THE CAT’S MEOW for Writers and Readers

THE CAT’S MEOW

FOR WRITERS & READERS EZINE

Issue 15, Vol. 06

© February 10, 2006

THE CAT’S MEOW FOR WRITERS & READERS™

Ezine: ISSN: 2237-65

Published by Rosanne Catalano, (a/k/a R.C.Kayla)

Editor-in-Chief and Writer/Author

For Her Official Author Web Site – http://www.rosannecatalano.net

Editor and Proofreader: Nancy Currie (formerly Peckford),

Technical Writer/Author, Web Designer and Assistant,

Nancy’s Web Site (under construction at this time) – http://webwriterworx.tripod.com

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Our Subscriber list is NOT made available to others.

We are NOT responsible for web site links that do not work; they are given to us by our contributing authors.

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IN THIS ISSUE:

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF’S CORNER

EDITOR’S CORNER

OFF THE PRESS

Barbara Deming—

“Growing up Barefoot in the South” (New book release)

Rose Anna Schoene—

“Absolutely the Last Resort” (New romance book release)

Paris Smith—

“Shafi Doldi” (Penknife Press book release for new author)

COFFEE HOUSE 4 POETS & WRITERS

Heidi L. Metzger (“Dizzy”)—

“Love and War” (poetry)

Paula Gordon—

“Scattered Remnants” (poetry)

Sandra Hoynacki—

“Country Tales” (a short tale)

Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman—

“Childhood (an essay),” “I Am an Alien and Stranger in This World – A Christian (an essay),” and “Spiritual Warfare” (an essay)

Tammy Bruton—

“Heartache,” “Free,” and “My Love” (poetry)

Leon Basin—

“When Tears Fall Down” and “Ponder Onto a World” (poetry)

Michelle Antoinette Obie—

“I will be Your Soul,” “I am No Longer Gone,” “I Will Not Cry,” and “If I Had Wings” (poetry)

Hal Sirowitz—

“Frustrated Fingers,” “House Plans,” and “The Far Side Getting Further” (loose-form haiku)

Sandra Hoynacki—

“Faded Friendship” (a short story)

Leya Irish Bard—

“Amazon Tale – Janye’s Awakening” (a slice of her novel)

FEATURE ARTICLE

Dr. Tony Fiore—

“How to Deal With Difficult People: Part 3 – The Passive/Aggressive”

ARTICLES

Pamela Stewart—

“Do You Define Yourself by Your Credit Score?”

Kristie Tamsevicius—

“Setting Up Your Dream Home Office Space”

Margie Warrell—

“What is the Quality of Your Excuses?”

Suzanne Falter-Barns—

“Are You a ‘Yes-Dog’?”

Charlie Cook—

“The Best Kept Web Site Marketing Secret”

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EDITOR-IN-CHIEF’S CORNER:

Rosanne Catalano – www.rosannecatalano.net

Welcome to all our new subscribers! We’re so glad you joined us. Please stay tuned for the redesigning of my author web site and home of The Cat’s Meow for Writers & Readers’ ezine, which Nancy my wonderful editor and assistant, is working on for the new year. As soon as it is completed, I will let you all know.

Confession time, my friends. I made a blunder! Upon re-reading some back issues of this ezine, realized that I repeated myself about heart-healthy meals in the December (our anniversary issue) and January issues. For that friends, I am truly sorry! Guess the deaths of my dad and stepdad, and subsequent heart attack of my hubby, affected me more than I had realized. The grieving process takes a very long time, and we should never listen to those who say to “just get over it already.” No one can just get over the death of loved ones; especially if you loved them as dearly as I loved my dad and stepdad. They were both wonderful, loving men in their own ways. You must go through all the stages of grief because if you don’t, it will come back to haunt you, and the death of your loved one(s) will be as fresh in your mind as the day they passed on. Another reason I made that blunder is, since my husband’s heart attack, we have begun to incorporate a healthier lifestyle, but it can drive you crazy during the learning process! We are both going through this very positive change, but a change that is not easy. Old habits don’t change overnight, and it takes time and lots of it to make that change! It’s also driving me crazy having to read all the food labels in the supermarket when I shop (lol) so please have patience with me during this transition to a healthier way of eating.

On another note, I forgot to thank all my dear readers and subscribers for your condolences on the passing of my beloved father and stepfather. Your outpouring of love, comfort and prayers comforted me and my family tremendously during this very sorrowful time.

Oh my, almost forgot two other things. I do hope our subscribers are enjoying the talking Ebook, “10 Success Habits to Swell Your Bank Account In 2006,” written by Michael Green and Peter Twist, given to you as a Christmas gift from me to you in December … if you haven’t already downloaded it, what are you waiting for? It’s a wonderful talking Ebook written by two very successful entrepreneurs, in which they give step-by-step advice on habits that they themselves have put into practice to achieve their success. It can still be downloaded at: http://www.howtocorp.com/success-habits-2006/princess24, believe me you won’t be sorry you have read their all-new talking Ebook. The Ebook is FREE so you have nothing to lose, but everything to gain by downloading it! Readers who aren’t subscribers can also read this talking Ebook for FREE by going to the link above.

Would you also like to know how to live a more positive life in the new year for you and your family? Well then, Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein, a positive psychologist and happiness coach, tells my dear readers how to be more positive in everything you do, and how to set goals to live a more positive life; plus she has great inspirational quotes, merchandise and books she has written that can be ordered right on her web site, The Enchanted Self.com. Her books and merchandise focus on you and everyone in your life, and can be bought at: http://www.enchantedself.com/cgi-bin/affiliates/aff.cgi?a=8. Her newest book, “Delight,” focuses on learning to love and enjoy yourself through life’s special moments, and is filled with emotional and delightful reminiscences that will charm you! To read more about her book, or to order Dr. Holstein’s beautifully, inspirational merchandise and other books, please click here. You won’t be sorry once you go to her web site; it comes highly recommended for anyone who wants to live a better life. And it will leave you feeling as if you visited a wonderland of positivity!

