Writer. Educator. Artist.
Dance © arlene s bice
New dances in the 50s & 60s
great to release a teen’s emotions
country dances, reels & squares
provided the same outlet
as does line dancing
foxtrot taught in school
along with an Irish Jig
the waltz, a show of elegance
ballet is a story tenderness & fire
dancing allows human expression.
Ahhh Cinderella! ©arlene s bice
As a teen, I longed for my prince to come
haul me up onto his great white horse
ride into the sunset, travel, dance, sing
no one told me he was really a toad
no way would we ride onto the road
troubles and sorrows on me did he load
till I finally grew up and wised up, too
bought my own horse-power, that was
first a 2-wheeled Honda, then a Harley
candy-apple red, shiny and took myself
over mountains, down into valleys low
vroom, vroom, wherever I wanted to go.
Photo by Fran Now Time-unsplash
For Me, like a Cloud © arlene s bice
Just because I live solo
doesn’t mean oodles of empty
time hangs on or around me
this life is busy, this life is full
so, I take time out for looking
within, see what grows there
what feeds my soul, my heart
healthy thoughts, feelings to
carry me upward, like a cloud
floating to the everafter life.
Home & Heart! © arlene s bice
Sometimes I come home
flop into a chair
exhausted, whew!
a glance around shows
crystals in the window
plants, objet d’art, paintings
all familiar
chosen carefully by me
reflections of my life
items I hold dear
surrounds me
with warmth
I’m home.
A new turf
moved into
a stranger raises
a hand, waves,
shouts a ‘hi’
a smile
it feels good
my heart says
here
I belong
here.
photo by Danny b-unsplash
It’s True © arlene s bice
At birth it was obvious to Mom
this is the one whose destiny is
to soar, to seek, to blossom with
travel; an adventure gene glowed
like a brilliant star shining within
you will mingle with others, it said
of different ethnic customs, beliefs
you will taste foods of many people
create friendships; gather knowledge
you will form friendships from afar
it’s true, it began early in life, a joy
it remains deep in my heart still
it’s restlessness, a wandering mind
feet itchy with sand-filled shoes
a thirst for ever more, again, again
writing it down may bring content
there, I did that, been there, next?
Dreaming the House of Change © arlene s bice
Repeatedly, it began with my house
of early setting in
back wall completely blown away,
exposed
rooms crooked, uneven,
empty
reconstruction not working,
lopsided
a ramp leading to entrance
crumbling
weatherbeaten, life beaten
a vision of my marriage
this repetitive dream alerted me
change was coming
it did, each time.
Now, you’re thinking about your name and maybe thinking about where it came from. You know it is easy to find your ancestors and you know where to go to find your ancestors. Now let me guide you a bit on what you want in your story.
My father told me his people lived in New Hope, Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I knew from records that my gr. grandfather Addis was born in 1842. I read about the call to arms from Pres. Lincoln and that it would make him a ripe age for enlisting in the fight to keep our country from breaking into pieces. His tombstone told me of his love for Annie. Research online told me what was going on in New Hope at the time. The newspapers, trains, canals, and local factories were alive with action and movement. It was easy to put it all together and come out with a picture of the day.
I found Addis’ army records and followed his footsteps, not using everything I found but choosing what would flush out his story. Newspapers carried the stories of the army hospitals and sometimes the shenanigans of the soldiers. Records reported weapons. Descriptions of battles are listed on-line.
After the War Between the States ended, records continued to lead me through his life, its triumphs and its trials. I came to know who he was, what he thought and how his life came to an end. Yankee in Blue published in Rumors and Other Short Stories.
photo thanks to Robert Linder @unsplash
Photo by Ryan Searle on Unsplash
I tried possible spellings. Really, how many ways can I spell my four letter name? Byse, Bise, Bicé with an accent, Von Bicen (?) von Bisen (?) with no success.
