Rage and Injustice

Political Abuse Invites Promises

Promises denied in darkness

Darkness and lies comprise

Comprise lures trusting souls

Souls led into complacency

Complacency allowed zealots to strike

Strike fears flamed into silence

Silence enabled more abusive behaviors

Behaviors accelerate without boundaries

Boundaries violate trust and dignity.

Dignity denied to the innocent

Innocent betrayed by political abuse.



Loop Poetry is a poetry form created by Hellon. There are no restrictions on the number of stanzas nor on the syllable count for each line. In each stanza, the last word of the first line becomes the first word of line two, the last word of line 2 becomes the first word of line 3, last word of line 3 becomes the first word of line 4.


In this poem, I am not discussing physical or mental abuse but that of our present leadership. Hardworking immigrants betrayed and cast out because they were not born on this soil. Soil that we ourselves stole from the Native Americans with lies and guns. Here we are again, using political tactics, force when needed based on lies. Religious zealots claiming they’re making America great again when in fact all we’re showing is what an abusive culture we really are.

Normally, I do not engage in political commentary on my blog but then something happened to change my mind. A dear woman I’ve had the pleasure of sharing many writing experiences was one of the innocent immigrants tossed out of our country. She’s been twenty two years, has a social security card, worked, paid taxes. She’s done everything asked of her but time and time again red tape has denied her citizenship. She was tossed in a detention camp and treated similarly to how Hilter treated the Jews. We refused to believe that atrocities happened then as well. We’ve become a country that has selective sight, we overlook anything that doesn’t directly affect us. I’m guilty as well or I was until this became personal. She is a delightful woman who did not deserve to cast out of our country. She has broken no laws. She reported every week faithfully as required by the immigration board in  Atlanta. That belief in the system and that goodness would outweigh evil allowed this to happen. She should have fled but she didn’t.

We need to take our country back from this nightmare it is existing in. Normally, I don’t support violence but I’m beginning to believe revolution must occur for these tragedies to end. Innocent lives should not be treated as if they have no value. Families should not be ripped apart because of laws pushed by parties to gain influence.

I speak for the women, the children like my friend that believed this country was special but were hurt by the deception of our lies, America is not great. Bullies have become the new norm.


Motivation Monday

“Success is not final; failure is not fatal: It is the courage to continue that counts. It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation.”

I’ve been working on poetry forms again. The focus I find is helping me rethink my word usage in my book. Writers are guilty of using extra verbiage that doesn’t add to the story.

I decided to give a Fib aka Fibonacci for short a try because of its rigid structure.

Form: Fibonacci~ 8 Lines~ Syllabic Structure: 1/1/2/3/5/8/13/21

In mathematics, the Fibonacci numbers are the numbers in the following integer sequence, called the Fibonacci sequence, and characterized by the fact that every number after the first two is the sum of the two preceding. Fib is an experimental Western poetry form, bearing similarities to haiku, but based on the Fibonacci sequence. That is, the typical fib and one version of the contemporary Western haiku both follow a strict structure. The typical fib is a six line, 20 syllable poem with a syllable count by line of 1/1/2/3/5/8 – with as many syllables per line as the line’s corresponding place in the Fibonacci sequence; the specific form of contemporary Western haiku uses three (or fewer) lines of no more than 17 syllables in total. The only restriction on a Fib is that the syllable count follows the Fibonacci sequence.


Barriers Aside


to take steps.
A bold move beyond
the usual path love follows.
I want no boundaries, no rules to confine my heart.
I wonder if you are the one to join me on this elusive passion-filled journey.




Does it inspire you, make you ask questions,

or leave you with that cookie cutter ending all’s right in the world?

Last night in our local writing group we discussed a haiku for twenty minutes.A traditional Japanese haiku is a three-line poem with seventeen syllables, written in a 5/7/5 syllable count. Often focusing on images from nature, haiku emphasizes simplicity, intensity, and directness of expression. Imagine that twenty minutes of animated conversation over seventeen syllables. The group sitting at the table all had different perspectives on the piece. It was a philosophical poem by a younger poet in our group, he was trying different forms to expand his poetic skills. I was very happy to see and hear what he brought to the group after all isn’t that what makes us all great in our ways.

