You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
It’s a kitchen table, rather than a largely ignored dining room. Or outside, in the rain. Or even a restaurant or diner.
Well, in one of the poems, it’s linen covered beside a black pond. But that’s for a formal occasion.
As for the rest of the series, the pieces reflect home and family and a calling to intimacy. How informal do you want to get? And how do you like your tea?
~*~
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When I see this …
… I think of this.
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Who will cover them now? All the politicians taking office? All of their dealings with lobbyists and special interests? Who will speak for the public? Or the common good?
I’ve covered some of the work of the daily press in my Newspaper Traditions category, and remind you it’s still a rich resource to visit. It’s a major part of the route that landed me here, after all.
The bigger, scarier perspective is one I take to surreal dimensions in my novel, Hometown News, which also reflects the situation many workers endure in the unchecked spread of multinational conglomerates. Think of Dilbert on steroids. Or the vulnerability of localities in the face of global giants.
The real news continues regardless of the headlines. Take it from me. Or my novel.
~*~
For the novel, click here.
When I see this …
… I think of this.
For the free ebook novel and more, click here.
When Bill, fresh out of college, accepts the assignment to yrubBury, he views the daily coded messages as a matter of corporate espionage and competitive edge. Heck, he’s ever so green and naive. What else is a generalist supposed to do in an age of specialists?
The assignment’s an education in itself, a revelation of global tensions and intrigue – and, to his surprise, he’s caught in the crosshairs.
Here he thought he was sidetracked to the boondocks. Instead, it’s ground zero.
Enter Big Inca, from the south.
~*~
For the novel and much more, click here.
Yeah, there were brats. You couldn’t avoid them.
And broken glass. And sirens at midnight.
It’s what we could afford where we were.
Oh, what a neighborhood!
~*~
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When I see this …
… I think of this.
For the free ebook novel and more, click here.
How can you not appreciate the way the word flows on the teeth and tongue and along the lips?
Given its name, Oyster River, in the Lenape tongue for the profusion at its mouth in Chesapeake Bay, the word ripples and sings.
Upstream, where I lived, a different name would have been fitting but, I’ll presume, no more beautiful.
~*~
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Enter the woods. Listen. Breathe.
Sometimes a woodlot will do. Or a grove along running water.
You don’t always need a forest.
Don’t worry about getting lost. Just pay attention to the trail. And the wind. And the light. Maybe a companion or two. Some of them human.
We’ll talk about holy later.
~*~
For your own copy, click here.
When I see this …
… I think of this.
For the free ebook novel and more, click here.
Jnana's Red Barn 