7.3.15 (ish)

Yes, we’re “ishing” it again this week, after a week’s absence. *sigh*


Sometimes, life just gets in the way of your plans.


Dreams in Wartime, Amy Lowell

Read by Xe Sands

If track doesn’t play, please visit this link. 

Xe writes…

I think there is something unfortunately timeless about war poetry…I imagine being able to read poetry from ages past (Ovid, anyone? Oh the flashbacks to college seminar – gah!)and finding the same imagery, themes, laments. As with beauty, love, anguish, war and its particular damage, its emotional uniform hardly seems to change. Change the dates, spiff up the language and you can slip right into that wartime poetry dress as if it was custom made for your era.

And I think I find that profoundly disturbing.




I Am, Susan Marie

Read by Susan Marie

If track doesn’t play, please visit this link. 

Susan writes…

cannot be
or left


I am
the fairy tailed children
asleep beneath blankets
on a cool summers eve,
books in palms
eyes shut tight
warding off monsters
in closets
underneath the bed

I am the angelic presence in dreams
the dark rising depths
in the time between
night and day

I am
the bleeding hearts
of artists
music flowing
like manes of thoroughbreds
strings and violins
concertos and preludes
the rise and fall
of notes
the voice of the oppressed
painting alone
writing alone
speaking to the masses
standing in front of
in galleries
half numb
from having their soul
placed on a
public platter
picked apart
and critiqued

I am
the constellations
the ancient raiment
of the majestic
velvet night
coaxing solitude
rendering you
with desire

and the great Gods
contemplating existence
tossing magic
and medicine
towards Earth
teaching lessons to the
mere human soul

I am Woman

I am a lover

I am the volcanic
of every tired soul
and every smile
and tear

I am an argument
and agreement

the birds that berth
in your
crown chakra

their song
is mine

all creatures
earth, dirt, silt
gems, stones
twigs and trees
every root and crevice
all footholds and paths
the falling leaves
every rock and shell
the waves and oceans
all bodies of water
feathers, flight
the bees that buzz
around the new bud
the hand that guides a sprout
from seed

the secrets the wind
the fierce embrace
of winter
the warmth upon
your face
and the sweet cool
calming waters
of life

I am death.


I am


I am every element
all emotions
every fable told
by firelight
every word
and sighed

the true Goddess
the wild soul

I am that which cannot
be kept
nor set free

I exist
without logic
in rational conscious
in esoteric

I am the rich man
and beggar
the king and the jester

I am the grass
all species
and the sky
of spectrums

I am good

I am a conundrum
unto myself
a human shell
as pure

I am heaven
and hell

I am the destroyer
and creator


© Susan Marie
Art © Daphne and Apollo by Beatriz Martin Vidal




Tangle Follows the Old Man of the Fire, George MacDonald

Read by theshadowlands

If track doesn’t play, please visit this link. 

theshadowlands writes…

Artwork by Christi L. Williams “The Old Man of the Fire”
Connect with her : www.facebook.com/christi.l.williams

My poetic rendering of George MacDonald’s “The Golden Key” (Poem 25)

—Tangle Follows The Old Man of the Fire—

The Old Man of the Fire drew near
Tangle suddenly burst into tear
Sobbing she asked “Do you know?”
“To that country, the way to go?”

“That high country, I have known”
“Many times that way, have gone.”
“To the land of which the shadows lay.”
“Tangle, Too young , you may not go my way.”

“Another way Tangle you must go”
“There is another way I know”
Tangle, “Old Man of the Fire, I do entreat.”
“Please do keep me from the heat.”

He approached her with eyes of love
And with a power as from above
Upon Tangle’s heart he placed his hand.”
“Now Tangle, the heat you can withstand.”

He led her through caverns grand
Into a desert place of rock and sand
In this arid place, Tangle was in shock
The skies were made of solid rock

Solid thunderclouds overhead
Of yellow gold, white silver and copper red
The colors slowly trickling down
Molten colors dripped to the ground

Intense the heat of this barren place
Yet not a drop of sweat reached Tangle’s face
Though the heat was ever grand
Tangle the heat she could withstand

A little further they had gone
The child reached down and lifted a stone
And what he lifted to her eyes
Was strange and of a great surprise

An egg, he held within his hand
Then a long curved line drew in the sand
Then the egg to crack and break
And out slithered a full-grown snake

It slithered along the curvy line
The Man, “Follow the snake closely behind”
“Tangle, the snake, it will show.”
“You to the place you need to go.”

She followed the serpent slithering wild
Not far then looking back to the child
There in the desert, alone in view
By a flaming fountain of reddish hue

In naked whiteness, with loving eyes glaring
Growing smaller, as she walked, still staring
Til he was no more, press onward and now yearning
Following the serpent and (neither to the right or left) ever turning…(-bc)




Tom Jones, Book XIII, Chapter 11, by Henry Fielding

Read by Mark Turetsky

Mark writes…

Book 13 Chapter 11 of Tom Jones.

This is part of an ongoing project in which I will record and post one chapter per week of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones over the course of four years.

In this chapter, Tom finally meets with his fair Sophia in what seems like years. He arrives at Lady Bellaston’s house, and is waiting in the drawing room when Sophia enters. They are shocked to see each other, and Tom takes great pains to apologize for all the wrongs he has done her. Sophia is most upset with a wrong that was actually done by Partridge, and soon the young lovers renew their devotion to each other. Until, that is, Lady Bellaston returns to find them in her drawing room, and suspecting that they had been attempting to deceive her.




Tom Jones, Book XIII, Chapter 12, by Henry Fielding

Read by Mark Turetsky

Mark writes…

Book 13 Chapter 12 of Tom Jones.

This is part of an ongoing project in which I will record and post one chapter per week of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones over the course of four years.

In this chapter, Lady Bellaston needles Sophia with the knowledge the she knows Sophia was meeting with Jones, but Sophia doesn’t know that she is familiar with Jones. She reminds Sophia that she has made a vow never to marry without her father’s consent, which implies that she is not to see Jones.

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