From the time we’re born we absorb information in all manners and that data is processed and stored for future use. As we age, we see it in action and reprocess it forming new skill sets. Writing, observing, reading, talking all are essential tools in a writer’s tool basket that must be continuously honed to improve our craft.

The question last night that arose is should the author end a poem providing the reader the answer or at the very least a strong clue as to the writer’s intent. My own opinion is no, The reader should fill in the necessary information, ask questions, ponder and then formulate their own conclusion. The author is only the instrument to guide the reader in the journey. The beauty of poetry is to take the reader from the darkness and hopefully awaken beauty in the reader’s mind. That ah ah moment when the reader feels connected to the author experiencing the moment or vision. Poetry opens the mind to possibilities outside of the daily norm to me.

My question to you is what do you feel poets should do?

Provide you a window to and let you decide what you’re seeing or provide you a window and the answer.

These are a few of my personal favorites my Buson, Jess, Waters and myself  I hope you enjoy:

The light of a candle
is transferred to another candle—
spring twilight.

Written by  Copyright © 2007 by Yosa Buson

my motto for life

                      – merit, not sympathy, wins-

my song against death.


i stroke piano’s

eighty eight mouths. each one sings

hot colors of joy


pentatonic black

keys raise up high into bliss,

born to sing my name


whippoorwill, hawk, crow

sing madrigals for blind men.

forests blooms through each note.

my eyes: buried deep

beneath earth’s skin. my vision

begins in her womb.

darkness sounds like God

flowering from earth’s molten tomb…

writhed wind. chorded cries.


rain, flower, sea, wind

map my dark horizon. i

inhale earth’s songbook

written by Copyright © 2016 by Tyehimba Jess.


this ladybug

on my hand

written by Bill Waters Published in Brass Bell: A Haiku Journal


Words boldly impressed
Scribbles upon broken soul
An author’s remorse

A frosty petal
stood strong alone at sunrise
a beacon to me.
 It begins today
Struggling flowers bloom thru ice
A joyous moment
3 Haikus Written by Lyn Crain

Time flies

I was surprised to see my last post was November 29th, 2017.  I worked religiously on getting the 50,000 words done for the challenge in November then I began the dreaded task of editing what I had written. Some parts I genuinely liked but others not so much. One thing continuously screamed at me was Mairin didn’t want her story told in 3rd person, she wanted to talk herself. Reminded me of myself, I hate being in the background silent when I’m quite capable of speaking for myself.

Sadly, that wasn’t always the case. In my younger years, I was intimidated by an abusive husband I didn’t speak much at all. It was safer to let him talk. But over time I tossed that inhibition aside and became my own advocate. I’m finding Mairin is as well whether I want her to be or not.

For those of you not familiar with writing, who are probably shaking your head and thinking what is she talking about, she’s the author. True, I’m the author but as an author is writing the character develops on the page the writing is swept away by the character as the author thinks and writes from their point of view. I chuckled several times rereading something I wrote and wondered where did that come from. I didn’t see that coming.

Inside all of us is all the different influences we’ve accumulated and our reactions to the situations vary time and time again because of each new influence. These influences can be from something we’ve read, seen or actually experienced and our brain processes it for later reference.

My character Mairin has been through cancer already and is facing it again so she has past experiences to draw upon in addition to the experiences of the people that were doing a treatment at the same time I felt comfortable using my experiences for some of her reactions with the brain cancer. {No, I didn’t have brain cancer myself. Uterine, esophageal and breast cancer was bad enough. I had the genetic markers done and if I get cancer again it will be my brain so there is an ongoing curiosity as to what is being done in research.)

As the author, I wanted to focus on the legacy left behind when someone passes but as I wrote Mairin began fighting for her life, she didn’t want to die. It was about living now, taking chances and finding a way to live more than creating something special for her loved ones. She resisted on the page and made connecting the dots harder and harder.

