Posted in blog challenge, poetry, social commentary

Sonnet for the Future-Mama’s Warning


Day Ten, final prompt of Writing 201. How did we get to the end so fast? I will miss the class. I feel like I hardly got started with the material, but that’s the way it always is. That means there is more to do, more to write, paint, photograph, and create! Hope you guys have a great weekend. (((hugs)))


Prompt: future

Form: sonnet

Device: chiasmus


If, in a moment, the future I could see

The earth’s children, healthy, well-tended and fed,

The loveliest flower would overcome all misery,

Garnering finely threaded futures, not futures of fine thread.

‘Tis never for myself concerned am I;

Rather I am grievous over the suffering of mere innocents.

Who doth laugh in the face of tragic moments, look to the sky,

For your power is tendered by the trumpet’s lament.

You will stand with insatiable greed, your greed never filled,

Like Scrooge, the chains will rattle because you lacked righteous vision.

And let me add further concerns for the blood that has spilled:

If you forsake the elderly along with your insensitive base derision,

Only to please the need for more and greater gold, the madness of gain;

You will never rest wisely for lusting after profit, profit not, my friend, from another’s pain.


Copyright ©2015 by Susan E. Rowland



Posted in blog challenge, humor

Prickly-Tongued Final Farewell

cat in the hatSo I guess the REAL last WordPress writing prompt is about spices and flavors and…ohmygosh…tongues. Picky tongues. What flavor could you do without?

No. Nope. Nada. Niet! Thank you though. We already wrote about flavors. And tongues…uh…mmm…no.
Instead I give you,
Slip of the tongue
Off the tongue
Hold your tongue
Bite your tongue
Tongue in cheek
Cheeky remark.
Slippery slope.
Makes me tired.
Some things are better left unsaid.

It is now June 30th and this is my last -for reals- blogaday post. Time to move on, brothers and sisters. Come by and visit sometime.

Back to work.


Posted in blog challenge, friends, stream of consciousness writing, the muse, writers, Writing for healing

Writing Spaces- Aliens and Cute Things

Where do you produce your best writing — at your desk, on your phone, at a noisy café? Tell us how the environment affects your creativity.

desk for blog copy summer and moss


I’m getting feisty now- July is almost here and I like independence.

The muse comes to greet me in my sleep, while driving, when I’m walking, working, cleaning and daydreaming…after intimacy…oh baby…and just about anywhere, which is the reason for the ever-present notebook. Oh yeah, and during massages and acupuncture I get great ideas. Now that’s awkward.

I crave solitude. My favorite place to write is my sanctuary, my little office with its worn desks. One is held together with a heavy woodworking clamp. This corner fits me. My life fits me in this space.  Nothing about it is glamorous. I keep cutsie items that have meaning to me but removed them for this photo, because it’s personal. I’ll tell the story when I’m ready. Maybe.

Ideas do not judge me at my desk. He, she, it…sheeit…the muses don’t care about literacy. I didn’t study mythology, never truly got into the childhood classics like Alice in Wonderland or even The Wizard of Oz. I  haven’t read or watched Harry Potter because my kids were already grown up when it came out and my grandbaby wasn’t old enough to read. I don’t watch the latest movies for about a year. Even then, I don’t like the usual ones everyone raves about. I’m overly critical. Now you know. I struggled to get through high school.

 I have tales other people might scoff at, but… now the word is out. We’re not the only ones here. Maybe science fiction is more real than Asimov or Clarke or Bradbury ever imagined.

Back to my sanctuary, I’m relaxed in my corner. My paintings are close, photos of my loved ones and affirmations, nearby. Trinkets my  BFF cherished keep me company.  I’m peaceful, frantic, wild, sad, discouraged, saintly, sexy, irreverent, and filled with enthusiasm; my workplace is life itself. My book collection – within reach. A masterpiece lurks

God, let me mean something helpful or uplifting to someone-anyone. Maybe, just maybe,  there will be an inspired connection. I feel like I don’t belong in this era. Emily Dickenson, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, I got you. I dry your tears, hold your hand.  Wordsworth, did you ever laugh about your name? Blake, Keats, Shelley-sometimes I wonder if I should even try. Robert Service, you make me happy. Dostoevsky, I would steal a loaf of bread for Ivan. Mr. Frederick Douglass, sir, I applaud your tenacity and formality. Booker T. Washington, I can feel the hair shirt.  Vonnegut, did you ever worry about the bags underneath your eyes? I have the beginnings of them too, and am terribly concerned over it. I feel silly buying the cucumbers. Cucumbers for vanity.  But Kurt, seriously, if I could borrow an ounce of your talent, I’d not be embarrassed.

