Here, Now, There is Peace

All is quiet here on this street.
The birds are coming and going
from the several birdfeeders
in the yard. They are not alarmed.
Their differences in feather
coloration do not cause discord.
They all take turns feeding and
bathing in the birdbath.

Our neighbors are on friendly terms.
I hear no loud shouts.
It’s an undisturbed Saturday afternoon.
I offer a friendly wave to our next-door
neighbor as I get into my car.
A group of children are playing ball
down the way…laughter carries on the wind.

The sky is composed.
It is blue but filled with
billowing clouds without
darkness or strife.

The trees stand untroubled
in silent repose harboring
multitude of species that
look to them for sanctuary.
They welcome all.

My granddaughters feel safe
and secure as they play
in their room. They know
they are loved and protected.
They feel at ease.

Our household is tranquil.
We live in harmony.
Stillness surrounds us.
Quietude permeates our life.

Here…now…there is peace.

Sharing this at Jamie Dede’s The Bezine’s Virtual 100TPC for Peace, Sustainability and Social Justice

“The Snowman”; Happy Holidays!

  I want to wish each and every one of you a happy holiday and may you enjoy peace and prosperity in the New Year to come.  I posted this last year and thought I would share it again…it’s a favorite story of mine and I love the haunting song in this movie which you can hear on the video below.

     In 1978,  English author, Raymond Briggs, published the story “The Snowman”.  It is a wordless book using only illustrations to tell the story.  The pictures are in full color and are in a hazy softness that hints of the falling snow that brings about the story that unfolds.  A movie was made of the book in 1982 and has a different ending than the book but is also wordless except for one song that is sung, “Walking in the Air”.  The movie is 26 minutes long.

     The movie (and the book) came to my attention in 1982 when I was approached by our family hairdresser who asked if our two daughters, then 9 and 7, would like to assist her husband in the review of a new children’s movie.  Her husband, Jay Boyer, was the movie critic for the Orlando Sentinel at the time.  He would interview each of them for their opinions after the screening and they would be quoted in the subsequent write up .  The girls were very excited about getting to see the movie before it opened to the public and were accompanied by two other children and Jay on the day that they went to do their “job”.  They also missed a day of school–even more fun.

This is the movie version:

     A small boy builds a snowman after a heavy snowfall.  He continues to look out at it as he joins his family inside at the end of the day.

     However, the boy can’t sleep and he goes downstairs and opens the front door to check on his friend.  The clock strikes twelve and the snowman magically comes to life.  The snowman joins him inside as the boy shows him around the house and the wonders of TV, a light switch, running water, etc.  He doesn’t care for the fireplace…the refrigerator, he loves!

     They return outside and the snowman decides to show the boy his world and gently they glide up into the sky.  They fly over London and off towards the North Pole to meet up with Father Christmas.  Father Christmas greets the boy and gives him a gift of a scarf.  The boy and his friend return to the boy’s home.

     In the morning, as he awakens, the boy runs to the yard and finds that his friend has melted by the morning sun.  As he puts his hand in his robe’s pocket, he finds the scarf.

     The movie was nominated for an Academy Award for Animated Short Film.  It was scored by Howard Blake who wrote the music and lyrics and conducted his own orchestra, Sinfonia of London.  “Walking in the Air” was sung by St. Paul’s Cathedral choir boy, Peter Auty.

     You can watch it in it’s entirety on Vimeo.

Breathing In

breathing in

Breathing In by Brooke Shaden:


Each new inhalation
brings life anew
as if coming forth
from the womb.
Floating in wisdom,
the breath carries
me in peace and
holds me in
gentle repose.  
Freedom is the
all encompassing
space that
surrounds me.
The endless
vibration of
my soul
all of time.
And I rest here.
In quiet stillness.
Merged in joy.
With all that exists.

Grace is our hostess at dVerse today and invites us to use the art of Brooke Shaden to inspire our writing.  Gratitude to Brooke Shaden for the use of her amazing and inspiring art work.:

Grandeur on the River

Leaning back in the canoe,
my face turned to the low,
winter sun, I rest my eyes.
The even and
meditative strokes
of the oars gliding
through the mirrored
spring water bring
calm and contentment.
Late morning on the river
is quiet…most birds and
animals having fed are
taking a siesta and are
hidden from our curious eyes.
One lone, stocky
alligator is spotted
on the shaded bank.  He too
is at ease and makes
no move as we paddle past.
My fingers drift lazily
through the cold water
and I lift a few
droplets to refresh
my warmed forehead.
Words have little
value here…a reverence
is kept for the sanctity of
this grandeur.  A chorus
of wind rattles a stand
of bamboo and my
heart flutters with joy
as I merge with nature’s
most tender gift.

