20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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Hello Again

I just want to say that I have made my blog private for awhile. Therefore, I hope to return to 20 Lines and do a bit of writing here again. This is such a home for artists of words and images and I feel comfortable here. How many new people have joined since I was here last. I look forward to coming to know you through your work and comments.

I have taken Melissa up on her publishing offer through Sable Books and as of last night’s conversation with her, am going to publish my second book of poetry. After a few back-and-forth emails and one long phone conversation, I know Sable is the right choice for me. I would encourage any of you who are thinking of publishing to give Sable Books a try. I am so excited to be in the beginning stages of compiling my book. 

I could hardly sleep last night because words and ideas pushed around in my mind for attention. It was such a happy conglomeration of thoughts, though, and I am ready to forge ahead.

Here I come, Sable. Thank you for being there for me at just the right time.


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tabiaa, grey of my heart

Originally posted on Songs of Fragile Thunder:

can you hear the sunflower seeds?
they speak to me in tones of muted grey,
and amber twilight. Twisting melodies of
of charcoal and black greet me as well,
riding along the soft breath of the hushed breeze.

And here come the leafy plants,
bowing in rhythm to the beat of my
beleaguered heart. Theirs is the color of blood
red roses, whispering softly against white stark
walls, painted grey

and yellow.

but the last are the tides,
swept in by orange mist and
green-glass chimes that ring out, pure and true.
Their song plays on deaf ears like water for
the sun-dying, and

I wait, hands outstretched,
palms open and delicate.

grey, the color of life sits on my
palms silently . . . together.

And in two notes, a lullaby,
we’re swept away by rosy ashes.

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Great Easter Weekend

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

Hoping you all had a wonderful Easter.  We went to Mom’s for a nice meal and a great visit.

On Friday having gone nowhere besides physical therapy of late we packed up the car for a nice long leisurely ride up into the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  I knew with all the flooding he should find some easy Gold and me a photo or two :) you know me better than that and JT would have a stick,  found on the journey to play with.

We took Route 16 North and our first pit stop was beside a lake I captured often in amazing fall colors but Friday this is how it looked on the 18th of April

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Yes ice covers many of our lakes still.

We then travelled up through Glen where my intent had been to capture many of our Covered Bridges but with snow covered ground I decided…

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my guest post

Originally posted on who could know then :

dear new friends and old,

so it’s April 20th and as promised Bianca (B.G.Bowers) posted my poems on her blog as part of her gracious, month long tribute to NAPOMO. i rummaged around in the attic and found a few poems that in hindsight were a little leap forward, some personal favorites that i still remember the excitement of writing every single word.

i thought this would be my regular Sunday post for today, hope you enjoy them and ty again Bianca. it is an honor to grace your pages.

http://bgbowers.com/2014/04/20/who-could-know-then-guest-post/

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Tuesday tulip tiptoe.

Originally posted on Flowery Prose:

Tulip - 8 April 2014

Just a grocery-store tulip, but it makes me smile all the same.  I don’t grow tulips anymore – my soil runs on the heavy clay side and the bulbs were simply rotting underground.  I keep amending, though, so maybe in a few years’ time, I’ll be able to try again….

I was out for a walk near my workplace a few days ago and in the yard of a nearby elementary school, the students had planted hundreds of tulips, which were all peeking up out of the soil.  What a great project to get the kids involved in!

Do you grow tulips?  Which ones are your favourites?

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The Bridge of Time and Promise

Originally posted on who could know then :

dear friends.. i felt the need to write some prose while i worked on the co write poems i mentioned in my last post, the song was chosen not for the title or video but for the close your eyes experience.
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The Bridge of Time and Promise
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Chaos was the default setting in my family. The earliest memory of my uncertain future, was me sitting in the sturdy chrome legged high chair that provided a perfect mezzanine level view of the kitchen table. From the relative safety of that private perch sitting plush as a prince behind my oversized formica tray, I could hear and see everything.

It was a cruel foreshadowing of how I would eventually view the world.

Wednesday meant spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, and not ’50′s style Americanized Chef Boyardee spaghetti either. No, not in our house. I can remember watching for…

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A Stormy Night With You

DSCN2133
As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.

I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.

When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.


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A Stormy Night With You

Image
As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.

I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.

When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.


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shoots and wings, thresholds and thank you

Originally posted on who could know then :

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i woke today to an earlier light,

slicing sun… between wooden blinds.

Spring soil…it shifts and yearns

in shy murmurs… of shoots and wings.

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how the wind is alive

with the long forgotten calls

of weary immigrant birds,

floating currents… returning home.

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and maybe… my day is here

to shed this curfew of skin and doubt,

finally… free myself forward

shutter eyes that lurk behind my head.

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let my instinct… map a ready sky,

a fragile trust and mysterious as flight.

let unfurl… these inadvertent wings

and surrender my will to each unknown.

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there is stubborn in my bones

a rain worn feather remains as resolute,

and how much fear… i’ve let fly

oh, sweet wing of creation… take me home.
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thresholds
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When I began this little blog a year ago, I had such meager and modest…

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