Maya Angelou-there must be one helluva party goin’ on in heaven.

As the blog challenge winds down, I have to focus on the next assignment for the last day. I haven’t done any art. I miss it.

Hey loved meeting all the new people. There are only something like 152 million bloggers out there-so might as well let it rip.

Until next time,

Hugs n more hugs!

Posted in blog challenge, blogaday

32nd Flavor and More!

Journal prompt A local ice cream parlor invites you to create a new wacky flavor. It needs to channel the very essence of your personality. What’s in it?

First of all, I never give my secrets away. I have a couple new flavors for you. Both aid digestion and are made without binders or preservatives. I have vegan choices if you want them. I have a little something for everybody. With me, you get freedom. My ice cream is the real deal.

I decided to be forgiving and not give you Sour Grapes. instead,  I offer  you Ginger Cream… refreshing, slightly wicked. The kids will love it. Tiny chunks of ginger make this flavor zing and zap.

For more mature audiences, I have Licorice Light. Comes in red and black. You’ve never tasted ice cream so good.

Want to try something new and exciting? Stand out from the crowd! Black Licorice is a standard old-timey favorite.  Cool and creamy. Delights the palate. It’s the best flavor out there and needs to be reintroduced to mainstream society. And just a reminder, all the greatest flavors have natural healing remedies. Shakes loose  those stuffy ol’ rigid blues.   Explore traditional  roots and add your own flair-transform habits into creative, courageous and bold innovations.

Thought you’d get only one flavor from a Gemini? With me, you get variety.

Blueberry Blast is coming next month. True blue is where it’s at.

 August’s flavor is  Honey Vanilla Ambrosia.

September is Espresso Mocha

October: Cranberry Cheesecake

And you heard it right here.

Until next time…

Posted in blog challenge, blogaday, earth friendly, journal prompts, spirituality, Writing for healing

The Scent and Moods of Mother Earth

Seasonal scents-The prompt is about the scent of summer. I’m doing a freer interpretation…this is a rough draft of my memoir in poetry.

Note: I changed tense in the middle of the poem deliberately…bare bones…
zen tree trunk copy

The earth is a woman.
When I was young the changing seasons reveled my senses.
Hard cold endless winter made brighter by the sun as she turned
my bedroom window gave way to
eager smells from the sometimes open screen bringing life in again
blooms open and trees turned
fields swelled up to the glorious greens.
My woman friend wears an endearing eau de fresh earth and bark.

The earth is a woman.
I roamed, I roamed.
Time tended the years, deliberately taking leave of the Southern Ohio balmy woods
I flew to Oakland to explore ivy laden hillside streets and alleyways to grand avenues.
Laced curtains billowed in bus filled streets as sociable angels on bikes dwelled with truth seekers and poets.
A student, lover, attendant, and mother, when the baby is a year old we make the northerly trek
to the mountains of my power days. Mountain woman walks with her friend.
My earthy friend is the duskiest most delicate sweetness and she never leaves me
when tears drop on the ground.

The earth is a woman
my companion is forever a sanctuary, her moods can be soft or rough or raging.
The scent is manzanita, water-kissed pine and redwood, deep and sturdy sphagnum oaks
hold me

in a funnel of comfort as I transformed from young woman to middle age.
Then, as gorges deepened in the meadow and trees fell, so did people and the lines
on my face, your odor is still as sweet as baby’s breath with new spring rain.
I cling to your wisdom, your stories, and searching, searching,
The children leave home all grown.
The summers roll on lovely and lavender, full of jasmine and rose.