Joe Hesch opens the bar for Open Link Night # 91:

Hush-a-Bye, Lull-a-Bye–Music and performance by Bill Walters

Some time ago, my oldest brother, Bill, approached me asking if I would like to collaborate with him on having him put music to some of my poetry.  I jumped at the chance and felt very honored.  He is an accomplished musician and I was thrilled that he thought enough of my writing to want to work on something together.  At the time, my oldest daughter was pregnant with her first child…my granddaughter, Mira.  I immediately thought of this lullaby that I had written long before and proposed that he write some music and sing it.  He loved the idea and this is what he came up with.  I gifted it to my daughter and her family first and I’m now making it public…I hope you enjoy it.  I love how it turned out.  Click on the link below to hear.

Hush-a-Bye Final Mix-down


O precious babe let your drowsy eyes sleep,
Let go of your woes and relax into peace.
Mother is near to protect and keep peace,
Guarding your cradle all while you sleep. 

Dream, sweet darling, of angels aglow,
Keeping you safe, surrounding you whole.
O dear child, of pure, white soul,
Rest in quiet, tranquil glow. 

Dearest mine of sweet delight,
Lay down your head, may sleep not delay.
Dream of cuddles, warm baths and bouquets,
Of lulling songs and bedtime delights. 

Sweet babe so dear.
Sweet dreams are yours, good night, good night…

English: Sleeping baby.

Image via Wikipedia

Loving Kindness–A Ghazal

O open-hearted Kindness, reigning peace
Your model of piousness brings me peace
Sacred sweetness emanates, giving freely
Like honey-amber richness, flowing peace
What path may bring you near, I do not mind
Searching, my alertness finds your peace
Your grace shines forth in joyful, loving glory
Mending my brokenness through your peace
Elevated calm permeates my soul
When bathed in happiness by your peace
I beseech thee, O My Beloved Loving One
Surround me in completeness to know peace
May it always be thus between us two
A connectedness, entwining the Rose to peace

Check out tonight’s guidance by Samuel over at dVerse Poets to learn the art of the Ghazal form at our Form-For-All:

Six Scrappy Kids

six scrappy kids
at odds with
their world
and each other

fighting, bickering
teasing, taunting
abusing, chasing,
running from,
running after,
screams and
jeers, tears
and fear

hair pulling,
scaring and

crammed into
small spaces
no elbow room
nowhere to turn
or take a breather

from each other

no place to think,
the world and
our place in it

a war zone,
no peace
except when

but magically
a miracle
was rendered

we grew up
we searched
we found
that we liked
each other

we spoke
and listened
and knitted
our hearts
close together

we are our
our dharma
our refuge
our peace

Over at dVerse Poets, Mary asks us to reflect on peace:

The Elder

Against the clear blue with wisps of white,
the Elder stretches crooked boughs.
Fallen leaves are scarce though not turned white.
Fragile boughs, brittle-aged boughs,
His space held with grace, roots still dug deep.
Hundreds of years, a long, meaningful life;
facing all in stillness, peace laid deep.
Un-chased dreams, no trace of strife—a free life.

Photo courtesy of Isadore Gruye

Inspired by an eight line poem by William Butler Yeats; The Sunday Mini Challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads:

You Are Loved

Holding you close,
we approach the
swaying stand of bamboo.
The wind rises
and falls in gentle,
gusty waves.  Our hair
lifts slightly from
our heads…mine
swirling across
my eyes.
It’s cool beneath the
shaded chapel of
canes and we both
listen with reverence
and peace as the towering
grasses clatter and clank
the notes of nature’s wind chime.
You relax in my arms, relax
into the knowing that all is
well; you are loved.
The next day we sit beside
the Ganga, meditating
on the gentle breezes and
lily pads undulating by
tiny swells while a chorus
hums from a fountain
voices blending of those passed on
a turtle crawls on the bank
and rests at our feet.