Now onward dear readers, to all my wonderful contributing authors, poets and writers…please do enjoy their poems, stories (long & short), haikus’ (a new form of flash fiction), and all the helpful informative articles our contributing writers have written especially for you! Believe it or not, while publishing our ezine, I, too, have learned a lot; just by reading through every submission sent. So I am hoping you will love this issue as much as I enjoyed reading and publishing it. Have a great February, and I’ll see you all in March!

This Issue Is Dedicated To:

Carman Peter Catalano (my dad) and Harold Clinton Welch (my stepdad), who are having their First Birthdays in Heaven this year…

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EDITOR’S CORNER:

Nancy Currie (formerly Peckford) – webwriterworx.tripod.com (under construction)

I have written an article about author/editor relationships that is intended to produce feedback from our readers but due to technical difficulties I will not be posting the article in this month’s ezine.

Look for the article in the March 2006 issue of The Cat’s Meow for Writers and Readers.

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OFF THE PRESS

Author Barbara Deming’s latest book, “Growing up Barefoot in the South (Essays by a Southern Writer)” has been released!

She says about her book, “Those of you who know me well, understand that this is a book dear to my heart. I always say that I am a Southerner first and an American second--those Southern roots go way, way back and are very deep despite the fact that I now live in California--well, at least it's Southern California. This book will carry you back to a time and place when life was simple, to small towns where the only rule of law was that everyone knew what you were doing--just the place for a tomboy who loved to get into mischief as well as climb mulberry trees to write. Take a trip back to those "good old days" where love for family, country and church were the values learned.”

The book is available at: http://www.amazon.com or http://www.barnesandnoble.com or an autographed copy from the author at tejasbabs@aol.com.

Barbara Deming, author (The Quilt Maker 2003).

“Absolutely the Last Resort” by Rose Anna Schoene is a novel of romance and suspense, set in the Catskill Mountains of New York, by one of America’s talented new writers who does double-duty as a medical secretary for an M.D. and is also helping her husband battle cancer right now. Her book publisher, Seaburn Press says there is one book left in print but more copies can be ordered at www.amazon.com or you can use the direct link at: Amazon.com: Absolutely the Last Resort: Books. Seaburn Press, ISBN: 1592320600.

Penknife Press introduces another new author: Paris Smith, who has written an international thriller entitled “Shafi Doldi,” that will have you turning pages late into the night. The ISBN is 1-59997-147-x. It is distributed by Baker & Taylor and Ingram, and is available at your local bookstore and online. Visit their website at: http://www.penknifepress.com

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COFFEE HOUSE 4 POETS & WRITERS™

(Highlighting Artistic Talent Every Month!)

“LOVE AND WAR”

(a poem)

Written by Heidi L. Metzger (“Dizzy”)

Life’s not fair when it comes

To love and war…

One minute things go your way,

the next thing you know they are at your throat;

Trying to kill you!

It seems that if you are happy,

everyone has to ruin it for you

and they want to make sure you can’t be

nor stay happy.

So when it comes to love and war,

Love the people you wanna be with

and fight the one’s off who hurt

and jeopardize your happiness.

All in the name of Love and war…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Heidi L. Metzger (a/k/a “Dizzy”), a mother of two beautiful sons, can be reached at dizzi6794@yahoo.com. Stay tuned for more of Heidi (“Dizzy”) Metzger’s emotional poetry to come…

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“SCATTERED REMNANTS”

(a poem)

Written by Paula Gordon

You never said forever

yet you seep in so slowly,

Pores not having time to open

before the sweat of you is gone.

I savor the glisten that

you leave upon me,

Moonlight casting sparkles

across still drenched skin.

I open up to you like a

blooming rose and you

pick each petal apart

So languidly, until I am

nothing but the scattered

remnants of having worn you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Paula Gordon, is a 43-year-old mother of one beautiful son. She has been deaf/mute since birth. When Paula writes, she translates sound into colors, smells, and touch. It enables people to look at the world in a different way. She and her son have their own special way of communicating besides sign language. She says: “I just try to convey what everyone else takes for granted.” She loves to write in strict poetry forms, and is a Poetry Instructor on another web site. She can be reached at: pdg2850@henderson.net.

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“Country Tales”

(a short tale)

Written by Sandra Hoynacki

Down the long grey slab we wind our way, as yellow crayon marks silently tell us what to do. We are spellbound by nature and its beauty.

The farm animals seem to be contemplating their next meal while we dwell on our rambling dreams. Tinker toy cabins stand in the open spaces shadowed with giant pecan trees that shed their little round gifts for Grandma’s pie. Yellow flowers stand waving on the other side of the fish pond as we pass, blowing fragrant messages to the deserted plot of ground lined with marble statues of used-to-be dreamers, now sleeping peacefully on the dreams of tomorrow.

Tangled webs of moss blanket the trees along the edge of the blue lake as the powder-white ducks glide gently toward the unknown. The tractor pauses in the glistening wheat field as the weather-beaten farmer, dressed in his old bib coveralls, waves and smiles...

We drive on as stick people in the drawing of the smallest hands, holding to our little edge of the chattering world, busy in our own bubble as the yellow lines lead us to nature’s hidden secret.

Wind swept messages are sending secret codes to trees with their bright golden covers as they appear to be conversing back and forth. The asphalt world of giant echoes left behind. We continue on as the hum of our dreams sing us a melody…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Sandra Hoynacki, lives in “the hurricane state” with her second husband, who, along with her four (4) grown children and two (2) grandchildren, is her very life! She is a retired nurse, who retired from the nursing profession to take care of her elderly mother who was diagnosed with alzheimer’s disease. But she still finds the time to write, because as she said: “I love writing, and hope to write for many years to come!” This very busy author also attended The Institute of Children’s Literature at-night. To read more of Sandra’s poetry, please visit her author web site at: http://www.poetrypoem.com/poetic2050; she can be reached via email at sandylh@cox.net.