The earth is a woman.
My man becomes discontent the quarrels erupt as plump, pregnant summers give birth to
wood-smoked fall. We adventure out, unsure, then make a plan
to move to the sparkled and bright-aura desert where my woman friend throws off
the sent of sage a turning couture of fashionable brevity. She offers newness-the
nascent wafting – sand after the monsoon, blossoms nudge rabbits to hop and lizards to dance.
The desert broom, mesquite and palo verde make a wreathe around my head
as creosote and ragweed change my sinus cavities

and his will to live. Heart surgery. Success.

the drops on creosote bush

The earth is a woman.
I am evolving faster than she, but still my soul opens in quiet gratitude.
Her  sensuous scent is a daily gift of ceremony, sunrise and sunset
accompanied by gaudy displays of color and drama.
How can you smell so darling and then so foul, as when a big saguaro decays?
Later I laugh only after squelching the memory of the nasty rot
Right in the front yard, the odor so bad, I thought there had been a murder in the neighborhood.
Could it be horse in death? No, a giant had fallen.
I become the aging woman, my earthen friend has shown me a thing or two.

the sajuaro silhoutte

She wins, hands down, but bellows out an uncharacteristic command.
I am she on whom you all stand. I feed you, console, bathe, give you lovely teas and coffees, fruits
and vines with bursting melons, medicines for your bruises.
But yet, you trample me, drill me, extract my blood and juice, attacking me.
Stop hurting me and raping me!

Tell your humans to stop.
If you do not stop I will send more hurricanes, and big earthquakes and I will
deliver a rage more devastating
than your puny, tainted interpretations of a wisdom you call ‘God.’
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the earth.
I’ve had enough now. I might leave you all behind, if you don’t change.
The earth is a woman.




Posted in blog challenge, body image for women, celebrations, journal prompts, self improvement

Groundhog Week

Blogaday prompt: Groundhog Week
If you could relive the past week what would you do differently?

Last week I had a wonderful time visiting with our son and his lovely girlfriend. I was so happy to be able to hug my son again and enjoy a laugh together. He made us a breakfast. We went to the Musical Instrument Museum here in Phoenix. It is exquisite. They have Pablo Casals’ cello and the piano on which John Lennon wrote “Imagine.” Elvis boots, guitars, and outfits are fun.  Plus, there is a room where visitors can play an assortment of instruments and gadgets.


With headsets one wanders through spacious rooms with exhibits from all over the world.


Why do we respond to certain sounds? I love strings, horns, bass, gongs and bells, all of it. Some music doesn’t move me. After studying past lives through channeling and hypnotherapy, I felt a strong kinship with the sounds of what may have been the locations of my previous incarnations. No, I wasn’t famous. More on that later.  In essence, I floated through history.

early piano
The second week switched into some moments of minor tension. I generally put myself into a funk over the topic. The take-away from the crunchy part of the week is I had some nice phone conversations. I held my own. I made a decision not to fret over any of it. Voila! If it doesn’t feed the Spirit and Soul essence then it’s not worth it.


My only regret is not exercising more. I may not have that body image (yet) I was chirping about a few posts ago, but I am working on trying to stay healthy. Another 15 minutes per day on the treadmill would have been nice. Onward! And….no worrying allowed.

bow and weird musical instruments

Oh, and I saw an interview with Don Miguel Ruiz  author of The Four Agreements. YES!

Until next time…

Posted in blog challenge

Freudian Flips-The Fighting Doves

Blog Challenge (paraphrased) Freudian Flips. Write about a dream you have had recently or in the past. Add your interpretation.

 I think I had this dream before the kids were born. My first boyfriend *Henry and I did a lot of camping and hiking. I was in my early twenties when I had the dream and it has always stayed with me because of its vividness.

 I am sleeping in an open field next to a little church. Henry and I have a camping spot there. The church parishioners are holding a rummage sale and I go over and find a lovely blouse. It is lightweight and I’m happy to find it for such a low price. I go back to my camp. I am concerned that the people will come and see that we are living like gypsies and I don’t want to be seen living like that. As I am lying there, two white doves start circling in the air above me. Then they are fighting each other. As they fight, they dive bomb towards my chest as if they are going to attack me. But I feel nothing and am not hurt.

