I don’t often listen to music while I write. I find it distracting. It isn’t that I don’t like music, indeed, I love music and have rather eclectic tastes. I enjoy most genres. My music of choice while writing though, is silence. Silence has its own sound. The sound of the story taking shape in my mind. When I write and enter “the zone,” I … Continue reading Writing Music, or, Music to Write By
Jackie’s writing sends my heart aflutter đ 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
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. âA myth is something that cannot be proven,â Dr. G proclaimed, âtherefore 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
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
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
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
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 theyâd 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
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 doesnât 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
Please enjoy Stephen McGuinness’ Carolan’s Concerto part 3. I found it mesmerizing. Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 3
I hope you enjoy Carolan’s Concerto part 2. Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 2
I’ve never re-blogged a post, although I’ve had three guest posters. One of them, Stephen McGuinness, is the author of this brilliant work. I’m proud to share this with you. Continue reading Carolan’s Concerto part 1
I’m aboard Norfolk Naval Base for a friend’s retirement ceremony. I look out across the harbor and see, not the buildings, aircraft taxiways, ships, and Sailors in my field of view, but the aircraft carriers and amphibious assault ships I sailed on. I served aboard several ships and aircraft squadrons in my twenty-seven year career, and right now I’m walking the flight decks, banging into … Continue reading Looking Back
My writing window has an area of thirty square feet. From there, I look out over my front yard. I look up from writing to see our mail lady delivering the mail. I watch the FedEx guy carry boxes big and small up driveways and leave them on porches. I watch my neighbor on her John Deere lawn tractor mow her yard while the junior … Continue reading My Neighborhood
My life bleeds from the pen in blood-red ink staining paper with great swathes of sorrow and towering pillars of joy. I live passionate in this life, laughing and crying, not knowing what lies before me, remembering what lies behind. I capture emotions with the lens of my mind and send them pounding through my veins to plant themselves in my heart where they fill … Continue reading The Writer
-Bailey Island, Maine, September 11, 2015. I came to Maine in October 1977, ten months after I turned seventeen. I had been through Navy boot camp in Orlando, naval aviation maintenance school in Millington, Tennessee, and P-3 Orion familiarization training in Jacksonville, Florida. After all that schooling, I was ready for a permanent duty station. I had not given Maine any thought before that other … Continue reading Looking Back, Looking Forward,
I spent today, my last full day on Moosehead Lake, at an isolated, Park Service-maintained, campsite accessible only by boat, unless you know where to look for the faint trace of footpath. Fortunately, I made the path myself in 2011, and retrace my footsteps each year. I have not always used the camp; itâs first come, first served. On the occasions when others have claimed … Continue reading The Human Condition
The morning temperature of fifty-nine degrees represents a departure from the norm in Southern Maryland. Typically, it’s warm and humid, and folks look forward to another day of oppressive Mid-Atlantic heat. However, I will enjoy the comfortable weather since Mother Nature has a sense of humor and may send the temperature back to normal, or even higher, tomorrow. The cooler weather reminds me autumn is around … Continue reading Seasons
Everyone hopes. Everyone wishes. Everyone dreams of something better. Itâs human nature to fight for the best version of yourself–for your children, for your spouses, for your mothers and fathers and friends, but no one tells you what it takes to be the best for YOU. Dreams keep you awake at night. They haunt you. They break you whenever you think youâre strong enough to … Continue reading 200 Words (or so) Guest Post “Dreams” by Stephanie Vichinsky
My life bleeds from the pen in blood-red ink staining paper with great swathes of sorrow and towering pillars of joy. I live passionate in this life, laughing and crying, not knowing what lies ahead, remembering what lies past. I capture emotions with the lens of my mind and send them pounding through my veins to plant themselves in my heart where they fill me … Continue reading 200 Words (or so) Why I Write
1984 came and left;Â people wondered at the hullabaloo. As it turned out, 1984 was only a prophecy of the brave new world to come, an inferno that we’re entering now. We wanted a republic, but we’ve built an animal farm ruled by self-righteous pickpockets in a world where the temperature creeps ever closer to Fahrenheit 451, a degree of oppression not yet witnessed in this … Continue reading 1984 Redux
My mind is soothed by the sight of the sea, and the sound of her waves breaking upon the sandy shores and ancient, granite bones of this world. My skin is caressed with a blanket of fragrance laid upon me by the smells of the sea. The call of the deep tugs at my heart and beckons, âListen to my voice.â I am terrified by … Continue reading The Sea and Me
Small Things I have been fascinated by small things for as long as I can remember. I loved to explore the intricacies of a cog wheel from a watch, feel a ball bearing’s oily cool roll around my fingertips, see the world in pebbles from a stony beach. An uncle, heroically feckless, fashioned tiny ladies’ handbags from cigarette packs and swans from the foil. I … Continue reading 200 Words (or so) Guest Post from: poetry with a small p.
Repost from 2015 She set her bags down and opened the door. Her odd look gave me pause. âIâm leaving.â A cold lump filled my chest. âWhat do you mean?â âIâm leaving you.â âYouâre leaving? Why? What happened? Whatâs wrong?â âI want babies, Charlie, but you canât give them to me.â Frantic, I pleaded with her. I wanted her to stay. âBut we talked … Continue reading Charlie
What a difference a few decades make in how we socialize with one another. When we were stationed in the Netherlands in the mid-sixties, my folks used to dress to the sixes (they reserved the nines for formal occasions) when they invited Air Force friends over for dinner. My younger sisters and I wore regular clothes and ate in the living room. Marianne, six years … Continue reading 200 Words (or so) A Bygone Era
Nemesis is the vain, greedy, scheming wife of Jake, Navy combat pilot and award-winning writer. Nemesis, professor of literature at the Sorbonne before they married, dabbles in nuclear chemistry when not nagging her husband as a lousy provider for the family. Jealous, suspicious, and unscrupulous, she uses any means to enrich herself and her family, stooping to blackmail, lies, sexual favors, anything to achieve her diabolical ends. Jake finds … Continue reading Exercise 15, The Antagonist
The Writings of William C. Pennington 