Raven and More

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Just a quick post here-I’m feeling an October surge or rush today. Actually, I want the younger ones to read two poems, one by me titled “Plot” and another by the famous, now dead, Edgar Allan Poe! His is titled “The Raven-Nevermore” and if you think you are going crazy as a freshman in college or life has you feeling out of sorts, well, read his poem and you’ll feel sane. I think.

Thanks for following me and more to come in October.

The Plot

“There’s somethin’ ‘bout these cemetery plots,” he said.
We ventured, like it or not, no longer tots, a folly she read.

What an idea dared on a dismal black-chilled Halloween night!
My friend’s sister I never met sought thrills of Frankenstein fright.

Clouds raced by luminous and white, night sky filled with ghosts
The wind kicked in, howling, seriously it scared me the most.

Dead leaves wet on the grass, all the way to the back we ran.

“Why?” I bothered to ask.

“Farther away,” he said shaking, “from the caretaker man.”

Out of breath, I stared at the raven atop the towering grey stone.
Silent. Statured. I gasped, tightly clenching my pocketed phone.

“Thought your sister was meeting us tonight?” I asked. “Here.”
“Here,” he moaned. The blackbird stirred igniting frenzy and fear.

His beak haunted me while black eyes loomed an ominous presence.
My heart raced and mind panicked remembering the fluted fence.

Then I traced my friend’s line of vision as his eyes grew in size.

“Boo!” She screamed and jumped from behind the plot and stone.
Laughing hysterically as my heart emptied a sudden surprise.

By Caroline Clemens

 

The Raven (Nevermore)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

By Edgar Allan Poe

From Google-Public Domain

 

 

 

 

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Christmas Newsletter 2016

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Welcome to my blog! I’m so glad you found me, let me tell you a little about me. I’ve been blogging since 2011 and have learned more than I could ever have hoped. It’s like there’s a whole other world out there for sharing and appreciating; makes me feel so grown up! I feel as though the light has been turned ON. I definitely know I found this at the right time as I was looking for more in my life. Why?

Well, I had completed my task list and had dismissed myself to the wayside. Have you ever done that? So I began to concentrate on me and did a couple things but something was missing, that feel or engagement of sorts. Let’s say you attend a musical or play or concert and you just love it. That feeling stays with you for quite sometime. I was missing the concert, or concerto.

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Now I feel as though I don’t have enough time in the day; I mean come on God I need 48 hours for every day. Smiles. I’ll prioritize again, very soon, but first I’m launching this writing thing that began back in 2011. I have books on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, mostly digital save for one that I spent money to get published from a small press. They did a fantastic job and I was never more proud to have a book of my own. I didn’t break the bank as I’m a bit frugal and handle my finances very well.

Last night though, I transformed my digital stories into print books, low cost to purchase right on Amazon. God Bless Amazon! Seriously, after five years of learning every detail myself, someone was there to take my hand and say, okay here’s the final step. Let’s see if we can’t find you some readers and make a little money for your hard earned efforts. We’ll see. I’m as happy as a ………

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Christmas has always been special for me and I don’t remember ever being depressed at this time. I know what sadness is maybe even depression but I never carried it for a long time. I’ve had some hits in my life and I honestly don’t know why but I’m wired to get up every time and start over again. If you are sad or depressed at this time reach out just a little and find someone to have a talk with. That helps tremendously. Coffee and a good chat!

Back to the books and what am I grateful for at this time of the year? Simply the people in my life and the zest for which I live. I’m a list maker and a doer. My husband stood by me for years as we struggled with infertility (the quiet killer of dreams) and now I stand with him as he makes a new career for himself moving forward. I’m proud of him for making that change after 32 years at the same institution. I love change and he doesn’t. Talk about opposites.

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Here’s to the next step in life for both of us! I’m just getting started and have more stories to write. I’ve entered contests with cash prizes. Yes! Say a prayer for me and I have already started on a tiny lighthouse Christmas tale. For now go to Amazon or Barnes & Noble and find me there under Caroline Clemens, my pen name.  Twitter

Carpe Diem and Merry Christmas with a Blessed New Year! Caroline Clemens

This post is dedicated to Susie Lindau’s #Blessed Project at  #BlessedProject@WildRide

Blogger @theivorytide.com Amazon Purchase

Photography by Me I Have An Amazon Page!

My husband Mike (aka Hemmingway), lights and cabin via Marybeth & Brian’s place.