I wake up with start and feel an overwhelming sense of joy, levity, and relief.
Interpretation. I’ve always felt that the two doves in the air represented an internal battle with myself-fear and anger? I eventually left Henry because we argued often. We lived an alternative lifestyle back then. The two doves might also represent an external battle. I had to have my heart “opened” symbolically, to release anger and fear and to receive true spiritual love. The church (non-denominational religion) and spirituality have always been important to me, but not in a traditional sense. We were outside the church-outside mainstream religion. The blouse represents an article of clothing that I enjoy, and I’ve kept favorite blouses for many years. Blouses cover the breasts which symbolizes nourishment and female sensuality, the divine feminine. In that relationship with Henry my personal power was diminished, even though he was not figuratively in the dream.

Short summary: conflict will not kill me.


This is a quick interpretation. Please let me know your thoughts.

Posted in blog challenge, Writing for healing

Instant Celebrity

WordPress post a day prompt is-if you could be a famous person for a day who would you be? Why?

I couldn’t think of any famous person that I would like to be and came up empty on this question.  I mulled it over and dumped anxiety.

So many people are amazing and inspiring. My mind went immediately to Maya Angelou, but her passing is still too fresh. Then, Eleanor Roosevelt, Oprah Winfrey, Mother Theresa. Sojourner Truth. Marie Curie. Then I started thinking about challenges and Andrea Bocelli came through. Perfect pitch. He was supposed to be a lawyer. Thank God, he didn’t stay with that!

Yes, I would like to be a great singer for a day.

If I really had to choose, it would be Stevie Wonder…why? Because of his range in musical ability. What would it feel like to have immaculate rhythm and be blind? The words spill out into poem form.

Patience, practice, power.
to feel the music with my hands
and catapult a river of sound with a voice
walking courageously  around the globe
onto the big stage of life-
making music as a gift
honoring everyone and everything.

Posted in blog challenge, home, memoir, memories of houses

Blog Challenge-A House I Remember

June 17, 2014
Describe the house you lived in when you were 12. Use variations in your sentences. I changed it up to write do a free write on my grandfather’s house in a pastoral farming village near Ann Arbor, Michigan. Will look for pics later. Trying to keep up.

It was the screened in front porch wrapped around the house of my childhood joy that I remember well. It sheltered the 1920’s Victorian house that I returned to in my late teens. I owned a dog and Reno made Grampa anxious. His house is where I found the greatest inspiration to write and draw. Once in a while I would see Grampa taking an occasional nip from an ancient wine bottle he kept hidden in the kitchen cupboard-something to calm his nerves around company.

Upstairs were the remnants of my grandmother’s things in a tall cherry wood dresser at the head of the landing, a second floor that whispered of a bygone era. I didn’t know her. She died the year before I was born. I peered into the drawers of treasures often, sniffing the scent of a woman I longed for, Her embroidered handkerchiefs, a sock darner, and sewing items, cloth baskets for buttons. A few photos. Faded. Tender.

The upstairs still had faded wallpaper and pull down windowshades, tended to like a museum. A clawfoot tub highlighted the bathroom. Windows were low to the ground. The floors of well-worn pine, in that part of the house, always clean, sagged.

When we came to visit as children, Grampa would grill steaks in the broiler, the smell wafting through the Victorian. The linoleum hadn’t been upgrade since the 40’s. After he washed the dishes, he would pour boiling water from the tea kettle to sterilize it all. He was in charge. the little back porch, or mud room smelled slightly damp, and yet immaculate with a wafting order of apples and wooden tools. That is where my grandmother had a bad accident with naptha when she was drying cleaning. It exploded and burnt her body. Her screams could be heard all the way down the tree-lined street.

The kitchen was tiny, with handcrafted wooden drawers that ka-thumped heavily when you opened them. Grampa, his father, and great-grandfather made most of his tools. The silverware was heavy, the newer cutlery came in the late 1950’s, otherwise there was no plastic in his kitchen. The back stairs, all eight of them, heavy thick slabs led down to where the old wringer washer once stood in its dank, forbidden territory.

