Visit me here… You’ll be welcomed and I will be so honored to have your company…
Visit me here… You’ll be welcomed and I will be so honored to have your company…
January 28th, 2017 We will be launching this book Behind Closed Doors and have speakers, as well. Yea! I was asked to be one of them and I am thrilled greatly to be a part of these wonderful women.
Alan Johnson will be reading one of Susan’s terrific poems regarding abuse using his fabulous voice. Oh, so sorry, but Alan will not be present.
Book launch hosted by Author and Poetess Deborah Brooks Langford
Co-Authors are Ann Landrum Stockstill and Susan Joyner-Stumpf
To join the launch visit the link or Deborah’s page on FB. The blue link above this comment.
The LINE UP
FOR SATURDAY 28TH
11:30 AM MOUNTAIN TIME
12:30 PM CENTRAL
1:30 PM EASTERN
Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf 11:30 am mountain time 12:30 central
will speak about abuse and give book away.. BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
Bonnie Jennings SPEAKER ON ABUSE 12 NOON MOUNTAIN TIME… 1PM CENTRAL
Ann Landrum Stockstill speaker on abuse and book give away
12:30 pm mountain time 1:30 pm central
Author Deborah Brooks Langford Speaker on child abuse 2Pm central
Frances Irene Tolfa 2:15 pm speaker on abuse..
Phillip Mathew Roberts is one of my favorite poets. His poetry is deep, and he uses symbolism to express his ideas and haunting thoughts that are discerned using exquisite interpretation that is not taken lightly.
Many thanks Phillip for agreeing to be one of my guests. It is my pleasure to salute your talents.
Ladies and gents here is Phillip, please enjoy his poetry as much as I do.
At the crossroads where
Phillip Quotient <email@example.com>
Another poem for the road…
Stoic liaison appears in the rain
His steed has gone lame and needs tending
The groom knows such mending requires more pay
The stable boy nods –
And I turn away
Come now, liaison
Come in from the rain
Fine stallions are many –
Acquiesce now – obey
Beyond the arbor, the bovine bells ring
Lighting strikes twice –
The cattle stampede
The stoic liaison wipes tears from his eyes
Heave ho –
The grooms throw the steed on the pyre
February Love Poems 2017 🌹
This poem is a little jaded… I can’t apologize… its where I’m at when I think of love…
Struggling to find my emotions about love
Must confess, I don’t see whats all the fuss
Examining others, who declare their passions
Scrutinize, doubt, bah-humbug ~ a wannabe
Merely a facade, a poisons tree
Never existed ~ you see.
Enraptured lovers grabble intimately
Erotic moments, fleeting, bequeathed
Passions of fire, flames from desires
Consequences, scenes, episodes ~ “au revoir.”
And occasions of raptures upon green meadows
Understanding these rendezvous were eros
Asking again, what is truelove
After the season of passions
Remains the idea, “how to get rid of”
Love doesn’t grow from the seeds of lust
Only infants, and children and a sad family life
Teaching the young androgens lessons
Proofing the courses and coaching hormones
Instructing the usage of birth control
Keeping the knees together tightly bound
Taking the ‘Phallus Willie’ to the red lights
Instead of young Susie who thinks you love her
But it was your prostaglandins and testosterone that beds
Loving lies caused Susie to spread her legs
And this was never love dear teenage mother
Perhaps you forced what was never there
That seed of a child made your bed
And yes you love the “gift from God”
However, that is love, oh young bride
However, Phallus Willie, had other quests
And the older he gets, he seeks truelove ~ yes
It’s the love from God that untangles this mess 🌹
1 Corinthians 13
3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.
My Little Jo Jo who died summer 2015.
Now dogs love and as I’ve written before dog spelled backwards is God. And God is love. Dogs are love if you treat them right.
Shelley Cannon-Fredrick painted this portrait of my Little Jo.
Any thoughts or poetry are welcomed…🌹Please drop a thought or verse… Anything that comes to your mind…
If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing
Starting with the Biblical explanation concerning love, I will post 1 Corinthians 13.
