Sunday, November 23, 2014

Pushcart Prize Nominations Announced

Although the deadline for Pushcart Prize nominations snuck up on me this year, I am getting our nominations mailed out this week; a huge thank you to Carrie Wicks for assisting in the selection process. 

Please visit the Mouse Tales Press blog for the nominations. Thank you!


Artwork by Linda G Hatton


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Thursday, November 13, 2014

Catching up with Poetry

I took a bit of a hiatus from blogging over the last several months. I've missed it, but I’ve learned some new things in life. 

Like last week, I learned that I use my geometry skills when I sew. Maybe that’s why putting together (or drawing) pattern pieces sometimes hurts my brain.

I learned that love helps me to accomplish things I may not have otherwise done (or even had the belief I could do). For instance, even though I haven’t sewn much in around twenty or so years, I built an entire cosplay costume for my daughter in about five days. All in the name of love.

Photo of Piper by Linda G Hatton
Piper as Satsuki

I learned that I could heal health problems I've had for five years using only natural methods. That was a miracle to me. Sometime I will go into detail about that.

For now, can you believe it’s nearly mid-November? I have only written a few poems for the November PAD challenge. I was going to try to catch up, but I think I will just do what I can (thanks, Pearl!). There are some things going on in this crazy world that have made me sad. For now, I will leave them in this poem, written using the prompts from day one through day thirteen.


Photo by Kevin Brandon
She Rode off into the Distance

Her Life Was Not Optional

I’m game, she said. Our time together,
again, has come to a close, we’ve pulled
the last blanket up on her, on days of playing
super hero. Keep this between us
I am happy now where I am. It was her
compulsion to become timeless, both seen
and unseen all at once, something in the news,
someone people would talk about forever.
We all hope she is happy now wherever
she is, having blinded us all—those who knew her
and those who did not—by the pain she left
that night on the train even after it pushed on.


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Prompts:
  1. Game Over
  2. Together Again
  3. Blanket
  4. Write a super hero poem/Write a super heroine poem.
  5. Keep this (blank)
  6. Happy now poem
  7. Compulsion
  8. Write a “blind” poem
  9. Write about something in the news
  10. (Blank) Trouble
  11. Timely poem/Timeless poem
  12. Write about something that cannot be seen
  13. Optional


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Sunday, August 3, 2014

News about the Future of Mouse Tales Press

Four Years of Mouse Tales Press

Shortly after I started Mouse Tales Press, I asked my friend Elizabeth Johnson if she would be interested in copyediting for the site. 




Visit Mouse Tales Press on MagCloud.


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Saturday, July 19, 2014

Bitter Fruits (a Golden Shovel)

Another try at a Golden Shovel. I was able to relax with these words a bit more. (See below.)

http://www.freeimages.com/browse.phtml?f=view&id=1134872
Marbles Were a Fun Game, Once


Bitter Fruits
after “Mountain” by Clifton Gachagua
            (line used: grief saddled in my back like a bag of marbles)


In the garden where I once pressed tomato seeds into dirt, grief
flourishes, sprouting up with open arms, saddled
onto this stiff body carrying me from bed to bed. In
barren lands, I hunt for my former self—before tears bullied my
desires, saturated my confidence, forced me back
to sodden sighs that confiscate my days. Like
a rabid fruit bat, fooling me into believing a
lie, you flitted from one innocent bug to the next, displaying your bag
of trophies dangling like a fig tree, pulsing of
seduction. Me, a game you play like that old forgotten game of marbles.


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Friday, July 18, 2014

Last Dance with You (a Golden Shovel)

Still digging through words for a Golden Shovel I will love. Not quite there yet. (See my poem below.)
http://www.freeimages.com/browse.phtml?f=view&id=1005475
Still Dancing in the Shadows

Last Dance with You
after “Dancing Toward Bethlehem” by Billy Collins
I have expired like discarded minutes
passing by, never to be held onto, like the death of
words that wouldn’t come out, the
way I waded through the twentieth
relationship trying to find my way back to that century
where minutes ticked longer than sixty seconds, for
a chance to have one
more hour that we could last
in another destiny where broken hearts and minutes dance.

(This poem uses the original line "minutes of the twentieth century for one last dance" by Billy Collins to make up the end words.)
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