Curing olives with my dad
The glug of the garden hose
In the tub of green fruit
Golden fall leaves surround us
And the smell of
New roses and
Fresh mowed grass
We’ll crank the ice cream
Then take one
Last swim
Before the time fades
Away with nothing
Left but love.
~ Marla Todd
Monday is here so that means time to start a new book, or at least time to start thinking about what you’re going to read next.
Right now I’m in the middle of reading not one, but TWO, books – a novel and a horror anthology.
Michael Haberfelner is a master story teller. Yes, I’m a fan. I’ll make this quick. I love his style. It is different. He writes like a true story teller. I can just hear him saying, “gather round little children and I’ll tell you a story,” as yellow and red glowing eyes twinkle in the woods behind you.
I don’t want to say his style is old fashioned because it really isn’t, but it is comforting, while at the same time embracing the reader in unexpected, entertaining, and scary horror. Take my word for it. I’m really enjoying this book.
The official description: A collection of short stories and mini-plays ranging from the horrific to the darkly humourous, from the post-apocalyptic to the weirdly romantic, tales about robots, demons and rats, about potholes, cuddly toys and shopping mall Santas, about love and death and everything in between, tales that will give you a chill and maybe a chuckle, all thought up by the twisted mind of screenwriter Michael Haberfelner. Stories collected in this volume revolve around such things as … – the fate of a bookkeeper in the nuclear aftermath – artificial intelligence gone horribly wrong – a visit to the gynecologist one would rather forget – shrunken heads, quite a few of them – secret thoughts feeding the dreams of others – a Christmas wish gone horribly wrong – inappropriate jokes about moles – the deceiving kindness of strangers… and scores of other things that ought to disturb and entertain you at the same time. Enjoy – if you dare …
Michael Haberfelner also has work in the latest WPaD Anthology Creepies 3 and has contributed to many other WPaD (Writers, Poets, and Deviants) books.
I am honored to have Michael as a fellow author and a friend. However, even if I didn’t know him I’d still love his writing. I’m looking forward to seeing what he writes in the future.
I’ve been looking for new authors, both mainstream and indie. My big find of NYT Best Selling authors this summer has been Joseph Finder.
I’m in the middle of this book so I’ll tell you what I think so far. I LIKE IT. There is a court room, revenge, family drama, teens, a sexy stranger, and MURDER. The best thing is believable characters and a male author who knows how to write female characters. Thank you Mr. Finder. I don’t know what happens next but I know I won’t be disappointed.
When I first read the description of Judgement I have to admit I thought of Dirty Blonde by Lisa Scottoline. Dirty Blonde is in my top ten favorite books of all time. Thank you Lisa Scottoline.
I’m glad I took my chances and picked up with something that is entirely different and the perfect book for summer reading. I know I’ll be reading more Joseph Finder novels in the future.
The official description: New York Times bestselling author Joseph Finder returns with an explosive new thriller about a female judge and the one personal misstep that could lead to her—and her family’s—downfall.
It was nothing more than a one-night stand. Juliana Brody, a judge in the Superior Court of Massachusetts, is rumored to be in consideration for the federal circuit, maybe someday the highest court in the land. At a conference in a Chicago hotel, she meets a gentle, vulnerable man and has an unforgettable night with him—something she’d never done before. They part with an explicit understanding that this must never happen again.
But back home in Boston, Juliana realizes that this was no random encounter. The man from Chicago proves to have an integral role in a case she’s presiding over–a sex-discrimination case that’s received national attention. Juliana discovers that she’s been entrapped, her night of infidelity captured on video. Strings are being pulled in high places, a terrifying unfolding conspiracy that will turn her life upside down. But soon it becomes clear that personal humiliation, even the possible destruction of her career, are the least of her concerns, as her own life and the lives of her family are put in mortal jeopardy.
In the end, turning the tables on her adversaries will require her to be as ruthless as they are.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always loved a good story. I love reading them. I love telling them. For me, finding good storytellers is like finding gold, or even something more valuable. For the rest of the summer (and maybe beyond) I’ll continue to share my book finds, and tell you what I’m reading, or what is on my “to read” list.
I’m adding all of my summer reading posts to a link on the side bar of my blog. It will be up by July 2nd, if not sooner.
Happy reading. And as always share books with your friends, your kids, your lovers, your grandma, and everyone else who crosses your path.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
I’m honored to share a poem from my friend, Northern California writer Richard Turton.
The acrid smell of cordite
Still hovered in the air.
No breeze to wash away
The scent of Satan’s hair.
The Medivac’s are fading now,
Their cabins filled with dead.
So many grisly pictures
Are surging through my head
Another hill’s been taken
The earth all charred and black
We all know what’s coming;
Tomorrow…”Give it back!”
The Eagle cries from barren trees
His tears, he cannot hide.
Where once a proud, young soldier stood
My Warrior Brother, died
The scorched ground that surrounds me;
Am I in Dante’s Hell?
This skirmish now is over
We saw them as they fell.
My Warrior Brother, Donny,
Died that gruesome day.
He took the bullets meant for me
With his final words did say,
“Tell Mom and Sis I loved them!
Please! Don’t let me down!”
