Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I graduated high school at 16 (which is amazing given the circumstances) and then attended Community College. In 2006 I won an award from Manatee Community College for a flash fiction contest with a story called "Wings." I also had 2 poems published in Echoes and Visions Literary Magazine from Wor Wic Community College entitled "Grandpa’s Crucifix" and "Known to Many" in 2008. In 2009, my first semester at Salisbury University, I had two poems published in the WordStock 09 Literaty Magazine called "Frat Party" and "Reality Sets In." These are all pretty local publications so I am hoping to expand my publication circle. Inspiration comes from everywhere but I can honestly say I don't think I'll write a poem about roses and love and chocolates. It's so much easier to explain the hardships in life than to explain the good, which is unfourtunate. I try to balance both views of the beautiful and the repulsive in my writing.
I thank you for taking to time to read over some of my poems and I hope to hear back from you soon.


Brittney Herz
B. Dianne Herz

B. Dianne Herz

I said I loved you
Through some else’s voice.
I heard it before
in songs and movies.
It sounded so
beautiful then.
I said I loved you
the words tasted like
tar on my lips.
You said you didn’t
love me.
I heard people say
it before.
Through closed doors,
it sounded so painful then.
But when you said it,
relief came and I sighed

me neither.

"Fear of Dying"
By: B. Dianne Herz

I have this morbid fear of dying.
To what do I owe this?
I am sitting still deciding.
One day my pen will be retiring,
with no more words to express,
I have a fear of it dying.
So many forces left residing,
which ones to keep, which ones to loose?
I am sitting still deciding.
I feel life when perspiring,
you won’t always be able to do so,
I have a fear of us dying.
This world can be so tiring,
So why live in fear?
I am still deciding.
So many things still need admiring,
I haven’t begun to see them all,
So why do I have such a fear of dying?
I am sitting still deciding.

"Souls For Sale"
B .Dianne Herz

Souls for Sale
His cardboard sign read so proudly,
underneath his open mouth of missing teeth.
His conviction turned his frailty
into a bilboard for passing sinners.
The ones that never once looked up
from the stop light.
Pretending to make a phone call
or to be surfing the stations on their FM’s.
whatever they could do to keep their eyes
away from his holy gaze
that atop his charred cheekbones.

"Dirty Knees"
B. Dianne Herz

Hands down in the dirt,
Shoveling through bugs and weeds,
Sticks and stones,
Poke and prod into your gentle knees.

You are quickly trying to catch,
Me running at high speeds,
You dive grabbing for my shirt,
You fall and hit your knees.

I ran away to somewhere,
That you couldn’t see,
You looked up to God for guidance,
And fell upon your knees.

Winds blowing, rain pouring,
Lightning crashing into trees,
I cower scared but you are strong,
You cover me on your knees.

Sun up, high on our backs,
At the dock with a summer breeze,
We look around for crabs,
While resting on our knees.

I search around to find you,
You are no where that I can see,
I look to God for guidance,
And I fall upon my knees.

"Monogamy Hurts Your Sex Life"
B. Dianne Herz

Nothing ever happens on a Tuesday night.
I try to make the magic
but to no avail.
I bend and suck and squeeze-
Making everything look as right as it should.
Its just another Tuesday night.
Of watching the news and baked chicken.
A shower with a silk robe
That does nothing but lay on my skin.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


