The waves cascade to
the white-sanded beach.
Life is beautiful.
Until the night.
When the sun bows its head,
And the moon takes its place.
Dark waves pound the shore
with relentless fury.
And the night brings
The Dead Walking.
THE DEAD GAME
HAIKU OF GOODBYE
The galaxy shines,
In awe of the human race.
It makes my heart race.
I cannot see far,
But I know what is right here.
It’s not far from here.
Heaven covers us,
Protects above and below.
To it, I must go.
Goodbye to my friends.
Time comes to an abrupt end.
I shine for each friend.
by zeewipark
Tranquility I seek
In the water so deep.
The moonlight’s glow,
The wave’s salty flow,
Even the whale’s blow,
Bring me to a special place,
As soothing as a lover’s embrace.
Cold fingers hold me aloft
In a bed so watery and soft.
This is day 30, the last day of the blogging challenge. It has ruled my life for the past month, and I will feel lost without it. The challenge achieved its purpose: to bring back my love for writing. I haven’t written poetry or my book for the past year and needed an outlet to inspire me. Writing every day for thirty days has shown me that I can do it. And I will do it.
In my blog posts, I returned to events I remember most fondly.
Vacations with my daughters in Wildwood, New Jersey.
Vacation in Jamaica with my oldest daughter and son-in-law.
Vacation with my younger daughter and son-in-law in the Dominican Republic.
Visiting with family.
Happy days when Nounous was healthy.
People I loved and lost.
People I will never forget.
People I respect and have come to love, including the Rave Reviews Book Club members. They have become family to me, reading and responding to my long-winded posts.
Thank you, my new family, for participating in the RRBC Blogging Challenge, and a big thanks to Nonnie Jules for organizing this fantastic event.
Please visit my fellow RRBC bloggers at https://ravereviewsbookclub.wordpress.com/rrbc-member-chat/
We’ve reached the homestretch of the blogging challenge. I am not a poet or claim to be one, but poetry has been an outlet for my feelings, and I will share a few with you.
| WASH AWAY MY PAIN Please wash away my sorrow and pain. Let it flow down the streets with the rain, Dissolved in torrents of despair and sadness, Joining others on their way past the madness. The ocean may take it far away, To places we cannot even say, Where no one recognizes its sting Or knows the infliction it can bring. Let the rain grow harder with its might, Becoming hail on this fateful night. I want to be free of all traces Of unwanted feelings and faces. My body grows cold from the rain. I stand clean and free from the pain. Shivers create a path down my spine As I wait in the dark woods of pine. I hold my head high to the wet spray. It becomes a mist of blue and gray. The faucet has been turned off for the night, Leaving me feeling clean and all right. |
MURDERS AND LOVERS
I don’t need to fight the snowdrifts.
I’ll stay inside with the misfits.
The ones who prefer books
that grab you with their hooks.
The fire is getting low
as the strong winds begin to blow.
I snuggle farther beneath the covers
as I read about murders and lovers.
SOLITUDE
A rare commodity is solitude.
It can be easily misunderstood.
To be all alone with no one else around.
You can do this in the air or on the ground.
You can sail off in the blue sea,
Or hop on a plane without me.
We can all use some time alone
Without T.V. or telephone.
Time to think about your goal.
You will come back feeling whole.
A Darkness To My Soul
The black abyss grabs hold,
Taking me to its soul.
Reflections of hell and beyond,
Pushing me deep and far.
Away from the light of day,
I have no need to pray.
Take me to the bottom,
Where no human has tread.
Away from humanity and light,
I have made my dark bed.
CLOSER TO THE BLUE
Puffy clouds appear far and few
In the aqua sky, so brand new.
I sink deeper into the white sand,
My heart beats like a marching band.
If I close my eyes tight,
will I see paradise this night?
It takes me back to the time
When everything had been fine.
Fantasy, I beseech thee.
Return me so I can roam free.
Take me back to the shore.
Where I’d been happy before.
SING ME A SONG
Sing me a song.
Write a melody
Of times gone by
And moments lost in time.
Stroke the keys.
Massage the ivories.
Raise your voice high
So I can hear your words.
Words of hope and loss.
Sing them loud and clear.
Stories of faraway places
And times that are gone.
I close my eyes.
I can hear your words.
I see your fingers as they
Glide across the keys.
The words take flight.
They reverberate through time.
They leave your lips
And land on mine.
A sweet melody
To soothe my advancing years.
A pretty song
To fill my empty heart.
