tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37844696386564346092024-03-16T11:41:11.220-07:00Summer Eden Poetry CenterA site for sharing poetry -- mine and others'. Kick back and relax, sip a cuppa tea or a cold brew, and browse through the offerings.Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.comBlogger187125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-42423070236258855002024-03-13T09:19:00.000-07:002024-03-13T09:19:51.104-07:00Your Voice Haiku<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoky3jMaeNCVzmgMcnL8TDol-bMjiHmLkdHXRnkwyfEj5J113Ej5yr12dKCDRunk1Ok7FgcFmsG0igfINhnj5WAH9hWaQuNm4Jqs8rbwpKZQDVkEp4wsOz9wgYZNeZ3yWHSINar4k5zvNNdkQSJCVsqLAnHqeBiirv0xHNudzTfV9TNm_34d0ksOdoW8c/s1080/Suddenly,.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoky3jMaeNCVzmgMcnL8TDol-bMjiHmLkdHXRnkwyfEj5J113Ej5yr12dKCDRunk1Ok7FgcFmsG0igfINhnj5WAH9hWaQuNm4Jqs8rbwpKZQDVkEp4wsOz9wgYZNeZ3yWHSINar4k5zvNNdkQSJCVsqLAnHqeBiirv0xHNudzTfV9TNm_34d0ksOdoW8c/s320/Suddenly,.png" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>(Photo created on Canva by Dawn Pisturino. Copyright 2024 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.)<p></p><p>Haiku by Dawn Pisturino.</p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-63573856588428807692024-01-16T06:08:00.000-08:002024-01-16T06:08:58.867-08:00Three Poems Accepted<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiniEcHKK8NFREQc1LYw8wDnhUsUDkOMZZUSzwXXdzPagNAhI0_Lxdx8HWzHB3yxhiTWLarcslooM_jw4gVHotjU0bTsMJhknpL4N2H747XsAhg4ZboPotuDAqXIOE8wZRwH9UL9O-5uwO9uaZlXPAHwT0wFJ1S3Clx5Cte-dVJe5QAxgEo00bEpOG1dSc/s1080/Poems%205.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiniEcHKK8NFREQc1LYw8wDnhUsUDkOMZZUSzwXXdzPagNAhI0_Lxdx8HWzHB3yxhiTWLarcslooM_jw4gVHotjU0bTsMJhknpL4N2H747XsAhg4ZboPotuDAqXIOE8wZRwH9UL9O-5uwO9uaZlXPAHwT0wFJ1S3Clx5Cte-dVJe5QAxgEo00bEpOG1dSc/w400-h400/Poems%205.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good morning, dear friends,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm pleased to announce that three of my poems have been accepted by Prolific Pulse Press for their 2024 anthology! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">If you're interested, submissions are open until January 31st.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank you!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dawn Pisturino</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Copyright 2024 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</div><br /><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-82510567530912531852024-01-14T04:41:00.000-08:002024-01-14T04:41:24.032-08:00Silence Haiku<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOYEaW5GismCcL_PBTF4zL1bxzvfBnBPkulv8o3Izhl0jipzTOVSvJD_35-smvToSz8Ak9q5cImxOBy4KfhOT7GgTcFQ8PINEoPvZdH0zcwJQ889HxI_W54CgcIW79tVm8OBHfancqegeb6-YJGEw_JyRNDQj4v8I69cCaEyykIbf8mOW7nbW0FTrH9M/s1080/Insurmountable%20Silence.%20That%E2%80%99s%20what%20you%E2%80%99ve%20become.%20I%20can%E2%80%99t%20breach%20the%20wall.%20Dawn%20Pisturino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOYEaW5GismCcL_PBTF4zL1bxzvfBnBPkulv8o3Izhl0jipzTOVSvJD_35-smvToSz8Ak9q5cImxOBy4KfhOT7GgTcFQ8PINEoPvZdH0zcwJQ889HxI_W54CgcIW79tVm8OBHfancqegeb6-YJGEw_JyRNDQj4v8I69cCaEyykIbf8mOW7nbW0FTrH9M/s320/Insurmountable%20Silence.%20That%E2%80%99s%20what%20you%E2%80%99ve%20become.%20I%20can%E2%80%99t%20breach%20the%20wall.%20Dawn%20Pisturino.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">(Created on Canva.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Dawn Pisturino</p><p style="text-align: left;">Copyright 2024 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-4222414659244153772024-01-11T05:31:00.000-08:002024-01-11T05:31:52.770-08:00Thursday<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc7eZL7rJWG0mJPaT90wlMnb4SJDTWFa8b_3lczmKxZq7W50d6yfTdfn-JWU4UqBnelvBuopZ2GBQfx3HWEA4mUX107yVQPVsCZ7yxqLypQFegsbR1VkPdw1fLU_5OspJao3t3QFp7MWCumtfxBKXCYNNAtz1kJrV2aDqTYVS7M8nnxd9xPSdmg9oHSk/s2810/ishan-seefromthesky-IvCtHt8raJo-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2810" data-original-width="2248" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLc7eZL7rJWG0mJPaT90wlMnb4SJDTWFa8b_3lczmKxZq7W50d6yfTdfn-JWU4UqBnelvBuopZ2GBQfx3HWEA4mUX107yVQPVsCZ7yxqLypQFegsbR1VkPdw1fLU_5OspJao3t3QFp7MWCumtfxBKXCYNNAtz1kJrV2aDqTYVS7M8nnxd9xPSdmg9oHSk/w320-h400/ishan-seefromthesky-IvCtHt8raJo-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by Ishan@seefromthesky on Unsplash)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>Thursday</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A strange and beautiful day!</div><div style="text-align: left;">The sun breaking through morning clouds,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Rosy and lazy,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Parting slowly to make way</div><div style="text-align: left;">For their golden-haired brother.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel you with me.</div><div style="text-align: left;">One soul, indivisible, and I know</div><div style="text-align: left;">You will never be happy without me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I will never be happy without you.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel you with me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And my heart shines as brightly as the sun,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Breaking through the clouds of my misery.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel you with me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I am blessed and whole again,</div><div style="text-align: left;">A woman without regret,</div><div style="text-align: left;">A woman without shame.