#ExcerptWeek – Chicken Shift by D. Avery

 

Poet D. Avery is sharing two of her poems with us this week, and I’ve decided to start with this one, from her collection, Chicken Shift. Poem #2 will be along later in the week.  I know you will all enjoy this one, and will share it far and wide!

~~~

When Comes the Time

When comes the time, a road’s the place
The destiny some hens embrace
Chickens rise and leave the nest
To make their dreams manifest.
Their sojourn can’t end unless it begins
So they head out to look within
Pilgrims of regenerate faith
These chickens cross, they go with grace
They cross a road, they pass that test
Continue on their illimitable quest
Till comes the time when they stop, content
They know themselves and where they went.

~~~

D. Avery (196?-20??) has long been a compulsive poet. Despite a very important day job educating public school children, she is often distracted by this compulsion, as well as by life’s great questions, such as “Kayak, or bike?” Though she has come to realize that nothing difficult is ever easy, she believes that it’s all good.

Buy Chicken Shift Here:

On Amazon:  Chicken Shift
On Lulu: Chicken Shift

Reach D. Avery Here:

Blog
Twitter: ‪‪@daveryshiftn

 

 

#ExcerptWeek – Poem from Summer Magic by Marcia Meara

The first half of this little book contains a series of poems featuring my Wake-Robin Ridge hero, MacKenzie Cole, as a boy of ten, exploring his beloved North Carolina mountains each summer, with his dad. The second half contains poetry about Life. And Love. (Hence the line at the bottom of the cover. 😀 I’ve chosen to share one of Mac’s poems, since the Perseid meteor shower can be counted on to show up right around August, every year. I hope you enjoy it.

Star-Gazing by Marcia Meara

The Perseids . . .
Lying back under
The ink-blotted sky,
He tries out the words.
They tickle his tongue.
The Per-see-ids. Those
Pinpoints of brightness
And streaks of fire,
Lighting the night
In a spectacle
Older than he can
Possibly know.

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.

Since my bio and photo are already on display in several places on this site, I’m going to skip that, and just share a couple of lovely reviews, instead.

“What beautiful, sensory poems! In Summer Magic, Marcia Meara writes that “Sometimes I think I’m drowning in a sea of words . . . Words have the power to make us laugh and cry . . . They lift us up in joy or slam us to the ground in misery . . . Amazing things, words.” And her beautiful poems use words to do just that. When I read the poems of Mac at Ten, I’m there with that little boy, not just seeing, but feeling it all––the magic of a sunrise, the fun of collecting treasures, the beauty of a meteor shower, the freedom of a carefree summer.”
~Elizabeth Vollstadt

” . . . a perfect read for a languid summer’s day or a long weekend like this one. Taking a breather from grilling and eating, reading the book is like dangling your toes in a cool, rippling brook. It’s not just her poems that reflect the childhood joy of plunging into cool green waters from a “Rope Swing,” or the ‘drip-drip’ of “Showers” on a rainy day that will give you that creekside, summer experience. “Summer Magic” the first poem, and the one that gives the book its title, is awash in words that conjure summer. My favorite lines from the poem:

There! A thin curve of molten red!
A far away sliver of fiery light
Breaks the horizon.”
~SUMMER

You can download Summer Magic here.

The Perseids

#IndianSummer – From #SummerMagic by @MarciaMeara #Poetry

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In anticipation of my normal weekly schedule resumption (Sunday, I suspect), I thought I’d share an autumn/Indian summer themed poem. Might be the last chance before all our thoughts turn toward Christmas and wintery themes. This is one from my book, Summer Magic, and I hope I managed to capture some imagery you enjoy.

Indian Summer by Marcia Meara

He sees her standing
Below the falls,
Carefully balanced
On the slippery rocks,
And laughing
In the hazy October sun.

Only yesterday
The ice-rimmed pool
Mirrored angry gray clouds,
And a wind out of the north
Chilled his bones.
Today, a warm yellow sun
Has eaten the frost,
And resurrected the ghost
Of a summer already laid to rest.