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“CHILDHOOD”

(an essay)

Written by Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman

Today I wonder how I ever survived childhood, and grew up to be an ordained pastor, published writer and photographer. Actually, I know how this happened – I asked Jesus into my heart and had Godly parents and grandparents. You see as a child I would come home from school and watch a show called: “Dark Shadows”. I knew the difference between reality and fantasy. More important I knew the difference between right and wrong.

Now, for those of you who are too young to remember that show – it had all kinds of strange characters like a witch, a vampire, werewolf and many other strange characters. But, these characters were fantasy so they had no lasting effect on me. I still cherish the memories of getting home from school – grabbing a snack (yes I was a junk food junkie!) of a soft drink and a ding dong and settling back in my favorite chair and enjoying the show.

Today Dark Shadows has been replaced with Harry Potter and Goose Bumps. So, why do I have a problem with these books or shows? Personally I don’t have a problem because I know the difference between reality and fantasy and right from wrong. But, are the children in this generation being taught right from wrong and the difference between reality and fantasy? In most cases I would say yes – but for those who do not there is a danger reality will mix with fantasy.

Many years ago, I was a substitute teacher’s aide and I was in a special ed classroom for that day. I was to help out whenever needed. This teacher was reading from Goose Bumps and was not teaching it as fantasy. She was emphasizing how to cast spells, ect. She knew without me saying a word – I disapproved of it because she asked me to leave the room if her teaching offended me. So, I went to the main office and asked to be released from duty. They told me I could not leave the school grounds and to go to the lounge or just walk around until the school day ended.

I tried to do that – but my sense of right and wrong wouldn’t let me get paid for nothing and I was bored. So, they sent me to the library. They asked me to unpack cases of Goose Bump books. Finally, 3:00 came and I could go home. I prayed about the situation and the next morning I called the superintendent of schools. I explained what happened and asked if she would check into the situation I had encountered. She agreed to read a few Goose Bump books and to call me back with her decision. A few days later she called back and told me that she had found some things that were inappropriate in some books. So, they were going to read and review the books.

Every parent must make a decision about books or shows they will allow their children to watch or read. But, parents must give children a set of values so they will be able to make the right choices. In today’s society children are growing up too fast and they need to be allowed to have a childhood that has fantasy and imagination in it. But they also need to be taught the difference between fantasy and reality!

Parents need to remember the lessons learned in childhood are carried into adulthood. This is my personal view on things: if Christians (or People) would focus on spreading the good news of Jesus instead of condemning women pastors, ministries, and other Christians and stop spending so much time degrading books, ect., the world could be drawn to Jesus. It would be a better place! Satan doesn’t have to do a whole lot to cause confusion because Christians are doing it themselves when they talk about other ministries, ect.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman is the ordained pastor and founder of “Ring of Fire Evangelistic Ministry” in Olney, IL. She is the founder and manager of “Blue Jeans for Jesus” Thrift Store. You may visit the online thrift store at http://www.blujay.com/bluejeansforjesusthriftstore.

Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman is also a published author and her latest book is, “The Adventures of Faith, Hope and Love.” Her book may be enjoyed by children of all ages. Rev. Kimberly has also won awards for previous photography she has done. If you would like more information about Rev. Kimberly’s writing, please go to: http://www.writesight.com/writers/revkimberly. She can also be reached via email at revkimberly@aol.com.

“I AM AN ALIEN AND STRANGER IN THIS WORLD – A CHRISTIAN”

(an essay)

Written by Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman

As long as I can remember, I have been a stranger in this world. Even as a child, I saw things from a different perspective. I saw them through the spiritual eyes that God had blessed me with. I saw things from a spiritual perspective.

One example of how I am a stranger comes from my childhood memories. I grew up in a time when the women wore dresses and there were very few exceptions to that rule. I attended a local church and one day the pastor’s wife had a talk with mom. She told her to let me wear jeans to services. I liked wearing dresses and for a period of time, I felt uncomfortable but soon adjusted to the new style. I suppose the pastor’s wife felt I needed to fit in with the other children. But I never really fit in – I was always different than everyone else.

As a child, I would play school and make crosses out of play dough. I would invite the neighborhood children to church. I would even ask mom to give my clothes that I had outgrown to a neighbor child down the street.

The Lord and I had a close relationship in my childhood prayers. I would lock myself in the bathroom and kneel down to pray. I knew God had a plan for me and I never did enjoy things that did not glorify God.

Today, I am really an alien and stranger in this world because I am an ordained pastor and I am a woman. The Lord called me and I am not ashamed and I will stand firm for the Lord and continue in His service until I draw my last breath. I will not compromise to fit in or to receive donations. I am in the Lord’s army and I will follow His orders. I preach the truth and call sin: “Sin”. Someday, everyone will stand before the judgment seat of Christ, and will give account for their lives. Pastors and Christians need to wake up and hear the battle cry to serve the Lord and spread the good news of Jesus.

I Peter 2:11-12 “Dear friends, I urge you, as aliens and strangers in the world to abstain from sinful desires, which will wage war against your soul. Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day He visits”.

“SPIRITUAL WARFARE”

(an essay)

Written by Rev. Kimberly R. Dreiman

The bible teaches that the war is not against flesh and blood but against the ruler of the air as shown in: Ephesians 2:1-2 “As for you. You were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient”. Satan can come in many forms and is a great deceiver. I want to share an encounter I had with a high priest of Satan’s church.

Many years ago, I worked as a houseparent for a non-profit children’s home. I believe the Lord sent me there for many reasons. The job was rewarding because I was able to share Jesus with the children in my care, but it was also confining. I would work 30 days and then have 4 days off. So, you had to make friends with parents (for whatever reason, the children were at this facility instead of living with them) or with other houseparents.

I was from a small town and at that point basically trusted everyone. So, there was a parent of a child that let houseparents use his home to get off campus for a few hours. I went there a few times, but things just didn’t seem right.