I began the story again in the first person with her telling the story which is going a lot easier. I shared one part the other night in my writing group. I was surprised by the different reactions. They varied from you I love it in the first person but it has to be in past tense if you want it published to the imagery was beautiful I felt her struggling with something more than the scene unfolding. A couple of them noted I used metaphors throughout the piece with sun and new beginnings. One reaction I didn’t anticipate which took me back to the page trying to see it as they did. I can’t. The reader’s response was I can’t follow the narrator and it almost feels like a blow by blow sex scene without any emotional connection. Now, I know critiques are subjective and can be taken or tossed to the curb.

I’m at the drawing table again rewriting the scene to share again this week. Please tell me what you think.

The room flooded with a pinkish glow, the curtains stemming the best effort of the sun to conquer my private world. I gazed at his still form with only the gentle rise and fall of the sheet. I caressed his face, lightly, as yet unwilling to wake him.
I loved this time of the day—the radiant color inspired hope. My past and future fears may be strapped to my back, but I didn’t have to see it or feel it. Battling those inner demons that crept beneath the surface, hid in dark corners or boldly danced in broad daylight was a solitary fight.  There’s comfort in knowing, I’m not the only one waging war. I won’t let them intrude upon us. I recalled a quote by Mignon McLaughlin. “We welcome passion, for our mind is briefly let off duty.” I needed to escape too.

The satin sheet barely covered us.  I closed my eyes to allow my imagination free reign before I pulled back the sheet letting the cold air of the early morning kiss Bruce’s naked body.

I turned toward him moved by my subconscious mind and a passion I didn’t fully comprehend. These emotions were all new to me. My fingers traced the length of his back. Downward they spiraled to the soft fullness of his gluteus maximus. I pinched him. He opened his eyes, smiled at me and wiggled away from my wicked fingers. I caressed his chest in slow, circular movements as my fingers continued their path down his body, insistent on my touch.

My eagerness showed as my breath escaped. I’m pleased to see a smile light Bruce’s handsome face. His lips parted, a soft sigh escaped into the air. The rise and fall of his chest quickened as my fingers continued their warm massage upward. I grazed his forehead with my lips pausing to breathe in the scent of his silky silver hair. I massaged his temples as his head moved back and forth with my fingers. I played lightly with his lips. His tongue reached out to tease my fingers. I inhaled sharply as he nuzzled each finger firmly.

I reached for him, a longing I cannot deny. Slowly I climbed upon his body feeling his hardness close the void. I arched my back slightly upward allowing him entrance. Cupping the softness of his face, I was lost in his glazed hazel eyes, but the doctor’s words darkened the moment. Not now. I struggled to focus on us.

‘Exquisite’ I thought as our bodies found a demonic rhythm. Our passions ignited eclipsed the fiery sunrise. Bruce’s strong hands grasped my patootie pulling downward. He wanted control. I smiled, knowing he’s not used to me being assertive but I resisted. I needed to set the pace and burn like the sun. Would nature allow him to answer my desire repeatedly until my thirst for his essence was slaked?  We were quickly slain by my carnal efforts. He looked fantastic as his face contorted in the throes of impending orgasm. A low moan escaped; his eyes closed tightly as if seeing anything would break his concentration. He screamed as my teeth tormented him with each sharp nibble. I smirked as his face smoothed to a glow that signified ecstasy complete. I placed my head on his shoulder before I rolled back on the bed and stole a glimpse of the sky’s glorious colors.  The star I reached for was closer than I thought as we laid feeling the warmth of each other basking in the joy of being together. In the arithmetic of passion, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing but longing. The sun made our naked bodies glisten, Poe’s right the best things in life make us sweaty.  I glanced at his smiling face, and a tear spilled forth as I remembered what lies ahead. The truth was like the sun, you can shut it out briefly but it won’t go away. I can’t, I won’t think about that now.


In a Chaotic Moment

In a Chaotic Moment ©
Leaves flutter wildly in the wind
The colors burst upon my soul
scattered thoughts defiantly pinned

The Soledad is an ancient Spanish stanza consisting of three eight-syllable lines with the first and third lines rhyming, as described and demonstrated in the following link: http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/index.php?/topic/1023-soledad/

More examples can be found here: http://www.rainbowcommunications.org/wordplay/forms/Soledad.pdf .

