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Forward Ho!

it is rather herding cats

this marshalling of my forces

from among their separate spinning

manic super collider orbits

where meltdowns

\dripping uranium (or wax)\

feel the lesser mount.

they scratch and hiss

these feral festerings of the past

shabby black- tabby

pets of my much touted

witchery.

I have no bags in which to drown them

\all my rivers have run dry\

so I give frenzied chase

and they scatter as I scramble

to gather them together

these mistresses d’ fate.

I have fur balls in my coiffure

with catnip accoutrements

\harried housewifely ‘do\

and my fever is ballooning

as crises are wont to do.

but I need them on my journey

\these testaments in tattered fur\

so I cajole, corral and conquer

snarling cougar to prancing puss

and onward, shambles,

we meander

all my lives

and I

Just, Because

the cliff face is sheer

not in the sexy negligee way

but in the holy crap I might die

way, and the ladder trembles

because it is old and unsteady

and has been exposed to the elements

and years (how many??) of wear

and wind and sun, and not

just because my frame

vibrates as I cling, petrified

yet somehow moving one foot

determined, concentrated, tortuously

slow, down

rung by rung

and it holds and I’m not dead

or falling, bouncing across the rock face

so I move the next foot

leaden yet beset with tremors

until it finds purchase on a greyed

perch, here in midair, terrified.

there is no breath, yet a heart

hammering fast as hummingbird wings.

the wind pries at my balance

as it eddies, mocking me and my

acrophobia. finally there is rock

awaiting quivering soles, and I

scamper, blindered and winded

to a ledge approximately level.

I grin with panicky relief

having beaten back a demon

as I clamber toward the next

because

there are sites to be seen

fears to conquer

trails to hike and

just, because

Of Mother

the spirits of the ancients

rumble in ochred striations

rasp with copper calls

of the wisdom of the earth.

this petrified sand, here,

that grabs my foot-treads

\while I suspect it of slippery treachery\

roots me, through the centuries,

in ways only my soles

can wearily fathom.

wild beauty surges through thundering veins

with every startling gust

that reminds me, breathless,

of my cosmic insignificance.

sandstone vistas ransack my wind

\as I grasp, mindless and controlling\

while my cap is strewn in the dust

with all my careful planning.

long deceased, gnarled juniper branches

smoothed with the oils

of countless fearful

lend strength and support

as stubborn doggedness flags.

there are cliffhangers here

\rarefied legends beyond my ken\

that cling, dusty and persistent,

to knotted and testy calves.

mother o’erwatches

omnipotent and ever-present

as I traverse her playground.

Requiem in Red- Aurora Phoenix

My most recent piece on SD!

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

she etched an elegy

for herself

in her arm.

it was not that she wished she were dead,

it was that in her heart, she already was

with each draw of the blade

she eased mournful notes

skillful as a virtuoso violinist

from her love-starved skin.

this one, scratched doleful in minor D

laments a childhood forlorn

lost in the tumbleweeds

of mother’s hypodermic windstorm.

tentative lacerations mimic

the rent fabric of comfort

in which she was never swaddled.

that one, carved in hesitant desperation

released a cacophony of hushed howls

an orchestra of screeching duduks

protesting the predators’ parade

that prowled unguarded through her dreams

         day and night. –

cuts, breaking your heart if not

her parched and thirsting skin

berate the moon and sun

who sheltered her not, while each

beseeches the silent heavens

“was I not worthy of protection?”

 

she proffers her arm, bared

View original post 87 more words

The Value of Book Reviews

INDIE BLU(E)

Book.png

Book reviews are currency for the indie author, especially when reader feedback appears on Amazon and Goodreads. That makes sense, considering the weight of word of mouth marketing. I read an article on Impactrecently that stated consumers are 4x more likely to buy goods and services when referred by a friend, and 63% of visitors are more likely to make purchases from websites with reviews/ratings.

Why then, does word of mouth seem to fail so many fantastic indie writers? Because the number of Amazon book purchasers who go back to leave a review, or even a star rating, are few and far between. Derek Haines at Just Publishing Advice says listing your Kindle book as free for a promotional period can help stimulate readers to leave a review; however, reviews of free books are even lower than for actual sales. This rings true for me. I ran a week…

View original post 293 more words

Fevered

it is a cat-scratch in the arch of my tenderfoot

this swelling, welling in my soul

back arched and forehead burning

I hiss

at the brush of your outstretched paw.

hairs upended and mewling

black yesterdays slink under ladders

splattered in the shabby patina

of abandoned masterpieces.

steeped in antiquated ammonia

vintage carpets curl in threadbare sedition

I weep

silent rivers of involuntary revulsion

swiped away with defiant wrist wipes

these salted choleric commentaries, unleashed

lest you read weakness in the tracks

overlaid in the dust of my disgust.

i know the rules to this game

as I clamber broken rungs, clattering

upward

upward and away from the furballs

you hock up by the scores, licking

yourself in depraved self- gratification.
your nine lives evaporate, evanescent

and vitreous, recalled by the fiends

that birthed them. i humor you

and watch you disintegrate

vanishing