Thank you Bible-gateway
The Apostle Paul speaks …
13 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. 🌹
This Word Called Love
Oh what can I say about the word love?
Asking if it really is or something conspired
Holding tightly to impressions believed
Searching places where thinking it might be
Wanting desiring for a fleeting fantasy
This action called “to love,” not imagined
Holding it tightly as a song-less, song bird
Caught in a cage insisting, own ways
Perceiving for another the ways they are to be
Strangling the avian not allowing their flight
Captured in a prison of your perceived delight
The fowl looses feathers, plucking them out
Wanting so to be itself, wanting to fly
Away from an insistent conquering fright
Bald and ugly now, plumage falling out
Once stood a beautiful lover and now ~
Behind bars, a seized encapsulated fowl
So what about the word, Love?
Does it exist in our box of ideas
And, is it trapped inside our four walls
Or is it free to fly away for seasons in love
Returning freely, and lively breathing life
Colorful as God intended it to be, so bright
And examine your beautiful bird smiling
And see your neighbors brown, bald and dying
Pulling feathers out under siege
Now tell me, does love let the bird breath
Or does it kill what it can’t perceive
Reverence Peace Awe Small Humbled Standing
More stars than the sands on a shore
Lasting and growing vacuuming infinity
The greatest quest is to know and see
What is beyond where my eyes perceive
Surely there is a beginning and an end
Will I see and partake beyond fleshly men
To travel faster than the speed of light
See The Milky Way and ride Halley’s Comet
Visit where men pray there’s a God
And ever return home for mom and dad
Are they heaven bound or universal spirits
These answers of questions, will I know?
Find peace on Earth and love of dogs
A place free from hatred and eating flesh
Oh God tell me, is there such a place
Video version… It’s so beautiful Thank you Tulika Gugar, Alan Johnson, Al Johns, and Deborah Brooks… I cried…..
K BJ 1.7.17 🚀📡🔬 👽⏳🕒🌀♃†⚖⚛∞
My Rubaiyat Poetry
Gather, and watch the fires, winter is today
The time to write has soberly fallen; it lays
And Spring steals her pens of deep creations
The Spring Princess earnestly, then ~ she wants to play
K♣️ BJ 1.7.2017
Over the land covered in suet, singed by storms of fires
The Fire Drake surveyed for any breath of life remaining
The humans decidedly in unification ended all existence
Hovering over Elysium once occupied by eternal Spring
The Drake came to rest on wet wood washed to the shore
It considered all things and then after time it took to flight
Once there was a place called Heaven and now it’s forever lost
Are You Able to See
So lovely and elegant ~ the garden tea
It is prepared for the human abductees
Merely a mirage, a festival adorned by honey bees
Cakes sumptuous, champagne with raspberries
China cups and saucers and a teapot to match
White linens and lace and a grand wooden chair
The Maidenhair delicately placed with care
A giant mushroom shielding us from the glare
But are you able to see the red-eyed hare?
Looking so intently, as to warn and beware
And asking again, are you able to see?
The time appears at almost nine o’five
The brass stopwatch chimes so to bid our goodbyes
The hare’s eyes turn blood-red with dread
The cake eaten, so we blew kisses farewell
Then like lightening, waved bye-bye and fled
As the hare wasn’t friendly ~ no more
K♣️ BJ 2016
Thank you Pinterest for the image
It is because the mind of a mental health nurse sees the world, reported by others, from a down to earth approach and also from a surreal sublime often bizarre experience, that I’m thrilled with Jo Dowling’s poetry. In a way, because we are so down to earth, we are also somewhat of skeptics, realists and also expect the weird from the world, at the same time.
We may write about “fairies” and fables, but under that fantasy is dirt truth… You must read between the lines that often have allegories, metaphors, parables and messages hidden in the gray areas of life, and from that we express the unexplainable in poetry.
If you live and move in these areas, then you too, understand the minds of psychiatric nurses… We are the eyes of doctors and therapists. We watch and never have to listen because we see and understand the unspoken language of the human spirit.
