Wednesday, November 30, 2016

And...PIVOT!



Many times in my life I have found circumstances taking drastic, sometimes emotionally devastating turns. The first time I remember this happening in detail was December 1981 - January 1982. Within the space of these two months, my college roommate committed suicide, I was in a horrific crash involving a tractor trailer, and the man I had been dating since high school broke up with me by sending an invitation to his wedding.

For two weeks after I lay on the bed wondering what had I been doing so wrong that God felt the need to crash my world down around my ears. In haste and fear I threw myself into a relationship with more downs than ups. Then I spent two years rectifying the mistakes made in my overwrought mental condition.

Since then these upheaval collisions have only happened twice more: when I left my job in technology to go work for my husband's family business back in 1995, and in early 2015. Unfortunately that particular episode is still ongoing, and while I think I see the exit tunnel, things are still whirling around me like a sand storm.

When I am unsure where to go, or what decision to make, there is only one direction I turn: my faith. It has sustained me when everything and everyone else deserted me, and I give my Higher Power, who is God, all the credit for keeping me sane and focused when much of my life is burning down around me.

We are heading into the holiday season. Regardless of which faith you adhere to, this is the time to focus on others instead of our own selfish desires. If, for 31 days, we can all put our political, religious, or monetary problems on the shelf and bring out the damn Elf. Remember those who need us most: animals still suffering in animal shelters around the country. Take time and adopt, don't spend thousands on a pedigree animal. There are special pedigree animals waiting at your local shelter, I guarantee.

So what is my point? I guess the point is, we have to be flexible when it comes to life, learn to roll with the winds and to replant when the storm is gone. That's where I am right now, replanting. Taking the good and discarding the bad; consider it early Spring Cleaning. Is this where I wanted to be so late in life? Hell no! But it is the life I have, and I want to enjoy every minute remaining to the fullest extent every day.

This December, do a little cleaning of your own. Take all those negative posting people off your Facebook. Life is too short to always be miserable. Learn to tweet, and give inspiration to yourself and others each day. Lord knows we all need inspiration. Volunteer at the local animal shelter, or nearby hospital to hold premature babies as they grow and adapt to this big, scary world.

I guess the point of all this is to say, don't stay in your season of defeat. Stand up, dust off your pants and keep walking. Who knows what is waiting just up ahead?



Don't forget to check out my newest release: "Welcome to the Family", available on Amazon.com, BN.com, and The Wild Rose Press website.
https://www.amazon.com

Friday, November 25, 2016

"Welcome to the Family"



Now Available from The Wild Rose Press - Meet the Devlyns. Not your everyday relations.

EXCERPT:



Silence then reigned in the limo as Sean stared at the scenery flying past, remembering the first time he’d made this particular drive. When Cassie at last relented and took him to meet her father and brothers, they’d been together almost a year. The trip ended up being a nightmare. The only plus side was the stronger bond he and Cassie built when everything was said and done. It was the trip which created the foundation point of their agreements.

The Devlyn men were whacked, especially when it came to Cassie.

Kevin was eldest, the only brother with whom Cassie maintained a cordial relationship. He was also the most straight laced of the three brothers. After leaving the service, Kevin got his law degree and worked for the family business as chief counsel. Just like Cassie, his relationship with their father was complicated; typical oldest son. Kevin had cleaned up more than one mess left behind by Martin or Greg and was badly scarred himself from the process.

Middle son Matthew was a high functioning Autistic and frequently became a pawn, easily swayed by youngest brother Greg. It was Greg whose neck Sean wanted to wring, along with Martin himself. It was they who ruined relationships between the siblings.

Greg was an evil, vile, sorry excuse for a human, and those were Martin’s words not Sean’s. Ever since childhood, Greg’s vendetta against his only sister brought havoc into their lives more than once. Doctors said he was a borderline psychotic, but Sean knew he’d crossed the border long ago. Martin eventually dismissed him to West Coast operations to keep distance between Cassie and her chief tormentor, but family and business still brought him to Atlanta more than Sean would like.

