Wild Card

ladywinchuck / / Uncategorized

Wild Card  by Kimberly Blanchard  (11/16)

 

I’m playin’ with a wild card hiding somewhere in the deck

Just what you’re gonna do next I don’t care to make a bet

We’ve been down this road before so I know where it always ends

I should throw my cards down now, stop this mad game of pretend

 

Could it be the joker or perhaps the queen of hearts

Whose gonna break down first and tear this game apart

We’ve been playing for so long I just can’t concentrate

The light is ever dimmer, not really sure if it’s night or day

 

Been waiting on a winning hand for way too long to hope

Been looking toward the future, praying for strength to cope

Like the dealer in the card game you have the upper hand

You know where that next ace is while I fail to understand

 

Just how we can continue when the pay-off is so small

In fact how can you really say we gain anything at all

The truth is it’s a losers game and you’re the one who’s winning

But like a gambling addict I’m still waiting for a happy ending

 

So when will you give up your hand and show me what you’ve got

I already know just what we are, come on show me what we’re not

Let’s just get it over with so I can stop this wishful thinking

The game has lost its magic and there is no chance of winning

Age-old Biases Hurting Human Progress

petechasar / / Uncategorized

 

moreenergy

• That property ownership is a God-given right. (The ownership illusion becomes obvious after wars, floods, lava flows, earthquakes, etc.)

• That the material world is made up of solids. (All things are actually energy events—light waves pass through glass; X-rays pass through steel.)

• That up and down is real. (Earth is not flat; Sun and Moon don’t really rise or set.)

• That cubes and squares are structures. (It requires triangular bracing or a continuous surface to make them stable.)

• That there is something called a straight line. (There are only waves; even light doesn’t  travel in a straight line.)

• That there is a first, second and third dimension. (Fourth dimension and sixth dimension are the reality; even a “flat” sheet of paper has six sides.)

Attention all Writers

ewingsdoings / / Uncategorized

Dear Writer Friend:

In this world of Indie Author’s, it’s up to each one of us to be advocates for each other’s work. It’s a jungle out there in our world of writing, and getting published even independently is not easy – trust me on that.

I am arranging to hold book signings at Brian Scott Gallery each month. Our first event will be on September 30th at 4:30 – 6:00 p.m. Our five writers will be, Georgia Cockerham, Les Garber, Dan Gray, David Paoli and me, Angela Ewing.

If you don’t know these writers, please come and meet them, listen to their inspirations, their modus operandi: How they find the time to write. Why they write, what they write and their ideas on today’s publicity and how they go about getting their work out into the public.

There will be complimentary wine at the event at 4:30, so please mark your calendar September 30th – Brian Scott Gallery. 515 Chetco Avenue, Brookings.

See you there, and please don’t hesitate to contact me if you would like to participate in our next Book Signing Event.

Angela Ewing – 541-261-0008

Angelaewing12@gmail.com

For Sam . . . by Kimberly Blanchard

ladywinchuck / / By Kimberly Blanchard

My dear friend Billie Furuichi lost her beloved two years ago.  Isamu (Sam) was fishing in the Metolius River when he lost his footing and was swept downstream.  Billie was there, on a bridge overlooking the river and saw go, but was unable to even get cell service where she was to summon help.  This poem was written in Sam’s honor…he was a gentle man who always had a smile for you.  He is missed now and forever!

For Sam

 

Jason’s Bones . . . by Jim Grandjean

bette / / By Jim Grandjean

The Northwest forests, dark and foreboding, hold many secrets, some mysterious, others enthralling and some that are best left to the forbidden darkness from where they reside. On a cool November afternoon, Marley stumbles onto one of these grim, shocking discoveries only to find that she has unwillingly become part of it.

 

It was early fall when Marley received the letter telling her that her father had died.  The document had arrived registered mail; a law firm’s letterhead scrolled at the top of the page . . . .