Day 15--National Poetry Month--Audacity

This is Day 15 of the National Poetry Month 30 poems in 30 days challenge. I usually don't work on Sunday, but as this is a religious poem, I feel it's okay this time. I'm not sure what Stephanie had for a poem today, but this is the one I've chosen to do. It's an ABAB poem.

AUDACITY

What must the Father think of his bairns 
As they posture and pose and preen?
When they insist on going their way
Then asking what all of it means.

He sent His Son to light up the path
To the Fruit most delicious and fair
But so many children deny that He lives
So that they can live lives without care

The silly thing is, these recalcitrant babes
Will Still have their troubles in scores
They foolishly slap away Christ's helping hand
Instead putting stock in their wars.

They scrabble and scratch to the top of the hill
Thinking now I'm the one with the most
Never realizing there are millions of hills
Taller and better to boast

Christ stands not, at the top of the pile
Gloating of all He has done 
He merely beckons to us to come home
Back to the Father and Son.

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day 14--National Poetry Month--Senses Poem--TAXES

This is for Day 14 of National Poetry Month. It's a Senses Poem. If you would like to know how to do one of these, go here. Stephanie has a great poetry site.

TAXES

A snow of withholding statements and royalty receipts

The tang of printer ink

The jitter and squeal of the printer as it grinds to a halt with a paper jam

My heart rate and adrenaline soar as I contemplate having to search for one more blasted paper he won't use because I didn't make enough

I taste defeat as I think about all our hard-earned dollars flying into undeserving hands

Tax day ROTS.

 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month!

I know it's halfway through April but I just got a computer back so I can comfortably do blog stuff. So since this is National Poetry month, I'm going to publish my poems I have so far done in one post instead of several. The other thing is that most of the picture places are charging money for stock photos. Which is supposed to mean they're free, but go figure. So my posts may be a little less colorful for a while.

If you would like to know what any of these poems are, go here. Stephanie does a great job picking poetry types. Poetry is her thing and she does splendidly at it.
Anywho, here goes:

Day One: Yes, That's Me poem

And mine today isn't the right form. I did an ABAB poem instead.

CHRIST, MY LANTERN BEARER

Christ the Lord has burst His bands, 
Sprung free from the grips of time.
He stands a Torch to light our way,
Through the swamps of sin and grime.

He holds out His hand to pull us up,
Out of the muck and the flaws
But we must grab hold and do all we can
For He's bound by the same God's laws.

For though we cry out for a succoring hand
If we do naught, the labor is lost
This life is a test of our will to return
Doing nothing means little at most.

Grab hold of the hand as He reaches out
And follow the Torch's light
Partake of the Saviour's matchless grace
Join Christ's rocky way to the Right.

I stand near the middle, looking off up the road
Already tattered and torn
The roadway seems daunting and fraught with pitfalls
But this journey's for what I was born.

Take courage, my friend we can travel along
Over life's boulder strewn way
We'll make mistakes, have plenty of flaws
But return to God's knee someday.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Two: Couplets

Funny how when knees don't bend
I think my life comes to an end

But each day when I finally rise
Still chores to do to win the prize.

The world still turns and children learn
Oblivious to all for which I yearn

But even through a haze of pain
I find peace while watching rain.

Reading books of substantial worth
Playing with babies at their birth

Finding long lost family friends
Taking their names to temple ends

So much to do before I shuffle
Off this world of strife and kerfuffle

Life is a test and not a crutch
Just wish it wouldn't hurt so much.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Three: Triplets

LOVE

When I was little, I thought love
Meant Mom and Dad and a roof above
Home was sweet, a calm, safe cove.

As time went on, the children came
To add to the love and the family name
The love was good, but not the same

Then I went out in the world alone
To seek my fortune far from home
A Friend I found, who for me Attoned

I met a man beguiling and sweet
A man as talented as you could meet
Love with him was a sham and fleet

He gave me one very little thing
A child who made my sad heart sing
Who saved my life more than anything

The world got bigger and I got small
I let no one in to my life at all
And found myself in depressions thrall

Out of the lonelines, sadness, and mire
Away from the sacraficial pyre
Christ pulled me with a burning fire

"Here you go," he said with a smile
"Someone else to love for a while
To hold your hand and walk for a mile."

