general, Poetry, writing

Fortune Cookies for Writers & Poets

As the quote you get out of the fortune cookie after a meal in an Oriental restaurant seems to be just the right saying for you at the moment, so does the quote you choose blindly out of a basket full of fortune cookie sayings, is the perfect thought for you to be writing about at the very moment you read it.
This is a very good writing prompt to use when ideas dry up or you are having a blank day. Copy a bunch of the quotes on line, put them in a basket & let them sit for a day when your muse has gone out wandering.
We recently did this in my writing group.

fortune cookies
fortune cookies

This is my result:

Much More Grows in the Garden Than What is Planted There.
(Fortune cookie saying)

When I take photos of my garden at dusk or dawn
I catch the fairies dancing, playing,
caring for the herbs & flowers
planted there
adding more of their own design

the beautiful moon flowers must be a favorite
for they, too rest when the sun goes down
by closing up their petals as large,
as white as the silvery moon that shines
the fairies seemingly disappear at night, too

but I know that is when they add
to the beauty of my garden
by kissing the seeds to help them bloom
after the rain plumps them up
& the soil wraps them in a loving hug

the sun follows up with a brilliant beam
to encourage their growth
thanks go to them daily
for the colors of the season
as I sit to reflect in my garden of joy

art, general, Poetry, reflection, writing

The Eyes of Writers & Artists

Finding a subject to write about comes from the many different things that we look at. It is the seeing what we look at and putting it into words that that makes us writers; like an artist sees objects differently than those who are not artists. They see the greens, yellows, pinks, and blues in a tree trunk where the average person may see only a brown tree trunk.

During a recent writing group session Maggie Chalifoux brought in a couple of her abstract paintings and we all wrote very different responses to them. Our various responses came from seeing the same painting but bringing our own experiences and inner thoughts to the writing piece. This is the poem I wrote to explain what I saw.

Life Magic Through My Eyes
(inspired by a Maggie Chalifoux abstract painting)

As the mist rises up
droplets float down
the world responds
with motion and life
as seasons change

one feeding the other
waters lap the shore
birthing trees and greenery
creating movement
of days into night

wrapping the earth like
Mother Nature’s loving arms.
Arlene S. Bice ©2013

*** I recently received notice of the new website listed here of a long-time friend, Jyoti Wind, who is an experienced astrologer, shaman, published writing leader and homeopathic consultant. Please check out her website if any of these subjects appeals to you. www.jyotiwindastrology.com

books, Cats, Poetry

The Muse as Cat

DSCF1968
Some have a muse
I have Mz Lizzie
this cat
will come for me
if I am not at my PC
hunting the house
for me
then nudging
nudging my calf
Come on! It is time to write!
she tells me
with her eyes

her head bumps me
let’s go!
I smile at her
completing the chore
that is keeping my hands
busy

this cat is relentless
bump, bump,
nudge, nudge
finally I give in
okay, okay
off we go
Mz Lizzie at my ankle
the PC chirps from slumber
Lizzie settles on the table
at my elbow
contented, her job
well done

As a post script here is a link for Louie Schwartz at TED:
http://www.flickspire.com/m/HealthierL433/Gratitude-Louie-Schwartz-at-TED

art, Poetry, Uncategorized

I Came Upon This Door

Our recent program “A Gathering of Artists & Poets” was a huge success with 59 people in attendance. This is one of my paintings with poem to compliment it. Please enjoy.

DSCF2714i

I Came Upon This Door

When roaming a medieval town
I came upon this door,
by accident, I thought
tucked into
a hidden lane
a short distance away,
it summoned me
come closer, enter after knocking

I remembered it, but how? I have never been here before

The lamp bid me as welcome
as a candle in a window
it felt familiar
as I paused
letting my senses
respond,
to warn or
to comfort I did not know.

But I felt I had been here before, a long, long time ago.

The knocker beckoned
my hand to grasp
let it fall,
send echoes
down the hall
of stone
cold
secretive, empty

with stories to tell of other times amidst this forgotten pall

As memories came to mind
visions of men, women
revealed to me,
I wondered
what string or crumbs
brought me here
to revive
those stories of long ago

of those folks, kindred who must not be left, thoughtlessly, behind

Arlene S. Bice, © 2013

book review, ezine, paranormal, Poetry, Uncategorized

PurpleStone February Ezine

PurpleStone Press Ezine ©
A Monthly Newsletter to keep readers informed on news in the book world, about moments not easily explained, stretching out to other genres, a personal story, events going on, comments from readers and more. Readers are welcome to comment or add their thoughts to the next newsletter.
In This Issue February 2013
Click Reply, enter your email address with the word Subscribe and return it to me at asbice@aol.com if you would like to receive the monthly Ezine on books, stories, life’s quirks, and other bits of interest to inquisitive readers.

