William? Yes, Susanna? Why are people so angry? Why are people so angry? Yes. Why are people so angry? Why do you ask, Susanna? Because, William, I see angry people everywhere, and it hurts me. How does it hurt you? Anger hurts my heart. Why does it hurt your heart? Because anger gets in the way of love, William. It does, Susanna? Yes, William. How … Continue reading Susanna Avila VII
Jackie’s writing sends my heart aflutter 😊 Continue reading Just A Heartbeat Away
Reblogged from poetry with a small p By Stephen McGuinness My little boy is gone. In his bed lies a man sized boy who towers over me now. Who sighs, exasperated, as we tease and annoy, but still jumps when I bark. Although, if I bark, it is more because of… Source: Untitled Continue reading Untitled
I long for intimate conversation Two people, Leaning over cups of coffee. A small table in the coffee house Around the corner. Eyes only for each other, Oblivious to the buzz of life surrounding them. She smiles. I love the way her lips curl, The delicate filigree of her ear, Revealed when she brushes her hair back, The fragrant puff of breath as she laughs … Continue reading The Coffee House Around the Corner
What is in a kiss, William? What do you mean, Susanna? What do you feel when you kiss me? Oh… I feel the sensual moisture of your mouth; the Tender bumping of your nose; the Tickle of your eyebrows, and the Tingle in my toes; I feel the texture of your lips, and the Curve of Cupid’s bow; I feel the softness of your cheeks; … Continue reading Susanna Avila VI
Sung to the tune of Hey, Joe Hey, O, where you goin’ with that knife in your hand? Hey, O, I said where you goin’ with that knife in your hand? Oh, I’m goin’ down to stab our brother, Judah You know I caught him defendin his own land. Yeah, I’m goin’ down to knife my old friend Judah’s back You know I caught him … Continue reading Hey, O
We worked at Busch Gardens and saw each other often at the Festhaus. Freyja enchanted me from the beginning. Twenty years old, short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin, red lips, cherry cheeks: a petite Teutonic Goddess. Freyja worked as a server, while I delivered food and dry goods from the food service warehouse. We were on smiling terms but not much else, although she seemed … Continue reading Fall From Grace
Originally posted on Writing from poetry with a small p.:
The Christmas lights are up in the city and the pavement is glittering. All seems well in the world. I am waiting for my bus at the edge of the river, not staring in, but shivering for the want of warmth. On evenings like this, when the wind cuts up the Liffey channel, the rain,… Continue reading Christmas Lights
Originally posted on Writing from poetry with a small p.:
The first crack of an open door reveals a low lying sun to bathe in. I am glowing, golden, glorious. The winter ground snaps underneath my heel. Soft soil gives way, clinging to my boots. The dog turns about himself, dancing with new found youth. Truth, clear and fresh, like freezing breath, surrounds me. Late… Continue reading Late December
Anna, you’re one of God’s best. Merry Christmas, my dear friend. I wish you a happy and prosperous new year. I am a better person for knowing you. Love, Will Continue reading What I WILL Be Doing Christmas Day
Amen, Mitch. Mitch Teemley My first semester of college I took a lecture hall class called Folklore and Mythology from Dr. Glickman, a rock star educator if there ever was one. At the start of each session, 350 students would hush as Dr. G entered, wind from nowhere ruffling his graying fringe. “A myth is something that cannot be proven,” Dr. G proclaimed, “therefore this … Continue reading Was Mary a Virgin?
