Monday, November 10, 2014

Life's Choices, a poem by Janet Muirhead Hill and the Rimers

I'm thankful for the inner muse I call my "rimers" whose voices I hear in rhyming rhythm when I'm not too busy to listen.
Here is a scribbled poem from an old notebook. 

Over, under, around and through
direction in life is up to you.
Circumnavigate the globe
or sit at home and pull your lobe.

Meet the challenges head on straight
or crawl beneath the bed and wait.
How you react to circumstances
depends on readiness to take chances.

Listening to inner or outside voices
will influence the way you make your choices.
Whatever they be, you'll keep being taught
by the consequences of the choices you've bought.

Through time and trial and introspection
life will teach you truth detection
until you learn the best thing to do
is to your own soul be ever true.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Death and Dead Emotions

Having lost my dear sister and best friend last year, I'm at a loss of how to feel as I see another best friend, my editor, and mentor for more than fifteen years approach the end of life and enter hospice care. I wrote this poem in an attempt to express my reaction to this news.


Sorrow sits upon the shelf
High above my head.
Unwilling to look inside myself,
I avoid what I most dread.

And so I find I do not feel,
My mind and body, numb.
The source of pain seems so unreal
That tears refuse to come.

For facing another loss to death
Is much too hard to do.
And so I find I hold my breath
And wish more life for you.

Dearest friend, I love you so
I'm loathe to say goodbye
But I see that you will sometime go,
And in time, I know I'll cry.

Saturday, September 27, 2014


What keeps you awake at night? Most often when I can't sleep, it's because I am unhappy with myself. It's lying there wishing I'd said or done something other than what I did in a particular situation. And replaying the danged scenario over and over in a million different ways, imagining a better outcome. All for naught, of course, except to keep me awake all night. I'm thankful that these sleepless nights are far less frequent than they used to be. Maybe I'm learning to count blessings instead.

by Janet Muirhead Hill

Sometimes when we cannot sleep
We lie there counting silly sheep
But usually we’re counting should’ves,
What-if-I-hads, and wish-I-would’ves.

Words we’ve spoken and those not said
Ruefully, we replay in our head.
Hindsight gives us such clear vision
That in our thoughts, we seek revision.

Yet life has no button to re-record
And deeds once done have their reward.
For better or worse when a thing is done
It can’t be rewritten for anyone.

The best we can do as we count regrets
Is to learn a lesson and pay our debts.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Another poem slipped out of my mind onto paper. It's about writer's block. Nothing fancy or profound. Just fun rhyming.

Writer's blocks do happen,
at least they do to me.
Yet when they do, I don't know why,
It is a mystery.

I wonder why I cannot make
myself sit down and write.
What is the thing that stops my mind
and holds the block so tight?

And then a day will come along,
just as mysteriously
when I can sit and write and write,
words flowing fast through me.

I don't know what the reasons are.
There is no common thread
I only know I love the days
when stories fill my head

and I am teleported
to a land of make believe
as I pen upon the page
the words that I receive.

Friday, July 4, 2014


An anonymous poem.


Come, my friend, if you please,
We will walk and shoot the breeze,
And when the breeze is shot to hell
We will all our secrets tell

Oh, I have secrets, yes I do,
And no one I can tell them to.
Yet sometimes as I walk in rain
I'd kind of like to share the pain

Of the secret kept so long
But I know I must be strong.
And yet a while bear this weight
And solely stand up to my fate.

And so I will not share my plight
Until I've found a way to fight
And change the course I seem to be
Traveling to the death of me.

By keeping the secret in my head
Until the day that I am dead
I'll keep from spoiling anyone's bliss.
Better to live in happiness.

So come my friend and we will talk
as merrily we take our walk.
Cheerily we'll shoot the breeze
And avoid all talk of my disease.

Friday, April 25, 2014

Poems, short stories, essays, book reviews

Besides our one novel, by Raymond Storm, we are now open to publish poetry and other short creative pieces right here on our blog. If you wish to have your work published, please email it, and I will post it here as long as it meets our standards. I won't publish pornography or anything that exploits children.

For starters, here is a poem written about the grief of losing a loved one.

by Janet Muirhead Hill

With stealth, grief prowls
in the shadows of my mind
like a hunter

For just the right moment
to release its arrow
from a tightly strung bow
to pierce my consciousness
mid stride
    I falter
            bite my lip and turn away

to hide my tears
and falling face
until I can smile again,
shoving back memory's dart
and spurning it's bold sting
    and proclaim
            I am fine

Except in the shadows of my mind.