The children came and my family grew
Like herding cats it was, getting them through
The hurdles of life and the trials new

I hardly stopped to take in stride
The ones who'd come to walk beside
Who in their own ways had worked and tried

Now the children have mostly flown
Away to others, outward and grown
Live looms a little more sere and brown

Still the man God gave to me
Walks at my side, though haltingly
Trying to fathom what we can be

Love is a river, a bubbling stream
Forever changing, kind of a dream
Sometimes we're happy and live's a meme

Then I lose my way and darkness crops in
Love isn't enough and I anger and sin
I pick apart my loved ones and kin

But ever the love of Christ so sweet
Calls me back to kneel at His feet
Reminding me ever of tasks so mete

He is the love that wraps us round
Christ is where the solace is found
He holds the key to where we are bound

Together we'll learn what real love's about
And when we discover it, we'll give a shout
From mortal grievances He pulls us out

Following back to our Heavenly place
Never far from His loving face
Love is the Savior's matchless grace.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Four:Nature Color poem:

OATMEAL

Brown the color of gellid oatmeal

Trying its best down my stomach to steal

Blue the berries as hard as granite

That stud the  muck like marbles.

Multicolored the barf my kid chucks up

Before he hands his bowl to the pup.

(Rofl rofl rofl)
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

And another one:

MY DOG, MY COMPANION

Iridescent droplets of dew
Haloed dog chasing a ball I threw

Emerald grass all studded in gems
Wetting my shoes and my pant hems

Crimson the sky when the sun comes up
Painting my ball-chasing friendly pup

Golden the color of my little friend,
Patient and loving and loyal to the end.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Five: Pensee Poem
Orange blossoms
Fragrant and pristine
Scenting the air
Like a haze of happiness
If only you out stayed the bees
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Six: Grammar Poem

 Aspergers
Debilitating and insidious
Spreading rapidly
Like a cloud of feelings-devouring locusts
If only the crickets would come
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Seven: Tanka Poem

DANCING

A Viennese Waltz

Plays through my psyche

Tickles my senses

Fills me with longing to dance

My sick knees have turned to stone.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Eight: Octopoem:

THIS MAN NEXT TO ME
This desert brown man with a waft of sunburnt hair
Works like a slave through every season,
Fixing, maintaining our home in the Hot Place.
Through any weather, "It's time to fix the cooler," he says.
I wash his clothes and hang them to dry.
I clean his house and cook his food.
Together we watch his Norwegian train show that is worse than watching paint dry.
Other than eating the same food sometimes, he is the walled city I love.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Nine: Nonet Poem

Nine big dogs on an afternoon prance

Sniffing butts until acquainted

Riley streams out after balls

He doesn't care for romps

Just that ball flying

Runs like lightning

Bites the wind

Riley

Dog
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Ten: Generated Poem

The Tale of my Tragicomical Clerk Son

By The Goobs

It began on an unrepentant June Lunchtime

I was the most Quirky Writer around

He was the most Tragicomical Clerk.

He was my Son,

My Tragicomical Son

My Clerk

We used to Hunker so well together,

Back then.

We wanted to Boggle together, around the world.

We wanted it all.

But one lunchtime, one unrepentant Lunchtime,

We decided to Boggle too much.

Together we licked Groot.

It was Obstructive, so Obstructive.

From that moment, our relationship changed.

He grew so squeamish.

And then it happened:

Oh no, oh no!

He barfed on Mrs. Chlomski.

Alas, Mrs. Chlomski!

My son Barfed on Mrs. Chlomski.

It was pungent, so pungent.

The next day I thought my nose had broken.

I thought my belly button had burst into flames.

(But I was actually overreacting a little.)

But still, he is in my thoughts.

I think about how it all changed that Lunchtime.

That unrepentant June Lunchtime.

My belly button...ouch!

When I think of that Tragicomical Clerk, 

That Tragicomical clerk and me.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Eleven: Eleven Line Autobiographical Poem

HEIDI

Wacky, intrepid, vulnerable, empathetic

Sister of Chanel Nine, Seela, Chuckalabucka, Piano Legs, and Bass Boss

Lover of Lawn Mower, Bug, Perrystinkle, Hunkermunty, Courtnrob, Jessa Principessa, and Bitsy (along with their spouses and children and various other strangers)

Who feels replaced by screens

Who needs to be needed and seen and understood

Who gives everything she can think of to give

Who fears being tossed aside for something soulless and stupid

Who would love to feel Christ's arms around her as He whispers, "You made it back to my side, Little Sister! Well done."

Resident of many universes

MURPHY
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

And an extra:

WIND

You are a gift, 

Both hale and ill

You can't be seen

But everywhere your deeds

You bring mountains to their knees

Sculpting, honing, crumbling.

You lift us onto your back

And spring into the sky.