Servicemembers we lost in 2016. Share this in their honor. From: http://thefallen.militarytimes.com Senior Chief Petty Officer SCOTT COOPER DAYTON, USN November 24, 2016 42, of Woodbridge, Virginia; assigned to Explosive Ordnance Disposal Mobile Unit Two, died in northern Syria of wounds sustained in an improvised explosive device blast. Staff Sgt. MATTHEW C. LEWELLEN, USA November 4, 2016 27, of Lawrence, Kansas; assigned to the 5th … Continue reading Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen We Lost in 2016
Originally posted on The Writings of William C. Pennington:
I love to sit on the rocks at Ka’ena Point, and Wonder at the beauty of the sea; I love to stand atop Old Speck, and Gaze in awe at God’s handiwork about me; I love to lie in the open field Near Spencer Pond at night, and Ponder the vastness of the universe Spreading out… Continue reading I Love To Sit On The Rocks At Ka’ena Point
There is no sound so lovely as the silence of a snowfall, Nor beauty greater than the darkness of a starry winter night. Continue reading There Is No Sound So Lovely
The flow comes when the writer confronts his own heart, peels it back, peers inside, and thinks, “I don’t want to hide that anymore. I want to face the truth.” It’s a painful, mental anguish that either lifts the psychological scars or deepens them. The writer can move on at last, or continue wallowing in the same self pity that has possessed his soul for … Continue reading The Flow
There are times when writing is like a drug. I’m focused. I’m in the zone. The story pours from my mind in a waterfall made of words. I tremble from excitement as I step into the scene. I become the character, I smell the air, hear the traffic, touch her skin, hear her voice. Magic. The spell consumes me. I’m so happy I shed tears. Continue reading The Spell
An epic tale of love, loss, and redemption, from a father’s heroic death in Vietnam, into the dark alleys of Thailand, to the jungles of Bataan where a son finds the parents he never knew while searching desperately for the woman he loves. Genre: Adult, Mainstream Fiction Words: 82,000 Title: HONEY KO, A WISHED-FOR LOVE Author: William C. Pennington Description: Sam McBride is mortally wounded … Continue reading Query This! Honey Ko, A Wished-For Love
For my father, John William Pennington 12/29/1926 – 12/10/1994. US Navy WWII; USAF Korea, Vietnam There are two kinds of dead in war: those who die and those who live. Those who die stay dead; those who live die again and again and again until, someday, they too stay dead. He died in World War II during the Battle of Okinawa, but lived another forty-nine … Continue reading Eighteen Thousand Two Hundred and Fifty
Originally posted on Writing from poetry with a small p.:
? Dry leaves of sycamores have Fallen to the navvies’ excavations. Evening, cold, is rolled across The city’s winter-glow gloom. Unlit Christmas, manhandled Into place, hangs sullenly, waiting For the sparked, switch-flick That turns it on to life. Cyclists, in their righteous Superiority, glance over fearful Shoulders at dark behemoth buses That push and press… Continue reading November Evening in Dublin
Beautiful. Continue reading Christmas Wishes
Exquisite. Continue reading The Christmas Letter
Why do you love me, William? Because you’re beautiful, Susanna. Is that the only reason? Because you’re a perfect fit in my arms. What else? Because I can carry you as I run. Oh? You weigh less than a feather, Susanna. Oh. Because you’re a wonderful cook. Yes? Because you meet me at the door when I come home from work. Because you sing when … Continue reading Susanna Avila V
Beautiful, Jackie! This tugs my heartstrings. Continue reading Find Myself
Originally posted on The Writings of William C. Pennington:
I forgave you, Dad, and asked you to forgive me. Your heart attack occurred early in the morning on November 30, 1994. I was aboard the USS Tripoli, returning to the states after a long six months at sea when I received notice. The Chaplain came to my stateroom to inform me and leave me a… Continue reading As You Lay Dying
Chronos upon his pedestal, Cherub by his side, Points a crooked finger, Tells me in my pride, “No life ends unlived, No death is unbidden, Every breath of life, Open to review, not hidden.” Continue reading Every Breath of Life
I closed my eyes and fell Through a shimmering curtain Of notes that climbed like a spell And blew through my spirit Like music wafting me away On wings of heartbeats As the sun grew full and bright And the moon a crescent smile of white That floated me on a sound of color That trilled through my skin With the breath of time And … Continue reading A Million Times I Love You
Wars have endings and beginnings. Mitch Teemley By the time the war ended, 58,220 American soldiers had died in Vietnam. And, in a strange irony, 50,000 of the people they’d gone to save had been evacuated to the United States. It was the largest airlift in U.S. history. I remember when the refugees arrived at the Marine Corps Air Station in Orange County, just minutes … Continue reading 41 Years Ago Today
I love the love in this. You’ll feel it too. Continue reading Hear Your Touch, Feel Your Voice
Whisper wisp, O Soft and lithe, so Fragile, frail, a Sense, a Sense; Fleet, fly, O Whither gone? But, Always away, a Day, a Day. Continue reading Whisper Wisp, O
I stepped down from my cloud, watched nine years slip away; My mind was filled with doubt, that you’d ever felt the same; I thought about that dance, when you said you’d had enough, You looked me in the eyes, your voice was harsh and tough; I knew then what was coming I’d seen it in your face, My head began to spin, My pulse … Continue reading When You Turned And Looked My Way