He asked me out on a date and told me he was a pastor. Something still didn’t ring true, so I kept my distance. It was extremely scary because I would go to a shopping center and turn around and he was there.

Finally one day, he explained he was a high priest of Satan’s church. Of course, after I recovered from the shock, I stopped all communication with him and, of course, prayed for him. I don’t know what ever happened to him, but I do know this – no one would have known by looking that he was a high priest of Satan. He was a well-dressed man, and was very kind and compassionate.

People must realize Satan is the deceiver. God’s angels were protecting me! People from my hometown were holding me up in prayer. God guided my steps and protected me. This world is a difficult place to live in at this point in time. There is no standard of right and wrong and no set values. So that is why we must be as wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove. Read your bible daily, pray without ceasing and allow the Lord to guide your steps!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

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“HEARTACHE”

(a poem)

Written by Tammy Bruton

The day has come to see what we have made,

A boy or a girl – either will be okay.

Entered the Doctor’s Office, our whole family inside,

To see the child that likes to hide.

We find out there is no heart beat,

No movement of arms or feet,

My own heart wanting to cease,

My baby I wanted so bad, deceased.

I gave birth the natural way.

A little boy, that God has taken away.

The only thing keeping me sane;

Thinking that he is in a better place,

And I will see him again, Someday.

Mournfully, I left the hospital without my son,

With comfort from my loved ones.

Though my heartache still remains,

The love of my husband and children eases the pain,

Of losing my beloved Tyler.

“FREE”

(a poem)

Written by Tammy Bruton

I am sitting on my porch,

Rocking in my swing.

I am looking at the sky,

And in my line of vision,

A bird swoops in.

It seems like he is dancing,

As he sways and turns.

He opens his wings wider,

Looks like more air that he yearns.

He flies higher and higher,

Until he’s out of my sight.

Then he comes down fast,

A master of his own flight.

It must be nice having no boundaries,

The wind your only need.

Nothing to get in your way,

As you flutter your wings for more speed.

I long to be that bird,

Up there wild and free.

No more doors slammed in my face,

Just let me – be Me.

“LITTLE VOICE”

(a poem)

Written by Tammy Bruton

A little voice screams in my head,

Wake up child or you’ll soon be dead.

I struggle to become awake,

Wondering why my life is at stake.

Awake, I now realize,

my arms and feet, both are tied.

Panic stricken through every cell,

I can’t scream. I can’t yell.

A little voice screams in my head,

Calm down child or you’ll soon be dead.

I realize it’s hard to breathe,

I try to sit up. I try to leave – but I cannot even do that.

I hit my head, something hard and flat.

I feel around, feel nothing but wood.

Buried alive. I finally understood.

A little voice screams in my head,

It’s alright child you’ll get out.

Wondering how, I wiggle the ropes,

untie myself but have little hope.

I punch at the wood above my heart

and pray to God to help with this part.

I pray, I pray, I punch, I pray.

Finally the wood gives way.

A little voice screams in my head,

Move fast as dirt comes down so red.

I struggle and dig with my hands and feet,

as I sob and bitterly weep.

It seems like I will never get there,

then my fingertips brush cold air.

I push myself on top of the earth,

It feels like it’s my own rebirth.

A little voice softly speaks in my head,

You had faith in me, for you I have bled.

You listened to me in your most trying time,

a precious woman, so divine.

A little confused, all dirty and bruised,

I’ve been through hell, yet, I feel so well!

“MY LOVE”

(a poem)

Written by Tammy Bruton

Standing at the water’s shore,

watching the waves while they are dancing,

They separate, then mingle as one,

as if they are romancing.

Watching this reminds me of you,

how you gave me your heart and soul.

Combined to make one unit of strength,

accepted, we make each other whole.

The waves make me unsteady on my feet,

my mind, oh how they do possess.

I sit down to watch them more,

dancing and crashing with finesse.

Engulfing me with all that you are,

your name engraved into my heart.

Soothing my entire soul,

not always together, but never apart.

Now the sun goes down,

and the waves begin to subside

Merged together, forever,

our love entwined, survives.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Tammy Bruton, is originally from Aylesbury, England. Her mother and biological father divorced when she was 2 years old, a few years later her mother remarried a military man. They moved around England to different bases, until the last one took them to Lakenheath Air Force Base, where her stepfather then got shipped to Plattsburgh, New York. It was in New York, that she began to write poetry at school; she had joined the P.A.L. group to be a teen counselor at the ripe age of 13, and found that writing cheerful poems to the ones who came to her for help, helped them out a lot. She enjoyed seeing a smile on the faces of the children she helped. With her parents she moved again – to Fort Worth, Texas, and graduated from high school in 1993. Though Tammy has been married, divorced and remarried with six (6) wonderful children, she continues to write her poetry because she feels her life is complete and full of excitement now. She has settled down in Fort Worth, Texas with her current husband (whom she married in 2004) and six children, and can be reached via email at tamanddavbruton@sbcglobal.net.

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“WHEN TEARS FALL DOWN”

(a poem)

Written by Leon Basin

When tears fall down

onto the concrete I won’t cry

nor shed another darn tear because

When I envision, I glisten

to see you standing there alone?

Not alone but with a clown,

who looks exactly like you did before yesterday

It’s an enormous battle that keeps battling inside my mind

I am not in control, but I would like to be

I am scared to see things,

I am scared of falling off into a deadly hole

I hope for someone’s hand to reach for me,

to take me out, to take me in.

“PONDER ONTO A WORLD”

(a poem)

Written by Leon Basin

Ponder onto a world,

which is unknown to a mysterious magical being

who suffers from longitude of believing

I am expressing my thoughts,

that combine cynical connection

Fire burning through my veins

like pure ecstasy of fire

Burning for my desire

I’m in need of something new,

to comprise my energy upon

Wanting to touch her sweet strawberry hair

That makes me smile without despair.

