Truth is Simple

Truth is simple

without lies to be written

or memorized for later recall

truth says it all

LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved.


Before the Healing



So much hatred

so much pain

she watches the ruin of

the kingdom

devouring itself

great destruction

the ouroboros


as a chariots wheel

driven by the phoenix

turning onward to annihilation

before the healing and rebuilding again

Tired of the devastation

she removes herself to the garden

to sit and pray

refresh her soul

under the trees

Green grass rising up

the song of birds greet her

perhaps there is hope


of the smallest grains

that may grow peace

LAS copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

The Greatest Reason in the World for Kindness.

Sumyanna wrote this article and I love it!

After reading the news of this past weekend, I am in serious doubt as to the sanity of our country. Can we please all just take a step back, breathe and act like somewhat civilized human beings? Can we not be kind, thoughtful, and come to some come ground understanding instead of trying to rip each other’s throats out because of political, racial, or other issues? This behavior is not love or caring. There are other ways to plead your case and support your causes than this ugliness.  It’s an excuse to be savage.

Just be kind.

Sumyanna Writes


This week’s Discover Challenge at The Daily Post is to write: The Greatest _____ in the World.  I know that I have not exactly responded to the prompt as expected.  Truthfully, however, the moment I saw the prompt the words “The greatest reason in the world for kindness” popped into my head.  Usually not one to silence that inner voice, I have decided to take this in a different direction.  If you know me – you will not be surprised at all by that decision 🙂

There are moments that we all can recall from our own histories, no matter how long or small they might be, that we have known extraordinary kindness.  It matters not, if we were fortunate to have loving parents, doting grandparents, a wonderfully inspiring teacher, or even just a stranger who passed us by one day and we have never been able to forget their kindness. …

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Saturday Morning

courtesy of pixabay


get the housework done!

There are things waiting to

be played with later

behind the closed door of my room.

Two cats sit

eyeing me with anticipation,

knowing it’s their day

watching me buzzing about

ticking off the to-do list.

Pajama clad,

grabbing my lunch

to bring downstairs,

the cats and I

enter the privacy of our room…

wading through the heady incense

of linseed oil, lacquers,

resin and paints on the desk,

silver jewelry plates,

fountain pens and books,

beads in boxes .

My brushes stand ready soldiers

in their glass

lying close at hand to the remote

where across the room

“Sherlock”will be played all day

binge-watching while I work in

colours and bits of paper

paint and ink

created from designs

in a world of my own.


LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

courtesy of pixabay


The colours



pushing limits and blend into

a ground over wet

overworked from rain

pounding in torrents

washing out the bridge

and tumbling wet clay sand

mixed with boulders onto the highway

everything seems to slip

as sequoias crack and sag

to topple over after millennia

I watch the houses in Broadmore

slide down the hillside

like children at the park

San Francisco doesn’t handle

the rain well

funneling it into the gutters

backing up onto the streets

eventually to run to the beach

as the Great Highway melts


LAS  copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Crow Fly

Cawing on the rooftop
throwing nuts to break open
on the pavement
breaking open memories
of teenage years of
trying to sleep on a Saturday
but hoody crow would not allow it
run down the roof
laughter at their own antics
pissing me off
at their seeming mirth
of waking me

Many years have passed
and a murder of crows
brings back longing of those days
down comforters
new records to play
waiting for the boy with the car
Brings me back to innocence
a dark mirth
waking my memories
with their laughing call
watching me with sideways glances
as they pass by
deep midnight clouds
moving off into the twilight
LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

The Bookstore Experience

The following article actually began as a comment to a recent Literary Hub publication ( that I received this morning via my email.

I admit to buying from various sellers on Amazon and ABE, but I’ll be honest, I love going to my local bookseller for new and used books. There is something about the ambiance when you walk in the door. The guys know me as a fountain pen nerd (which they sell plenty of fountain pens there) and never fail to greet me with a smile. We’ve had a couple of mix-up’s, but hey, we’re human. I think the feel of a book shop is important. This particular one (Pioneer Books in Provo, Utah) is two stories filled with I call intellectual crack. From the moment you walk in, there is the scent of books. You can’t get that on line. They have chairs placed strategically throughout. Yes, you can do this while surfing your on-line store, but it doesn’t have the same feel of taking you away from your settings into another world…the way the old libraries did and do. No one complains if you sit on the floor to peruse the stacks. Ok…you can do that with your laptop or tablet…still not the same. It’s a place that I feel at home in. You just can’t talk books and authors with the on-line sellers like you can face to face in the bookstore. You can mention an author you are found of asking if they have anything new. Immediately someone, somewhere in the store will pipe up on the last book they read by him/her or suggest something similar but unfamiliar. I’m met several new authors this way.

But it’s not just all of those things, you can physically handle a book, get the feel of it, scent of it, flip through the pages.  For me a used book treat is to find personalizations from the previous owners…highlights, notes in everything from pencil, fountain pen and crayon, letters, bookmarks, photos, flowers, money (a $20 bill was a bonus at a thrift store buy…yep! Since there was no way to track the previous owner…I went back for more books.). You may get an insight into a passage that you had never thought about. Yes, it is also slightly voyeuristic, but it also gives a special life to the tome itself. No matter where I have travelled to, I always keep my eye out for the local shop. I’ve found things I’ve looked for for years that I may not have found at home.

