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Linda PhoenixMy Mom passed away a few weeks ago. A few days later my Brother in Law passed away too. My heart is heavy and I don't know how to move forward. Forgive me, but I'm not sure I can be here right now.
September 18, 2015
Linda PhoenixMy book is taking a back seat to family issues and work. So far back, it's in a bus far behind me. But words cannot be stilled in my soul. I crave the writing. The words leach out grasping whatever is close.
February 1, 2015
Linda PhoenixI've been so focused on finishing my book by "this" date, that then becomes the new "this" date, that I have forgotten to listen to the voices. I'm putting pressure on myself that isn't necessary. Because of this I have actually pulled... moreI've been so focused on finishing my book by "this" date, that then becomes the new "this" date, that I have forgotten to listen to the voices. I'm putting pressure on myself that isn't necessary. Because of this I have actually pulled back from writing. Defying myself. My own worst enemy. Think I need to have a talk with myself!!!
When all is said and done I want to write. However, earning a living takes priority I have no idea if it's possible for me to earn enough from writing. Especially since I have not yet published anything. And my current job takes about 50-60 hours a... moreWhen all is said and done I want to write. However, earning a living takes priority I have no idea if it's possible for me to earn enough from writing. Especially since I have not yet published anything. And my current job takes about 50-60 hours a week.
Is it possible for some to earn enough? Yes it is. However, statistics show that a mere single digit percentage of writers earn enough to make it their full time career. I sincerely hope you are one of those.
I started on paper with black ink. Moved to an Ipad. Always carry notebook with me since ideas come at the oddest times. I have a dozen or so of the spiral bound colored index cards. Take them with me when I'm on a plane.
Similar as Mandi. There is something very sensual about holding a book in your hands. Laying it upon your chest as you imagine being in that time and place. There are specific authors whose books I will always buy in paper. Others that are a whim or... moreSimilar as Mandi. There is something very sensual about holding a book in your hands. Laying it upon your chest as you imagine being in that time and place. There are specific authors whose books I will always buy in paper. Others that are a whim or for research are fine in ebook.
Linda PhoenixThis was written about a male character in a book.
Tears flowed from my mind. There would be no tomorrow. My heart was bereft. My mind drifted into the darkness of loneliness. I could not go on. Not one more day. Not one more breath. I begged my heart to... moreThis was written about a male character in a book.
Tears flowed from my mind. There would be no tomorrow. My heart was bereft. My mind drifted into the darkness of loneliness. I could not go on. Not one more day. Not one more breath. I begged my heart to stop beating. Why must you defy me you withered mass of hopelessness.
I am that I am. Why must you keep my feet shackled in this earth bound body. I beg of you to let me go. Let my wings spread so that I may soar across the fields.
I gingerly step into the air so light upon my soul. Looking down upon the wetlands. Seeing the mountains from above as I alight upon a cloud.
I soar further out to sea. Watch the whales flap their tails at me. Oh you silly thing you cannot hope to gain freedom in the skies. I am disdained by their exclamations and leave them behind to wallow in their simplicity.
I gain land once again. Only to be harkened upon the cliffs of Ireland. The mists wash away my tears. The greens of the fields fill my heart with gladness. The songs are fragrant with lilting tongues. Yet this land is empty of what I need. Again I must go.
Maybe here or there I will find peace. I search the hills and the valleys. I search the caves of Greece. The old ones whisper their tales of Gods and gold and lovers unknown. Yet again I must go.
Maybe here in the deep rain forest between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. Where the air is laden with nurturing life. The leaves and trees speak not of what I know. Yet again I must go.
Ah, the desert. The desert with its pristine sands and winds. Maybe here is the peace I search for. No. The winds whip a furious tale that strips the soul. Yet again I must go.
The rainbow arcs so high. Its bright colors beckon me close. At its end a pot of gold I can trade for my quarry. The color fades before the end can be reached. Once again I must go.
My wings flutter under the burden of my pain. I clatter to earth and tumble in the grass. Sitting amidst the Gloriosa Daisy and Evening Primrose, I lay back. Stretching my worn body in the bed of their of fragrance they cover me.
I awaken to the sound of voices. Multitude of voices. Their sounds daring upon the winds to reach me. Crisp voices. Quiet mumblings. Sing song murmurs. Oh what is this place that whispers of love, and death. Of color and scents. Of lovers in the night. Of a baby's desperate cries. Of sights and sounds I know not of.
Pushing myself to reach this place. Pushing myself to escape the confines of my scented bed. My arms reaching out. Begging for entrance. The doors swing open. Welcoming voices I can hear.