Just when the Spring shooting season was winding down, the yearly nut job coming out party which peaks around Hitler's birthday, what does our "brilliant" Congress do, but telegraph an early start for next year's festivities, ironically to start around Washington's (real) birthday.
Going above and beyond restoring the Bush Administration policy of briefly allowing in loaded weapons, the Democrats overwhelmingly voted for Oklahoma Republican Representative Tom Coburn's addendum to the Credit Card Accountability, Responsibility and Disclosure Act of 2009, acronymously nicknamed CARD, allowing them everywhere in national parks, as long as the owner has a concealed weapon permit and the state law of the location allows concealed firearms. What has one to do with the other, you ask? Plenty.
Previously blocked by a judge citing "environmental impact," and opposed by park officials who claim regulation actually makes the 84.6 million acres they manage among our nation's safest places, while the Obama Administration's Interior Department conducts a federal environmental review (a glimmer of hope for a reversal), citizens will have full reign of their right to bear arms in national parks. To defend against who? Smokey the Bear? Bambi? Do we really need rifles, shotguns and semis on ranger led hikes or as we sing songs around a campfire? Pack a pistol with your picnic basket? BYOG?
While these lawmakers typically flee the District of Columbia during the summer months, don't they realize that our Capitol, from Cherry Blossom season in April forward, is for all intents and purposes just one big national park, one of the most visited areas in the country, with a gun control law that the US Supreme Court declared unconstitutional less than a year ago, and an economy highly reliant on vacation travel? Do they want another gun to go off in Ford's Theatre? Have they forgotten the sharp decline in local tourism just a few years ago after 9/11? Are they trying to plunge the area into a further and/or prolonged recession? These same boobs almost simultaneously voted against allocating funds to close Gitmo, not wanting those currently confined dangerous people running around on our soil, without a more detailed plan. Shouldn't they have applied that same level of scrutiny before creating a potential peril within? Is the rationale, "let's give the kooks our national playgrounds and maybe they won't act up anywhere else?" Please...
Because here's the practical result. Attendance at National Park Service land which averages 270 million visitors a year will plummet. What used to be a relatively cheap vacation will have too high a potential human cost attached. 43 of our states and the District of Columbia have provisions similar to the Second Amendment and this latest addition will effectively give those 44 a reach into the operation of federal land. This will translate into less revenue for the Treasury, put on plastic or otherwise, whose average take from park visitors is 308 million dollars annually. Credit card use, already depressed from overextension, will decrease further, because this bill has the potential dampening effect of the diminution of attractive rebate features, the restoration of the annual fee, and the calculation of interest from point of posting, phased in most likely in that order, which will drive the prompt payers, known in the industry as "deadbeats," away. Consumer debt is a business, after all. The government taketh, the companies will find another way. Taking the long view, CARD, by eventually leaving the purveyors of plastic with nothing but their best customers, the people the rest of us call "deadbeats," may ironically position these companies to be future bailout candidates and benefactors of the Bernanke printing press, which currently looks to be poised to go on in perpetuity. So Obama, by not expending political capital on this fight and failing to "stick to his guns," no pun intended, on his on-the-record position that reinstating the Federal Assault Weapons Ban makes "sense," will most likely in the long run not realize his espoused goal for going along with and signing this bill - helping the economy. CowARD. It remains to be seen what benefit, if any, his refocus on curbing international small arms trafficking (CIFTA) will have, when Americans can purchase and play so easily at home.
Those hoards of shoppers who used to populate our malls armed with credit cards will now have a more dangerous toy and new "amusement parks" in which to vent their economic frustration, in every state except California, Iowa, Maryland, Minnesota, New Jersey and New York. At least the Statue of Liberty's safe for now! New York's tourism office, and those of the other five states that pattern their law unsunseted after the expired Federal Assault Weapons Ban, must be ecstatic. They could ask for no better tourism promotion than Obama's signature on this bill.

Karen Ann DeLuca

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Of Mendicants, Procrastinators, and Government

I drove a Pinto through most of college and law school. Back in the days of "odds and evens," when we baby boomers could not afford thirsty cars and gas was close to rationed. (How quickly we forget) Once, just after "filling up," I even got siphoned off. Being the neophyte driver that I was, I had several accidents, including a rear ender at the location of the gas tank and one that "totaled" the automobile on paper. Both close to home, not on my three year, thirty-five miles one way, commute on the way to becoming an attorney. Despite my car driving klutziness, my Pinto never blew up. Point taken for all those currently fear mongering against the return of compact and subcompact vehicles. As the primary mode of transportation in Europe, they've worked out just fine on the Autobahns for years. Better to put the cell phone down and keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road as a safety measure.

Fast forward to 2007. I bought a Chevrolet Aveo, 34 mpg, $10,000, spicy orange. What is that, you ask? The most fun driving I have had since the '70s; just yesterday a stranger approached me in a shopping center parking lot and commented that my "pumpkin" was a "happy car." But GM doesn't advertise this potential jewel in its crown (go figure) - I accidentally found it online - so no one knows about its foolishly best kept "secret." Why is that? Was the company waiting for government guidance such as the recent uniform fleet and category standards for 2016? Did its leadership really think they could continue to ram those oversized, difficult to maneuver, gas guzzling behemoths down our throat just because they wanted to make them? Or were they betting on the overpriced, overhyped and overdue Volt, which in the current economic climate is sure to fail? Why be a market maker in your industry right now when you can be a corporate flop and get bailed out? One argument among many as to why unbridled free commerce is sure to run amok and why the company, or at least parts of it, should be allowed to finally fail.