I’m finally back online and writing my first post after moving to Sebastian to help watch my first grandchild, Mira, while her Mom and Dad return to work.  We’ve been taking walks daily (she loves to be outside) and visit a large stand of bamboo nearby and love listening to it as it moves with the wind.  I’m so enjoying my new role…and blessing.

Joining with Hedgewitch today who is hostessing for us at dVerse Poets Open Link Night #69:  Thanks, Joy!

Morning Bath

Photo:  Google Images

Making the rounds,
watering the outdoor plants
on the patio; I moved
down the steps and
out into the back yard.

Aiming the spray at the
lace-flowered, pink Crepe Myrtle,
I noticed a red dart come into
my line of vision from the left
…a cardinal decided to allow me
in assisting his Saturday, morning bath.

Claudia invites us to share the moments of peace and solitude in our busy lives:

Also sharing this for the G-Man, written in 55 words:

Blissful Sadness

A Silhouette of Sadness

A Silhouette of Sadness (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

New mothering
brought me joy.
Blissful willingness
I gave of myself.
Nothing perturbed
or was too much
to tend to this babe
that I had birthed.
She was my first,
perfect and sweet,
a child of peace,
her soul so deep.
A bond grew tight
with her at my breast,
exchanging love,
trust, and light.
But you never called,
you didn’t reach out,
you kept yourself(ish)
hidden from our life.
Your granddaughter
was here…not so
far away, but you
made no attempt
to join with us.
I should have
been prepared,
because this is
who you are…
but it would have
been nice to have
felt your presence.

Stuart McPherson describes “The Beautiful Sadness” over at dVerse Poetics.  Share an occasion or event that was beautiful but has elements of sadness within it.

“The Art of Peace”


Picture from Bing Images

Morihei Ueshiba (1883-1969) was the founder of the martial art known as Aikido which can be translated as “The Art of Peace”…this was his path.

From the introduction of “The Art of Peace”:

“Even as an old man of eighty, Morihei could disarm any foe, down any number of attackers, and pin an opponent with a single finger.  Although invincible as a warrior, Morihei was above all a man of peace who detested fighting, war, and any kind of violence.”

I recommend this book to all who value spiritual expansion and peace.  Morihei was transformed through three visions that profoundly changed his life to which he dedicated the remainder of his days in teaching and living peace.

A quote translated by John Stevens:

“Daily training in the Art of Peace allows your inner divinity to shine brighter and brighter.  Do not concern yourself with the right and wrong of others.  Do not be calculating or act unnaturally.  Keep your mind set on the Art of Peace, and do not criticize other teachers or traditions.  The Art of Peace never restrains, restricts, or shackles anything.  It embraces all and purifies everything.”

Occupy Blogosphere:


The Christmas Truce

A most inspiring story told by Aaron Shepard, in a letter format, that I wanted to share for the season but holds a lesson of suspending our hostilities towards each other in our everyday lives.    I may make this posting a yearly tradition.  Happy Holidays to all.  Love, Gayle
Copyright (c) 2001, 2003 by Aaron Shepard. May be freely copied and
shared for any noncommercial purpose, but please do not omit any text,
including this notice.
ABOUT THE STORY: The Christmas Truce of 1914 is one of the most
remarkable incidents of World War I and perhaps of all military
history. Starting in some places on Christmas Eve and in others on
Christmas Day, the truce covered as much as two- thirds of the
British-German front, with thousands of soldiers taking part. Perhaps
most remarkably, it grew out of no single initiative but sprang up in
each place spontaneously and independently.
Nearly everything described here is drawn from first-hand accounts in
letters and diaries of the time. Britishisms include using “Nowell”
instead of “Noel,” and “football” instead of “soccer.” Visit my home
page at to learn more about the story, get a
copy in Web format, find a reader’s theater script version, read more
stories, or contact the author.
— Aaron
A cross, left near Ieper in Belgium in 1999, to celebrate the site of the Christmas Truce during the First World War in 1914. The text reads: 1914 – The Khaki Chum’s Christmas Truce – 1999 – 85 Years – Lest We Forget
A cross, left near Ieper in Belgium in 1999, t...

