More Happy Fall, Y’all – Campfire Ghosts from #SummerMagic

October 2, 2018October 2, 2018 / Marcia / 19 Comments

Still trying to convince myself it’s actually October. Let’s see, shorts? Check. Air conditioning on? Check. Sun shining down on sidewalk too hot to walk barefooted on? Check. Hmmm. *Looks at calendar again.* October? Not so sure, but that’s what it says. So, here’s a poem from Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love. This is from the section entitled “Mac at Ten,” and describes one of many camping trips to the North Carolina mountains with his dad. No wonder Mac grew into a man who never wanted to live anywhere else. Enjoy. (And feel free to pass it it along.)

Campfire Ghosts
by Marcia Meara

Dark clouds
Hide the silver light
From his wide-eyed gaze.
Night reigns
In blackest glory,
Held at bay only
By the orange firelight.
The trees are gone,
Lost in gloom.
Everywhere,
A wall of black,
Except within
The fire’s warm
Circle.

Sparks rise up,
Twisting high
Until they disappear,
Lost in the darkness,
Only to be followed
By legions more.

Whippoorwills call,
And foxes bark,
And the night settles like
A blanket over all.

Grilled food
Is gobbled down,
Leaving behind only
The sweet scorched
Scent of burnt
Marshmallow.
He wears a smile
Dressed in melted chocolate,
And licks his sticky fingers
Clean.

The air turns cooler,
As day is forgotten,
And jewel-bright embers
Glow in heaps of ash.
He’s waited as long
As a young boy can.
Shivering, he asks,
Is it time?

A warm arm
Pulls him close,
Holding him safe,
And he asks again.
Is it time now, dad?

Yes, says his father,
His voice a deep
Familiar comfort
In the ink-dark night.
Yes, I believe it is.
Let me see,
Shall I tell you
A new one?

Will it have
Clacking bones
And eyes that glow?
Will there be cold wind
Whistling through trees,
And bats swooping,
And owls calling?

Of course, says his dad.
All of that, I’m sure,
For isn’t that what
You love the most?

Oh, yes, he sighs,
Safe and warm,
Eyes growing heavy
And sleep close by.
Tell me, dad,
Like you always do.
Tell me a story.

Buy Summer Magic HERE

#NationalPoetryMonth – #SummerMagic – Mac at Ten

April 12, 2018April 21, 2018 / Marcia / 21 Comments

Another poem from Summer Magic, though I don’t have a picture that works as well for this one. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with the view from the very top of Wake-Robin Ridge–or at least, the way I imagined it, since WRR only exists in my mind. Hope you enjoy this one, though since it’s from Dad’s POV, it is a bit more introspective than the last.

Bruises
by Marcia Meara

Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
Only a ten-year-old boy
Knows how to nurture. Continue reading →

#NationalPoetryMonth – #SummerMagic: Poems of Life & Love

April 11, 2018April 21, 2018 / Marcia / 35 Comments

I’ve been told it’s National Poetry Month, and who am I to argue with a lead-in like that? In celebration, I thought I’d share one of my poems from Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love. Since it’s been hovering around 83 to 85 degrees here for a couple of weeks, I figured a summery one was in order. Hope you enjoy it! 🙂

The Rope Swing
by Marcia Meara

Sailing up, up into
Blue summer sky,
Hot rope rough against his hands,
He shouts with joy, and lets go.
For a crystal moment,
He hangs suspended,
Frozen in time
Like a fly in amber.
All awkward angles–
Shoulderblades and
Elbows, and
Knobby knees,
Painted against the sky,
Heart filled with fierce joy. Continue reading →

#ExcerptWeek – #SummerMagic – “Bruises” by Marcia Meara

June 27, 2016June 27, 2016 / Marcia / 7 Comments

I guess I’ll start off #ExcerptWeek by sharing a poem from my eBook, Summer Magic. I’m in the process of formatting it for print, as a small chapbook, so it seems a good time to give you a taste of what will be within the covers. The first half of the book is called “Mac At Ten,” and features poetry about MacKenzie Cole (the hero from my Wake-Robin Ridge series) as he spent his summers camping on the ridge with his dad. Hope you enjoy this one. (Tomorrow, I’ll share an excerpt from Harbinger.)