"Dear Karen,

For nearly 10 decades, Chevrolet has strived to earn the honor of "America's Brand." Tens of millions of customers just like you have trusted us to serve their transportation needs...and we value that confidence. That is why I am writing to you today. As everyone knows, these are turbulent times. The daily surge of headlines about the automotive industry can get discouraging. But I wanted to be certain that you know one very important fact:
Chevrolet is focused on being your car company...committed to fulfilling your transportation needs in sales and service...both now and in the future.

I've had the honor of leading this Chevrolet team for more than four years...and I can assure you that our people and our dealers are committed to your complete satisfaction with your Chevy ownership experience.

We cherish our proud 98-year history. But more important, we look forward to our exciting future. And we've already begun reinventing Chevrolet to serve your needs more effectively than ever. For example, no one offers more models with 30 MPG highway or better than Chevy.¹ And right now, we are reengineering our showroom — with cars like our award-winning Malibu...with America's Best Truck, Silverado...with the newest star in family vehicles, the 8-passenger Traverse...and with the 21st century sports car, Camaro.²

Our 2010 Equinox will head to your local Chevy dealer this summer. And two more exciting products are scheduled to begin production next year — first is the awesome new Cruze, our new entry in the Compact Car segment, providing surprising cargo capacity and comfortable seating for five. Then we will begin production of the Chevy Volt, the world's first Extended-Range Electric Vehicle. Volt is tomorrow's hope for an energy-challenged world...and the embodiment of the new Chevrolet. And all these new products are just the beginning!

As a valued member of the Chevy family, I hope you can see that you're part of a rich history and an exciting future. And we deeply appreciate your business. I'll stay in touch on all the happenings at Chevrolet. In the meantime, if you have questions, please don't hesitate to contact Chevy Customer Service at

Above all — thanks for letting us be such an important part of your life. And we look forward to celebrating our centennial with you in 2011.


Ed Peper
North America Vice President, Chevrolet"

The Aveo is still a footnote, go figure why GM is headed to bankruptcy

Karen Ann DeLuca

Monday, May 18, 2009

Good Day,

My name is Mark Stratton and I've included the following poems for consideration in (A Brillliant) Record Magazine.

Wandering Mind

I live with a notebook at my side because my Muse is a jealous soul. The following were inspired by the world around me and letting my unconscious mind wander where it will. I've been published in Hogan's Alley, a magazine about comic art. It was a column on websites for comic fans that ran for a few issues. I blog about life, the universe and everything at

Thank you for your time in considering these pieces of me. I look forward to hearing from you.

Wandering Mind

I freed my mind to wander
And the first place it went
was a scattered pile of
faded memories and overused cliches

I spied a young boy fishing
For dreams. But catching shoes
Or perhaps an old broom
Lost in last years flood.

That burned the town to the ground.
For when the water receded
It went on vacation, except
In plastic bottles that can
Kill you if you drink it.

On a warm summer day when
Lemonade is better with burnt
Hot Dogs and the ashes from the Fire.

That won't go out but can't
Keep burning because
The dreams are soaking wet
From lonely tears


Dreams are made of this.
What is this? This, that
Dreams are made of?

Are dreams made of
Velvet and cotton?
Strong and comfortable.
Or polyester
That look good from afar
but pill and fray and
look cheap up close?

Or, are dreams made of scary
and evil and underwear
In public, miles from home?
Exposed and secret
and sweaty in the night?

Is THIS what dreams are made of?

Or of toil, hard work and
A plodding
on to tomorrow
Where goals were once Dreams?

Or are dreams butterfly wings
or a skirt blowing in the breeze
The laughter of a child
Clouds in the sky
or the Home Team winning it all?

if we don't know
Don't know what this 'this'
is. That dreams are made of

How do we know when

they come true?


In empty dreams
I see spirals
Coded swirls
Directions in liquid
Dear Godfrey Logan,

Pasted below are poems for your consideration in (A Brilliant) Record Magazine.

I am a 20 year old poet from Milwaukee whose poetry is inspired by the sights, sounds, and spirits of the 21st century. My poetry is an attempt to create something entirely unique, yet retains earnesty.

