Confessions of a Dreamer, in rhyme

I like to dream; I do it a lot.
Work gets done in my mind, but not
in the world where I must work
and feel guilty when I shirk.

Books get written in my mind
and to a lesser extent you'll find
real tomes appear, but they're just a few
of all the ones I plan to do.

Ideas come, but I am slow
to act on them so the world might know
what I am actually capable of
writing the things I hate and love.

I get distracted, mostly by doubt
making it hard to get my work out.
And when I find courage, my words to share
I worry a lot that no one will care. 

Jilted, an anonymous poem

Little did I know that night,
that love would come with laughter
nor that tears were in the wings
when sorrow followed after.

All the times were so much fun
the months you courted me
And so I gradually fell in love
when I thought love could not be.

So powerfully that love took hold
I gave heart and soul to you.
'Twas then your love for me grew cold
and you told me we were through.

To another you would to be true
and faithful to the end
and all that you could offer me
was just to be my friend.

Confused and with a broken heart
I cried like ne'er before.
With passion such as I loved you,
I vowed I'd love no more.

And though many years have come and gone
And I've gotten over you,
To that vow I made that night
I have been and still am true.

Danni's Choice

 Coming soon as an ebook on Smashwords and on Amazon's Kindle

Seventeen-year-old Danni, subjected to the horror every woman fears the most, faces the most difficult of all choices – to keep or abort a child. The choice is taken from her by threats of harm to her small sister unless she does as her perpetrators direct. Constantly burdened with fear of harm to her sister, Britt, she struggles to continue her education and create a life better than the one she’d grown up with. And Captain, the boy who was once her best friend—and unwitting partner in crime—remains ever in her thoughts. Did he think of her at all? 

This sequel to The Body in the Freezer (Raven Publishing, 2014) takes place three years later and is seen from alternating viewpoints, as Danni and Captain are separated by more than a thousand miles—and ordered by the court not to be in contact with each other until Danni turns eighteen and is off probation. 

Danni's choice comes with a strong warning, for it is not intended for the usual 8- to12-year-old fans of Janet Muirhead Hill's Miranda and Starlight series of horse stories.

You will see this warning on the first page. 

CAUTION

This book’s adult content includes sex and violence

and confronts serious and controversial moral issues.

Not for children 12 and under!

We rate it PG 13

because bad things can happen

in junior high, too.

Mortality

Regrets
     by R. Grieves

She lies there in lace
With a frown on her face
Trying to trace where she's been.

Her life is 'most over
And she's not walked in clover
Nor White Cliffs of Dover she's seen.

In quiet times she's haunted
By things that she wanted
And now feels taunted by them

She's let others decide
Then has had to abide,
Never to ride on a whim.

Now the chances are gone
And won't again dawn
As more regrets spawn in her head.

The message she's giving
Is to live while you're living
Avoiding misgivings when dead.

Jumbled Thoughts

Confusion

My brain is a jumble
of words as they tumble
       and dive and spin and cavort.

My thoughts, I would trace them
so I could embrace them,
     But there're just too many to sort. 

So, I close my eyes
and heave some deep sighs
     and ask my mind to slow down.

I'd make a list
If I could get the gist
     of the ideas that are whirling around.

Yet the lists that I make
Seem like a mistake
     when new thoughts come whirling by,

So until they calm down
And quit spinning around
    I just watch as like shorebirds they fly. 

By the rimers of JMH

Uncertainty: Necessary in life and in fiction.

Nothing is certain, till life draws the curtain.
Changes in plans are the norm.
Goals are nice, but a throw of the dice
Can thwart the intentions you form.

Rewrites are a must; do them or bust
As new light on your info is shed.
If you're not retelling, you may be rebelling
Over changes you need make to the thread.

But in writing as in life, trouble is rife.
Roadblocks and hurdles appear.
Learn to adjust; to survive, it's a must.
You'll grow as you work through your fear.

And because you have earned every lesson you've learned
You life and your book are improved.
The wisdom of age has made you a sage
And your reader will likewise be moved.  

By the rimers of JMH.

Missing!

Many people whom I loved dearly have gone missing from my life. I think of them a kajillion times a day—until I banish sad thoughts from my mind. They are gone, and they are not coming back.

But sometimes, maybe, it would be okay to think of them, to remember, and to allow myself to be sad for a while.

There is Grandma, who loved me and wanted to be proud of me, and I felt I let her down, but she loved me anyway. I still miss her and remember the things she told me, taught me, and all her loving ways, though she's been gone some 55 years from my life.

Dad and I got off to a bad start when I was only two. I never knew how to relate to him with his stern and quiet ways. But in later years, probably because I'm so much like him, I came to understand the things for which, before, I could not forgive him, nor get over my fear of him. I'm very thankful that I finally realized how much he loved me—and that he always had. And I'd give most anything to have him back to make up for lost time and explore with him the kindred spirits that we are. But he's been gone for more than 16 years. 

And Mom! How I miss her. Being with her was a joy. Having her come to my house to see me when I was grown up and married and living far from home was the best thing that could happen to me. I miss our talks. I miss her sweet and loving ways, her sense of humor and her penchant for always doing the right thing. I hurt her sometimes. And sometimes she hurt me, but always there was love to bind us.  There are so many things I still want to ask her. I can't. She's been gone more than 11 years.

I hurt my sister, too. Never meant to. And she hurt me a time or two, though I know she didn't really want to. It's what we do to our loved ones. Damn it. Then we hate ourselves forever when they are dead and gone. 

Ah, Joan, my dearest sister, friend, and hero, hardly an hour goes by that I don't think of something you said to me, or something I need to ask you, or news I just want to share because you care. Or cared. Always, about everything, no matter how trivial or how serious. In times long gone—going on two years gone, I would pick up the phone and call just about every day. Sometimes more than once a day. But now I can't. you're not there anymore and it seems an unfair tragedy.

A bad plan, this dying thing. You're born, you try to make a life by trial and error, you endear yourself to those who know you, you deteriorate, and you die—to be seen and heard from no more forever.

And it's not just family missing from my life. I'm missing my dearest friend, supporter, and mentor, Florence Ore. She was a role model to me and a confidante and cohort. I'm flooded with fond memories of being with her in her home, discussing books, critiquing writing, sharing woes, and finding a sympathetic ear and wise counsel. I am sad that those days are gone because she is no longer there in her lovely home. Gone for half a year and I miss her. I miss them all, and time won't change that.

So, I'm taking time to remember them, miss them, and be sad. Then I'll love the ones still left and give something of myself to the world by taking what I've learned from those missing. See if I can turn it into something I can leave, even if only good memories, when I become the one who is missing.