Bruises

Pale blue eyes,
Fringed in black,
Look out at the world
With the wild, free spirit
Only a ten-year-old boy
Knows how to nurture.

A shock of black hair falls over his brow
As he frowns thoughtfully,
Examining a scab on one knobby knee.
A souvenir from yesterday’s hike,
Acquired while showing off for Dad.
Again.

Long and thin, his scraped-up legs
Have become maps of small hurts,
Tracing each day of his summer.
A scratch here, from picking
Wild blackberries,
And a bruise there, from
Swinging on a low limb.
Those and so many more,
Injuries acquired while calling,
Watch, Dad, watch!
See what I can do!

Badges.
Attesting to his bravery,
Marking his adventures,
And confirming in his mind
His place among Immortals.

His dad sighs, all too aware
More bumps and scrapes
Lie ahead.
No way to guard him
Against the future bruises
Life will bring.
His boy will be marked,
Abraded by time and
The world around him,
Though some scars will be
Much less obvious than others.
And someday, scabby knees
Will be counted as nothing,
When weighed against
Those invisible wounds.

Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love: http://bit.ly/SummerMagicPoems

Excerpt #4 from Summer Magic

March 13, 2015March 13, 2015 / Marcia / Leave a comment

One more short one before heading to bed, perchance to READ! Summer Magic is divided into two parts. The first part is called “Mac At Ten,” and the poems involve MacKenzie Cole from Wake-Robin Ridge, when he was a boy of ten, and spent his summers camping on the Ridge, with his dad. This is the poem that gives the collection its name, and is the very essence of the little boy Mac was at that point in his life. Enjoy!

***

Summer Magic

Crawling quietly from his tent,
His dad still lost in slumber within,
He sits down alone on the granite slab,
Coltish legs drawn up to his chin,
And arms wrapped around skinny knees.
He gazes toward the pale horizon,
Watching the sleeping valley below.
With breath held in anticipation,
He waits for the magic
He knows will come.

There! A thin curve of molten red!
A far away sliver of fiery light
Breaks the horizon.
Rising slowly,
It bathes the tops of the rolling hills
In a brilliant spill of gold.
Mother-of-pearl dawn
Gives way to butter yellow
Morning light.

In front of his wide, blue eyes,
The world awakens.
Magic arrives and
Day is born,
Again.
He smiles to himself and wraps
His arms more tightly
Around his knees,
Shivering in private delight, and
Holding the beauty
Close within,
Having already learned
Some magic is
Secret.

Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love

Star-Gazing

September 24, 2014September 24, 2014 / Marcia / 3 Comments

Here’s a secret for you…I write poems, in addition to novels. I always have, starting before I was five. In my book, Summer Magic: Poems of Life & Love, I have a section devoted to MacKenzie Cole (the lead male character from Wake-Robin Ridge) at the age of ten, when he used to go camping with his father in the mountains every summer. Here’s one of my favorites. Hope some of you like it, too.

Look Dad, he cries,
Look how many!
I see a hundred,
Maybe a thousand!
I see them, too,
Dad says,
And together, they laugh,
Delighted.
Joy shared,
And excitement
Doubled.

Come see the meteors,
Dad said, as he
Shook him awake
Just before dawn.
He crawled from the tent,
Rubbing his eyes,
Then staring in wonder.
With the sky still a midnight black,
And bright stars wheeling overhead,
The fireworks came.
Racing toward Earth,
One after another,
The Perseids.
The miracle of hot August nights.
A late-summer light show
That electrified his soul.
His young heart transfixed
By the sight of the universe,
Lit with streamers
Of flame.

A meteor shower,
Dad tells him again,
But he knows nothing
So beautiful has a name
So ordinary.
Stars, he thinks, pulled loose
From the fabric of the sky,
And flung toward earth,
Trailing silver and gold,
And bringing pieces of Heaven
To those watching below.

He holds up his hands,
Cupped reverently,
To catch one of his own.
To be blessed by
This summer magic.
He holds his breath, waiting
For the illumination
Of his soul to begin.
Falling stars,
Falling from the
Summer sky,
For him.