Children laughing. The clinking of utensils as a meal is being devoured. They smile at me. Gesturing me to come further into the room. Offering me to partake of their generosity. He stands in the corner watching me enter. I can feel his breath upon my soul. He beckons me closer with nary a word.
Their lives are mine if I so have a mind to take. Their family is odd with its tinker toy soldiers. Their music is odd as it fits not their origin. Their love is pure but not of blood.
Why have you brought me here I hasten my query. My eyes upon the one who stands furthest away. A male so delightful in vision tells me a tale of a wandering warrior. A warrior who travels not where they could. A warrior so strong of mind it brings others to life.
I look upon another male who sings with his soul. He spins his song to make this tale more. Yet another one enters whose eyes are aglow. His words are not spoken. His meaning is yet clear. He leads me to the one in the shadows.
Yet as I turn away from the King and his Queen one more doth enter and kneel at my feet. This one is different from all of the rest. These eyes I know. This smile is familiar.
This face is of mine own. I have made a long journey to be here. A journey many are not willing to make. He waits for me. The one in the corner. I stand tall and true of mine heart. My steps are sure and quick.
As I approach him, he smiles. A gentle smile. Yet his eyes are sad. So broken is his heart. He takes my hands in his. Turns them over. Lays a kiss upon my palms. So gentle they felt like a whisper.
He leans towards me. I feel his very breathe upon my face. His body is warm. His scent is decadent. His hand caresses my jaw. He whispers in my ear.
"I have waited so long for you. Only you can give me life. I am nothing without you. There is no substance without you."
I reach for him. His spine is straight and firm in my hand. The breadth and width of him takes away my breath. The color of his essence sweeps through my eyes. As I reach to touch his face my mind is swirling in delight at the adventures we shall share. My womanhood contracts knowing he will fill me to my core. My heart swells at the love we will find between the sheets.
Finally. I have found you. You were here all this time. Waiting for me. As I walk to the bed to lay down with my hero, my breathing slows, my heart beats a healthy rhythm. My eyes are moist, my hands are shaking. My fever has broken.
I open the pages of my favorite book. My love takes me away once again. We live. We laugh. We love between the pages of his book. less
September 19, 2014
Linda PhoenixWritten for a friend whose son passed away.
Where have all the days gone? The days of jumping in rain puddles. The days of blowing bubble gum balloons.
Where have all the days gone? The days of tickles and giggles. The days of whispering best friends.
Where... moreWritten for a friend whose son passed away.
Where have all the days gone? The days of jumping in rain puddles. The days of blowing bubble gum balloons.
Where have all the days gone? The days of tickles and giggles. The days of whispering best friends.
Where have all the days gone? The days of dances on Daddy's shoes. The days of Mommy's simple rules.
Where have all the days gone? They are still here my friend. They are in your heart closest to your soul.
Where have all the days gone? They are still here my friend. In your mind just a thought away.
Where have all the days gone? They are still here my friend. In the picture book you hold so dear.
Where have all the days gone? They are still here my friend.
Where have all the days gone? They are still here my friend.
I will hold your hand so you don't lose your way. Think of him. Remember him. Rejoice in his memory.
The days are not gone my friend. The days are alight with his soul in heaven.
The days are not gone my friend. His wings are spread wide with his eyes upon you.
The days are not gone my friend. His smile is wide as he sees other loved ones. His spirit is bright amongst the angels who adore him.
Hydrawolf
Donna has gotten out of surgery and is in recovery now
Mandi Konesni
Do you enjoy writing poetry? Are you interested in having some of your poems published in an anthology? Cree Nations with House of Dark Angel Publishers is looking for you!
If you'd like to hear more, the original post is here-
https://www.facebook.com/CreeNations/posts/512139422494903
And the profile to contact is here-
https://www.facebook.com/CreeNation
I've asked her permission to post here on Lit Social as well, so she knows some of us may be coming from hereIf there's enough interest, there may be multiple anthologies planned, so this gets us first dibs on any slots for the next ones as well!
When all is said and done I want to write. However, earning a living takes priority I have no idea if it's possible for me to earn enough from writing. Especially since I have not yet published anything. And my current job takes about 50-60 hours a week.
Is it possible for some to earn enough? Yes it is. However, statistics show that a mere single digit percentage of writers earn enough to make it their full time career. I sincerely hope you are one of those.
I started on paper with black ink. Moved to an Ipad. Always carry notebook with me since ideas come at the oddest times. I have a dozen or so of the spiral bound colored index cards. Take them with me when I'm on a plane.
Similar as Mandi. There is something very sensual about holding a book in your hands. Laying it upon your chest as you imagine being in that time and place. There are specific authors whose books I will always buy in paper. Others that are a whim or for research are fine in ebook.