Thank you for you for your time,

Erik Ash

The Morgue

In that morgue lies a hero

a vicious nation can now gaze

into her open heart and share

in her cause of death



The mournful drums




across the horizon

as the requiem march

makes its way across the desert,

weeping echoes across the dunes,

shattering the pearly gates

as the prison empties

into the underworld

City Dialogue

You asked me why I settled in the city

I smiled and gazed at my feet

The flowers once bloomed,

but now lay dead

under the white soil of Hades.

In the spring,

they will bloom again

The Starving Wolf

The moon ascends

into the listless sky

as the starving wolf

scampers across the infinite wilderness.

Searching endlessly

for the dens he once called home


Eyes closed,

and a twitch

The angel flashes

in a nanosecond of fury

snatching at the arm,

pulling his prey

to their ferocious destination

Friday, May 15, 2009

Dear Mr. Logan,

Enclosed are two poems for your consideration for (ABrilliant) Record Magazine:
"Leaves," and "Want To Be Me."

I am currently an Mfa student at Murray State University.
Thank you for considering my manuscript. I look forward to hearing from you.

Lacey Bard


Leaves fall like snow.
The wind coerces them to fly.

Some drop from the trees straight to the ground
barely drifting at all.

Others sail the horizon for a while and settle
only to be picked up and flown again.

Others soar the sky until they are out of sight
never quite seeming to land.

Want To Be Me

It's not easy being me.
I don' get to do a whole lot.
I lay around most of the time.
I don't work, I don't go anywhere.
I don't pay bills and I don't have to worry.
I have some regrets, but they are from long ago.
I don't smile, I don't sing, I miss the hugs,
but many of you want to be just like me.

Alone, below the tree and memorial.
Rotting and cold.
Many of you want to be just like me,
but what would I do,
to be just like you?

Lacey Bard

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Dear Mr. Logan,

Below I have pasted poems for consideration for Record Magazine. I have recently had poems accepted for Down in the Dirt Magazine, Northern Stars Magazine, and Hidden Oak Poetry Journal.

I have taught in the Department of English at Appalachian State University, in Boone, North Carolina, since 1989, and work in the area of World Literature, with particular interest in Asian culture, literature and philosophy, as well as Latin American literature. I have taught in Asia, Africa, Europe, and Latin America, and live with my wife Vicki in Millers Creek, North Carolina.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes,

Howard Giskin


Like dream fragments filtered

Savannah grass wispy and cooking fires

At dawn’s first light sweet scent of

Mosquito coils burning

Town’s low buildings and dusty lanes

Street venders and water carriers

Still enchant.


Now mythic

like a stone

thrown into a lake

quietly resting

at the bottom

yet has the flavor

of wet leaves

chimney smoke

pancakes and love.


Walked onto your porch

In mid winter and just stood there

Calm and determined in your sleeveless shirt

After ten minutes in the cold you came in

Lay down on the parlor couch and began to die

Lucid to the end you sang songs

You’d learned when

You were ten

How you’d played

In the fields

Clear as a bell you told it

In the morning

You were gone.


Cooked dinner

watched the sun

quiet beautiful as if

the world were at peace

truckers stopped for the night

away from the road gravely

hard to drive stakes unrolled

my bag lay down dead tired

thinking of the day where

I’d been what I’d seen

Then sleep wild flowers

mowed grass and asphalt.


I’m seven or eight

we’re at the curb about to cross a busy street

I can’t recall where

we were going or why

in my mind

we are

unsullied by regret.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Dear Editor;

I have enclosed poems for your consideration; "Our Eyes Are Dim," and "Inbreeding Ignorants."
My most recent credit include, "Transcendent Visions," a literary magazine. And the "The Prison Coffee Table Book" available in April from
I was also featured in "Hard Time," a mini-series about the Georgia Prison System airing on the National Geographic Channel. The interview is still on the website. In the spring my graphic novel, "Inside: Green Season" will be featured on Top Shelf Comics' website (
I love to write. I am an aspiring novelist as well. I view writing as a career as well as a way to deal with prison. Thank you for your time.