Great metal Goddess, mined from deepest earth, Forged in blazing flame, molded, beaten, formed at birth; Measured, cut, and riveted, assembled frame by frame, The beauty of this graceful beast, too marvelous to tame; Glorious vision, Orion, strong upon Her legs, Pins of solid steel, shining sliding shock absorbing pistons beg Disbelief that such a being could be wrought by hand of man; Her might … Continue reading Ode to Orion (or Mechanic’s Lament)
My faith in humanity was crushed at the young age of fifteen when my beloved ten-speed racer, for which I saved all summer my lawn mowing and busboy earnings, was stolen from behind the Village Inn Pancake House while I bussed tables. Whoever stole my bike must have needed it badly since they cut the thick chain that secured it to the old oak tree … Continue reading Gleaming Brown Racer
Originally posted on Writing from poetry with a small p.:
I. Cuckoo spit sits in the crooks of stems and stems. Four bright daisies afloat above a quilt of colour. Some bird, anonymous pips a warning of our approach. The dog sniffs life, living under every leaf. All about us, tall wild flowers, thistles have taken the field. II. Effort sends me Tumbling Over stones… Continue reading Summer at Tinnakilly
Politics used to be local, but technology has brought national politics – and national news – to the local level courtesy of 24/7 news coverage and reporting via smartphones, tablets, computers, and a multitude of TV news sources. Politics infuses nearly every aspect of our lives. In our hunger to be informed, we check our favored news apps constantly throughout the day. It’s no wonder … Continue reading News Unfit to Print
I wonder what kids, when they become adults and recall their youth, will remember? Will they recall the hours spent gazing at smartphones while riding their bikes, waiting for the school bus, dining out with their parents? I can’t imagine spending on a smartphone all the time I spent reading as a kid, playing in the woods, swimming in the pond, fishing the river with … Continue reading Remember
I would rather have learned in Sunday School what I know to be true, than live each day thinking this life is all there is. Continue reading Beyond
My Daughter My heart melted when I saw her pink, chubby face and heard her cries for the first time. I felt no shame at the tears that trickled down my cheeks and threatened to drown my shoes in a pool of warm saltwater. The doctors and nurses were invisible. I had eyes only for my daughter. My life had changed in the last … Continue reading Happy Fathers Day. I wish.
Writing from Ireland, Stephen McGuinness Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 4
Dreams are bad news. Good dreams or bad dreams, it doesn’t matter. When you awaken you are the same person, only sadder. You wake with less happiness, less hope than before you laid your head on the pillow and closed your eyes and sleep took you to that place you yearn for but hate with hot tears when your eyes open again. The place you … Continue reading Dreams
Originally posted on Writing from poetry with a small p.:
To draw sustenance from barren ground, pull from it, life along with the stones. To sink and turn an age worn spade into another man’s land, pay for breaking through the crust of his earth, reach soft soil beneath, that our children may yet survive to find fungal rot in our hearts. Despair in our… Continue reading Folk Memory of Famine
Writing from Ireland, Stephen McGuinness. Continue reading The Hideout
A beautiful work in progress by Stephen McGuinness Continue reading Keenan
*Third line of each stanza is read rapidly without pause. Smiles are bright on brown faces I have known, eyes crinkled against the sun; Home is a shack with thatch for a roof and a barrel that caches the rain as it runs; An old woman sifts rice in the shade of acacia as her husband and sons fish from a boat not far from … Continue reading Lamao Limay
Dear lovely people, I have an agent’s request for more material! How exciting. How incredibly thrilling! How amazingly nervous I am! The agent, Jackie Lindert, requested the first three chapters of Honey Ko. I sent them off in an email a few minutes ago. Here’s the pitch that earned the request: “Tom Nelson, tethered to apron strings stretching nine-thousand miles around the world, worries that … Continue reading Pitching To Agents: First Bite
Please enjoy Stephen McGuinness’ Carolan’s Concerto part 3. I found it mesmerizing. Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 3
Hello lovely people, I received another polite frownie-button rejection email today. That brings me to five rejections from twenty-two submissions. That’s okay, though. I never expected my journey to be easy, and I expected rejections. That’s the way it is. However, rejection doesn’t have to lead to dejection. I may feel otherwise if I reach one-hundred submissions without having an agent fly to … Continue reading Pitching to Agents: My Duh Moment
Dear lovely people, I’ve submitted my query letter for Honey Ko to twenty-two literary agents since May 9th. I’ve received four rejections so far, which is pretty good considering all agency websites inform you that, due to the high volume of submissions, they cannot respond to every submission. They tell you they can only respond if they want the writer to provide more information, as … Continue reading Pitching to Agents: Lessons Learned
Dear lovely people, What do you think? Does my pitch grab you by the lapels and make you shout, “OMG! I have to read this book NOW!” Let me know what you think. “Dual timelines carry the reader on an emotional journey of love and betrayal, loss and discovery as two couples, threatened by forces of nature and war, find love while confronting weakness of … Continue reading Literary Agent Pitch for Honey Ko
I hope you enjoy Carolan’s Concerto part 2. Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 2
The Writings of William C. Pennington 