Injecting the core with purity of gratification of my pen

Circular rotation of pronunciation of intoxicated red rose

It gets spread out through the hallway like

Sweet Mozart gentle tune

Humming the magical song inside my mind

I cannot believe I can fly

Up in the sky

Hoping to touch upon a soul

That connects into my brain like a voluptuous pain.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Leon Basin, attends De Anza College and is majoring in four (4) things: English, Technical Writing, Massage Therapy and Personal Training. He started writing when he was in the 10^th grade, due to his teacher inspiring him to continue on. Writing for him has become like breathing air, without it he is not able to get up and face the day. He has said he tries to improve everything he can in himself and his writing in order to achieve total success. Do check out Leon Basin’s web sites at: http://www.xanga.com/misterethoughts and http://www.myspace.com/micsterethoughts.

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“I WILL BE YOUR SOUL”

(a poem)

Written by Michelle Antoinette Obie

So little time, so much pain

Just give me your heart and let me go

I will be your soul that brought me

to life as we dance a sweet dance,

Sing a sweet song, as we move to the groove

Of our pain.

So little time, so much pain

Just give me your heart and let me go

Such mixed emotions, love is for real

I will be your soul that keeps us so close

“I AM NO LONGER GONE”

(a poem)

Written by Michelle Antoinette Obie

I am no longer gone as for my pain

I can’t hide the troubled thoughts

I have grown too old to fall in love,

To wise to love, I’m no longer afraid

To cry these sorrow sounds, these vanishing

Tears I once heard.

I am a woman with pride to be

Big bone, pride to be who I am.

I am no longer gone as for my pain

I can’t hide these tears no more,

I can’t drown my heart into fear anymore,

Fear itself is unexplainable,

The color of my skin has gone to black,

Too soft, too bright

I am no longer gone as for my pain,

I can not no longer hide,

These troubled thoughts

Of mine.

“I WILL NOT CRY”

(a poem)

Written by Michelle Antoinette Obie

I will not cry under the blue moon

Unless my heart tells me so

My love won’t last now

Unless I am free.

I will not cry when God tells us

It’s time to go

God once told me I would not cry

Until I am set free.

Because I know I once lived

My life the way he wanted me to be

But I will not cry unless my soul tells me so.

“IF I HAD WINGS”

(a poem)

Written by Michelle Antoinette Obie

If I had wings my sorrow would be over,

I wouldn’t have to cry these lonely tears of mine.

Why do I feel like crying when the world is against me?

If I run, the pain won’t go away and if I stay it will haunt me today.

If I had wings my sorrow would be over, the pain would go away,

If I had wings I would soar through the sky to mark my name

in the world for all to see.

I’m not a little girl anymore you see,

I came a long way to be free.

But my sorrow still haunts me

I never knew what love was like,

Because my heart wants to be free.

If I had wings, my sorrow would be over

I wouldn’t have to cry these lonely tears of mine.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Michelle Antoinette Obie, says that writing has always been a huge part of her life in one way or another. Growing up wasn’t always easy for her but she has learned that life has it’s ups and downs, and that when you keep the Lord first the Lord will always bring you a blessing in disguise…so if you are thinking about ‘giving up’ on your dreams, don’t! There is always someone out there who will encourage your dream(s). If you would like more information about the author or to read more of her poems, please go to Michelle’s new web site at http://home.bellsouth.net/p/PWP-writingforlove. If you would also like to send correspondence to Michelle, she can be reached at michelleobie@bellsouth.net.

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“FRUSTRATED FINGERS”

(loose-form haiku)

Written by Hal Sirowitz

Holding hands, our fingers

becoming excited.

Then she ruined it by removing her thumb.

“HOUSE PLANS”

(loose-form haiku)

Written by Hal Sirowitz

If a relationship is

like a house, then we never

Got out of the cellar.

“THE FAR SIDE GETTING FURTHER”

(loose-form haiku)

Written by Hal Sirowitz

We were on the far side of

happiness. But if it got any further away,

We could only get there by map.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Hal Sirowitz, is a 56-year old, former Poet Laureate of Queens, New York; a title he held for three years (January 2000 – December 2003)! To correspond with Hal Sirowitz, he can be reached via email at: minter.krotzer@verizon.net.

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“FADED FRIENDSHIP”

(a short story)

Written by Sandra Hoynacki

The wind had been blowing hard that day. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to finish the chores before the rain started. With mom and dad working in town, I was alone except for a day or two a week when Mr. John, our farm help, would come.

I had been jittery lately with that single faded rose coming in the mail. Every day it came wrapped neatly in a brown bag with no name or hint as to who had sent it. As the clouds rolled in, fear gripped my bones, and I looked up to see the mail wagon rattling down the skinny trail that led to our ranch. Muttering aloud to myself, I wondered, “Why did he stop today?”

Feeding the last horse, I looked up in time to see the mail carrier heading to our box. He placed a package inside, waved, and turned to leave as the thunder sounded like giant hammers beating from all directions. I stood there and looked at the bright yellow mailbox just a few paces down the road and thought, “No rose today.” With feet like lead, I trudged down the rocky road to get the mail.

Looking inside, I saw the package waiting like a snake to strike out. My breath smothered me, and I began to tremble. Today was different. The paper was tied in black string instead of the brown knotted rope. Reaching inside, I felt something hard. Easing the package out, I slowly untied the string and saw the black box. I stood there feeling that at any moment I would crumble into a pile of dirt on the wet ground. Fearfully lifting the lid, I saw a note folded in small squares. I could see the writing in blood red ink. I unfolded the paper. The words shouted out at me, “I will see you one day.” I dropped the note and reached inside the brown rolled-up bag, pulling out the faded rose. Someone had cut the thorns off and carefully wrapped them in tape before putting them under the rose. Feeling sick, I slumped to the ground.