He slept in the old bed with the staid walnut headboard. He used the same bedspread for many years, a rose-colored cover with the beaded bumps on it. He pulled the covers over his head when he slumbered. Would the grim reaper come tonight? The tiny bathroom off his bedroom contained one wash basin with the turn of the century white knobs. It smelled of camphor and liniment. He didn’t want us messing about in his things. He was a man of few words.

Grampa rose at five every morning and donned his green custodian uniform. Chores done, he nestled into his deep overstuffed armchair with an ashtray stand for his pipe.

The “formal” dining room area held a low bed in the later years. It didn’t look out of place. When we came to visit, my parents slept downstairs so that dad wouldn’t hurt his back on the upstairs rickety ancient box spring mattress, the one that sagged in the middle. Later on he told me that was where I was conceived.

But it was the screened in porch with the gray wooden floor I loved so well. Continue reading “Blog Challenge-A House I Remember”

Posted in angels, blog challenge, inspirational

Bragging the Oracle

Blog challenge for today is: If you had bragging rights to something what you boast about?

We are taught as children not to brag and boast. It’s nice to have permission.

I’m enthusiastic about a lot of things so I sure hope I don’t come off as boasting. Confidence is one thing, bragging another. My grown kids, grandkids, my nieces and nephews are people about whom I would boast. What awaits them are the mean streets, and they are not there! All of them are working, going to school and raising children. They are doing well and have become conscientious and caring;  I love them dearly. They are my bragging rights!

The next thing I am over the top enthusiastic about are oracle card readings. I started doing them for myself years ago. Then I became a certified Angel Therapy Practitioner or ATP® and intuitive. Even though I use tarot, I prefer eclectic decks such as The Angel Tarot, The Archangel Michael Deck, and Messages from Your Angels etc.  The images are positive, affirmative, helpful. There is nothing untoward or unethical about these readings. I don’t discuss anyone’s business with another person. A good reader follows strict guidelines. Another rule is I don’t read for someone who is not present. Asking permission is par for the course with all readings. Hence, the certification.

When I read for somebody I often use angel decks but I also do channeling and mediumship. For example, if I sense or “see” a man in an easy chair with a bowler hat, and I hear or see the letter G, I might mention there is a grandfather presence who is a backer or guide for the client. The messages I receive from Spirit are symbols or psychological implications. I give my interpretation and the client is usually aware of the information already. It is in the unconscious and can be an idea that has been brewing. If I pull the “higher education” card and then the participant claims he has been thinking of going back to college, the validation is present.

So I am not telling the client something he or she doesn’t already know, it is a matter of confirmation along with new information, and support. The messages are always based on loving kindness. It doesn’t matter to me if someone believes in the spiritual realms or not. My practice is non-denominational. I do include a silent brief prayer at the start and ending of each session.

Here’s an example of a reading I did for myself for this post. A  short response follows. Regular readings are longer. Cards are from multiple decks.

Question: What do my guides and angels want me to know about ——-(describe a situation) ?

card for blog 2

The layout left to right is past, present and future. I usually add an outcome card. Brief summary:

PAST: Don’t Compromise, St. Agnes of Rome

For this reading I am looking at having established my values and stand firm in my opinion of what I feel about my current situation. In the past I have had to be stalwart and, in essence, have had to fight for what I believe in. Perseverance to a spiritual practice helps.

PRESENT: Singing and Dancing

Because I have been resolute, I can move into the present time freely.  So in this situation, to relieve tension or anxiety the answer lies in physical activity. I am being advised to sing and dance, return to the spiritual joy that has been a way to validate my own spirituality. In other words, take some time to savor the happy dance of life. Embrace psychic powers.


The ocean as the future card is spot on! The ocean has been a source of comfort and creativity for me my whole life. We’ve been planning a trip to the ocean, and just this morning I was dreaming about walking along the beach. Soak up some negative ions- a good thing. Water heals.

Thanks for letting me share my passion.

Onto Father’s Day!