A Poem by a Gifted Young Man

I chose the photo to go with this poem, but the poem was written by a friend of one of my sons. I met him a couple times. I saw this poem posted on another blog, and I liked the poem so much. However, I felt like the blog I saw it on disrespected the poet by including personal thoughts, feelings, and convictions about the poem in the post, therefore taking away from the poem, and possibly, influencing a negative attitude toward the poem in some readers. I wanted to present the poem just as the young man wrote it to allow readers to ponder it and come to their own interpretations and conclusions, the way poetry is meant to be.

Therefore, I contacted the young man and asked his permission to share the poem, and he granted me permission. I hope you will enjoy this poem as much as I do.

I do apologize that it is not properly typed in stanzas. I tried to do that and attempted to correct it several times to no avail.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

Elara’s Path by Tristen

Elara was a dreamer, with stars in her eyes,

Chasing whispers of wonder beneath twilight skies.

A world beyond the meadows, where shadows softly call,

She stepped through velvet curtains, where dreams and dangers fall.

Oh, Elara, sweet Elara, don’t stray too far from home,

The forest hums with secrets, where wild things freely roam.

Hold tight to what you know, dear, don’t trust the fleeting light,

For beauty hides the thorns that bloom beneath the starless night.

The trees began to shimmer, with voices soft and sweet,

“Come dance within our circle, where time and magic meet.”

Their laughter wove a tapestry of silver, gold, and flame,

Each step pulled Elara deeper, forgetting her own name.

Oh, Elara, brave Elara, the path is not your friend,

The rivers sing of freedom, but lead to bitter ends.

Turn back before the shadows claim the heart you hold so dear,

The world you chase is hungry, it feeds on hope and fear.

The moonlight carved a doorway, through mist and tangled vines,

Where spirits whispered promises in soft, hypnotic rhymes.

“Stay here, we’ll crown you queen,” they sang with honeyed breath,

But Elara saw the flicker—cold eyes that spoke of death.

Oh, Elara, wise Elara, you’ve seen the truth unfold,

The stories that they weave are not the ones you’re told.

Run fast, the dawn is breaking, the light will guide you home,

Through forests full of peril, where wild things call you home.

With courage in her heartbeat, she tore through night’s embrace,

The thorns reached out to hold her, but none could slow her pace.

Back to the world she knew so well, where love and safety lay,

Elara left the shadows, to greet the break of day.

Oh, Elara, strong Elara, you’ve walked where few return,

The fire in your spirit, forever it will burn.

No forest can contain you, no dream can chain your soul,

For Elara’s heart is boundless, and now she’s finally whole.

“Practicing the Art of Poetry”

Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash

I have been a member of Lancaster Christian Writers for about thirteen years. I have learned a lot about writing through their monthly meetings and annual Writers’ Conferences and continue to do so. I have also made some wonderful friends and valuable contacts through this group and continue to do so.

This past Saturday, one of the friends I met through the group taught a workshop on “Practicing the Art of Poetry”. She shared “why all writers should practice the art of poetry”. She shared things I never really thought about. She also shared some poems. Then she instructed us to do two writing exercises. She didn’t stress all of the mechanics, techniques, and different types of poems. She didn’t even tell us our poems had to have structure or to rhyme.

Her main point was: a poem doesn’t have to take a lot of time. It is easier to finish than an article or a story. Not to perfect it, but to finish it.

The first writing exercise she instructed us to do was to write a poem about Grace.

I don’t know where the idea came from, but I got an idea as soon as she said the word “Grace”. The following is my poem about Grace:

Grace is a little girl in pigtails picking dandelions in a field in the sunshine. Sitting on a stoop and giggling as a puppy licks her nose. Dancing in the rain and skipping barefoot through puddles. Singing “Jesus Loves Me” when she is scared, and praying “God is great, God is good” before taking a bite of food. Grace is not only her name, but something in her innocence.

The second exercise she assigned us to do was to take something we’re working on — a novel, devotional, article — and turn a piece of it into a poem. So, this next attempt at a poem is from one of the character’s problems and emotions from my current Work in Progress (WIP). But don’t look for it in the book when it comes out, because I don’t think it’s going to make it into the book.