One part of that first meeting fiasco kept replaying in his ears, the speech her father gave about why Ferguson wasn’t good enough for his only daughter. He still could hear the derision in the man’s voice as he’d sneered, “The only son of a mid-level bureaucrat thinks because he talks a privileged, naïve, innocent girl into falling onto her back for him, we intend to accept this nobody into our family? I would sooner wallow in the mud with animals than know my grandchildren will be fathered by a damn Irishman!”

That was the only meeting he’d had with all the male members of Cassie’s family at one time. They left shortly thereafter and hadn’t returned since, or at least Sean hadn’t. Cassie occasionally stopped by to see her father, but at their Atlantic Station headquarters never the house. Though eventually Kevin did make amends, the other two brothers, Greg and Matthew, still didn’t speak to them. It bothered him that they were taking out their disapproval of him on Cassie. She didn’t deserve it. But what aggravated him the most was the damn hold they had on her that kept one finger always in her business; she didn’t know how to say no to the group of them.

The limo slowed as they took the Vinings exit off the freeway. Winding past the quaint Village center, they turned right, over the Chattahoochee River and into the exclusive, hidden neighborhoods on the northwest outskirts of Atlanta. At last they pulled up to a large stone entrance with an exquisite wrought iron gate overlooking the Chattahoochee River. The driver keyed a number into the key pad and the gates swung open.

“Welcome home,” Joe quipped.


“Shut the hell up,” Sean muttered. Joe smiled in return.


Sunday, October 30, 2016

Haunted Halloween Hop - Part Five: Love Across Time



Sean swept Cassie into his arms and out the door into the formal gardens where the band held court. Lanterns hung from every tree and the smell of fall in the air mixed with the tang of salt water from the nearby marsh. She stared at him with hunger, drinking in every detail of his face.

"What... how are you here? You're supposed to be in..." Cassie whispered into his neck as they twirled slowly around the dance floor.

"Another place? Well let's just say my commanding officer pulled a few strings to put me on a resupply flight to Warner Robbins. A short hop by helicopter and here I am, all yours for the next few hours."

"But what about my ghostly admirer?"

Pulling her tight against his chest, Sean murmured against her ear. "I've heard the story of the Major and his widow before, though Linda might not appreciate knowing that her childhood home is haunted. We Irish have a different idea about shades than you Americans."

She whispered again, this time letting her lips run lightly against his warm skin. "You're also a hopeless romantic my love."

He shuddered in her arms at the touch of her breath in his ear. "Guilty as charged."

As they continued their slow waltz around the yard, the rest of Savannah faded into the distance, and for that moment in time, it was just the two of them, eyes locked upon each other, knowing that too soon the dawn would separate them for who knew how long. Each imprinted the other's features for future memories, inhaling deeply of the scents of the night.

Her signature scent of lavender and roses; his Bay Lime aftershave mixed with a healthy dose of pure male; the tang of the river, the breeze across the marsh bringing the salt of the nearby sound. The fall signatures of smoke and cinnamon and harvest. Each mingled in their senses to paint memories filled with emotion.

By small measures both became aware of two other forces following them. Sean looked deep into Cassie's eyes, and both smiled gently in mutual agreement. They paused briefly in their pattern and allowed themselves to be transported, through Johan and Constance, to another time, another All Hallows Eve, at the Spivey home.

Music spanned the bridge of time, a waltz now a waltz then, bringing together those separated by more than distance. Dancing to a tune know only to their hearts, the night became a blur of color and sound. When they found themselves back in the house, the early rays of dawn were beginning to creep over the marsh.

When Cassie awoke the next day, body sore and heart content, she rolled over to find only a warm spot with the lingering scent of Bay Lime. If not for the excess of men's costume clothes spread around the room, she might have dreamed the entire evening. But a note on top of the pillow bore her name.

"Cassie - You looked so lovely asleep I couldn't bear to wake you. The time is running away from us, but I wouldn't have missed last night for the anything. I love you, my beauty. Write often, pray more, and if all goes will I'll be home before spring."