The rain had started making its way down the front of my face as cold drops pounded me like little rocks. I sat staring at the thorns, the rose, and the box. The wind began to whisper, calling the blanket of darkness to close in overhead leaving the daylight flickering like a candle, a patch of light quickly gone.

I felt like a popsicle on a hot summer day as the rain continued to roll down every inch of my bony frame. Even the freckles on my nose would surely slide off. I jumped up and ran toward the house as darkness swallowed me up. Suddenly the headlights of a car burst through the night, coming from behind me.

“Jenny, what are you doing out here?” I recognized Dad’s voice. I turned to see both dad and mom.

“I was getting the mail and it…” I stammered.

“You’re soaking wet,” Mom said.

“Mom, it came again, the rose, and now there is a black box and thorns and…”

“Jenny, get inside now!”

The warmth of the kitchen and the hot cup of cocoa hugged close to my chest were comforting.

“Dad, can we go to the post office tomorrow and do something?” I asked.

“Alright Jenny, now settle down and go to bed. After breakfast tomorrow we’ll go.”

At the post office the next day, Dad explained to the postmaster what had been happening and gave him the evidence. The postmaster looked puzzled then quickly opened the desk drawer and pulled out a list. With the scrawl of the pen, we had an address.

The solution to my rose puzzle was minutes away now. Soon dad pulled up to a cobblestone cottage with a pearly-white picket fence. I suddenly felt like throwing up, but gulped down a breath of air instead. Rose bushes greeted us around the well-kept yard.

“Dad, this is not it,” I said, recognizing the house.

“Jenny, calm down.”

At the side of the porch I saw a wheelchair ramp.

“Dad, this is all wrong,” I said, my voice trembling. “Let’s just go, I don’t want to be here.”

“No, Jenny, we will face this now.”

We walked to the front door and rang the bell, it softly began to play, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The door opened, and there she sat in a wheelchair, small and fragile but beautiful. Since first grade we had been best friends.

“Jenny, I knew you would come.”

“Amy, I—.” Suddenly it all came lashing out at me, tormenting me all over again. I had dared her to make that dangerous jump. “Oh, Amy, I’m so sorry.”

“Jenny, I know you have blamed yourself for the accident all these years, and I blamed you, too, but now it’s over.” Tears streamed down our faces as we stared at one another. Dad stood silently behind me. I knelt by her chair and looked up at her Barbie-doll face.

“Amy, I have thought of you every day and not once since the accident have I rode Star again. I wish it had been me.”

“Jenny, my anger is gone. And my black box world is gone, too, along with the thorns of pain I have felt.” Like a broken fountain, we both cried and cried, knowing the faded roses were in the past as well as our faded friendship was.

“Dad, will you pick me up later?” I yelled as I pushed Amy down the wheelchair ramp and into the sparkling new day. Smelling the fragrance of the beautiful roses, we both began to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” as we made our way to the soda fountain for our favorite sundae.

Our brush with death stood silent between us as I pushed her quietly in her chair. Passing a row of beautiful flowers, I picked her a yellow rose. She smiled and gently smelled it… A yellow rose stood for friendship.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The author, Sandra Hoynacki, lives in “the hurricane state” with her second husband, who, along with her four (4) grown children and two (2) grandchildren, is her very life! She is a retired nurse, who retired from the nursing profession to take care of her elderly mother, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. But still finds the time to write, because as she herself has said: “I love writing, and hope to write for many years to come!” This very busy, new published writer also attended The Institute of Children’s Literature at night. To read more of Sandra’s poetry, please visit her web site at: http://www.poetrypoem.com/poetic2050; or she can be reached via email at sandylh@cox.net.

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“AMAZON TALE – JANYE’S AWAKENING”

(a short story, a modified slice from the author’s novel)

Written by Leya Irish Bard

She heard their voices…soft female tones close by. Pain, weakness and fear kept her eyes closed. One woman had just entered – telling the other she would stay.

Curiosity, and the scrape of a wooden stool, forced Janye to open her eyes. Blinking, Janye focused on a tall woman standing beside her. Her long red hair tied behind her, the Amazon known as Conori smiled softly. Janye scanned the other woman, much older, and perhaps a Healer by trade. Her eyes drifted again to Conori as she spoke.

“Hello, little one. You are safe now. No one will hurt you again.”

Janye tried to reply but pain spasms kept her quiet. She managed to nod and both women smiled. The Healer, a woman named Doris, urged her to sleep. She needed no further encouragement as her eyes closed…pain pulsing with her heartbeat. So tired … she no longer heard their words but sleep did not claim her. Her last memory, being beaten by Slave Traders, rolled through her mind. She remembered they wanted something … she’d refused. At last, sleep pulled her away to blissful darkness.

Hours later Janye awakened. She was on a soft bed lined with fur. A blanket folded around her. She was inside a wooden hut – dimly lit by faded sunlight through three windows. Doris entered and Conori rose from nearby. She’d been sleeping on the floor.

Watching both women, Janye remained silent. Instinctively she trusted them. I must have escaped somehow, or they found me. Conori sat beside her. Again her smile…reassuring and warm.

“My name is Conori. This is Doris. You are being cared for by Forrest Tribe Amazons. Last night we liberated you from the Slave Traders. They have been put to death.”

Janye understood each word. Mesmerized, she stared into Conori’s eyes. Amazon. She is an Amazon Warrior? She’d heard of them in hushed tones of awe. Fierce warriors known for killing men and robbing villages. But this woman didn’t fit that image. Beautiful and regal, she wore a flowing red gown that matched her hair.

Doris smiled brightly. “Her name is Janye. Avinia told me.” Janye remembered Avinia. They had both been taken from the same village. She’d befriended her and helped the other slaves when she could. Seven women had been herded as cattle for slaughter. The highest bidder in Athens would have his choice.

Closing her eyes, Janye remembered Albus. Her stepfather. He died trying to save her. Too much. I must not think of him.