WHITE BLANKET
Look to the glowing skies,
Magic before my eyes.
Snow flutters to the ground
Without even a sound.
Masking the dirt with white,
So pretty and so bright.
I hope it can remain this way,
A blanket for one more day.
Thank you for joining me as I shared a sample of my poetry. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed composing them.
I’ve reached the tenth day of the blogging challenge, and I’m amazed I’ve made it this far. And look above, I received a Blogger Award. Since the challenge is to inspire us to write about our days, I’ll share what I do with my time.
Besides food shopping, I have excursions with my dog to the vet or the park. Since he has diabetes and Cushing’s Disease, we visit the vet more often. Nounous doesn’t enjoy walking on the sidewalk since he trips on everything since he lost his sight to cataracts. I visited the park near his vet two months ago when I was getting his medicine. When I spotted people walking their dogs, I was surprised since dogs were never allowed in this park, and I searched for signs, and there weren’t any prohibiting dogs. The park I usually visit, which has the outdoor pool I use in the summer, doesn’t allow dogs and sports huge signs stating that fact. Since then, I’ve been walking Nounous around the small lake in the park when the weather isn’t too cold. I’m waiting for the weather to brighten later this week for me to take him on Thursday.
I miss going out with my friends since my husband refuses to see them on Saturday nights, saying he’s tired from work. Whatever. My friends work during the day and see their families on Sundays, so it’s hard to see them. During the summer, I met them at the pool. If it wasn’t for Covid, I’d spend most of my days at the indoor pool, not far from my house, but I’m afraid of catching Covid. I was exposed to one person who had it, my husband, and I was sick three days after him and three weeks longer than him. I’ve never had any resistance to colds or viruses.
My daughters live in New Jersey and Connecticut, and since I don’t drive on the highway, it’s been challenging to see them. Hopefully, they’ll visit when their newborns get older. Covid and RSV have limited a few of our planned events. We haven’t celebrated Chanukah yet with our grandchildren, and I told Ezra, my oldest daughter’s four-year-old, we had more presents for him and that Chanukah would be extended through January.
I use my free time to create book banners and trailers and then share them on social media. This past year, I edited my work in progress a few times but am still waiting to feel the urge to continue writing it. The reviews on the first book in the series asked for more background on the Penobscot Indians, and I always listen to my reviews. I read everything I could find on the Penobscot, but I might have outlined and researched too much for this book that I’ve lost the creative drive to finish.
I tell myself to be happy I have my health and my daughters and grandchildren and to use my loneliness to write better books. This challenge has pushed me to write daily, and I hope to continue this productive habit.
Thank you for joining my blogging challenge. Please visit my fellow RRBC bloggers at https://ravereviewsbookclub.wordpress.com/rrbc-member-chat/
CHAPTER 8
Were Elizabeth and Scarlett ready to buy an inn and settle in Maine? Scarlett wasn’t so sure of the answer.
Scarlett’s car bumped along the winding road, farmhouses peeking at us from behind thick clusters of trees and bushes, the afternoon sun warming the inside of the vehicle with its hazy glow.
“Are you sure you know the way?” I asked. “I thought the inn was in Blue Harbor.”
“It is.” Scarlett squinted at me. “Not everyone lives near the main harbor.”
Ten minutes later, she said, “We’re here.”
A red-bricked building appeared between two thick groves of maple trees. A lush green lawn and white picket fence fronted the house. Four wide steps led to the wrap-around porch, dotted with white wicker chairs and tables. A chubby, middle-aged woman stood on the top step between two white pillars supporting the steep overhang.
“That’s Lucy Green.” Scarlett parked on the graveled driveway to the right of the house.
Lucy descended the steps, wiping her hands on the yellow frilled apron tied around her waist. “I’m happy you could meet with me today, considering the recent excitement.” Her short, brown curls fluttered in the cool breeze as she crossed the blue paving stones to the driveway.
“We were at the ice cream parlor when the guy ran inside bleeding.” Scarlett halted in front of her. “The customers ran from the place screaming and yelling.”
“How awful.” Lucy wrung her hands. “I hope you’re still interested in my inn.”
I drew alongside Scarlett. “We’re rethinking our move to Blue Harbor.” I ignored Scarlett’s sidelong glare. If Lucy believed we were reconsidering, she might lower the price. I grew up in New York City and couldn’t help my big city frame of mind.