It was signed "Sean".

She sat up and looked around before realizing she was in her hotel room back on River Street. Her dress from the previous evening was missing, though Sean's rented costume was in several locations around the room. Wracking her brain as hard as possible, she couldn't remember leaving the Masquerade at the Spivey's home. When pressed, none of the girls could remember seeing Cassie or Sean after they went outside. They had taken a cab back to the hotel when it got late, assuming they had missed connecting.

Cassie spent the day on her own, avoiding the rest of the festivities around the city. As she gathered her book to head to a quiet corner, an envelope fell out. The archaic writing matched her previous notes from Johan.

"Thank you dearest Cassandra and thank your noble warrior for us as well. Constance and I have been reunited, and my long penance on earth alone has ended. Farewell my friend, and may God bless and watch over you.      Johan."





I hope everyone has enjoyed my little short story. For more of Sean and Cassie's story, be sure to grab a copy of "Welcome to the Family" on November 9th.

Friday, October 28, 2016

A Break In the Action



Sorry to interrupt the Hop, but sometimes real life intrudes on our writing!


The Conclusion to Cassie's Ghosts will be posted tonight. In the meantime, don't forget that Sean and Cassie's story will continue in "Welcome to the Family", a contemporary mystery which will be released by the Wild Rose Press on November 9th. Be sure to check it out!




Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Haunted Halloween Hop - Part Three: Masquerade


The house was one of Savannah's finest examples of Southern living. Candles lit every square inch of the mantles and tables, reflecting deeply polished mahogany and Georgia marble to every corner. Laughter filled the hallways, as ladies in silk and taffeta gowns swished against handsome gentlemen wearing 18th Century worsted wool and military colors. Cinnamon and cloves scented the air, and a chamber ensemble played in the back yard.

Cassie and her friends had attended the Masquerade ever since college. The theme never changed, Oglethorpe's Savannah, but the cast of characters was constantly being updated to include the latest movers and shakers along the coast. The highlighted entertainment this year was a psychic who was guaranteed to help you make a connection with the other side.

This year Cassie felt watched, not in the usual sleazy drunk frat boy way that most of these events ended up, but as though someone watched over her shoulder, a chill breath on the back of her neck. More than once the scent of Bay Lime drifted through the air. With Mike and Wendy as her bodyguards, she steeled herself against the nerves inside and started looking for her mystery date.

Moving through the rooms and crowd, catching snippets of conversation here and there, none of which could be added together as clues to her admirer. While there were several handsome young men dressed in the Colonial blue uniform of the time period, British red dominated the night.

In an attempt to get a breath of fresh air, Cassie burst through a doorway into what she thought was the front porch but turned out to be the solarium. Only a few people occupied the space, but all seemed to drift away quickly once the three girls appeared.

Mike threw herself down on the chaise. "Well I've seen no one in Wedgwood Blue, whatever the hell that is. Can we go now? My feet are killing me. These moccasins have no support."

Wendy threw her arms around Cassie and hissed at her partner, "Stop it Michelle. I refuse to leave my dearest friend alone with an announced perv stalking her. Now stop being such a downer and go grab us drinks. We'll wait right here."

Complaining with every step, Mike left to find an available bar as Cassie drifted to one corner of the solarium to study a uniform on a mannequin. A card on the table announced it belong to a Prussian prince who had come to fight for the Colonists, only to die on Halloween on Bay Street as he searched for his wife, who was sick and housebound. His murder was never solved, and his widow, who survived the malaria which had consumed the area with a late burst of summer, had him buried in the cemetery, where she joined him some sixty years later.

"Isn't it tragic, that he would die so close to home? His poor wife, how she must have wept." Cassie's face was somber as she looked at the well-preserved artifacts. "Worse is that no one was ever caught."

Wendy shrugged. "I imagine that happened a lot more times than not back in those days. Without forensics and evidence such as we can collect today, you practically had to catch the person in the act to get an honest conviction. Listen, I've to pee like a racehorse. Tell Mike I'll be right back, OK?"