The ocean waves are at your beck

You fill the desert air with grit

You bring respite to the weary

You count our years,

Filling he skies with bright paper kites

And the waft of clean sheets.

Rain to our crops,

Blizzards of crystal

And when we are gone,

You cover us with orange blossom.

Lay me down beneath your breath,

That I might climb upon your back,

Flying home as the lark goes,

Up beyond mortal reach,

Until your breath grows thin

And fades to dusk.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Twelve: 5 W's Poem

SUPERMAN
On any given day
Anywhere on the planet
Pounds his fist through a wall to save a little girl from plunging to her certain death.
Why don't we ever see him cleaning up after himself?
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Day Thirteen: Hyperbole Poem

COMPUTER CRAZY

I miss the friendly penguin.

He always trundled my information

At lightning speed

Where I wanted it to go, 

Thumbing his nose 

At bog monkeys.

I never had to worry

About dirty windows

Mucking up my view.

But now I'm lost 

In a foggy forest 

With traps and potholes everywhere

Creepers are waiting 

Behind every bush

Just to offer me 

Poisoned candy

And steal my name and identity.

On top of that, 

Dogo insists

I take that nap with him

That heavenly Elysium

That sweet escape.

Yes, Captain Doggeroo, 

I'll comply.

So long, dirty windows.

I'll deal with you later.
 © 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

The Gremlins are not Winning

Hey! I'm back! It's echoing in here.
I lost my computer and have been subsisting on the crumbs of my fairly new Kindle Fire or I'd have been hair-tearing insane by now. Especially since it's Poetry month and I couldn't post them on my blog with pictures like I like to do. Hopefully I'll figure out this new scribe of mine and we'll be in the clover.
The bad news is that my desktop computer is still Sleeping Beautying. We had to go get the Great Muckin' Giant Mother of a thumb drive (Big Bertha) to get all my stuff off my other computer. So it's off except for the 6K emails it ate about a week before it took the Big Plunge. Those are lost in the Forbidden Forest somewhere on my computer. The thing is, I want them. There are' things'.

So then, when we've pulled off every single thing we can, it's time for the napalm. And then the resurrection. And hopefully there will be sentient life in there again.

The whole problem happened because when I got my computer, it wasn't new like I'd been told. Only new to me. There was some kind of licensing snafu, or some other reason my computer refused to do anything. (Lazy wench!)

So it necessitated turning it on, then waiting a while, doing taxes, cleaning out the car, cutting the dog's toenails, and maybe doing dishes. Then I could turn on the screen. Then I had to turn the computer off (a BIG no-no, but that's what it took, I swear) and wait until the screen lit, and back on again. If I hadn't waited long enough, the gobbledy-gook of pre-opening didn't happen and the whole thing began over again. This time you'd have to go change the oil in the car, write letters to grandmothers, re-do your kitchen spice cupboard, and maybe plant the garden.

THEN it would think about going on.

And I told The Man this several times, while still trying not to complain about everything (which annoys him). So I did. Several times. Apparently all that was in vane, because when this whole shebang went down, he looked at me blankly, and said in his horrified voice, "Why would you ever do such a thing? I never told you to do that!"

Sometimes I would like to be visible and audible.

Anywho, DON'T DO WHAT I DID. If it's your Sweatheart (I know. It's on purpose), take his head in yours, drill him in the eyes with yours, and say, "Honey (only we don't use pet names 'cause I don't know why) there is something wrong with my computer. And if you don't fix it instantly, there will be a freaking boatload of trouble down the line for you. (And I know where you sleep. And I make your food.)
That might work for you. And again, if your Sweatheart is anything like mine, he'll just shoot you The Look of Ice Raying and go back to his online game. And your 'Baby' will sit there on its nicely cleaned up desk (because you've had nothing to do but clean for well over a month) and grow dust for possibly another century.

I just went ahead and used my birthday money from my mom and got a used laptop from a wonderful new friend (on which I'm writing this tome). Which means the pressure is off for figuring out the other one...possibly a horrible move on my part. You see, I miss my Baby. We were comfortable in our sloth. Sort of.

This has been one huge complaint. It shouldn't have been. My sweet husband has worked like a dog to try and figure out what's wrong with the thing. He took me down and got me that Mother of all Thumb drives (Okay there are some bigger) so we could save stuff for the newly refurbished computer. (He also got himself a lovely new monitor which now resides on my kitchen table instead of the desk in his den and a battery pack for The Son's computer. And a movie.) He transferred everything he could find to Mother. And he's really busy. I greatly appreciate that he spends time trying to help me. I'm happy that it makes him so happy to have two screens to play his games on.