The same thing goes for the books sales. We had the University Women’s Book Sale in Fresno, California when I lived there. I waited eagerly for it to happen every year so I could pay the “get-in-early” fee and spend an evening at my favorite addiction, and that includes one particular Halloween night that I left the kids and husband at home to fend for themselves!  More than once back in the 1990’s, I came home with a whole full sized Ford Taurus truck load of books for $60.00, many of which I still own today.  WhenI lived near Reno, Nevada, I did the same thing at the Washoe Library Book Sale in the Fall and Spring.  I bought a complete 21 volume hardbound collection of Algernon Charles Swinburne for $20.00!  There is nothing like it if you are a bibliophile.

If you’ve never taken the time to haunt your local new/used bookseller, do so, the experience may well be worth your time and you will probably meet some new authors, bring home some great reads, and make some new friends with common interests.  If it isn’t a store to your liking (I avoid any that reek of mildew…compromises the books), find another one, even if it is in the next town.  A good bookseller is worth their weight in gold. Use the mildew one as a desperate last measure look if you have to.

I say hurray! for the new and used local bookstores.

The Party

Walking into the party

I realized too late

that I was too early

lessons to be learned

in reading the fine print

The guesst arrived

one by one

some likeable


some boorish

a few evil

my host drew me away

from hidden dangers

games too rough to play

guiding along throughout the game

and yet the longer I stayed

the more I discerned

about each life

and the interaction

of my own

with the guests at the party

laughter and gaiety

tears and pain

and what the sudden exits

really meant as the theme carried on around me

My perspective changed

evolving in the moments and hours spent

blooming like a rose

one watches in flickering frames

Until I, too, was faced with the nod of my host

at the table

my turn at the game was ending

time to leave

not knowing how the end would play

out for the rest

Watching now from the doorway

before stepping through

I understood now this was

invitation of life

LAS   copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved.



While binge-watching “Sherlock” this weekend, I had art papers, Sharpies, Prismacolor Pencils, and an odd assortment of cutouts on the bed.  I began cutting 2 1/2″ x 3 1/2″heavy card stock to start working in ATC’s (Artist Trading Cards) and again experimenting with a smaller canvas.

Years ago I had worked as a manicurist during a period of time when I had to be mindless.  I’m not saying that it mindless work, but something a lot less stressful than what I had been doing prior to.  I found that nails were a tiny canvas.  While in manicuring school, I began to play with the various multicoloured glitters and acrylic powders that had come along with my kit.  It was a major distraction!

While playing with these acrylic powders, I found there was a variety of things I could do: paint, sculpture, embed.  Thinking about this the last 10 years (I analyze the crap out of everything), I have decided to buy some Ice Resin.  I asked a ton of questions on about buyers experience and read a lot of info on the product.  The purchase this morning.  It will be delivered to my office on Wednesday afternoon.  Basically what I am curious to see is if the acrylic sculptures that I am making can be cast in the resin to add to my mixed media pieces.

Ten years seems like a long time to analyze whether I want to incorporate an artistic medium or technique into ones work.  During that period of time there were several life altering instances that changed my outlook.  Emotionally, spiritually, and artistically I became crippled.  Losing a spouse does that.  Losing a soulmate, even more so.  After Terry’s death, I found I was unable to do the smallest things such as reading a book for more than 2 minutes or making a simple pencil sketch.

Part of my art therapy was to take an entry job as a cashier at a craft store.  It took awhile, but I gradually began to purchase items for my own use…especially ones I had never worked with to see if I could blend them into skills I already have.  Watercolour crayons, leather bits, art papers, ephemera, feathers, rhinestones.  Time went on and I began doing zen doodling, experimenting with traditional pan watercolours, pencils, stains, inks, acrylic inks, and even nail polish to get effects.  Alcohol was introduced in droplets or spray to run or expand borders.

For many years, I resisted buying large paper punches, resin, or professional tools due to financial restrictions.  During a particularly volatile period of my life when I was married to my second husband who was an alcoholic, I resisted buying these items, eyeing them like a longing schoolgirl through the glass of the local art shops because he said we couldn’t afford them.  Funny, we always had money for the cigarettes and booze every week.  Yes, there is resentment there.  I allowed (being the key word) someone else to control my gifts and my passion for 17 years.  A long time, but not tragically late.

Since the cashier job, I have moved up to other positions and to a different company, which challenges my creativity in other ways.  This has been good for me.  I am finding out even more what I want and what I don’t in my life….what is toxic and what is good FOR ME.

Not only is this an age of discovery for art techniques, but it is a time of discovery of myself.  I’ve been married since I was 20 and in that period of 40 years, have not really experienced being my own person for more than a year at a time.  I had subconsciously bought into the idea that I needed to have a man in my life in order to be successful and whole.  With the exception of Terry, I cannot say in all honesty that it was a smart move. Terry was the best person and time in my life.  Soulmate, companion, constructive critic, confidant, knight in shining armor, best friend, husband.  How the hell do you top that?!  My children from my first marriage are a constant joy to me as well…treasures.  The regret is not taking more time time when I was younger to examine who I was and what I love and where I wanted those passions to take me.

So gleefully…giddily, I start this new year off with experimentation.  I’ll share the process, poetry, and artwork here.  Maybe something I share can help someone else going through the process.  We’ll discover together, shall we?

Any constructive criticism or comments will be welcome.

Cheers to the all of you!  Thank you for egging me on!