Conori was handing her a cup. “I have water for you.” Conori watched the young woman carefully take the cup, moving slowly, her blue eyes rarely leaving her. Janye’s face was swollen and bruised. She was lucky to be alive. One so young should not suffer…a mere girl. Perhaps 15 turns? Janye’s small size made it hard to know her age.

She was, however, older at 17. Suitors had started to approach Albus, who angrily drove them away. He had told her she was too pretty. He should have chosen an ugly girl. She’d laughed and hugged him close.

The oxen farmer had rescued her from an orphanage many turns before, and she loved him dearly. Janye returned the cup. Conori’s voice was warm. “Maybe if you’re lucky we might give you food.” Janye smiled, a small smile but it was there. Doris beamed at her patient. “I will bring you some soup.”

Departing, Doris saluted her Queen. Janye noticed the gesture. Conori must be their leader. Tired again, without wanting to, Janye closed her eyes in slumber.

Doris was waiting with food when Janye opened her eyes. She refused to eat…turning her head away. “Child, you must eat.” Doris pleaded, setting the food beside her on a small table. Pursing her lips tightly she gave up and left to see Conori.

Doris was upset. She paced the dressing room as her Queen changed into a light leather tunic. Brushing her long red hair, Conori wore it down – a softer look that matched her mood. “She won’t eat, and is still not talking.” Doris complained.

Conori watched her Healer continue to pace. “Have you given her potions for the pain?” Conori asked calmly.

“Yes… of course” came the terse reply.

Conori nodded. “Doris, your potions will turn any one’s stomach. Skip them for now.” Facing her Healer, Conori stopped her pacing by placing both hands on her shoulders. “We will let her rest tonight. You also. You are not to re-enter this hut until morning.” Doris started to protest, but her Queen had a look that meant she’d made her decision.

Amazon Elonia, holding something in her hand, requested to meet with her. Handing the Queen a strange flute with several different sized tubes running horizontally she spoke. “We have been going through the Slave Trader’s wagons for items to sell or barter – Avinia has been helping me. When we found this flute Avinia said it belongs to Janye. I thought you would want it.”

“Yes” taking the flute. “This might help her to heal. To trust us. Thank you Elonia.”

Looking at the flute, Conori lit a candle. The day was turning into nightfall – it seemed to pass too quickly today. Two knocks at her door brought Diana, the Amazon who organized the tribe activities, carrying her dinner. Accepting the food, she asked Diana to meet with her in the morning. Diana agreed and left her Queen.

Holding the candle in one hand, the flute in the other, Conori entered the bedroom. Janye’s reaction to the flute was profound. She struggled to sit up, reaching for it, whispering “That is mine.” Janye had thought her flute lost… the only thing she treasured in her life.

Conori rushed over, immediately placing it in her hands. Janye hugged the flute, tears starting to flow. “Thank you. Thank you.” Albus had given it to her and taught her to play.

Conori was almost brought to tears as well, seeing Janye suddenly so emotional. “I am glad I could return it to you, little one. Do you need food or water – can I bring you something?”

Janye’s blue eyes seemed to look right through her. “No. This is enough. Thank you.”

She wanted so much to talk with Janye, help her in some way, but her heart told her to leave her alone. Moving away, she decided to go to bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

Extinguishing the candle, Conori took off her clothes and slipped naked into sleeping furs along the wall. Conori could still see Janye’s blue eyes full of tears, clutching the flute. Dreaming of that, Conori fell into a deep sleep.

Janye’s dream was anything but peaceful.

A scream pierced nightfall, waking Conori and others in the camp. Lighting a candle with flint, Conori found her still locked within her dream. Gently touching Janye’s shoulders with both hands, Conori sought her release. “Janye. Janye. It is a dream. You are safe.”

Blonde hair damp with sweat, Janye’s eyes finally did open. Breathing rapidly, she stared right through Conori… her hands gripping Conori’s forearms.

“Janye… You are in the Amazon camp. You are safe here.” I am safe here. Closing her eyes, Janye loosened her grip and relaxed. It was a dream. A bad memory.

Doris, followed closely by Diana, entered the bedroom. “What has happened?” Both women wore matching nightgowns – concern etching their faces.

Conori nodded at both, leaving one hand on Janye’s shoulder. “A bad dream. Nothing more. She is fine now.” Conori stood as she realized more Tribeswomen were coming. “Diana, Doris, please tell the others all is well. I do not need you here.” Bowing, both women left… Doris reluctantly being pulled away. Janye took Conori’s hand. “Sorry,” her breathing finally returning to normal.

Conori sat again by her side. “Little one, you have nothing to be sorry for. All is well.” Janye focused on Conori now, smiling slightly as gentle fingers brushed damp hair from her forehead.

“Do you need to talk about it?” Conori asked gently.

Body tightening, eyes suddenly wide, “No … No.” Fear gripped Janye … breathing short and painful.

Conori took her hand. “It is okay, little one. I mean you no harm.” Relaxing again, Janye knew this. She took Conori’s hand with both her own – holding it tightly to her chest.

After a few moments, Conori drew her hand away. “Sleep, little one. A dreamless, safe sleep.” Janye nodded, blue eyes still following Conori as she sought the candle and extinguished it.

These dreams tortured Janye for three nights in a row. The third night, Janye sobbed convulsively afterwards, and Conori held her close, rocking her back and forth.

Doris wanted to move her to the Healers Hut. “I can treat her. Give her something for sleep.” Conori knew Doris meant well, but disagreed.

“She trusts me the most. She will stay for now.”

In the front room, just before dawn, Queen Conori had written a list of tasks to be completed. Filling out the scroll by candlelight, she was stunned when Janye entered. The girl was holding the doorway to stay upright.

“Janye, please you shouldn’t be walking,” Conori put her arms around her for support. Janye leaned against her. In a soft reply she asked, “Please, can I sit at the table?” Conori pulled a chair out – almost knocking it over in haste, and then helped the girl sit down. Frightened, Conori touched Janye’s forehead, fearing she had a fever.

