Friday Favorites-The Stories In Between


Welcome to another Friday Favorite!  Each week I will bring to you information about a favorite blog/blogger that is a favorite of mine.  Please be sure to take a minute to explore their blog and they might just become a favorite of yours too!

This week, I’d like to introduce you to The Stories In BetweenRiver Dixon’s imaginative way of expression is thought provoking, stunning and always a surprise.  Some of his pieces are dark & brooding, but their brilliance is clear.  THIS is a piece I found quite sad and sweet.  River’s poetry will sometimes leave the interpretation up to the reader.  But everything makes you ponder…  Like THIS POEM.

The Stories In Between will take you on an emotional roller coaster.  River writes of love, hate, life, death, darkness and light.  Through this journey, you may just find yourself breathless. For you never know for sure which way the coaster will go.  THIS piece is touching and sad, but eloquently penned.

River Dixon is an accomplish author, having published several books that are collections of his poetry and short stories. HERE is where you can find information about his books.  I’ve purchased 2 of his books, The Stories In Between, which is short stories and Left Waiting, a poetry collection.  Both, amazing works.  THIS is his Amazon Author page.

So head over to The Stories In Between today.  Explore the depth of talent you will find there.  I’m going to bet that River’s blog will become a favorite of yours too!

Copyright (C) 2020 Penny Wilson

The Threshold


Doorway-to-my-soul-500x375

I saw it just on the other side of the meadow.

There has been a time when The Threshold was within me, barely restrained, bursting at the seams to get out and into the light of day.

Was this it?  It had been so long since I’d seen it, I wasn’t sure.  Sometimes it would appear just on the edge of my peripheral vision, vanishing when I looked directly at it.  Other times it was like a warm hug, enveloping my entire being.

Carefully, I made my way across the dew laden grass.  I didn’t dare blink, lest it disappear.  Ignoring the chill of my bare feet, I approached as quietly as I could.

Standing before it, I reached out a tentative, trembling hand.  What would it hold this time?  What magic lay on the other side?

I took a deep breath and stepped across The Threshold.

(C) 2019 Penny Wilson

*The original version of this was written in 2016.  I liked it quite a lot back then but have reworked it a little.  I hope you enjoyed.  

 

Cracks


We all have scars.  Cracks that will mend with the mortar of a life lived.  There are also the cracks that never heal.  The ones that are open, always, to the next life event.

You take me as I am.  I don’t know if you don’t see the lines, cracks, and the scars.  Or if you choose not to see them.  Either way, I find myself at peace with you.  No guards up.  No false fronts to maintain.  With you, I can just be.  Nothing more.  Nothing more is needed or expected.

Cracks in the familiar are not rebuffed by you.  You caress and cherish each one.  You take them and accept them as if they were adored icons.  You look in my eyes and see what others do not.  You see my light shining through the cracks.

(C) 2019 Penny Wilson

My Muse. Who Is She?


What does my muse look like?  A lot like me, but much younger; late twenties, perhaps early thirties.  She’s tall and lean with long flowing dark hair that is crazy-wild.  Her eyes are full of fire and attitude.  You wouldn’t mess with this girl.  But who IS she exactly?  

Sometimes, she’s right there on my shoulder, whispering delightfully witty prose into my ear.  Other times, she’s stomping around the room, steam coming from her ears as she rants and raves about the injustices in her life.  She can weep like a little girl with her first crush or spew sensual lines of love.

My muse also has an “I don’t give a sh*t” attitude sometimes.  At these times, what ends up on the screen is not worth the effort it took to type it.

There are times when my muse is exhausting.  Tap, tap, tapping at the keys, furiously trying to record the thoughts in her (my) head.  I can barely keep up with the flow of her need to express herself.

Sometimes my muse disappears.  She gives me no notice, doesn’t leave a note letting me know when or if she’ll be back.  She’s terribly selfish at times like this.

But eventually, she comes back, perky and smiling, ready to provide me with more inspiration, ideas and the gift of expressing my inner thoughts.

I know my muse better than anyone else.  Ever.  But there are times when she surprises me.  She can be very dark, ugly even.  The things that she’s forced me to write make me shudder and shake my head with revulsion.  I’m shocked at the brutality that comes forth. We somehow manage to reconcile and join forces again.

My muse is a shape-shifter.  She’s an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors, moods, and light.  I love her and despise her.  But I wouldn’t want to ever be without her.

Do you have a muse?  What is your muse like?  

Copyright (C) 2019 Penny wilson

Image by 139904 from Pixabay

#writephoto Copper


Pennies 
and rust 
and sunsets.  

Copper. 

The colors 
of the season. 

The earth 
turns it's back 
on the sun 
and begins the process 
of a winter's nap.  

Leaves crunch underfoot, 
announcing your presence 
on the trail.  

A brisk chill 
pushes you 
down the path.  

You pick up the scent 
of a campfire.  

The quiet of the morning is
disturbed only by your footfalls.  

You take in the serenity 
of the day.

(C) 2019 Penny Wilson

*This was posted in response to Sue Vincent's Thursday
photo prompt, #writephoto. If you'd like to get in on the
fun, you can find out all about it HERE.

Found — Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister


REBLOG: This beautiful piece resonates with me so much that I just had to share it with you. Please visit Audrey’s lovely blog for more of her amazing work. Enjoy! ❤

https://videopress.com/embed/cfotzpmB?hd=0&autoPlay=0&permalink=0&loop=0

And then there was light. Those are someone else’s words, but I felt them run through me, a cleansing. I watched in awe, as power consumed nature. In my time – is all I heard. Then the storm moved in and surrounded me, created a blindness towards my search for understanding, quite literally! Washed in […]

via Found — Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister

#Writephoto ~ Aflame — anita dawes and jaye marie


REBLOG:

Thursday photo prompt: Aflame #writephoto For visually challenged writers, the image shows an empty landscape beneath a blue sky. Darkness gathers above the horizon and between land and cloud, the sky is aflame… Aflame Below dark, moody clouds The dragon roars his displeasure Painting a scar, a flame, Of red and […]

via #Writephoto ~ Aflame — anita dawes and jaye marie

“Beautiful faces and passionate kisses” — johncoyote


REBLOG: Please enjoy John Coyote’s Beautiful piece.  If you don’t follow his blog, you should! 🙂 Enjoy! 

(Beautiful faces and passionate kisses. A Poem by Coyote Poetry.) (Good to be young in heart. Willing to rebirth love and desire everyday of a life.) Beautiful faces and passionate kisses When the night is long and sleep is far away. Sweet faces appeared to awake dead passion and re-birth ghosts lost in […]

via “Beautiful faces and passionate kisses” — johncoyote

Safe Haven


REBLOG: This is an older post, but I thought there might be readers that have not seen it and hopefully enjoy it.  This is inspired by one of Sue Vincent’s Thursday #writephoto prompt.  I came across this post while looking through my archives.  I like it quite a lot.  I hope you do too.  I had fun with this.

Penny Wilson Writes

** I have been having a hell of a time writing anything worth posting lately!  The last couple of weeks, I’ve wanted to participate in Sue’s #Write Photo challenge, but nothing comes.  😦   I forced myself to sit down at the keyboard and stare at the dammed white page until something came.  It is a complete surprise what came of this.  See below.  I hope you enjoy.    

Safe Haven–

The page before me glares back.  The cursor’s unwavering blink is about to drive me to madness.  I hear the clock tick and my own heartbeat between my ears.  All else has fallen away.

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