We are the Watchers, not exactly the listeners of words, because body language speaks louder volumes than spoken conversations, and psychiatric nurses see and realize the unspoken and that is why I love Jo’s poetry. She sees the reflections of the dark side of life and explains some secrets found inside closets and under beds in her poetry. The child that hurts, the person that still experiences the “boogyman” syndrome, Jo understands.
It is the human psyche and the sixth dimension that her poetry reflects. The empathetic observer that she is, who feels and deeply understands fears, horrors, paranoias and the sadness’ of many who experience mental illness or just simple fears and depression. Jo writes from their persona or perhaps she writes from her own experiences.
I love your poetry Jo. I understand and I relate to well. I know those demons thwarting our living day to day … So often those tormentors get away with robbing innocent victims.
I appreciate your poetry because you are truthful about what you’ve witnessed, and you have come to tell others, to alert them, and to touch them in away, through your poetry. Those whom read your lines, verse and choices of words, know that you do understand because you hit the demon on the head (just an expression) and expose those dark forces, so well.
Jo’s poetry is heartfelt spiritualality, but is not pie in the sky fairies and pixies, but it is about real life forces that have wounded many, and affect many daily;
So, thank you Jo.
Here is one of many of Jo’s poems.
Childhood was spent in China, Korea, and Baghdad. Attended college at the University of Arkansas, Henderson State University, and Texarkana College, obtaining a degree in Nursing. Became Specialized and Certified in Psychiatry and worked as a Registered Nurse at Baptist Health and Pinnacle Pointe Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. Served in the United States Marine Corps, Intelligence Division. Retired early and returned to hometown of Foreman, Arkansas to write full time.
Sometimes we turn from the fire so quickly we stumble and fall in the flames and are burned
And sometimes we medicate painful mistakes with elixers of poison or promises made
We watch as the children grow taller and stronger and cover our eyes when they break down the door
We are of thunder and rainbows, and cyclones, and northeastern winds without warning or form
We are of time and celestial planets, and volatile poisons and critical mass
We explain meaning without understanding- our senses perceive only what we believe
Humanity, fling back the sheet from the mirror–
Focus your sight and define what you see
Quiet your mind and acknowledge your senses
Cry for humanity, tend to the bleed
Gold turns to blackness like fossil rock veins- meanings ingrained and embedded
Sadness strikes suddenly, point piercing through, wickedly splitting existance in two
Shaking from force of the violent blow- the meaning burns inward and down to the bone
The sound lasts for only one second of time, but the echo will last for an entire life
Biddable river shines bright in the Autumn
Dance with me under the river rock cliffs
Voluptuous evergreen lips kiss the sky
Come to the river
Swim through your mind
Grape vines entwine, hiding footprints behind us
Time cannot find this oasis
Tedious urgency does not exist
Prisms refract where the river falls spray
Wade in the wonder
Bathe and create
You can find Jo Dowling on FB. She has several poetry groups and you might want to follow her and learn more about the dark side of our mind….
I live there at times and relate to the closets hidden from the world of facade and often irreverent.
Thank you Jo for sharing your poetry and a part of yourself. Thank you for the work that you do and write about. It is because you relate so well to the human spirit.
Jo is a realist.
Thank you deeply and sincerely.
A Castle Stands
There on a hillside vaguely visible
Grey fog covers the low grounds
Tree bare of leaves stand protecting
So many mysteries dwelling within
Approaching slowly, then stand waiting
For an invitation from the powers invading
Many times I’ve watched the bridge
Upright, that separates from ground
Murky the mote between castle and man
Creatures hungry for the taste of flesh
Yet curious, I like a cat with nine lives
Should the gate drop, then I will pass
What would become of me ~ tis my fate
The mystery too great to pass it along
Daringly, I accepted the ghostly bate
Entered the mausoleum and did not hesitate
Images from A Poets haven
WordPress, The Year in Review
Is so important and special to me, I can’t believe you guys aren’t doing them anymore…
Very sad face….