Adrian English

Our Eyes Are Dim

In days of old, men read the stars-
Like books to know the whims of hearts,
For signs they sought of future tense
And a glimpse at their toil's recompense.
Their days prolonged and treasuries full,
The length of Rome's illustrious rule.
But as suns go down and stars explode
So does the age of man switch different modes.
Thus kingdoms fall and legends die.
As babies are born and women cry.
And armies of steel conquer foreign lands,
Uniting oppression and debauchery under an iron hand
Now a different man seeks a different sign.
A look at the end, he would divine.
A market crash or a bomb dropped here
Or stars and stripes prone to apocalyptic fear.
Destiny once manifest seems no as clear
As the war we fought on God's first frontier.
Yet all that's happened, someone wanted to see.
For all this is, is as a prophet said it would be.

Inbreeding Ignorants

Among themselves he spread disease.
A bug of hate that devours their core.
Preventing any emotional growth.
Destroying all tools of reason.
They hate each other.
But love themselves.
They love each other.
But hate themselves.
A secret for one is known by all.
As the constantly shift masks like Harlequins.
The world they know exist only in two colors.
Their sight is confined to one.
They will not listen.
They'll never feel.
And when they die,
We'll all be better off.

Adrian English
A Few Thoughts on Beauty Queens and Models...and Donald Trump

As I watched Donald Trump exculpate and recoronate Miss California, a few thoughts popped into my head. Was that question on gay marriage deliberately planted to bring attention to the Miss Universe pageant, The Apprentice or even the Donald himself? Carrie Prejean looks strikingly similar to his second wife, Marla Maples, another young beauty queen who for a brief moment in time caught his fancy...before he moved on (or back) to foreign born posers! Could that be the reason he went so easy on her and allowed her to continue her reign? And lastly, not a word about the fake boobs, but plenty about being a role model for teen girls and young women. Am I the only one who sees a dichotomy and contradiction there?

Karen Ann DeLuca ©

Thursday, May 7, 2009

This goes along with the season, holiday, family theme I am trying to develop.



She had always loved the Fall. Her birthday. The cooler weather and the colorful, falling leaves. Sunday drives through vivid, scenic mountains and chestnut hunting when she was younger. Crisp, brisk mornings filled with blinding sunlight and the sound of chirping crickets. Early, breathtaking sunsets. But this year was different. For the first time in a long time, she was alone.
He had walked out in the Spring. May to be exact. In the middle of Spring cleaning, he decided that he wanted to be sprung. After twelve years of marriage. Was going to turn forty soon and had to find himself. Just left. Left behind his messes in every corner of the house for her to clean up. Messes that she had never understood but tolerated because of her love for him. And she was paralyzed. All Summer. Kept hoping that he would come back - to her, to his piles of meaningless stuff, to finally help her clean it all up. But he never did. And now it was Fall. And she had to do something.
The cooler weather and turning leaves beckoned her. But so did the messy house. So she opened the windows and doors to let the Fall in as she cleaned. And pretty soon all the piles of stuff were outside and the garbage collectors picked them up and they were gone. And then he wanted to come home. And she said no.
She had finally done her Spring cleaning in the Fall. And had been sprung into a new life. In her favorite time of year, the Fall. And she didn't have to leave to find out who she was. She had always known. And was looking forward to the Spring. It was a true birthday. He life was no longer a mess.


He had come back in December. Just before Christmas, after being gone for six months. She had reconsidered and decided to let him return to their marital home since he had promised that there would be no more of the verbal abuse that had so characterized their life prior to his departure. And she had believed him. It was, after all, the Holiday Season and her judgment was clouded by the Yuletide Spirit.
It was a rocky readjustment period, but that was to be expected. After all, they had both gotten used to being alone. But things appeared to be settling into a pleasant pattern, with little daily upheaval. That is until his birthday, which was at the end of June, approached.
He had always gotten depressed around his birthday. Something about another year passing without achieving anything of note. She had never fully understood his logic, since he was successful in the external ways of the world which were of such importance to him. Age was just a number, to be celebrated and not mourned, noted and not hidden or obsessed over. Or so she thought. As the years went by, the depression that at the beginning of their marriage surrounded his birthday grew to extend to a year long event. She had not missed "celebrating" it last year. But as the date drew near, she knew what was in store. So when he announced he was going to spend it with his sisters in a distant town, she was somewhat upset - after all, shouldn't he want to spend his special day with his wife - but also relieved that she would not have to bear the brunt of his moodiness this time around. Instead of begging him to stay and trying to make him happy, she let him go and had a 4th of July weekend full of blissful peace. And when he came back - still agitated over being another year older - she just walked the other way. She had learned a lot in his absence the previous year. It was not her job to make him happy. He would have to do that himself. She had freed herself of a burden that was not hers. In the true meaning of Independence Day.