*Oh my having trouble getting my novel to convert into print! This is distressing for the life of a self-pubbed writer. One in draft, the other not working. Update later ….

* Update on Twitter

September 2016 Newsletter

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What’s that expression? “Anything worthwhile doesn’t come easy.”

As I learn this craft of writing (I never in a million years actually believed I could write a book, yet alone a poetry collection), it is like anything filled with dis-beliefs, sorrows, bad reviews, no confidence, what am I doing moments, along with steady assurances and liking one’s own work. If I didn’t like my work I would have stopped back in 2011. When I reread parts of my novel I still love it. Sure grammar and punctuation have improved though still not perfect. Who’s perfect anyway? Reads a line from one of my poems.

I’m entering contests; why do this you ask? Because contests are a fun way to get people to participate. They propel you to put your best self forward and that’s not a bad thing et all. I’ve entered three contests this year for my poetry alone. From very small online venues to one long standing contest which has upwards of 400 contestants. The Poetry Festival had an actor read my beautiful poem then send the recording to me! It’s at the top of my Twitter feed. Look here at their site. Soon I’ll be outlining a whole plan for future works.

I hope to go a little mainstream as in entering my works in magazines. I just haven’t had the time. I’m finishing up a year long stylist school. Yup, my mother always instilled in me have a back up plan: that way you can venture out and pursue whatever you want in life. Pure economics advice from those depression era memories. She’s a better mother than she realizes, I’m sure.

My eyes are set on a busy and healthy year ahead. Back to working out daily, salads, etc. and maybe some golf! You know the score find a part time real job, be a mom again, write away after a vacation to the beach. My family has had to do mommy things this past year in my absence. I thank them for supporting me. Dreamily, I’ll think about Paris and other places to visit.

Follow me on Instagram kim_troike and Tumblr autumnquotes. I’ll be posting photography from my new camera. Photo above from Thinkstock Images. Thanks for stopping by.

Caroline Clemens

August Review

My heart wants to share a couple poems with you after I saw the picture of the little boy from Syria all over the news yesterday. He was bloody and shell-shocked. What can we do?

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Magnolia

WAITING

In this cave dusty and hot, but sheltered,
We made it bombs exploding, running fast.

My arms wrap tight and squeeze, shaking
And frightened, more than you sweet babe.

Little one, I will not show you my hurt foot.
It’s there as I smell the familiar red puddle.

My sleeve is wet but there is no pain.
This garment absorbs your escaping fears.

Whoever finds us, my hopes run far and high.
It will be the good men to take us home.

Maybe brother made it, sigh, mom and dad, too.
Though they lay still as we ran, lead lungs.

I will keep you sister close by me, evermore.
No bad men with pointed guns shall find us.

Steal I must the dead man’s gun and shoot
Whomever deems us harm or fateful ills.

I promise this to you as I feel the warmth of
Your breath, your beating heart, next to me, I see.

I see what I must do and be, your guardian-
Your angel here on earth; your need is my plight!

 

And this next poem my dear readers is a Villanelle, a most difficult one to write using skill and dedication to a beautiful format. The villanesque or villanelle has French origins with Italian meanings, such as a rustic song or dance. The poem contains five tercets, a quatrain with 1st and 3rd lines alternately in repetition, and ending with both refrains included in the last stanza.

 

INSIDE THEM

Run run, thoughts of freedom bring tears young heart.

Children in danger, hunger and war persist; I’d say.

Strength, energy cursing inside; too young like fruit so tart.

 

Days filled with mutilation and murder do not chart.

Unsettled remote areas, barricaded from world; dead bodies lay.

Run run, thoughts of freedom bring tears young heart.

 

Find ways to safety do not be shot hauled off by cart.

No safe refuge, streets deserted; humans run from fray.

Strength, energy cursing inside; too young like fruit so tart.

 

World watches news comes so fast to be what part?

Hoping, we outsiders with shocked eyes do it today.

Run run, thoughts of freedom bring tears young heart.

 

Families, moms and dads, kids used to shop at mart.

Happy times, memories, celebrations of life; we pray.

Strength, energy cursing inside; too young like fruit so tart.

 

Society lessons unlearned disconnect seen in art.

Mighty wishes of peace, still; miracles in month of May?

Run run, thoughts of freedom bring tears young heart.

 

Strength, energy cursing inside; too young like fruit so tart.