Lucy pursed her lips. “Chief Lively will clean the riffraff from Blue Harbor, he’s done it before, and our town will be peaceful again.” She motioned for us to follow her into the house. The warm glow from the Victorian lamps, sitting on small end tables, lit the spacious room dotted with comfortable-looking couches and chairs. We followed her through an open archway to the right. Leather couches and chairs faced a red-bricked fireplace. Across the room, a set of glass doors overlooked a side garden bursting with red and yellow rose bushes. When she swung open the doors, a rose-scented breeze drifted toward us.
“Lovely,” I said.
She gave a sweet smile before shutting the glass doors. We trailed her from the den and the front room to the dining room, where glasses and silverware sparkled on the five tables set with white linen. The doorway on the back wall led us to an industrial-sized kitchen with a white marble island dead-center, surrounded by yellow stools. The view from the picture window took my breath away. Rose bushes lined the pebbled path through the green landscape to a lake filled with floating Canada geese.
“Nice,” Scarlett said.
“Thank you.” Lucy hovered behind us. “Are you ready to see the guest rooms?”
“Sure,” Scarlett replied.
A narrow door in the kitchen, wedged between the double wall ovens and built-in refrigerator, led back to the front room. We climbed the carpeted stairs between the curving wood banisters as Lucy regaled us with tales of the house’s vibrant history. On the second floor, doors stood open on either side of the hallway, revealing canopied beds and flat-screen TVs. At the end of the hall, we stepped into the owner’s apartment. The two bedrooms, eat-in kitchen, and sitting room offered impressive views of the lawn and sparkling blue lake.
“Iced tea and pastries in the sunroom?” Lucy asked as we descended the staircase.
“Sounds good. I’m thirsty,” Scarlett replied.
Lucy led us through the den to the bookshelves spanning the left wall, where she tilted a group of books forward. The bookcase shifted, and a hidden door creaked open.
“Neat,” Scarlett said as the door of bookshelves shut behind us.
I asked, “Does the house have hidden passageways?”
“There might be.” Shirley’s round face wrinkled into an eager grin. “This is an old house. A hundred years old next year.”
The sun shone through the picture window on the far wall, throwing bright squares of light across the mint-green couches and chairs. A pitcher of iced tea and a tray of pastries waited on the glass coffee table. We took seats as Lucy poured the tea into tall glasses.
“Are you still interested in purchasing the inn?” Lucy asked, handing a glass to Scarlett.
“We are.” Scarlett glanced at me. “But I’m confused.”
Lucy’s chocolate brown eyes widened.
Scarlett continued, “You have tables set in the dining room, but I didn’t see any preparations in the kitchen. Where are your guests and staff?”
“The guests aren’t arriving until Friday.” Lucy’s eyes twinkled. “And the staff have left for the day.”
I asked, “How large is your staff?”
“I have a maid, chef, and waitress.”
“Do they work every day?” Scarlett asked.
“The cook and waitress work when we have guests, and the maid cleans twice a week, even if we don’t have guests. This past year, we began offering dinner twice weekly, and the chef and waitress have increased their hours.”
“Once you sell the inn, will they be willing to continue working here?” I asked.
“They love the bed-and-breakfast. I have a contract ready to be signed.” Lucy huffed to her feet. “Relax and finish your tea and pastries.” She grinned before hurrying from the room.
“We have decisions to make.” Scarlett bit into a red velvet cupcake.
“I’m not ready to make them today.”
“Me neither.”
Lucy returned with a stack of papers. For the next hour, we discussed the price and conditions of the contract. We departed with a promise to call her in the next few days. Scarlett needed to show the paperwork to her lawyer, who will now be our lawyer. Even though the price was within our budget, we needed time to decide whether Blue Harbor was right for us.
Welcome the night
And its friend, the moon.
Don’t take flight
From the man on the moon.
Let the moon take over,
From the sun’s bright reign.
Let the sun take cover,
Without hesitation or pain.
A thick blanket will fall,
Covering the earth with security.
Darkness will cover all
With its grace and purity.
The stars will twinkle and shine.
For the sun, do not pine.
It will return tomorrow morning,
With no need for any worrying.
Source:randomthoughtsforabeautifulgirl
Sing me a love song.
Rhyme me a sad tale.
The woe of heartbroken lovers
whose tinny cries take to the air.
The needle rides the grooves.
Round in a circle, it goes.
No beginning or end,
like a tear refusing to fall.
A song without an end.
The melody echoes through eternity.
One jump and scratch at a time.
SUSANNE LEIST 