I promised I would tell them
A promise I’d soon drown.
The Eagle cried that tragic day,
Back in Sixty-Eight.
A promise made…un-kept,
To my Warrior mate.
One thing that I’m sure of,
A thing that gives no rest.
The hounds of Hell still battle
Deep within my chest.
A bottle’d been my address
For forty years or more.
I’d take ‘most any drug,
I couldn’t find the door.
Somewhere there’s a record,
Of drugs and booze and tears.
When I crawled out of the bottle
I’d been buried in for years.
Half a decade sober.
Not a real long time.
That’s how long I’m clean tho’,
My life’s becoming mine.
The winds of war are blowing by;
In history books they last.
I’m in the winter of my years,
My best days…they have passed.
The one thing that I’ve never done
One thing I cannot face:
To visit the Memorial,
The headstone for that place.
My daughter said, “You have to go,
To honor those who died!”
I said I know I should…
But that I’d go…I lied
Then one day the phone rang;
A call I knew I’d dread.
It was Donny’s sister,
“Please help me!” Karen pled.
“I’ve spent these years just searching
I even hired a sleuth.
I finally found out where you live…
I need to know the truth.”
“The Army’s always been real vague,
And their answers never matched.
I need to know what happened;
They always seemed detached”
“Our Mother has passed on now,
But I still need to know;
I’d really love to meet with you,
Please…just show me how!”
The hounds of Hell are roused again;
Their howling has re-started.
I force their shrieks out of my mind,
My path, it has been charted
Quiet now, you dogs of war!
It’s time for a new quest!
It’s time for me to wrestle you,
And lay your souls to rest!
Then I thought the one thing,
A thought I’d never say,
Should I meet her at The Wall,
And put my hounds at bay?
I finally said I’d meet with her,
With a voice that was not mine.
“The Wall is where I’ll meet you.
I’ll see you there at nine.”
I saw flowers in her hand,
As she walked my way.
“Yellow roses were his favorite.”
Later she would say.
“Hello, my name is Karen.”
She said when we did meet
“Donny wrote me many things,
I knew that you’d be sweet!”
“I know this must be hard for you,
But I really need to know.
Please tell me how my brother died,
That day, so long ago.”
The moment had arrived.
I could hide this fact no more.
I said things I’d kept hidden,
Behind my mind’s locked door
She took my hand in hers,
And waited patiently.
My head bowed down as I thought
Of words I had to say.
I knew my words would stab her heart
But she would not look away.
She watched me as I told her
Of that ghastly day.
“Your Brother died in my arms,
In that nameless place.
He took the bullets meant for me
And died as we embraced!”
Her head dropped down, when I was done
Her chin upon her chest.
A single tear rolled down her cheek,
“Now Donny’s laid to rest.”
I walked with her as she made her way
To the Wall of Stone.
She laid the flowers at the base
Her silent prayer was sown.
At last I’ve honored those who fell,
Whose names are etched in rows.
We touched the name of Donny,
Who died so long ago.
And we cried…
The Eagle’s cry is heard again;
It lives within the Wall!
Each time a name is touched
The Eagle gives his call.
© Richard Turton
Note from Juliette:
I met Rick Turton through his son who was my daughter’s 4th grade teacher. Rick joined a writing group I’m an administrator for. We all soon discovered Rick is a talented writer and a man with a sharp sense of humor. When I first read this poem I had no idea … I ended up choked up. A few years ago I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington DC. It was such a moving experience – a difficult experience – even though the war is long over. For many it will never be over. Thank you to Rick for your words of love and honor and for allowing me to share this poem.
You wait at my door,
Your bite still fresh,
Your cries
Your pleading
Your banging
The scratching
Your love
Astounds me
You will not give up
Fangs set
Love forever
I must let you in
For after all
Despite all
Forever all
I laugh
I smile
I let you in
You are my cat.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
People won’t admit they read poetry and are moved by it…but late at night they go on the Internet and search it out. It is like pornography. I’m dead serious (no pun intended). It is a need that most people will not dare admit to.
It isn’t a good time for me to expound upon the history of poetry or what caused the American population (among others) claim not to like poets. But I would like to remind everyone, especially those of us who can remember the past several centuries that there was a time that poets were the Rock Stars of our culture.
Sometimes I pull out my old volumes of favorites and read in the quiet of the night or on a rain soaked day. In turn, I also look for the new. I marvel at the many voices I see with poetry on the Internet.
Part of me believes technology with recorded music, radio, TV etc maybe brought an end to the poet as a popular icon. But in turn the Internet, yes the Internet has brought poetry back to life.
I see in the online communities poets being read, not ignored. I don’t read those words online “I don’t like poetry.” I see people who NEVER would read a poem, forwarding poetry to their friends and loved ones.
Poetry is a gift to the soul. Poetry is for everyone. Everyone needs poetry, like a vampire needs blood, like a hawk needs to fly, like a fish needs to swim. I know that wasn’t very poetic but you get the point – I hope.
Your assignment today is to READ, SAVOR and SHARE poetry with someone you love.
~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman
It has been five years since Daniel Tanzo left us.
via In memory of a poet – Daniel Tanzo