 

*From Autumn Quotes by Caroline Clemens*

AutumnQuotesAmazonPurchase

 

 

Book Festivals

I am pleased to announce that I received an Honorable Mention for my poetry collection titled, “Autumn Quotes.” Here’s a picture of North Depot in Sandusky, Ohio where one of the poems takes place or there by a closeness in proximity.

North Depot

I entered it in a book festival in Orlando, Florida last year and the ceremony will be held in Boston, Massachusetts in January. The table is open for winners, runner up entries and honorable mentions. I’d love to go but have stylist class and no money. The winner gets the trip paid. Lucky dog. The Omni Parker Hotel and specifically the Saturday Club will hold the special occasion. This felt good to be noticed among other entries. I selected this festival based upon recent research about the state and my thoughts on its history.

Other cities host these festivals on line such as LA, New York, Paris, San Francisco, Hollywood and others. See the winners here: FloridaBookFestival

coverAutumn Quotes is my first poetry collection that surprised me in that I didn’t know I had such intricate and beautiful words inside me. I had written a couple poems in my youth, performed in the arts but never tried so many forms or been encouraged to write. Read, yes. Write, no.

I plan on beginning a second volume later this year and already have the title. This time it will be saucier, more in depth, using less restraint and you can see this by the title, “Smoked and Spiced.” I will explore more forms and use as many as possible. Most definitely it will contain the ways of the world. I look forward to this venture. For now here is a poem from my book available on Amazon “Autumn Quotes” by Caroline Clemens … the winter section!

 

WINTER FIN

NORTH DEPOT 1939

Every day I come to you
Every season I walk the streets to you
Every year I exist for you
Now I find I want to know you

John
My train passed by your factory yard.
Every trip I longingly look your way.
Chatting with the ladies til the whistle blew.
I caught the swirl of your skirt, the bounce in your step.
You turned your head and with the wink of your eye, I smiled.
Lips that spoke to me of promises I knew not.
Tomorrows wait pained me, so many breathes away.
But I would come again to see my Pearl.

Pearl
Heat of the summer consumes us inside as we toile.
We head outside for relief and pat our foreheads dry.
The train comes by bringing us a slow noisy breeze.
The girls and I talk nonsense sipping tepid drinks.
Never long enough this break, the whistle blows too soon.
Inching by the train is almost gone; a man with a hat catches my eye.
I stand and turn gazing upon these eyes with a lustrous smile.
My left eyelid descends, I know not why; lips parted waiting for my breath.
Anxiously, I must wait for tomorrow to see my John.
Every day I come to you
Every season I walk the streets to you
Every year I exist for you
Now I find I cannot leave you

John
Two in the morning and I depart North Depot Street.
Walking, so hurriedly upon this shiny wet tar,
Hoping you are still up and waiting for me.
I’ve been to Cleveland and back, the night watchman in the caboose.
The New York Central and I, all alone out there, year after year.
Some years went by fast and others very slow.
Til I met you … then the sun came out like a broad way show.
Its ice cream sundaes, radio ball games, trains, zoos, and late night rendezvous.

Pearl
Dinner is over, watching Johnnie on TV, I’m waiting for you.
Blessed was the day I saw you looking at me, your lips curved up.
The smile surprised me and united my senses, I relented.
Now regularly you come to my front door.
Buying me gifts from your travels to cities, east and west.
After midnight I hear the whistle, the in-bound train at the depot.
Evermore the gentleman, a happy guy who makes me smile,
Let’s play some cards and laugh out loud.
Every day I come to you
Every season I walk the streets to you
Every year I exist for you
Now I find I must be with you

John
All these miles I’ve walked round this town.
I’ve carried our groceries, paid bills at the downtown bank,
Visited the doctor, dentist, barber and the liquor store, too.
Traveling by two feet, never driving a car, exercise!
Walk, walk, walk, read my prevention magazine.
Ate my homemade salmon loaf, iceberg lettuce and fried everything else.
A double shot of Fleischman’s, once or twice a day,
Followed by ice cream and a True Story read.

Pearl
I miss you when you take your walks, like to go, too.
These legs of mine gave out long ago from cane to walker, chair then bed.
Sometimes, I just cry and let it out! Yes, I feel sorry for myself.
My granddaughter says I give to everyone but me.
She says I make her feel better, that’s why she comes so often.

Dear John,
What would I do? Where would I be without you?
Now you’ve gone first and I am alone, missing you. Are you waiting for me?