Image via Wikipedia

Christmas Day, 1914
My dear sister Janet,
It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their
dugouts — yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the
wonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems
almost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn’t been through it myself, I
would scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family sang
carols before the fire there in London, I did the same with enemy
soldiers here on the battlefields of France!
As I wrote before, there has been little serious fighting of late. The
first battles of the war left so many dead that both sides have held
back until replacements could come from home. So we have mostly stayed
in our trenches and waited.
But what a terrible waiting it has been! Knowing that any moment an
artillery shell might land and explode beside us in the trench,
killing or maiming several men. And in daylight not daring to lift our
heads above ground, for fear of a sniper’s bullet.
And the rain — it has fallen almost daily. Of course, it collects
right in our trenches, where we must bail it out with pots and pans.
And with the rain has come mud — a good foot or more deep. It
splatters and cakes everything, and constantly sucks at our boots. One
new recruit got his feet stuck in it, and then his hands too when he
tried to get out — just like in that American story of the tar baby!
Through all this, we couldn’t help feeling curious about the German
soldiers across the way. After all, they faced the same dangers we
did, and slogged about in the same muck. What’s more, their first
trench was only 50 yards from ours. Between us lay No Man’s Land,
bordered on both sides by barbed wire — yet they were close enough we
sometimes heard their voices.
Of course, we hated them when they killed our friends. But other
times, we joked about them and almost felt we had something in common.
And now it seems they felt the same.
Just yesterday morning — Christmas Eve Day — we had our first good
freeze. Cold as we were, we welcomed it, because at least the mud
froze solid. Everything was tinged white with frost, while a bright
sun shone over all. Perfect Christmas weather.
During the day, there was little shelling or rifle fire from either
side. And as darkness fell on our Christmas Eve, the shooting stopped
entirely. Our first complete silence in months! We hoped it might
promise a peaceful holiday, but we didn’t count on it. We’d been told
the Germans might attack and try to catch us off guard.
I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot, I must have drifted
asleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying, “Come
and see! See what the Germans are doing!” I grabbed my rifle, stumbled
out into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the sandbags.
I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters of tiny
lights were shining all along the German line, left and right as far
as the eye could see.
“What is it?” I asked in bewilderment, and John answered, “Christmas
And so it was. The Germans had placed Christmas trees in front of
their trenches, lit by candle or lantern like beacons of good will.
And then we heard their voices raised in song.
“Stille nacht, heilige nacht….”
This carol may not yet be familiar to us in Britain, but John knew it
and translated: “Silent night, holy night.” I’ve never heard one
lovelier — or more meaningful, in that quiet, clear night, its dark
softened by a first-quarter moon.
When the song finished, the men in our trenches applauded. Yes,
British soldiers applauding Germans! Then one of our own men started
singing, and we all joined in.
“The first Nowell, the angel did say….”
In truth, we sounded not nearly as good as the Germans, with their
fine harmonies. But they responded with enthusiastic applause of their
own and then began another.
“O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum….”
Then we replied.
“O come all ye faithful….”
But this time they joined in, singing the same words in Latin.
“Adeste fideles….”
British and German harmonizing across No Man’s Land! I would have
thought nothing could be more amazing — but what came next was more
“English, come over!” we heard one of them shout. “You no shoot, we no
There in the trenches, we looked at each other in bewilderment. Then
one of us shouted jokingly, “You come over here.”
To our astonishment, we saw two figures rise from the trench, climb
over their barbed wire, and advance unprotected across No Man’s Land.
One of them called, “Send officer to talk.”
I saw one of our men lift his rifle to the ready, and no doubt others
did the same — but our captain called out, “Hold your fire.” Then he
climbed out and went to meet the Germans halfway. We heard them
talking, and a few minutes later, the captain came back with a German
cigar in his mouth!
“We’ve agreed there will be no shooting before midnight tomorrow,” he
announced. “But sentries are to remain on duty, and the rest of you,
stay alert.”
Across the way, we could make out groups of two or three men starting
out of trenches and coming toward us. Then some of us were climbing
out too, and in minutes more, there we were in No Man’s Land, over a
hundred soldiers and officers of each side, shaking hands with men
we’d been trying to kill just hours earlier!
Before long a bonfire was built, and around it we mingled — British
khaki and German grey. I must say, the Germans were the better
dressed, with fresh uniforms for the holiday.
Only a couple of our men knew German, but more of the Germans knew
English. I asked one of them why that was.
“Because many have worked in England!” he said. “Before all this, I
was a waiter at the Hotel Cecil. Perhaps I waited on your table!”
“Perhaps you did!” I said, laughing.
He told me he had a girlfriend in London and that the war had
interrupted their plans for marriage. I told him, “Don’t worry. We’ll
have you beat by Easter, then you can come back and marry the girl.”
He laughed at that. Then he asked if I’d send her a postcard he’d give
me later, and I promised I would.
Another German had been a porter at Victoria Station. He showed me a
picture of his family back in Munich. His eldest sister was so lovely,
I said I should like to meet her someday. He beamed and said he would
like that very much and gave me his family’s address.
Even those who could not converse could still exchange gifts — our
cigarettes for their cigars, our tea for their coffee, our corned beef
for their sausage. Badges and buttons from uniforms changed owners,
and one of our lads walked off with the infamous spiked helmet! I
myself traded a jackknife for a leather equipment belt — a fine
souvenir to show when I get home.
Newspapers too changed hands, and the Germans howled with laughter at
ours. They assured us that France was finished and Russia nearly
beaten too. We told them that was nonsense, and one of them said,
“Well, you believe your newspapers and we’ll believe ours.”
Clearly they are lied to — yet after meeting these men, I wonder how
truthful our own newspapers have been. These are not the “savage
barbarians” we’ve read so much about. They are men with homes and
families, hopes and fears, principles and, yes, love of country. In
other words, men like ourselves. Why are we led to believe otherwise?
As it grew late, a few more songs were traded around the fire, and
then all joined in for — I am not lying to you — “Auld Lang Syne.”
Then we parted with promises to meet again tomorrow, and even some
talk of a football match.
I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German clutched
my arm. “My God,” he said, “why cannot we have peace and all go home?”
I told him gently, “That you must ask your emperor.”
He looked at me then, searchingly. “Perhaps, my friend. But also we
must ask our hearts.”
And so, dear sister, tell me, has there ever been such a Christmas Eve
in all history? And what does it all mean, this impossible befriending
of enemies?
For the fighting here, of course, it means regrettably little. Decent
fellows those soldiers may be, but they follow orders and we do the
same. Besides, we are here to stop their army and send it home, and
never could we shirk that duty.
Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shown
here were caught by the nations of the world. Of course, disputes must
always arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes in
place of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of
reprisals? Would not all war end at once?
All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I
wonder if we want it quite enough.
Your loving brother,
Sharing this with Amy (Soul Dipper) for her Occupy Blogosphere for December 20, 2012:

Happy Holidays









Hush-a-Bye, Lull-a-Bye

O precious babe let your drowsy eyes sleep,
Let go of your woes and relax into peace.
Mother is near to protect and keep peace,
Guarding your cradle all while you sleep. 

Dream, sweet darling, of angels aglow,
Keeping you safe, surrounding you whole.
O dear child, of pure, white soul,
Rest in quiet, tranquil glow. 

Dearest mine of sweet delight,
Lay down your head, may sleep not delay.
Dream of cuddles, warm baths and bouquets,
Of lulling songs and bedtime delights. 

Sweet babe so dear.
Sweet dreams are yours, good night, good night…

English: Sleeping baby.

Image via Wikipedia


Many thanks to you.

Honored by your precious grace,

Happy Holidays!

I nominate Bat-Ami Gordin, aka “Tammy”.  Her writings are always so unique and many times from a technical/scientific perspective which I find so appealing.

Thank you to the Poetry Palace and all my poet friends:

I Align Within

Quiet stillness, I align within, manifesting calm descends;
O awareness rising slowly, inscrutable love now ascends.
This mountain glade does inspire,
Lifting my soul ever higher.
     Nature’s essence, a soothing transcend. 

Find your core, your soul’s content,
Through intervals of malcontent,
A state of lenity you can acquire;
     Quiet stillness, I align within. 

Take gentle grasp of ego’s lament
Stare it down ’til its hold relents.
So little work it does require,
To gain some peace from self’s desire,
Watch it dissolve by your intent.
     Quiet stillness, I align within.