"Sure thing." Cassie watched Wendy leave then returned her attention to the uniform. There was a small portrait of the prince hanging beside the exhibit. "What an interesting picture. Hard to see what he truly looked like."

A small gust of wind blew through the closed room, raising goosebumps on her arms, and a prickling sensation started on her neck, as if someone were breathing onto her skin. Part of her wanted to run away, while the rest wanted to turn around and see if there really was anything to be afraid of.

Just when she'd worked up the courage to turn, a cultured French accent spoke directly into her ear.

"I'm much more handsome than my portrait. You however, look lovely in the gown I picked out Cassandra. Very much like your mother."

Cassie spun around quickly, only to gasp at the sight awaiting her.

A ghost. A real live ghost was standing in the solarium staring at her like he knew her.



Saturday, October 15, 2016

What Do I Do With The Lemonade?


I don't normally mix my personal and professional lives with my writing. First, it isn't fair to you innocent people to listen to me whine. Second, whining doesn't do any good period. However, I have to vent some of this out, before I explode.

Recent things have brought about many changes in my life, some happy some frightening. Mostly I have been on a voyage of personal discovery, looking at what I dislike about myself, strengthening my relationship with me, stuff like that. Although I find this a needed project, it's been hard both internally and externally.

There are stages to change, just as there are with death. Perhaps because change is a form of death, a good-bye to the habits we need to dismiss. I've been angry, sad, I've laughed, I've cried and mostly I've tried to bargain with the universe. Let me tell you, it really is true that if you want to hear God laugh tell him your plans.


Earlier this year, I decided to adopt Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not to your own understanding." It perfectly summed up where I was at and what I needed most to work on - getting out of God's way and letting him work on and through me.

Once I began to get out of the way, great things began to happen, and for months live moved as it should. Then in July we had another life changing event. Unfortunately that positive event has spawned other negative behaviors. (See Verse Above.) Am I mad? A little. Am I disappointed? Immensely. But sometimes the lesson to be learned isn't mine. Sometimes the lesson is someone elses' and I'm only caught up in the backwash. Doesn't make it right, doesn't make it hurt less, but it does allow me to take a deep breath, smile, and get out of God's way to let Him do His thing.

When we are younger, the need to protect or best our enemies is strong. We are raising families, building family units, establishing ourselves in the corporate dance. As we grow older, we realize we worried about the wrong things. Our kids grew up fine, even if they did drink water from the garden hose, or use sunscreen with low SPF. The world didn't stop turning, and no one was left with some horrible disease from sucking on honeysuckle blooms.


These days it is getting harder and harder to maintain inner peace. The world seems especially bent toward the destruction of all that many of us grew up to respect: our military, our way of live, our political process. I could go on for hours, but everyone knows what I mean. I am proud of our political system. I am not proud of the circus we are being fed. It feels man-made, thrown us to detract us from the real questions. And I got too old for the circus a long time ago. 

There are many changes due for me this upcoming week, and if you think about it, throw some positive karma out into the universe on my behalf. Trust me, it will come back around to you increased.







One side not - I will be participating in a Halloween Blog Hop 10/24 through 10/31. More details to come.

Another note - Welcome to the Family has a release date of November 9, 2016. Be prepared to meet the Family!


Tuesday, October 11, 2016

IT"S OCTOBER!!

Authors Boosting Authors

Haunting Halloween Hop

October 24-31


Come join us for a spook-tacular book hop!

GAMES!!    PRIZES!!   BOOK GIVEAWAYS!!!

More details as we get closer to the event


Friday, September 16, 2016

To Everything There is a Season


My life right now is going in about 360 different directions. Everything is in an upheaval and all I really want to do is run away and change my identity. Of course that isn't possible, so I guess I'll try to power through, with help from the heavens and my family and friends.