Dear Pearl,
I’ll wait forever, take your time. I’m not going anywhere, I love you.

Every day I come to you
Every season I walk the streets to you
Every year I exist for you
This lifetime together tells me our love is forever!

By Caroline Clemens

Click on Amazon for purchase site and to see other books by this author.

Kim Troike

Photography by KTroike

Book Cover by ThinkstockImages

Bastille Day!!

Here is my poem French Blue I wrote in 2012, before I published the novel “Bleu Moon” which is included in my trilogy “Into the Vines.” Come read and visit sites you only dreamed about all the while discovering an adventurous plot involving a contemporary global theme! What is so exciting is that I’ve never been to Paris, yet, I explored so much of the city of light in my novel. You will too!

I’m told its as though you are right there, now that’s magic. This month on Amazon my novels French Bleu(R rated) & Bleu Moon(G rated) are FREE on select days with their Kindle and Kindle Direct Publishing avenues or KDP.

My novel “Into the Vines” by Kim Troike can be bought on Kindle for 3.99 and paperback is also available through Amazon. Into the Vines is for teens, YA, and adult readers.

Bastille Day is today and later this month the Blue Moon occurs on July 31st. These are things that happen but the real story is the characters, so warm they will surely capture your heart. You might even fall in love. My books are available here.

French Blue

French blue, a color so true
Full of promise and hope
Ye shall see this as I say.

Power me to be free to
Want not but love and do
You see her glory, written so true?

The accordion plays on and on
Wanting love, expecting no less
For it’s beauty shines and sings.

Patient and blue longs for it’s rendezvous
Again romance found a door, smiles let go,
Sighs give relief, pardon adieu!

No sadness seen in a city of light
Many hours to make things right
Love, yes, ignites without fight.

Notes of song bring rhythm
Two by two, feelings join the rhyme
Blue, the hue, pour me a cup.
Grapes divine, sings freedoms song.

mwah!!

by gardenlilie/2012
By now you know, I’m a hopeless romantic.
google pic credit

Purchase novels by Kim Troike here.

Decatur Book Festival

Decatur Book FestivalThe Decatur Book Festival was this past weekend in downtown Decatur, Georgia. This is the second year I have attended this event. Last year my family and I attended; we walked around for hours listening to some of the speakers. Google Images.

Decatur Book FestivalThis year I entered my books and participated in the emerging authors venue. Our books were displayed on tables and sold by volunteers in the tent. Some authors purchased time to give a short speech or blurb about their books; this helps to sell books. Last year the emerging authors tent sold 7,000 books, a huge encouragement for new authors. That’s a lot of books! Google Images.

Decatur Book FestivalJoyce Carol Oates was the keynote speaker and here is a cover of one of her books. Other speakers gave talks at various places around downtown Decatur. My sister and I had hoped to hear Mary Kay Andrews, who spoke at the Presbyterian Church, but missed her talk. They had skits and poetry for children and also shopping and eating available. Google Images.

Decatur Book Festival Several breweries are nearby and this is a big draw for beer lovers. We tasted several kinds here at the Brick Store including Three Taverns Single Intent. Google Images.

Decatur Book FestivalThis is the Brick Store upstairs inside view with an extremely cozy atmosphere. I think the stone and wood combined with the glasses and lantern lighting make this a pretty photo by Kirk Adams.

Decatur Book FestivalThe festival is eclectic and has something for everyone. Vendors from all over offer authentic tastes and gifts, not to mention books galore. My daughter purchased a necklace handcrafted by a lady using silver, pearls and leather. It is beautiful and original! This is definitely a family affair. I talked with an art store owner and she is interested in my bird houses. I can send her my pics right to an email and she’ll let me know. How cool is that? Google Images.

The Decatur Book Festival is sponsored by The Atlanta Journal-Constitution in Decatur, Georgia. We, of course, reminded our younger folks that Coca-Cola was invented right here in Decatur by a pharmacist at a soda shop. My brother-in-law came along for the afternoon, I mean beer, and after a stroll of the books we headed to Twain’s and ate lunch.

The youngest member of my entourage (lol) on Saturday and one of my biggest supporters is my own daughter. No, I didn’t have to careen or cajole or promise her anything. She wanted to go. A big thanks to my sister and brother-in-law and my husband and daughter for their support of my writing and authorship. It is nice to know that people appreciate others pieces of work in their creative endeavors. Mwah!!

~Caroline~pen

~Google Images Credit

~Photos by me