She’s wearing shorts,
As if she knew
There would be a reprieve
And dressed accordingly.
Dampened hems, and a
Misty sheen on
Her long, slim legs
Bear testament to
The wind-blown spray.
Her loosened hair is a
Sable cloud swirling
Around her face,
Smelling faintly
Of August nights
And tupelo honey.

She turns toward him,
Radiant and joyful,
Filled with a wonder
Most have long lost.
Her smile invites him
To let go of autumn
To share the sunshine,
To be reborn in this moment.

Surprised, his mouth
Curves in response, and
His soul cries,
Yes, oh yes!
Desperation gives voice
To need long ignored.
Yes, he thinks again,
Walking toward her.

I want the sunlight,
The warmth, the wonder.
Show me, teach me.

He takes her hand, and
Lets the sunlight
Flood his heart,
Thawing the frost within,
Setting him free.

smallersm

#ExcerptWeek – Marcia Meara – @marciameara #SummerMagic

 

smallersm

Thought maybe I’d sneak in a wee excerpt of my own tonight. A fun poem from Summer Magic, just to make you smile. This little book is divided into two parts, the first being a series of poems based on MacKenzie Cole’s summers spent camping in the Blue Ridge Mountains with his dad. Mac is the handsome hero in my first book, Wake-Robin Ridge, and I really enjoyed creating some poetry to bring his childhood to life. Hope you like this one.

~~~

AMBUSH

Silent, sleek, deadly,
The predator climbs high, high,
And stretches out full length
On the smooth, sturdy limb,
Well hidden within heavy green foliage.
The wait begins.

Panting slightly as the sun climbs
And dappled light pierces the shade,
Heat rises, but keen eyes miss nothing
And sharp ears catch the first soft footfalls
Of unsuspecting prey, moving quietly
Down a curve of narrow trail.

Patience is everything.
Lie still, still, still!
No slight movement to cause alarm.
Hunger growing, mouth watering at
The smell of food coming ever closer.
Body tenses, ready to leap.

Humans are slow, pitiful creatures.
Lacking panther senses to warn them
Of danger lying overhead.
Teeth bared, growls erupting,
Body drops downward,
Ready for the kill.

With a shout, the man falls,
Hand over his heart.
You got me, you little panther, you!
Don’t eat my fingers!
Don’t eat my toes!
I brought you peanut butter and jelly.

Gotcha good, didn’t I, Dad?
I was patient, like you taught me.
Grabbing a sandwich, he dances away,
Calling over his shoulder,
Race you to the pond now!
After lunch, I want to be a fish.

~~~

 Summer Magic is now available on Kindle for just $.99 – Download HERE        

 

Seeking Solace | Excerpt Week

Seeking Solace (ebook, ad version)

Seeking Solace

After some gentle persuasion from Marcia, I’ve put together this little post to share a couple of poems from my collection, Seeking Solace, available in both paperback and Kindle formats by clicking here if you are a UK reader and by clicking here if you are a US reader. You can also find it on Goodreads by clicking here. I hope you enjoy, and offer huge thanks to anyone who decides to pick up a copy. Happy reading!

Marionette

Pretty little puppet girl
dead behind the eyes.
They preen you and they pluck you
all of it without a word,
creating their own creature
that is really quite absurd.

Pretty little puppet girl
she sits alone and cries.
They say that you do have it all,
how wrong they truly are.
This life it crawls beneath your skin
and leaves a private scar.

Pretty little puppet girl
her spirit slowly dies.
Flashbulbs mask the silent tears
that swell inside your heart.
You smile at them with big blue eyes
and then you fall apart.

Pretty little puppet girl
no matter how she tries
her body it belongs to them
‘til time does intervene.
The beauty fades, the shackles fall
no better sight you’ve seen.