Happenings & News At the FoodWorks-S. Main St. Warrenton-Friday: our Ribbon Cutting with live jazz from Just Friends! 4:00-6:30

What’s Goin’ On? ‘A Gathering of Artists & Poets’ Reception
(An opening show of original paintings –
with the poems written about them, read by the poets)
Join Us
Tuesday 19th February 2013
5:00 – 6:30
Artists & Poets:
Arlene Bice * Sherman Johnson * Thomas Park *
Jay Pearson * * Wheeler Smith
Warren County Memorial Library Community Room
119 So. Front St.
Warrenton NC
Refreshments Served
Sponsored by: Warren County Artists Market
Also: A new anthology coming together: The subject to write about: “Tell us about the creative passions that light your life. These can be painting, poetry, carpentry, cooking, weaving, sewing, gardening etc.” in poetry or essay form.. If you have any further questions or would like to submit & want guidelines, please email me at: asbice@aol.com

Stories… William R. Poole Haunts……..For reasons sometimes unknown to us, we feel a love of something so strong that we want to cherish and protect it forever. With William R. Poole his love was poured into trees and his beloved white horse. William R. is said to have begun his adult life with nearly empty pockets, but soon began amassing land for his farm and for his forests that he loved so much. He continued progressing through life by serving as Justice of Wake County Court of Pleas and Quarters Sessions and Chairman of the Board of Wake County Commissioners.
It was Poole’s habit to ride his great white horse through his woods every day, spending much time there in the heat of summer and the cold, bareness of winter. The Civil War exploded in North Carolina. At the end Raleigh was occupied by Sherman and his troops, mostly in an orderly fashion. But there are always exceptions….. A handful of Yankee soldiers heard that Poole concealed a fortune in gold in his woods. Poole instinctively knew they would pay him a visit. He bided his time, sitting on his veranda in his cane bottom chair when they charged in on their horses. His slaves were long gone. He was alone. Their conversation did not go well. The Yankees demanded the gold. Poole denied having any treasure at all. The men in blue bullied him and bound him to a fence rail. They dragged him on that rail to his corn mill. When he insisted there was no gold, they burned his mill down.

In frustration the soldiers began poking and prodding between and around Poole’s cherished trees, uprooting no gold or treasure. The Yanks caused such a disturbance that Poole’s proud steed neighed and whinnied in response. His beautiful companion was wrested from the protective, secret hideaway where Poole had stashed him with the comfort of fresh hay and a dry stall. He watched sorrowfully, dejected as his coveted steed’s hooves thundered away with the military horses, a blue-coated Yankee on his back. Never would he see his dear companion again.

Poole recovered and became active again in rebuilding Raleigh and Wake County. Eventually the Carpetbaggers and the Yankees were sent away. Poole died in 1889, seven years after building the Wake County Courthouse. He remained faithful in his love for his woods.

The Will of William R. Poole stipulated that a particular 75 acre tract of his woodland was to remain as such without even one tree being cut down or hauled away. The Will was upheld for a period of time but couldn’t hold out forever. Times changed. Suburbia was springing up everywhere. In the 1920s developers wanted that piece of ground as the area around it developed with houses and families.

But Poole got the last laugh from the grave. When the trees were harvested, each and every one was rotten from the inside, unable to be used for anything. Before those trees were cleared, some folks refused to go into the dense, dark forest. They said it was haunted. Fear ran through the area. Some told about seeing a filmy, galloping white stallion charging between the trees, knowing exactly where to place his hooves. Some say the spirit of William R. Poole was finally reunited with his dearest companion and they streaked through the forest at night to check that no one has chopped down his precious trees. Even after the land was developed into neighborhoods, folks say he is seen riding along the highway yet today; he and his faithful companion, a misty blur of white trotting along the road.

Blogs, I Get Blogs…. There are so many blogs out there and I keep adding more to my list of must reads. Kevin seems to be a neat guy, one I would like to have for a personal friend. His A Garden For the House is one of my favorites for garden tips inside and out along with recipes that are simple but uncommon and also views of his lovely old house. Check it out at;www.agardenforthehouse.com
T his Month……While working on Bordentown stories, I’m also collecting North Carolina true ghost tales for the next book. If you know of anyone who would like to tell me their story, please put them in touch with me at: asbice@aol.com or 252-257-4838. Thanks ahead of time.

Book Review…….. Brewing, by New Jersey Abigail Lorraine Pelletteri. A slender little book of poetry to read one at a time, now and then for contemplation, beauty and peace. And then to re-read after letting it sit on the shelf for awhile. I like her style, form, rhythm, and the subjects that touch her. I like to carry a book of poetry with me for moments of reflection or to keep my blood pressure down when I have to wait in an office waiting room. You can find her at: www.abigaillorraine.com/Photography 101

The Latest……. Ghostly Spirits of Warren County NC & Beyond (Soft Cover-2012 PurpleStone Press) $18.95 A candle in the window, a man who walks through walls, a woman from long ago…..peek into the personal stories of hauntings from those who wish to remain in their place on earth instead of going forward into the after-life. Warren County was a wealthy, thriving place during the antebellum years. Warrenton was the hub of activity, a destination on market days where friends gathered. These imprints were left and remain today.