She had always gotten more caught up in the spirit of giving than receiving during the holidays. The picking out of gifts that would be special to their recipients. She had never been quite comfortable asking for anything, and this year she had spent a lot of time simplifying. But when Christmastime rolled around, and her husband asked the perfunctory question "What do you want?," she decided to make a short list of things of value to her. It was part of her new way of thinking, to ask for what she needed instead of accepting what was given her. After searching the house for something tangible that they both could use (she was still a practical girl and could not entirely give up thinking of others) - and coming up with an old mattress that needed to be replaced, she expressly requested things more personal and important to her - peace and harmony in the household, with some kindness, nurturing and understanding - in essence, a change in her husband's demeanor which had been overwhelmingly hostile, with little respite, since the onset of her illness six years ago. Angry at the fact that she had gotten sick, he took it out on her, the victim. And although he had promised to transform when he returned, the old patterns had gradually reemerged and she just wanted it to end. As a Christmas gift to her. She also wanted him to spend more time with her, not just be physically present in the house doing whatever activity he was engaged in alone. And she wanted him to stop taking her for granted and appreciate what she did do for him, which was a lot, although her illness rendered her unable to work outside the home. She did not think that was asking for too much, just to be treated as a human being and a wife again. He appeared to agree.
So as the holidays approached, she busied herself with the activities of the season - cards, presents, cookies and the like. She expected her gifts to come after Christmas - they judiciously shopped sales and she did not anticipate an overnight metamorphosis in her husband's behavior, just the beginning of an effort. So when a local relative of her husband's who he had not seen in almost twenty years called from out of the blue and claimed the shopping day after Christmas that they had previously reserved for themselves, she was upset that her husband unilaterally agreed. Not for the mattress that they did not purchase on that particular day, but for the realization that this was not the start of something new, but more of the same. His promises were half hearted and worthless; he was never going to change.
Holidays are for families. After almost fifteen years of marriage, it seemed her husband included everyone but her in that definition, leaving her feeling alone in the marriage. With his decision, she saw her wishes and hopes for the New Year dashed. She had become vocal and verbalized what was really important to her. She had made a list and it was ignored. Fortunately, she derived much pleasure, fulfillment and happiness from giving to and doing for others, because for Christmas she got tears.
Karen Ann DeLuca
Lost Lesson of Life

Grabby, grabby, grabby,
"This is what I expect,"
More than I could ever need,
Just want to see what I can get.

Materialism is my God,
I use people like things, like pawns,
I'll do anything to get my way,
Nag, bully, sulk or fawn.

It is better to receive than to give,
I've got to have it all - and now,
I haven't a clue as to why,
And I really don't care how.

So when this person dies,
The epitaph will be,
A testament to selfishness,
Gimme, gimme, gimme.


All About You

When we got married I thought,
It would be all about us,
Little did I know,
It would end up about your lusts.

First there was power,
No job I had was good enough,
Although we had plenty of money,
And lots of extra stuff.

Then there was sex,
You had to have it every day,
I took birth control pills that caused,
Endometriosis that got in the way.

Surgery and Synarel,
What I've been through you haven't a clue,
And every moment you complain,
About how it's affected you.

I lost my health, I cannot work,
My body's racked with pain,
But worst of all is your verbal abuse,
As if I alone were to blame.



The weekend around my birthday,
I wanted to be mine,
Your nephew came last minute,
And took away my time.

For the holidays you took a week,
We planned a day for us,
Your cousin called, you went and I,
Was again left in the dust.

Next came our fifteenth anniversary,
Things were still the same,
You got a massage, spoke with your sister,
And then went alone to a basketball game.

Valentine's Day you got sick,
Contemplating a change on the job,
We argued, you took two trips alone,
And I was left to sob.

Over not being a priority,
Belittled and ignored,
I finally decided I'd had enough,
And showed you out the door.


Happy Anniversary

After fifteen years of marriage,
It was just another day,
He never said the words,
"Happy Anniversary!"

He did what he wanted to do,
"The guys" called and he was gone,
No card, no flowers, no dinner,
She spent the day alone.

But lest you feel sorry,
And lament her awful plight,
She got exactly what she wanted,
A peaceful day without a fight!


Mister Messy Desk

My desk is a mess,
I cannot find a thing,
Elbows deep in piles,
Can't reach the phone when it rings.