Continue reading

#Sharing #CoverReveal #SummerMagic

sm cover at 30 percent

One more thing before I head to bed. I finally decided to expand Summer Magic by a few more poems and put out a print version, so I asked my cover designer, Nicki Forde, to come up with something that was the embodiment of a magical summer night. When I got to her house today, she had three covers for me to choose from. All of them were beautiful, but THIS one just stole my heart away! It’s everything I imagined, and more! Going to bed now, to dream of dark summer woods filled with fairy lights! *happy sigh*

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

 

13 - 5

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

 

#MidWeekPOV – Sometimes Fate Needs a Helping Hand #wwwblogs #Poetry

k22670325

I’m pretty sure I believe in Fate. Karma. What goes around, comes around. You reap what you sow. That kind of thing. At least I do today! And because I’m editing, editing, editing  like a thing possessed, here, I don’t have time for a very long post. Instead, I’m going to share a poem from Summer Magic, wherein a young lady takes matters into her own hands, in order to give Fate a wee, little nudge. Enjoy!

The Pick Up    

Standing near the shop,
I watch.
People rush in and out,
Jostling, hurrying.
Carrying steaming cups
To offices nearby.

I wait for the right one.
Finally! He exits and
Heads toward me.
My heart stutters
With pleasure
As I admire him.
He’s tall, wide-shouldered,
Very blonde.
A Viking in Armani.
Yes, I think. Oh, yes.
He’s just as perfect as
He looked yesterday.

With careful timing,
I step into his path,
And we collide.
Oh! I’m so sorry!
He stops, surprised.
Then bends to pick up my purse.
Handing it back, he smiles.
My fault, he says.
I should have been paying attention.

We stand for a moment,
Assessing each other,
Then I laugh awkwardly,
And flash him a look
He can’t mistake.
His eyes widen slightly,
His smile, as well.
And I know.
He’ll be here tomorrow,
Ordering latte, and
Looking for me.
I’ll be waiting.
           by Marcia Meara

#NationalPoetryMonth The Rope Swing

Blue-Ridge-Mountain-Club-Hole

Since we’re still short on #FabulousFridayGuestBloggers, you get . . . tada! . . . ME. I’ll just fill in with whatever seems like a good idea at the time, until we get back on schedule. And since it’s still National Poetry Month, here’s a poem of mine. It’s been in the early 90’s here, already, so my thoughts have turned to hot summer days. Hope this little boy’s enjoyment of one captures your imagination.

THE ROPE SWING

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–
Shoulder blades and
Elbows, and
Knobby knees,
Painted against the sky,
Heart filled with fierce joy.

Dropping, down, down
Into clear green water
Cold on his skin,
He sinks to the silty bottom,
And sits suspended
In an alien world,
Watching  the silvered flashes
Of tiny fish darting to and fro,
Startled by his sudden appearance.
I am a fish, too, he thinks,
And holds his breath
As long as he can.

Finally, he rockets up,
Through a stream of
Tickling bubbles,
Breaking the
Surface of the water,
With a loud whoop of
Childish exuberance,
All thoughts of becoming a fish
Forgotten as he
Scrambles out,
Shakes the water from his hair,
And, grinning, hitches up his
Baggy shorts.

He’s ready
To do it all again.
Flying through the summer air,
Dropping into the cold water
To commune with fishes
Silvered in refracted light,
Then leaping to the surface,
A boy of ten once more,
Laughing through an endless summer
Made perfect by a cool green pond,
And an old rope swing.

#NationalPoetryMonth #ANarrowFellowInTheGrass #EmilyDickinson #Poetry

snake2
Black Racer
Non-venomous, very helpful garden friend.
This one was between 18″ and 2′ in length, and loving the
warmth of our sun-baked bricks.

In honor of National Poetry Month, I’m sharing one of my favorites. Being a reptile lover at heart, this has always appealed to me. And since I spotted my first black racer of the year in my back yard yesterday, it seemed especially appropriate.  Of course, I don’t feel the same way about snakes as Emily, saving my “zero at the bone” for hairy-legged spiders, but it’s still a lovely poem. Enjoy!

A Narrow Fellow in the Grass by Emily Dickson  

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him–did you not
His notice sudden is,
The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your feet,
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn,
But when a boy and barefoot,
I more than once at noon
Have passed, I thought, a whip lash,
Unbraiding in the sun,
When stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled and was gone.

Several of nature’s people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality.
But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.