In seventh grade, long long ago when teacher still made you learn cursive writing and recess was an hour of kick ball and jumping rope, we were made to learn a poem; Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken". Even now it stirs of feelings of where did I make the wrong turn, whose council did I miss?

As we fly rapidly through these last days of summer, think not of things ending, but of things returning. For everything is a circle, there is a time to every purpose.  Enjoy my friends.



The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost






Have a safe weekend everyone. See you in the fall!

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Life Happened...


I looked at my blog to see what my last post was about and realized, I've let the whole summer go by without keeping up. That happens sometimes. I have a habit of letting life interrupt my writing. I wish I were as prolific as some of my friends. They can turn out a book a month, while my current pace is one a year.

I wish I didn't judge myself against other writers, but I think that is human nature. We start looking at others to inspire ourselves, and then allow their accomplishments to sink our own ambitions instead of driving us to work harder.

Summer is almost gone, and I've written very little since May. Sure I've edited a couple of books for friends, and we've had three family members pass away, but nothing new on paper for several weeks. In short, I feel empty.

The people are still in my head, the stories are still percolating but opening the file never seems to happen. Even now, as I complain about me I'm watching the Olympics and surfing You Tube. The icon for my word processor mocks me every time I stare at the screen.

Am I being too hard on myself? After all it's hard to write in the summer, what with the longer days making everyone miserable. Or am I letting dissatisfaction in other areas of my life to take control. Maybe my mid-life crisis is starting now, since people are living longer it's a thought.

One I thing I do know is I cannot force myself to write. The children do not like to be forced. The last time that happened, I killed off one of my favorite characters. I buried that chapter and promised everyone I'd never fail them again. But here I go, failing.

Everyone has a pity party once in a while, and this appears to be mine. I promise not to let it last too long. There's the promo to gear up for my next release - "Welcome to the Family", and sequels to write and new characters to explore.

I just think I'll wait until the temps drop below 80.


Sunday, June 19, 2016

Things My Father Taught Me

My father passed away when I was only 29. My son has few memories of him, and my daughter has none but I tell them his stories every chance I get. My father was a unique individual, and I miss him more every thing I thing about how long he has been gone.




Walter was born in Allentown, New Jersey in August 1923. He grew up on our family's farm until going away to college in St. Louis at the age of 16. After receiving his degree in Aeronautic Engineering he joined the Army Air Corp, forerunner of the Air Force.

My dad was a man of many talents. He was a math genius who shook his head at my inability to grasp the concept of word problems. None of us inherited our parent's math talents, much to his never ending amusement. His voice was beautiful, a pure baritone and he taught me how to sing harmony before melody, a skill which I have treasured throughout the years.

He sang with a Barbershop Quartet, and loved to act on stage. That's how he met my mother, through a play production. They met in April and married in July. It was 1944, and they married on the army base in Lubbock Texas in a heat wave that waiver daily over 100 degrees. My mother and grandmother walked from the front gate to the chapel (about one mile) in heels and a linen suit. Their wedding dinner was an all you can eat spaghetti dinner at the hotel in town.

After the war he went to work for Capital Air Lines. In those heady first days of aviation, at the smaller markets where he started, Daddy would write your ticket, check in your luggage, direct the plane to the gate, push up the stairs, unseal the door, help people deplane, unload the luggage on the arriving plane, load the departing luggage, check you in at the gate, assist with boarding, seal the door, remove the steps and help push the plane from the gate. Those were the days.

Though he walked away from the farming life our family lived since they came to America in 1600s, he never stopped putting his hands in the dirt. He always planted a garden and working outside in our family was not optional. From when I was small and picked up sticks and pine cones until I left home at 18 for college, if it was Saturday morning, we were in the yard. I even graduated to using the lawn mower when I was 14. Yay.

He contracted a staph infection in his blood in 1982 and spent 9 months in intensive care in a coma. He came home a changed man, and the next nine years were a mixture of thankfulness for the time we were given, and grief for the strong protector I knew as my father. His body failed him on a daily basis but his mind never ceased its keen wit or treasure-trove of trivia.  He still did crossword puzzles, but in large print. He watched cooking show after cooking show, especially when on a feeding tube, so he would know what he wanted my mother to cook.