I traveled to the UK a few times and once, after visiting Hay on Wye first, I drove through Cornwall stopping at Fowey. With Daphne du Maurier’s home in mind I pulled off the road onto the one that led down, down, down to the Channel. Whoa!!!! The road was so steep I felt like I would tumble head over heels, or trunk over engine. I spotted a street to my right that was kind of level and wrenched the steering wheel to get onto it. When I reached another street, it led back up to the main road, I took it. The engine of my rental with the gear shift on the left, was grinding all the way to the top! Whew!! I made it. What was I thinking?
I pulled off the road and looked down at the beautiful town where I yearned to go. I’d read about it but couldn’t see any other way to get to it. Other people must drive that road down, but I couldn’t make myself drive it. I gazed until I had enough and drove further west to Truro and Redruth when I decided I had enough and backtracked. I really should have found a place nearby to stay but didn’t. Oh regrets. This was Bice country and there were many connections to follow that I was unaware of. It was still early internet days. At least I was here and at least I discovered where my Bice family came from.
Finally when the internet came into everyday homes and Bingo! I sent out the plea and received a whole bevy of replies from Cornwall, England. “C’mon over! We have a history of Bices and tons of Bices still living here!” said the emails. I didn’t get back. As usual in my life, I seem to live it in reverse. Yet I found my heritage! Thanks to the internet, I learned that we (Bice folk) in our country, fought in the Revolutionary War. . .against England, that is so American.
I’m so excited! I’ve been invited to present a poetry piece at the Lakeland Cultural Arts Center! On stage! Joining my longtime pals from First Friday Poetry Night, we’ll be reunited on Friday-that’s the Fourth Friday-of January – the 26th from 6 to 8 pm. Littleton (NC), home of LCAC, has changed in the last several of years since I’ve moved from Warren County to Virginia. All for the better. I’m also excited to see all my poetry loving writers, readers and listeners. Sometimes I don’t know how much I miss certain friends until I am about to be with them again. How funny that is, not in laughter, in curiosity.
Lakeland Arts has also been updated, refreshed, renewed, etc. In addition to plays, they offer a wide range of live entertainment; some shows are already sold out. It’s an impressive line-up. I am eager to see the new LCAC since I often enjoyed the Lakeland of years ago. Live plays are so superior, in these days of our entertainments coming from home screens.
Now, what am I going to wear? Which poem? Excuse me, it’s time to spray my throat and walk around the apartment and practice my ah-h-h-h-s!
Introduction
Over many years, I talked and listened to women tell their stories. Whether I waited tables, tended bar, sold or appraised real estate, or leaned on the counter near the cash register on a quiet afternoon in my book shop. I mention the last item because a quiet afternoon in a small town book shop was perfect for a conversation with a woman who needed to release her story to someone who would listen. It didn’t need to be a close friend, maybe even better because I wasn’t. Each one of those stories, though not written here, were not forgotten by me, is honored with this publication. They reveal the various lives we have lived as women.
An anthology is the perfect vehicle to reveal stories untold; to explain, represent and disclose. Like a whisper in my ear from a feminine ancestor, the idea slid right into my mind. It wouldn’t let me sleep until I put thought into action. Timing is perfect, I said to myself. Women’s achievements of the past are now coming out of vintage trunks. There are tales of heroines of long and not so long ago. Women who made great changes behind the scenes are stepping into limelight they deserve. No more hiding behind curtains or in the backroom.
Reading Jeanmarie Evelly’s History of a Body inRattle #66 set me on fire! It boiled the blood in my veins! It slapped me alert! Excitement charged through me as images passed in front of my eyes. I needed to invite women to tell their stories. I wondered how many women experienced incidents only because they were female. I felt their stories could only be told correctly and completely by them.
It is time to let the world read our words; words reveal who we were, how we lived, loved, and who we are today. We went unnoticed, doing great things in small ways. We influenced others with our quiet deeds.
We postponed and sacrificed our dreams to benefit ones we loved and never mentioned it. Let each reader laugh or cry, cheer for us, or get angry at what happened. Let some disagree with our decisions or shout ‘Brava!’
With kindness and respect,
Arlene S. Bice