File cabinets bulging,
With what I do not know,
No system of organization,
Just piles, high and low.

Searching for something takes,
Forever and a day,
I really need to change,
But I can't throw anything away.

Everything has a place,
I just do not know where,
I bump into clutter,
Just getting up from my chair.

I'm a messaholic,
But I really need to be neat,
Can anybody help me,
Accomplish such a feat?

Some Sure Signs of Spring

You start to think it's Spring,
When the birds chirp and tulips bloom,
You're bitten by the cleaning bug,
To make your home sparkle room by room.

You scrub the walls and clean the rugs,
And pile up trash galore,
The garbage collector thinks you're moving,
But there's no "For Sale" sign on your door.

Your shovel is replaced by a lawn mower,
Gone, too, scarfs, gloves and boots,
You reorganize your closets,
And start dreaming of T-shirts and shorts.

You've seen the Easter Bunny,
The TV season comes to an end,
March Madness bounced right by you,
April 15th's just around the bend.

You turned your clock forward,
And lost a little "zzz"s
But you really know it's Spring,
When your car turns green and you start to sneeze!

Karen Ann DeLuca

Monday, May 4, 2009

In Every Shade, A Valentine

When I received the invitation, I thought, what a novel idea! A college reunion not being held, like most of them are, at the end of the school year. And then I thought back to those four years. So much time had passed; so much had changed. Why had I not gone to one of these events before? Busy. Disinterested. Would probably be boring. Life had certainly moved on from the making the Dean's List and getting laid focus of those days. These people would remember who I was way back then. Is that what I was trying to forget?
But my curiosity was piqued. Had she ever gone to one of these? Would she be there? How had her life turned out? Even before the invitation arrived, I had found myself thinking about her more and more. What if? I could do a Internet search of her name and find out. But that's not the same as having a face to face conversation. And there's the break up. Not a very graceful exit, done for reasons that seem almost quaint now. A quick long distance phone call at the end of our post graduation summer of love, to abruptly cut the cord. What a cad! Law school was first and foremost, and she wasn't Jewish. Back then, "marry your own" was still important, mostly, especially, to my parents. What would have happened if I had listened to my heart and stuck up for us as a couple, instead of extending my adolescence and staying tied to my Mother's apron strings? Too late for that now. She's probably happily married, with a great career and family and never thinks about me.
Oh, well, why not RSVP. Party of one, my having been unsuccessful in any romantic relationship since. Lucky for me, I could handle my own divorces! I hear it's a trend, people looking up their first loves at midlife and actually marrying them. I can hope...who am I kidding?! Wouldn't It Be Nice.
Valentine's Day 2009. Our 33rd class reunion, not 30th, not 35th, obviously not a featured year. She probably won't be there. That masquerade theme is curious. Wouldn't it be more appropriate for Halloween? Guess it'll make things interesting...and I can hide. As I walk in, there's not a heart or anything red in sight, just a sea of turquoise (gasp!) and black masks dangling everywhere to grab and don. No name tags. How odd. Certainly not the shades of school pride. Love Is Blue? The Color of a Lonely Heart? The Carpenter's This Masquerade playing in the background. Not a good sign. And there she was. I instantly recognized those chocolate brown eyes awkwardly "concealed" behind the oversized mask she held in her hand. "What took you so long?" she asked, before I even had a chance to remove my festivity camouflage. "I've been coming to these events for quite a few years, hoping to bump into you." "I'm here now" is all I could muster, saying the rest with my fully revealed countenance, a beaming and blushing crimson Valentine.

Karen Ann DeLuca,
White Trash in a Nordstrom's Suit

He fled the hills to the city,
Armed with a college degree,
Got a good job that paid him well,
And then he ran into me.

Uptown girl who liked culture,
To read and collect postage stamps,
He quickly tried to change me,
Into one of his hometown tramps.

It wasn't enough I was a lawyer,
He wanted a slut who would,
Cook, clean and do laundry,
Without ever asking if she should.

Well, I got very sick trying,
To be "super" this and that,
He couldn't cope with the situation,
So he hit me and got thrown out.

The morale of this story,
Is no matter how much power or loot,
Unless someone really changes inside,
They're just white trash in a Nordstrom's suit.

Whore, whore,
I am no more,
Not in body or soul,
I know who I am,
And don't need a man,
I'm whole and in control.