Also Available…. Ghosts Of Bordentown (NJ) $14.95, Haunted Bordentown … (NJ) $14.95, Life & Labyrinth …$17.95 Memoir & Poetry, Major Fraser’s A House & Its History $19.95, Images of America Series -Bordentown, Bordentown history, New Egypt & Plumsted Township, A history, Bordentown Revisited, More history including its surrounds.

Subscribe: Click Reply, enter your email address with the word Subscribe and return it to me if you would like to receive a monthly Ezine on books, stories, life’s quirks, and other bits of interest to inquisitive readers. If you would like to unsubscribe, do the same interjecting the word unsubscribe, of course.

Keep your mind open. Keep reading. Be kind. Be gentle.

PurpleStone Press asbice@aol.com, http://purplestoneblog.com/

Arlene S. Bice writer-lecturer-artist P O Box 348 Macon, NC 27551

paranormal, Poetry

A Ghost

Image

A Ghost

A ghost

that pants

and breathes

on my neck

that sends chills

running up my spine

and raises the hairs on my arms

 A ghost

whispering

softly in my ear

reminding me of life

after death is a true thing

a spirit without a body not to

be forgotten because it is not seen

 A ghost

configuring

in front of me

as a misty curvy wave

a haint to be an image of terror

to some but not by others who know

and accept it with the joy of a past love

 A ghost

cannot give

comfort by touch

because never does

warmth come out of a spirit

from the middle world it inhabits

yet the sight brings memories of passion

                                                         © Arlene S. Bice, 2012  Image

Poetry

Found in Life & Labyrinth

Image

Italy

(Inspired by Dun Aengus by David Whyte)

And when you go, try to go before the ‘season’

when tourists fill every place. They take the soul of

place away.

See Italy as its people have, from

centuries ago to the present. Join them with

colorful pottery pitchers of wine on each table alongside

baskets of bread yet warm, with the scent of hot oven-baking

still floating out from the kitchen to your table to your nose to whet

your appetite.

 Walk the narrow cobbled streets

where the clatter of horses’ hooves fill

your ears even though that time is a long way

passed. Throw open the casement window in your

castle bedroom to sweep your eyes over the clay tiled

roofs to the mountains in the distance. The mountains that

pierce the clouds as you do, driving down the mountain, the

road carrying you through the cloud slowly so the experience lays

on your shoulders and imbeds itself into your pores and your mouth and

your brain.

 Soak in sounds of the squeeze-box;

a strolling soprano sings with all his being

as you stroll along the canals of Venice holding

hands most sensuously not ignoring strangers, but

saving them for the trattoria, where everyone shares a

moment or an announced event and they will cheer your

good news.

 Drink in the crisp, clear water

spouting out of the mountain, like

champagne surging from a wedding fountain.

Place a small offering in the roadside box with the

Madonna on it, even though you aren’t Catholic, never will be

and don’t believe in all that stuff. Do it anyway. Be Italian while

you’re here.

 Drive along the Costera Azura

not falling off the mountain into the

azure blue water like you expect to do

at the next sharp turn where you meet a bus

coming the other way. Italians have been driving

this road for centuries and do fall off crashing onto the

rocks below, but you won’t. You’ll have too much to take

home and to hold onto when there are only memories to make

you smile with that inner glow that you once lived with a joyful heart

in Italy.   Arlene S. Bice, © 2008

Christmas season, Poetry

Christmas as Contemplative

Image

Not all scenes of snow with Christmas intent

are filled with sleigh bells and holly

not all thoughts of stockings hung by the chimney,

include fat men in red that are jolly,

lays on my mind

A scene of trees laden heavily with white stuff

can bring visions not of sugarplums

but of peace, contentment, muffled sounds of nature

that fill the heart without the drums,

no little boy here

So in remembering your favorite Christmas year,

that it does not need to be repeated

for once it is placed in your heart, it remains forever

to bring out each year and greeted,

improving with age                   © Arlene S. Bice, 2012

art, Poetry, women

The Kiss of Gustav Klimpt

Image

The painting draws my attention

like a casual stroller at the lower left hand

corner of the local garden.

The softly draped yellows and flecks of color

falling from their shoulders,

while kneeling, down to their feet

where hers are bound by ropes of gold,

making her flight impossible.

My eyes gaze upward to the fold of their robes

blending in, one with the other,

then I notice her face turned away

from his kiss placed so tenderly

on her cheek.

Boredom is her expression;

being

the adored one,

lonely,

no passion there.

His hands cup her face,

gently,

his neck bends

to kiss

his beloved.

Her arm circles

his shoulder,

hanging on

while the other

pushes him away.

Stars are in her hair

adornment,

reflecting

the absence of

stars in her eyes.    © Arlene S. Bice, 2008