And Kathryn, my new wonderful friend, gave this one to me out of the goodness of her heart, for a steal of a price (I'm writing the check after I get done with this and several hundred other chores. Really! It's almost in the mail as we speak. I might, in fact, get up and go write the check in a minute.)

Now I'll have to find something to call my computers. The Son names his computers Russian girl names. That's not for me. Maybe I should name mine after famous scribes.

At any rate, I'm back. Now I'll go load on April poetry.

Ps, I'm waiting to send in YEAR OF THE HONEY BADGERS, which won't be its title. I already know they're going to make me rename it. They'll probably go with African Tango. Which is sad because it says nothing about honey badgers. They've already asked to have it sometime this week. Hurray!!!!! Now I have to go get my email going on here...sigh.

Random Busy-ness and A Dangerous Affection Review

Wow! Been pretty dang busy. Recent and to come soon busy-nesses=

*Christmas with the minions
*A new baby in TX plus anniversary trip
*Getting ready to go on a pioneer Trek as Ma Murphy
*A wedding in the family in a month
*Writing on three books at once (FUZZY TUESDAYS TASTE SKY BLUE, NO JOY  FOR THE DEATHLESS, and some EVERLOST)
*Doing debut stuff for LOVE UNDEFINED, an anthology I'm in
*Figuring out how to hike on a lame knee and dr visits for such
*Planning various things for the BSA
*Running self sufficiency meetings
*Cubmaster-ing
*Running this loony bin

I'm certain I've forgotten a ton of extremely important things I'm still supposed to do. Like I should be right this very minute going to the doctor to get him to flesh out my physical form that I didn't take the first time...sigh.

But one thing I'm doing is spreading the word about a book I just finished. It just so happens that Wanda Luce's book cover and mine share a model. We're cover sisters.

I took this book on my trip to Texas and it helped greatly to make the miles and miles of nothingness of West TX more bearable. (East Texas I would gladly move to.) In fact, it was difficult putting it down for bouts of baby kissing and playing with the elder henchmen (and women).

So this is the deal:

Wanda Luce has written a book called A DANGEROUS AFFECTION. At first I thought it was going to be one of those fru-fru bodice-rippers with bare bits on the cover. Boy was I wrong! And happily so. Much more meaty and less cotton candy flossy.

Anne Fitzroy is the daughter of a British Earl and the ambassador to the Austrian court. Nefarious men work a plot in which the ambassador is framed with a spurious grant of bribe money, supposedly to betray the Austrian troops and British spies to the French. When the ambassador discovers the plot, he is assassinated and his daughter, Anne is implicated in the plot as the person most likely to have hidden the plot to save her father. Unless she uncovers the secret plans and casts light on her father's detractors, she could hang or be transported to Australia, or killed by those who wish to save their traitorous hides.

Anne and her sister become the targets of some vicious gossip with the threat of more stringent measures. Anne fears she will face, at the very least, the unkind gossip of the English Ton. She has given up on ever finding a husband, not only because of the blot on her character, but because she's considered a bluestocking and perhaps somewhat of a hoyden. I kind of like how she has the guts to work on her own mystery and brave the odds to discover the truth. She doesn't simply sit around letting men do all the work.

One of her greatest detractors, the Earl of de Rothesay (Nic) has already painted Anne with the name of traitor before they even met. He is convinced she covered for her father's treachery, which resulted in his brother's possible beheading at the hands of the French.

He comes to believe that Anne, at least, has been framed and is being stalked by a murderer who wishes to silence her forever to keep her from exposing the plot to betray Austria to the French. Can Anne enlist this handsome man instead, to clear her father's name?

This book, while it had a few little grains of sand, really intrigued me. For one thing, it was well written. Ms. Luce knows her stuff in relation to the speech, dress, habits, problems of the day, and happenings of the Regency era, enough so as to put the reader directly into Anne's shoes without bogging us down with verbosity.

There are a couple of times where I would have had the characters discuss something earlier, or show more difficulty coming up with the answer to the riddle. It would have been good to flesh out the Villains a bit better, but I felt these things didn't detract from the story. I was so pleasantly pleased that Ms. Luce set some of the action in Austria because so often Regency books never leave the ballrooms and sitting rooms of England. I enjoy a different venue. I like my heroines to actually do something and be loved for something other than their great beauty or flirting prowess. Go Brains!

