

A new wife and mother.

Scared of life.

Scared to grow up.

Worry myself sick.
Never thought of a plan.

Didn't want to be like the others.
Living my life according to my mother.

My life seemed over, before it began.
Cant think or feel.

Cant plan ahead.

Like a foolish child wanting to be a woman.

Some days to hard, just cant deal.
To confused to understand.

That growing up comes with demands.

Married badly, blamed myself.
Got out fast, and never looked back.
I covered myself in chaos.

All out of faith, money, and time.

Need to step back and take deep breaths,
and take one step at a time.

I cornered myself in chaos,

in false love, self loathing and lies.

Writing my future off as a loss.

Nothing left but sorrow, despair and good-byes.
Feeling helpless, lost and alone,

I felt I could accomplish nothing on my own.

I retreated to a place called the dark.

To contemplate my choices,

before my life’s journey embarked.

My only failures were the ones I created.
My bad choices were thorns all around.

It took years to find happiness and evolve.
My will to succeed is my solid ground.

About JoAnne:

I hail from the famous Hocking Hills region of southeastern Ohio. I have worked in the blue-collar industry most of my life. Besides having several novels under my belt, I also canvass paint. 

When not busy with hobbies or working outside the home, I spend time with relatives, my dogs Jasmine and Scooter, and volunteer my time within the community. I am a member of the Hocking Hill's Arts and Craftsmen Association, The Hocking County Historical Society and Museum, and the Hocking Hills Regional Welcome Center. I believe in family values and following your dreams.

“Poems About Life, Love, and Everything in Between,” is available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/147837022x

My upcoming novels from Melange Books are:

“MURDER MOST FOUL,” a crime/detective book due out July 2013

"WICKED INTENTIONS" a paranormal/mystery anthology due out September 2013

"LOVES', MYTHS' AND MONSTERS'," a fantasy anthology due out January 2014

“FLAGITIOUS,” a crime and paranormal novella collection

Other books soon available:

"THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY," a biography true-crime

"TWISTED LOVE," a true-crime anthology

Email: joannetucker98@yahoo.com

Website: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com

Blog: http://www.booksandpaintingsbyjoanne.com/page2