You Know, That’s My Book….

Okay, all you writing/blogging people! Ken is someone I’ve followed for almost two years now (WOW!) I was privileged to interview him for his first book, but even published writers can get discouraged. So check out this post and….be ENCOURAGED!! ~~dawnlizjones

Kenneth L. Decroo

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Like many writers, I often wonder how much of an audience I am actually reaching. This is not surprising when you consider how lonely the endeavor the writing process can be. I feel this mostly in the quiet of the evening when I snap my laptop shut and let the scene and the characters retreat for awhile.

I was encouraged last Spring during an impromptu moto trip in Baja. Some of my friends were going to a remote cove on the Pacific side of the Baja peninsula to take advantage of some perfect, overhead surf. The Spring usually brings a swell that lines up just right and kicks up some huge waves. When this happens, my young friends drop everything and race down to the legendary surf spots of Baja.

After my friends called, I packed lightly and headed south on my BMW F 800 GSA adventure moto to be part of the gran…

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With Love to Sammy, 63 Years

quillMy good blogger buddy, Oneta Hayes at Sweet Aroma, provides me with a perspective I appreciate on several fronts.  Here is just one of them, albeit a BIG one.  The idea of covenant in marriage is not one that is fairly understood, much less practiced, in our so-called modern society.  The idea of sticking with someone through thick and thin (of which I believe they’ve had both) may seem a bit old-fashioned, however…

Here is Oneta’s tribute to such an “old-fashioned” idea.  Hat’s off to you, my friend!!  And God bless you both!

WITH LOVE TO SAMMY, 63 YEARS

Home, fortunate to be my pleasant place;

my hubby and I talk face to face.

Home, all my belongings there I stash;

got a lot of stuff, just not cash.

 

Home, cars can park on my one acre lawn;

afternoon naps when I yawn.

Home, food and drink and company too,

if you were near, we’d invite you.

 

Home, a place to have the family meet,

games and songs and plenty to eat.

Home, sixty-three years since we were wed,

tied the knot with unbreakable thread.

The Kraken (#11)

(Pssst…In case you missed the first part, you can start from HERE)

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From: gizemlervebilinmeyenler.blogspot.com and copied from Alejandro Quijano pintrest (Kinda scary, right?)

XI.  The Forge

For months, they raised the smithy walls, the roof and furnace made,

And gathered  iron rods and bars of proper strength and grade.

The prophet said, “Convert these, now, to something that will fit

Your chosen purpose and your needs. Your life depends on it.

“The spear must reach beneath the waves to pierce the Kraken’s hide.

The handle must be stout enough, the spearhead sharp and wide.

Now make it long and tempered well before you go to sleep.

You’ll need a shaft that’s straight and strong and arms to drive it deep.

“Tomorrow, we will take the first and put it to the test,

And if all goes accordingly, I’ll have you make the rest.”

The bellows breathed. The furnace roared. The pounding hammer rang

As if beneath its heavy blows the glowing metal sang,

And when the blade with water had been tempered properly,

The finished work, in grim detail, was quite a sight to see.

To punctuate this night of toil, there dawned a morning clear.

Hours later, in the sunlight, Galen proudly showed his spear.

His mentor nodded thoughtfully as one who understands.

He checked the balance of the spear and turned it in his hands.

“What you have made is good,” he said. “It has a killing feel

And, for the pain within you heart, capacity to heal.

“As I have said to you before, you’ll need some more to take.

Observe the pattern carefully, and faithful copies make.”

So Galen labored patiently and set his fury loose

In fashioning sufficient spears and practicing their use.

 

He held each to the anvil as his hammer sang its song,

And as he built this arsenal, his arms grew thick and strong.

When sun was down, the hour befell to rectify his mind

And listen to his teacher to discern what he might find.

Rehearsing lessons written down by help of candlelight,

He lay in bed to contemplate the stillness of the night.

In righteousness, he thought to pay the grudges that he bore,

Smiled at the Kraken’s ignorance of what he had in store.

His days repeated in this way till one night he surmised

There was a solitary fact by which he’d been surprised.

In finding satisfaction with the things his hands had made,

He found he could appreciate his father’s chosen trade.

His labor substituted for a hunter’s vanity,

Each blow was struck to hammer out the past’s insanity.

With sweating brow, he put behind the sting of youthful sin

And filled his heart with humble pride, a blacksmith once again.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT THURSDAY…dot…dot…dot!!