Photo by Ella Wilson entitled:  Soul’s Whisper


My entry for Poet’s United Thursday Think Tank # 76-Soul’s Whisper:

As If Were Lost…

As if were lost, I searched for me,
Many years so long have come to pass.
  -Outside myself I thought would be,
As if were lost, I searched for me.
But soon I found ‘twas not decreed,
   Light within soon shown at last.
As if were lost, I searched for me,
   Many years so long have come to pass!

From  The triolet

The triolet is a short poem of eight lines with only two rhymes used throughout. The requirements of this fixed form are straightforward: the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line; and only the first two end-words are used to complete the tight rhyme scheme. Thus, the poet writes only five original lines, giving the triolet a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.

Stay Awhile

flower 3265

Image by s.alt via Flickr

Quietly sitting down to prayer

I turn within away from the glare

Turn off the sounds

Turn off the sights

Feel my peaceful center inside

Stay awhile, merging with God

My entry for Sunday’s 160:


The layers are peeling

And my heart is healing

Because I’m willing to look

Unwavering at what’s afoot

My eyes are unflinching

I won’t look away

At even the darkest, shadowy

Places within

Healing takes place

When I acknowledge the truth

No pretending what I’m not

But embracing the facts

No deceiving myself

Shine a light on it all

The only way to peace

Is to live honestly


In the quiet of the evening

When all is still tranquility

I breathe in deep and sense my essence

Pure, everlasting acquiescence


The gentle silence of the night

Soothes me into peaceful harmony

No thoughts invade to bring discord

Turned within, I find serenity


Sitting motionless, relaxed and steady

I feel composed and undisturbed

The whole of the cosmos supports my state

I’m in alignment; a smile escapes


Joy transcends all here below

Energy tickles its way upward

Merging powers serve to greet me

My Oneness revealed; I’m blessed completely

Entry for Thursday’s Poet Rally 42:

When the Moment Comes I Die

When the moment comes I die

My breath will leave me with a sigh

Ahh, at last I’ll be at rest

All trials and burdens will be in the past

I’ll be alone when I am gone–

Alike the same as when I came

This shell will be tired and withered worn

And I’ll be at peace and welcome home

The transition will be a painless one

A light will appear to guide me on

I will not fret

I will not cry

Just sing me a sweet lullaby

I’m moving from one room to another

Closing one door and opening a window

Out the window I will fly

A whisper of light merged with all there is

Some day to return to birth again


Another writing challenge through Victoria.  Prediction of my death.

Entry for Thursday’s Poet’s Rally Week 41

Unravel the Hurt


Image via Wikipedia



Thoughts link together

Bringing clarity and peace

Unraveling hurt




Day Seventeen of Haiku Challenge:

My Solitude

Lamentation of the solitude

Image by ` TheDreamSky 꿈꾸는 하늘 via Flickr



Meditation’s calm

Gentle silence reigns within

Solitude brings peace







Day Fifteen of Haiku Challenge:

Renewed Faith

have a little faith in me

Image by *Seraphina* via Flickr



Quietness within

Restores my soul’s reflection

Bringing renewed faith






Day Eleven of Haiku Challenge:



Mind in dream state

Mindful concentration

Loving-kindness awakens now


This is a syllable cinquain.

the zen space

a space for zen words

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Just Write site

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The latest news on and the WordPress community.

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Be inspired...Be creative...Be peace...Be

bardessdmdenton - author- artist

Historical and Literary Fiction / Essays / Poetry / Reviews /Book Cover and Interior Illustrations / Pet Portraits and Other Commissioned Artwork ... "Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death - fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant." ~ Edna Ferber, 1885-1968, American novelist, short story writer and playwright

Soul Dipper

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Michael S Marsters

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Ramblings From A Mum

This is my journey, my thoughts, my views, plain and simple and from my heart. Please travel with me and share, hopefully it will be an interesting trip.


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'You may say I'm a Dreamer, but I'm not the only one' ~ John Lennon

~ Dragon's Dreams ~

Carpe Noctem Quod Tempus Fugit!

Dreamwalker's Sanctuary

A Sanctuary for Enlightenment and Peace through Poetry and Inspirational Thoughts as we go through Life


laughing at the malfunction of the universe is better than crying about it

Olivia's In- Mind Whirls..

"It's all in my mind"

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