Was she really rejecting him? The look in her eyes and tone of her voice started a fizzure in his heart, but her words spread and deepend the fizzure into many cracks. Her final declaration that she would not go to Boston with him drove his mind to its knees and he turned to leave.

I enjoyed this workshop and dabbling in poetry for a little while.

Tuesday’s Tea Time

I thought it would be quite appropriate to share a quote about tea by an author today, since I an also an author who enjoys tea.

May I suggest you read some good poetry today and enjoy a cup of hot tea or a glass of iced tea, whichever fits your mood and your preference or depends upon your weather. In case you don’t have a poetry book nearby, here is a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson for you.

Success

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty,
To find the best in others,
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child,
A garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.

Why Should You Read Clean Fiction Magazine?

My Winter Edition of Clean Fiction Magazine finally arrived last week! Keep reading to find out why you should read this magazine.

If you look at the photo in the top left corner of the above photo of a page from the Winter Edition of Clean Fiction Magazine, you’ll notice that Harper has made it into this issue! Also, I am the Romance Reviewer for Clean Fiction Magazine, so if you’ve enjoyed reading my Romance Reviews here on the blog in the past, if you want to read more, be sure to get your copy of the latest edition (Winter 2023 Edition) of the magazine, available on Amazon. I have 10 reviews in the latest edition, and though I am the Romance Reviewer, I do, occasionally review a mystery, suspense, or fantasy book as well. The other fun thing in this edition is that since it was the end of the year edition, I was asked to choose my Top 3 Favorite Reads of 2023! You can read those in the photo above.

In addition, this magazine is filled with Book Reviews of the following genres: Fantasy and Fairy Tale; Sci-fi, Superheroes, and Steampunk; Audio Dramas; Epic; Romance and Real Life; Mystery; Historicaland Illustrative Fiction.

In addition there are poems, the winning entries of the last Windows Into the Multiverse Flash Fiction Story Contest, advertisements of more great books and authors; the last installment of a short story by Clean Fiction Publisher, Amy Lynn McConahy, as well as some other ongoing stories.

There are also some great articles, some fun cartoons, lists of different award winning books, the winners of the last Cover Art Contest, a list of upcoming contests in upcoming issues as well as other dates for great events that involve books. There’s the winner of the last Bookstagram Contest, and the photo for the current Windows into the Multiverse Contest with instructions on how to enter, but there are ONLY 2 Days Left to get your entries in!

So, whether you looking for your next great read or a new favorite author, or just want to read some great Flash Fiction stories, short stories, poetry, or articles, there’s something in Clean Fiction Magazine for every reader who likes their fiction clean. You can purchase your copy — ebook or paperback at Amazon.com.

Twas Just Before Bedtime by Jessie L. Best

As a Book Reviewer, I received a free ebook copy of ’Twas Just Before Bedtime by Jessie L. Best. I was not required to write a positive review nor any review. This is my honest review.

’Twas Just Before Bedtime is a collection of short stories and poems for children. There are fifteen stories and fourteen poems. Each poem tells a story and has a rhyme scheme. Every story and poem in this collection is short enough to be read to young children and to be read “just before bedtime”.

Every story includes some kind of magical happening or magical creature. There are a few witches, though not scary, and lots of fairies. The poems include characters that are animals. For parents who like reading fun, magical stories that are very rich in make believe, these stories are for you.

I found all of the poems well written and delightful and most of the stories are fun.

A few of the stories may be scary for younger or more sensitive children.

For my readers who prefer stories that include character building or biblical lessons, this is not the kind of book you’re looking for.

I give ’Twas Just Before Bedtime by Jessie L. Best 4 stars.

Tea and Poetry

For today’s Tea and Poetry post, I decided to combine three of the little tea facts from “365 Things Every Tea Lover Should Know” because they go together:

There are four major tea types–black, oolong, green, and white.
Black tea undergoes the longest process of oxidation.
White tea undergoes the least amount of the oxidation process

To add just a couple more facts that relate (that we learned at the Charleston Tea Plantation): 1) All four types of tea come from the same bush (what makes them different, is the amount of time they undergo the oxidation process); 2) Green tea does not require any oxidation.