He watched from the window in his room as my sister married in the waiting room of ICU, and sat in his wheelchair in our living room four years later when I married my hubby. He held all of his grandchildren save my youngest, who I think he sent to me as a gift. She's so much like him.

On this Father's Day I miss his strength. I miss his laughter. I miss his humor and the million small things we used to laugh over in those wee small hours of the morning when we would both arrive home from work. I miss our political discussions and often wonder what he would think about the state of things today.

I miss him everyday, and wish I could discuss things like we used to But as long as I remember, and pass that along to the new generations, he's still with us.

Happy Father's day everyone.

Monday, May 16, 2016

POETRY MONDAY - A New Way to Start the Week!

Good Monday everyone!

Have you ever awoken with a song or piece of literature running through your mind, even though you may not understand why?
That's how I felt this morning when T. S. Eliot's poem, "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock" spinning circle in my head. I haven't read this poem since high school (maybe college) and I cannot at this moment figure why it is here.
But until I do, I designate this as Poetry Monday, and here is my first offering:




The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock"
by T. S. Eliot


Let us go then, you and I, 
When the evening is spread out against the sky 
Like a patient etherized upon a table; 
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, 
The muttering retreats 
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels 
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 
Streets that follow like a tedious argument 
Of insidious intent 
To lead you to an overwhelming question ... 
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” 
Let us go and make our visit. 

In the room the women come and go 
Talking of Michelangelo. 

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes, 
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, 
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, 
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, 
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 
And seeing that it was a soft October night, 
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. 

And indeed there will be time 
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, 
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 
There will be time, there will be time 
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; 
There will be time to murder and create, 
And time for all the works and days of hands 
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 
Time for you and time for me, 
And time yet for a hundred indecisions, 
And for a hundred visions and revisions, 
Before the taking of a toast and tea. 

In the room the women come and go 
Talking of Michelangelo. 

And indeed there will be time 
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” 
Time to turn back and descend the stair, 
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair — 
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) 
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, 
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin — 
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) 
Do I dare 
Disturb the universe? 
In a minute there is time 
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. 

For I have known them all already, known them all: 
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; 
I know the voices dying with a dying fall 
Beneath the music from a farther room. 
               So how should I presume? 

And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, 
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, 
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, 
Then how should I begin 
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 
               And how should I presume? 

And I have known the arms already, known them all— 
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare 
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) 
Is it perfume from a dress 
That makes me so digress? 
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. 
               And should I then presume? 
               And how should I begin? 

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes 
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ... 

I should have been a pair of ragged claws 
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. 

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 
Smoothed by long fingers, 
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers, 
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. 
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, 
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, 
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, 
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter; 
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, 
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 
And in short, I was afraid. 

And would it have been worth it, after all, 
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, 
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, 
Would it have been worth while, 
To have bitten off the matter with a smile, 
To have squeezed the universe into a ball 
To roll it towards some overwhelming question, 
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, 
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 
If one, settling a pillow by her head 
               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all; 
               That is not it, at all.” 

And would it have been worth it, after all, 
Would it have been worth while, 
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, 
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— 
And this, and so much more?— 
It is impossible to say just what I mean! 
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 
Would it have been worth while 
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, 
And turning toward the window, should say: 
               “That is not it at all, 
               That is not what I meant, at all.” 

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; 
Am an attendant lord, one that will do 
To swell a progress, start a scene or two, 
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, 
Deferential, glad to be of use, 
Politic, cautious, and meticulous; 
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; 
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— 
Almost, at times, the Fool. 

I grow old ... I grow old ... 
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. 

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach? 
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. 
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. 

I do not think that they will sing to me. 

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves 
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back 
When the wind blows the water white and black. 
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea 
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


Enjoy the rest of your week, and I will have a new poem for next Monday. Until then, Wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled!