The Friday Poem: A Meal in the Wild

The Friday Poem: Writing in Circles

The Friday Poem: A Love Note to the World

I don’t know who I was “channeling” but this is one of those poems that just popped into my head. I heard Nat King Cole singing “It’s Almost Like Being in Love” in my head, picked up the beat, and out poured this poem. If you like it, please share it.

The Friday Poem: Post Storm

May the notes of longing in your heart be sweet this season.

Merry Christmas to all who are celebrating!

The Friday Poem: Am I Happy

The Friday poem: Return: Sept. 2020

ReturnSept2020

Author Events and Book Updates

BookSigning

This weekend, we had FIFTEEN authors at my library reading from their books, as well as swag, food, and door prizes. I woke up incredibly nervous that morning, but thanks to help from friends, it went off without a hitch.

I had a spot myself to sell signed copies of my poetry book, “A Sanctuary Built of Words.”

I also put up a sheet offering free Advanced Reader Copies of my upcoming paranormal romance in exchange for an honest review. Earthbound will be out in January and I need to get people talking about it.

Earthbound is on pre-order sale right now for just 99 cents and will be $3.99 when it releases in mid-January.

It is an ebook, available on most all platforms. You can check it out on Tirgearr Publishing at http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora/earthbound.htm

(By the way, contrary to what the mug says, I don’t correct anyone’s grammar . . . unless they ask me to.)

Happy Wizarding, Harry, um, I mean Writing

MamaAndBaby

I feel like I have nothing to say today. My munchkin got me up at 4:30 this morning. I just want a nap. So, I give you a poem I wrote when she was a new baby that seems rather appropriate and a link to a favorite inspiring LiveJournal post from Jim Butcher on The Most Important Thing An Aspiring Writer Needs to Know. May the weekend find you time to write.

A Mother’s Weary Vigil

Just after midnight

small heels beat a Morse code

of defiance into the mattress.

I am not tired.

I will not sleep.

Even though

mere moments before

or perhaps after

chubby cheeks and hands

folded in repose on mama’s lap

angelically spoke of

sweet dreams.

Oh, but what transpires

between the rocker and the crib?

Eyes and mouth pop open,

screams or laughter,

legs kick.

I am not tired!

I will not sleep!

Mama returns to the rocker

her weary vigil to keep.

The April Countryside and Narrative Magazine’s Sixth Annual Poetry Contest

Thought I’d share a poem for a Sunday morning. I don’t write poetry much but occasionally my mind turns to it, like it did one April day this Spring while driving along. If you write poetry or know someone who does, you might want to be aware of the Narrative Magazine Sixth Annual Poetry Contest. Check it out for yourself or share it with someone you know.  Thanks for reading!

The April Countryside

Gray April skies shower an inconsistent drip.

Follow a winding ribbon of gray

up the hill then down as it drops away.

Matted yellow grass, freed from blankets of snow

fills the pasture, greening at water’s edge.

Last year’s corn stubble dots the muddy field,

bare limbs move restlessly as

clinging dried orange leaves shudder-shake.

Old out buildings stand slant-sided,

unable to resist the ravages of winter

while, older still, a barn that could

squats solidly in the middle of a field.

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