Now, for today’s poem, I have chosen a poem by Anne Bradstreet:

THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth didst by my side remain,
Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could:
I washed thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.
I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet;
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save homespun cloth i’ th’ house I find.
In this array ‘mongst vulgars may’st thou roam.
In critic’s hands beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known;
If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;
And for thy mother, she alas is poor,
Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

Danger in the Patchwork Clearing (a narrative poem)

Danger in the Patchwork Clearing
by Kelly F. Barr

Bramble Fleetwood and Flip Gatherson did somersaults among the wildflowers in the Patchwork Clearing. Bramble’s lower jaw dropped and his eyes widened as a shadow passed over them. A chill ran down his spine as he recognized Crooked Claw Fellingward.

“Flip, run! Hawk!” Bramble scrambled back toward Oak Leaf Forest, and Flip struggled to keep up.
“Stay low and don’t stretch your body.” Bramble puffed out as he ran. How had they gotten so far from Oak Leaf Forest?
He could hear his father’s stern voice in his head, “Bramble, never wander into the Patchwork Clearing. It’s too dangerous.”

Crooked Claw screeched and Bramble looked over his shoulder. The hawk was inches above Flip, who desperately weaved and dragged his pudgy belly across the ground. Crooked Claw made a grab for Flip but missed as Flip rolled to the side.

Bramble tripped over something — rocks! He stopped, picked up a rock, and hurled it at Crooked Claw. He picked up another and another and threw them as hard and quickly as he could. One bounced off the hawk’s beak. Another rolled off his back.

Bramble couldn’t remain in this place much longer. The rocks managed to slow Crooked Claw down enough for Flip to gain a bit of a lead. Bramble started to run again. Almost there — if they could just get to the forest.

Bramble burst over the line, under cover of the Oak trees. He turned and screamed, “Nooo,” as Crooked Claw grasped Flip and lifted him off the ground. Bramble watched in horror, but Flip struggled in the hawk’s grip. Flip pounded his fists on the talons that held him, and suddenly Flip was falling. Crooked Claw descended right above him reaching for his falling prey.

Flip hit the ground and immediately made a break for the forest. Crooked Claw was bearing down on Flip. Would Flip make it in time?

Bramble heard a commotion in the trees directly above him. Father, and Flip’s father, and several other men from the squirrel colony were slinging acorns, from a large slingshot, at Crooked Claw. They slung six acorns at one time and hit Crooked Claw’s wing. The wing crumpled and the hawk made an emergency crash landing as Flip crossed under the Oak trees.

Bramble and Flip scooted farther under the Oaks. Their fathers stood before them. How had they come down the tree so quickly?

“Bramble, are you hurt?”
“No, Father.”
Flip’s father checked Flip over. The two dads looked at their sons. “Suppose you two have had a good fright and now know why you’re not to play in the Patchwork Clearing?”
Both boys nodded.
“Good. Now for the next two weeks, the two of you will be teaching your little brothers how to hide nuts and acorns.”
Again, Bramble and Flip nodded. Anything would be better than running for their lives.

My Hero (A Poem)

My Hero
by Kelly F. Barr

Strong and brave;
He risks his life,
Jumping into peril and strife –
My life to save.

Tender and sweet
When I’m in his arms.
He exhibits many charms
As our eyes meet.

Protective and bold,
My virtue he defends.
Upon him I depend.
His character is gold.

Winter Blues (A Poem)

Winter Blues
by Kelly F. Barr

Frigid winds
Chill me to the bone.
Dreary, overcast days
And days of snow —
Its beauty only lasts so long.

Eager for spring;
My heart sank
As spring’s first two days
Brought the biggest blanket of white
Of the year.

I long for sunshine and warmth
To turn my S.A.D.ness
Into gladness
And to, again, find my motivation.

An Acrostic Poem by Kelly F. Barr

St. Joseph
by Kelly F. Barr

Sun beating on his back.
Trail is dry and dusty.

Johnny rides for the Pony Express.
Open prairie stretches before him.
Seneca waits his arrival.
Erin fills his mind–her eyes, her lips, her spirit.
Problems need to be overcome.
Hope is something he clings to.