Janye saw the concern in her eyes. “I am fine, Conori. I could not lie down any longer. I saw the candlelight and decided to come here.” Still wrapped in a blanket, Janye looked fragile – ready to collapse at any moment. But her spirit was obviously stronger. “Tell me what you are writing about.”

Unrolling the scroll, she read her list as though briefing Janye like a regular Amazon receiving orders. Conori paused several times – adding explanation when she knew Janye was unsure what she meant.

Janye watched her in wonder. She had never seen any woman like her before. You are amazing. Beautiful. Strong. To serve you would be an honor.

Not knowing Janye’s thoughts, Conori said, “Now are you thankful you are not an Amazon?” Janye smiled softly, flinching slightly because it hurt to do so. Asking about her rescue, Conori told her everything. Janye looked away, finally saying, “They wanted me to play my flute, and I refused. That is the last thing I remember, before waking up here. Seeing you.”

Both women looked at one another. Lightly touching Janye’s arm, Conori spoke softly. “I have a favor to ask you.” She paused, continued. “If Doris catches you here she will yell at me.”

Janye couldn’t help but smile. Conori returned it. “If I prop you up, will you return to your bed?” Janye nodded, already starting to stand. Her strength, however, did fail. She would have fallen if not for Conori pulling her into her arms, and carrying her back to the bed.

“I’ve got you, little one. Back to bed with you.”

Sitting her there, Conori grabbed two of her sleeping furs. Rolling them up like pillows, she placed them behind Janye so the girl was comfortably in a sitting position. Thankfully, she appeared to be just sitting by Janye’s bed when both Doris and Diana entered the room. Conori dropped her head and exhaled in relief. Thank the gods. Just in time.

Janye laughed softly, and smiled at both women in greeting.

Diana briefed her Queen in the front room as Doris examined her patient. Five of the seven former slaves wanted to remain. But no one had yet to discuss Janye’s situation. Conori knew she wanted Janye to stay, but she must have a family. Someone loves this girl dearly. It would be hard not to.

“Diana. We need to ask her.”

Knowing the girl was fit enough now to express her desires, Conori and Diana entered the bedroom. Conori gestured to Diana, not wishing her desires to influence the girl.

Conori looked out a window as Diana began. “Janye, some of the former slaves have asked to be returned to their villages… to a regular society. Once you are well, we can offer that to you if you desire.”

Janye moved as though to stand, drawing protests from Doris to remain in bed. Her movements caused Conori to look away from the window and at Janye. Blue eyes caught her own and held them captive. She didn’t want to leave. She would do anything – anything they asked of her.

“I want to stay here Conori. With you.” Janye directed these words at Conori, just as though they were alone.

“Then you will stay Janye, and be welcomed in our Tribe.” The Queen’s tone left little doubt of anything else. Diana and Doris looked at one another, not exactly sure what had just happened.

Six more days passed. Janye insisted on walking, bathing herself, and attending to her own needs. She explored the Amazon camp seeing not just the warriors, but women planting, harvesting, caring for animals, working looms, making food, hunting and fishing. The Tribe had two communal meals each day, which Diana supervised with the help of others. The Community thrived with everyone contributing in some way. By mid-day, Janye would tire.

Although she tried to avoid Doris, the Healer would find her, and demand rest until the evening meal. She would awaken when Conori returned to the hut. The Queen stayed active each day, checking boundaries by horseback or joining others in their duties.

Janye cherished their time alone. She felt at ease with Conori…less scrutinized. Natural curiosity about the Tribe, their ways and customs, fascinated her. She asked Conori questions, sometimes until late at night. Both women enjoyed these talks – Conori seeing her Amazon life through Janye’s eyes.

One evening, Janye seemed more reflective. The girl would look ready to speak, and then stop as though words were lost.

Conori finally caught her attention. “You wish to ask me something.” Conori was sitting at her table, curious what Janye had on her mind. “Yes,” replied Janye. She sat across from Conori. “I have seen some Tribeswomen affectionate with one another. Kissing.” She paused slightly, “But there are also children.” She’d seen two girls, perhaps five turns old, playing with a small goat. An Amazon named Kyme watched them indulgently.

Conori smiled. Yes that would need explanation. Now it was Conori’s time to find words. “Amazons will have loving bonds with one another if they desire. Some do want the company of men, or wish children. So they seek their…attentions in local villages. Men are not allowed within our Tribe, though.”

Janye wanted to know more. “Do you bond with another now, or in the past, who…” She could not finish her question, suddenly embarrassed to ask. Dropping her eyes, she felt she had said too much.

Conori watched her; aware Janye was uncomfortable and suddenly shy. Her reply was factual.

“In the past, I have enjoyed the company of women. I have been alone for four turns. I lost a woman I loved when she fell from a horse.” Janye started to apologize, which Conori quickly interrupted. “No Janye, I do not mind your questions. We all have past pain that should be shared. We grow in friendship that way.”

Janye had not told her about Albus. The loss was still too raw, too gaping inside to allow healing. Not yet.

Both women sat there for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Conori finally stood, gently placing one hand on Janye’s shoulder. “It grows late. Doris will be very angry if she sees you tired.” Janye smiled, knowing the Healer did indeed monitor her closely each day. Both women entered the bedroom. Conori noticed her sleeping furs were now on her bed, with Janye’s moved to the far wall. Janye had switched them. “My Queen, I am well enough to return your bed to you. Thank you for your kindness to me.” Janye blew out the candle before Conori could reply or even argue.

Working daily with Doris and Diana, Janye now wore a simple leather dress gathered around her waist with a leather tie. Her hair either braided or tied back lightly from her face. She felt a sense of belonging, unity she had never known before.

Diana was finally compelled to move Janye into Doris’s Hut. Conori was, after all, the Queen of their Tribe. “Janye, as our Queen … Conori’s Hut is limited to those…” Diana seemed to fumble her words, so