NaNoWriMo update

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.” ― Terry Pratchett
Making progress… Death and I by Lyn Crain
21,203 Words
28,797 To Go
42.4 % accomplished
I don’t know how people do it, my fingers ache at night, one wrist is screaming at me. I’m crazy and I’m loving every moment. I see my first draft as an elaborate outline, The editing process will be so much fun because I’m taking it from 3rd person to 1st person. My character is too strong to let someone else tell her story.
“Writing is a struggle against silence.” ― Carlos Fuentes
Mairin chose today to be silent. I was frustrated and ready to jump off a cliff when I decided to reach out and ask for help. Marcus answered the call and guided me away from the cliff. His advice was to get inside her head, make her angry to talk and she will. You’re good at pushing buttons … do it.
I wrote the doctors conversation with him being condescending bordering on bullying. I used a doctor from my previous life as my role model and how he treated me. I remembered the rage I felt and it helped because Mairin responded. She surprised me with the anger that came out on the page.
I’m lucky in some ways that other writers aren’t I have an awesome writing family. We bounce ideas and give each other honest feedback. Marcus, Victor, Sara, Debbie, Raz, Jeffrey and my hubby are awesome. If you’re struggling with your writing, I suggest joining a writing group or get involved in one online. Ask questions, and keep asking questions until you get what you need.

“You don’t know you exist until you see your name chiseled in stone or on the cover of your book.  That’s when you become immortalized.”~Lyn Crain

Quote and NaNoWriMo update

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”~ Edgar Allen Poe

19,148 words thus far in Death and I, the story of Mairin, Bruce, and Death.

This weekend I wrote three found poems with snippets of the NY Times again. I had a great helper too. Macavity laid on the snippets and moved several which ended up being just what I needed. I used pieces of the different poems in my story with Mairin, too, so my cutting the newspaper became an exercise in creative thinking.

Phantom Threat

A family portrait for all humanity

blood, sweat, toil, and tears

unraveling racial hatred

prompts  crisis

in the darkest hours

of rivers and rituals

Happiness is for other people

those who stay

the once mediocre

seek some calm

apologize again

for them, it’s not discrimination


A war of words underway

The screaming just won’t stop


we seek our way to death.


An enlightened friendship

when coffee brews a different spirit

in all its realness


Sweetness with a side of sarcasm.


The metamorphosis

is an unwanted

brutal final indignity.

It penalizes what we had

in the

years of relying on what

no one knows.

The dots to greatness

remain unknown.


Yup, he had a good idea. The coffee poem and the metamorphosis both improved with his help.

Motivational Quote and Me

“Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.
Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.
Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.
Winter passes and one remembers one’s perseverance.”
― Yoko Ono

A lady I knew in Maine, my rival when it came to Halloween decorations passed away unexpectedly yesterday. We’re the same age, and our children are the same ages. I was reminded how short our lives truly are.

I want to take a moment for the families in Texas whose world was turned upside down in a moment of violence. They are in our prayers. I don’t understand why anyone would do that to another human being.

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I’ve written 8650 words, monumental for me in 5 days. I was feeling overwhelmed with my character so I decided to take a mental health break. I made a Thanksgiving centerpiece wreath for our table. It went to together easy enough considering this is my very first attempt at making a wreath. (Yup, I followed a youtube video.) The glitter all over the floor was messy and everywhere with help from Macavity. Overall the project took just over two hours from start to finish and the result was very eye appealing.

The Mistletoe Murder
Philosophers and
Other Lovers
in what once
was a nation
A Gambler’s Anatomy
In this
City of Dreams
Where America Begins

Judge Not
The Whistler
The Man Who Chose
To Exile
Rogue Heroes
In the
March of the Lexicon

Words on the Move
Cruel Beautiful World
It’s no longer
Seriously Sweet
When Music Was Life and Death

Escape Clause
The Wrong Side of Goodbye
in a Sleeping World
The Mortifications
Bless Me
for I Will Sin©

Enjoy your Monday.  I need to go Mairin, Bruce and Death are calling.