"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
...so let's make some noise!
Create with Compassion - Collaborate with Care
Making Good Trouble with Artistic Intent
Musings about life, after-life, creativity and what it means to write about it
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
...so let's make some noise!
Create with Compassion - Collaborate with Care
Making Good Trouble with Artistic Intent
My kid 'zine is at the printer...
It's also in my Etsy shop... (click on the Etsy Badge in the upper right-hand corner to see it)
What is a 'zine? A zine (zeen - short for magazine or fanzine) is a small-circulation self-published work of original or appropriated texts and images, usually reproduced via a copy machine. Zines are the product of either a single person or of a very small group, and are popularly photocopied into physical prints for circulation. A fanzine (blend of fan and magazine) is a non-professional and non-official publication produced by enthusiasts of a particular cultural phenomenon (such as a literary or musical genre) for the pleasure of others who share their interest. The term was coined in an October 1940 science fiction fanzine by Russ Chauvenet and popularized within science fiction fandom, entering the Oxford English Dictionary in 1949. (source: Wikipedia)
I owe a giant debt of gratitude to my good friend and gifted publisher/editor/technology wizard/wordsmith/poet Jen Payne, owner of Words By Jen and Three Chairs Publishing, for helping me through the editing and production process that made this long-awaited day possible.
Getting encouragement and positive feedback from trusted friends has been a positive and rewarding experience for me. We'll see how far that will take little Miss Nancy-Dragon in the self-publishing domain, but regardless of how popular this little 'zine becomes, it is still a dream come true for me and my deceased fur-person.
Then my friend suggested putting it out as a 'zine, and when I said "Yes!" I felt immediate relief and joy. So now it is done and even if it's just my friends buying and sharing it with the little ones in their lives, I will be forever grateful. Very few of them actually read or know about this blog, but that's okay... I write it for myself anyway.
I can't wait to create my next 'zine!
(in the tradition of T.S. Eliot's "The Song of the Jellicles")
Zentangle Cats are whirly and wavy.
Zentangle Cats like to sit in the sun.
Zentangle Cats love their grits and their gravy.
Zentangle Cats' bellies sway when they run.
(to be continued...)
Each of us arrives
with an allotment of Time
How we use it is up to us
We can use it well or use it frivolously
This is not to say we cannot relax, or rest
Or do things simply for enjoyment's sake
But too much wasted Time is fuel for regret
We might regret we didn't achieve our dreams
Or we hesitated and missed having an experience
Or we put off seeing someone or saying something
But these become life lessons well learned
And regret will not change any bitter outcome
Only making amends, moving forward, and laughter
Can ease our regret, our disappointment, our grief
And bring us comfort, and closure, and contentment
Even, perhaps, a smile and hope for a happy ending
To know Peace in life as well as death
Is a precious thing to strive for, in all ways
We can never take Peace for granted
To have it, and maintain it, you must first create it
Within your heart, then share it with others
As you would share Love
With all the souls who need it
This is the best way to use the Time we have
Before our Time ends and is lost forever
Poppies - tjb |
The coral-colored poppies
with their feathery fern-like leaves
are long gone
So are the purple coneflowers
that grew by the white picket fence
along with a black raspberry bush
where mockingbirds used to nest
The tall evergreen tree near the house
with its twin trunks
where I would hang the bird feeders
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Trees - tjb |
is now a vine-covered stump
And the row of slender maples
have been reduced to decaying piles of pulp
Gone, too, are the three giant pines
that used to whisper in the wind
Even the little stream is clogged
and choked with weeds
The yarrow I planted has disappeared
No more morning glories
Good-bye, butterfly bush and flame lilies
Gone, all gone
because of men who arrive
armed with weed-whackers and lawnmowers
and ear-deafening leaf-blowers
and mechanical trimmers
The only thing left are lop-sided bushes
and a copse of tangled trees in the back
in the corner
and a few thrusting tulips
and some daring daffodils
and one little conifer who stands alone
Miniature daffodils - tjb |
not much taller than I am
The bittersweet is still there
and my comfrey, and sweet mugwort
It makes me mad
but mostly I'm sad
because I do not feel protected any more
No longer safe within the circle of life
that used to surround me
It's cold and it's bare
and I no longer care
to be here, living where
there is so little regard for the natural world
Nothing stays the same, nothing lasts forever...
only my memories
Bittersweet - tjb |