I grew up in the '60's,
A time when Twiggy was "in,"
I never thought it'd be a problem,
My being so thin.

But then I entered puberty,
And nothing much developed,
"So why, a bra," I asked my Mom,
With nothing to envelope.

"You've outgrown Carter's T's," she said,
"You need to be publicly modest,"
We settled on a full length slip,
I always wore a dress.

Years later, I went bra shopping,
And the salesperson struck her blow,
"Don't worry," she said sweetly,
"You still have time to grow!"


The Darkness of the Day

The alarm goes off,
And you bound out of bed,
Into the shower,
To wake up your sleepy head.

You dress in haste,
And eat on the run,
All to get to the office,
Before the rising sun.

Messages, meetings,
You try to do it all,
Soon it's dark out,
Oh, just one more phone call!

Back home, the house is dark,
You walk into an unlit hall,
No time or inclination to,
Contemplate the meaning of it all.

Life to work,
Work to live,
That's the darkness of the day.


If Only She'd Let Me Be Me

My mother grew up during the Depression,
Third girl, the fourth child of six,
Her father abandoned the family, then died young,
Having an opportunity only to pick...

The career path for the first two children,
Lawyer and doctor, respectively.
His lack of instructions for the life of my Mother,
Created a huge problem for me.

First born and looking the most like her,
She ignored my proclivities,
Having been given no guidance for her life,
She took it upon herself to steer me...

To things she had dreamed of doing,
And because of brains and an eagerness to please,
I spent my young life going in directions,
The main goal of which was to appease.

The pattern carried over into adulthood,
My marriage was more of the same,
Stuck in a profession I did not aspire to,
I had only myself to blame.

Mid 30's, I could no longer do it,
Physically ill and ridden with strife,
Forced to give up the game, I took time to ponder,
What I really wanted to do with my life.

As a youngster, I had dreamed of designing clothes,
Or being a writer, alternatively,
Though given a second chance, I still often wonder,
What would have been if my Mom had let me be me.


It's Only a Number

One sunny August day,
When my age was a single digit,
At an outdoor birthday party,
My Mom really began to fidget.

"29" is what she told me,
I put the numbers on her cake,
Her sisters began to laugh,
They knew the age was a fake.

I ran into the kitchen, in the house,
And counted from her age when I was born,
She followed behind me, it didn't add up,
She found me sitting there very forlorn.

Upset that she had lied to me,
And her explanation didn't ring true,
The number of your real age wasn't too big for me, Mom,
But apparently it was too large for you.

It took a long time to trust my Mom after that,
I've really never understood why she fibbed,
To me age is only a number,
Be proud of how long you've lived.


A Sports Widow's Lament

It starts on Saturday afternoon,
In the Winter or the Fall,
For a man, sports are equivalent to,
Going to the mall.

He channel surfs incessantly,
Football, basketball, college or pro,
Eyes transfixed on the TV screen,
A true couch potato.

Arising only for bathroom breaks,
Or to go to get something to eat,
He talks only to the TV set,
Cheering his team's opponent's defeat.

He dreams away Saturday night,
Analyzing a day's worth of plays,
He wakes up Sunday morning,
Eagerly awaiting the Sports page.

Sunday's the same, click, click, click,
More games, no time to brood,
But whether his team won or lost,
Will determine his back to work Monday mood.

My man,
The fan,
King of spectator sport.

Coaching from the couch,
He's no slouch,
Just give him the remote.
Pasted below are three poems I'm submitting for your consideration.

I am an emerging poet from Delaware and looking to get my work published. My contact information is as follows:
T.J. Streett

This Wall

I will not allow you
to penetrate this wall
I have erected
around my open wounds

And from high atop
this shleter of self deception
I stare at the world
through the cracks
in my shell

I desperately
want to fly
but I'm more so
unwilling to fall


I was given a moment
I couldn't turn into a life
I am he who isn't
and my doing
no longer does

you are a creation
of those below above

A flockless shepard
who has turned a back
where is my chalice of peace?
the countless virtues I lack?

You gave me a life
and a shadow
that's more like alone
what did I inherit?
but a whisper of that
which I cannot disown

The City

If I ever loved
it was out of fear

If I ever gave
it was because I took
more than I could carry

I assure you
I've harmed
because I could not heal
but I have faith
my pride will deliver me
from the city
of my transgressions

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...