In this suspenseful tale full of intrigue and romance, Anne has the guts to go out and do her own sleuthing, regardless of the considerable danger to her and her sister. In spite of the abuse she endures at the hands of those who want her family's money and to ruin her father, she pushes on to clear the family name. She convinces one of her greatest detractors that not only is she being truthful, but her father is as well.

I give this book two thumbs and an elbow up

You can buy this book here or here.

And now to get over to the dang Dr before he leaves for the day...sigh. And buy some leather strings among other things. But first...get dressed and eat something.

Rupert and Egglantina's Ball

Rupert and Egglantina wish to invite you to their dance to be held in the concert hall at Julliard after Egglantina's latest symphony concert.

Egglantina stands in the wings, her bow rosined, her violin tuned. On cue, she strides on stage, bows to her audience, and turns to tune the orchestra. Then she takes her seat in the first chair position in the symphony.

After a couple of wonderful renditions, she comes to stand at the mic and plays a lovely sonata solo. The notes entice your ears and fill you with an unnamed longing. You remember long lazy summer days when you were young and unfettered, kicking back in the tall grass as clouds waft past against a cerulean sky. Your cares and troubles rise up to blow away with the clouds.

At the end of the piece, you come to yourself and realize she has single-handedly brought happiness back to your heart for at least a little while.

After the symphony has performed its last rendition, the stage hands clear away chairs, piano, and music stands and a forest of lit trees springs up around the edges of the stage.

Rupert joins Egglantina on stage, as do many other couples. He whispers, "You were magnificent tonight. I can't ever get enough of hearing you play, Sweetheart."

Egglantina's heart dances with happiness. "I hope you'll still feel that when we're old and crotchety and I can hardly lift the bow."

"Always. And when you're old, I'll be older and much more in love with you than ever."

Egglantina wonders how she managed to find and land the best man in the wide world. She glances first at her so-handsome fiancé, and then at the beautiful trappings of the old concert hall and shivers with extreme happiness.

If you'd like to read the story of Egglantina and Rupert, it can be found here and here (and also in Kindle Unlimited for $0.00) in the LOVE UNDEFINED Anthology under the name MUSIC IN MY HEART by H. Linn Murphy

The Witherwood Ball

The December ball season is getting off to a late start due to a late wedding engagement. I offer you an invitation to the Witherwood Ball:
         

Mr. Andrew Witherwood is pleased 

to invite you to a ball in honor of his 

newly affianced, 

Miss Sarah Marchmont 

on this Evening of the seventh day 

of December at the

Fezziwig Emporium in 

Hanover Street.

Sarah, or Molly as she was once known, dresses with care in a serviceable gown of blue serge, borrowed for the occasion from her sister-to-be. Almost she regrets her actions with the ruby. Almost, but not quite. For it would have been a very good thing to have at least one new dress in which to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. She gazes into the spotty glass, remembering the balls of yesteryear.

She remembers sitting on the steps to watch the guests arrive in their furs and jewels, to be met by Papa and Mama in a formal receiving line. Sarah closed her eyes, putting herself into the waking dream. The butler would have taken their wraps and she and Andrew would have proceeded down the line. When she came to Papa, she would have curtsied and Papa would have pulled her into a quick hug, while perusing Andrew over her head. 

She knew he would have looked askance at her beau, mainly because no man was good enough for his little girl. And Mama would have drawn her away in horror at the state of her shabby dress. They would have ascended to her rooms to don a more respectable gown and Amalie would have murmured over her hair. At the end of it, they would have descended, sparkling and resplendent.

Sarah stares at the shabby cuffs and hem. What she wouldn't give to be back in Mama's arms.

But then she wouldn't be engaged to Andrew, for he would scarcely have done for a Marchmont beau. She takes up her fan and reticule and proceeds downstairs to Andrew's arm. He turns her about and gives her the warmest of smiles.

"Never have I seen such a beautiful lady," he says, bowing over her hand. He draws it to his lips and she is lost again in the warmth of his kindness. Perhaps it is not only kindness which fills her with happiness this night?

The two proceed to Fezziwig's Emporium, laughing and conversing as they walk. They see the windows lit with cheerful candle light and Fezziwig himself holding forth in preparation for the dancing.

"Ah! The guests of honor!" he exclaims as Andrew and Sarah enter to the music of the ringing bell. "Everyone to their places. Let me take your wraps, Witherwood." Fezziwig bows and they all proceed into the room to be greeted by the guests. 

You too are invited. Enter and dance. And as you do, note that Andrew is much more handsome than his picture.

If you would like to read more about Sarah and Andrew, please go here or here and purchase the book, THE HEART OF FIRE by H. Linn Murphy