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel you with me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I know that no matter what happens,</div><div style="text-align: left;">We will never be separated again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Copyright 2023-2024 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-48703303175305347482024-01-08T05:57:00.000-08:002024-01-08T05:57:45.979-08:00Haiku for the New Year<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDreqlnhNLeU0_q4Q7K9Rsl6wJj-Za_qrQS1GVeNEtDGNmJOhsMWtTcX59IBRMvokKYdAw8X6sOxQZAWM537P3GI8XHayrE_Z06nDh2XmRtjPW_TqA7Dvx9TVZNmkiBUMmhlghRjAq1fT8Lil0x83PMXbZnhg4uozuF9GFcQSIvDGmo6DqROsd5RJigSM/s900/new-year.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="900" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDreqlnhNLeU0_q4Q7K9Rsl6wJj-Za_qrQS1GVeNEtDGNmJOhsMWtTcX59IBRMvokKYdAw8X6sOxQZAWM537P3GI8XHayrE_Z06nDh2XmRtjPW_TqA7Dvx9TVZNmkiBUMmhlghRjAq1fT8Lil0x83PMXbZnhg4uozuF9GFcQSIvDGmo6DqROsd5RJigSM/w400-h134/new-year.webp" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Haiku for the New Year</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u>New Year's</u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">New Year's scurries in</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On tiny feet, quiet as</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A mouse at midnight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u>Mercury</u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good luck came swiftly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Mercury's flying boots,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A Roman windfall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u>January First</u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">January first</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brings new hope, new love, new faith</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In a failing world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u>Gifts</u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Gifts of gentle words</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Calm the raging sea inside</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Your turbulent heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u>God</u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">God is larger than</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The universe, standing watch</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Over all of us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Copyright 2023-2024 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><b>BIO:</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;">Dawn Pisturino is a retired nurse in Arizona whose
publishing credits include poems, limericks, short stories, and articles. Her
poetry has appeared in several anthologies, most recently in <i>Hidden in
Childhood: A Poetry Anthology</i>,<i> Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong
Women,</i> and the <i>2023 Arizona Literary Magazine</i>. She is a Mystery
Writers of America and Arizona Authors Association member.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"> </span></p></div>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-58377041305815276752023-12-30T06:15:00.000-08:002023-12-30T06:15:20.730-08:00Happy New Year<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6DwRsEHu6P4mX00RLMZwO7en2bKrRJ54Cj4U8db5tqeVZMKLPN09AIkBV_9Fz0wHsKqhSc5VwzdY8ddvleG9SrScrRf-Lvra6XOeS9xNMV5fQGJtQoa3UdXx7eWzuA6kD6hBcXTk0OBIV9VnBObY_JIPtMkNSVmLMX5OBjA_EFTlNrt6S9cXI1RkeXw/s501/a_happy_new_year-3664.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="501" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi6DwRsEHu6P4mX00RLMZwO7en2bKrRJ54Cj4U8db5tqeVZMKLPN09AIkBV_9Fz0wHsKqhSc5VwzdY8ddvleG9SrScrRf-Lvra6XOeS9xNMV5fQGJtQoa3UdXx7eWzuA6kD6hBcXTk0OBIV9VnBObY_JIPtMkNSVmLMX5OBjA_EFTlNrt6S9cXI1RkeXw/w400-h259/a_happy_new_year-3664.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <main class="py-5 container" id="main-content" role="main" style="background-color: #fafafa; box-sizing: border-box; color: #343434; font-family: "founders grotesk", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "segoe ui", Roboto, "helvetica neue", Arial, sans-serif, "apple color emoji", "segoe ui emoji", "segoe ui symbol"; font-size: 16px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 74%; padding-bottom: 3.6rem !important; padding-left: 12px; padding-right: 12px; padding-top: 3.6rem !important; width: 1408.22px;"><div class="row" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; margin-left: -12px; margin-right: -12px;"><div class="col-12 col-md-8" style="box-sizing: border-box; flex: 0 0 66.6667%; max-width: 66.6667%; padding-left: 12px; padding-right: 12px; position: relative; width: 938.812px;"><div style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div id="block-stanza-content" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><article about="/poem/auld-lang-syne" class="card card--poem-full pb-2 pt-3" data-poem-title="Auld Lang Syne" data-poem-uuid="6a3faf26-d0e5-4e1f-8785-57bada675f2c" role="article" style="background-clip: border-box; background-color: white; border-bottom: 3px solid var(--green); border-image: initial; border-left: none; border-radius: 0px; border-right: none; border-top: none; box-shadow: 0 0 20px 0 rgba(0,0,0,.05),0 4px 0 0 var(--green); box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-direction: column; min-width: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px 1.25rem; position: relative;"><div class="d-flex poem__title mb-1" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex !important; flex-direction: row; justify-content: space-between; margin-bottom: 0.3rem !important;"><h1 style="box-sizing: border-box; flex: 0 0 80%; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 2.5rem; font-style: italic; font-weight: 500; line-height: 3rem; margin-bottom: 0.6rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="field field--title" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Auld Lang Syne</span></h1></div><div class="poem-actions poem-actions--vertical" style="box-sizing: border-box; flex-grow: 1; left: -3rem; margin-bottom: 2.4rem; position: absolute; width: 33px;"><ul class="poem-actions__list d-flex flex-wrap" data-enable-add-to-anthology="true" data-social-share-orientation="vertical" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex !important; flex-wrap: wrap !important; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;"><br /></li><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;"><br /></li><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;"><br /></li><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;"><br /></li><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;"><br /></li><li class="poem-actions__list-item pr-2" data-original-title="Log in to add this poem to an anthology" data-placement="right" style="box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; padding-right: 0.6rem !important; position: relative;" tabindex="0" title=""><br /></li></ul></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="field__content" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div about="/poet/robert-burns" data-byline-author="" role="article" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: var(--black); display: flex; font-size: 1.25rem; line-height: 1.4;"><a data-byline-author-name="" href="https://poets.org/poet/robert-burns" rel="bookmark" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #007ab3; text-decoration-line: none;"><span class="field field--title" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Robert Burns</span></a><div data-byline-author-info="" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; margin-left: 15px;"><div class="field field--field_dob" style="box-sizing: border-box;">1759 –</div><div class="field field--field_dod" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-left: 5px;">1796</div></div></div></div></div><div class="field field--body" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "poets electra", Georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: 1.1rem; line-height: 1.5; padding-top: 1.25rem;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And never brought to mind?</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">Should auld acquaintance be forgot,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And auld lang syne!</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"> Chorus:</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">For auld lang syne, my dear,</em></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"> For auld lang syne.</em></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"> We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,</em></span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;"> For auld lang syne.</em></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And surely I’ll be mine!</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">For auld lang syne.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"> <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Chorus</em></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">We twa hae run about the braes,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And pou’d the gowans fine;</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">Sin’ auld lang syne.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"> <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Chorus</em></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">Frae morning sun till dine;</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">But seas between us braid hae roar’d</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">Sin’ auld lang syne.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"> <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Chorus</em></span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And gie’s a hand o’ thine!</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;">For auld lang syne.</span></p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="long-line" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; margin-left: 32px; text-indent: -32px;"> <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Chorus</em></span></p></div><div class="field field--field_credit" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.8rem; line-height: 1.56;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">This poem is in the public domain.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">From poets.org</p></div></div></article></div></div></div><aside class="col-md-4 layout-sidebar" role="complementary" style="box-sizing: border-box; flex: 0 0 33.3333%; max-width: 33.3333%; padding-left: 12px; padding-right: 12px; position: relative; width: 469.406px;"><div style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div id="block-nodesidebarfields" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><article about="/poem/auld-lang-syne" role="article" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="field field--field_author" itemprop="author" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="field__content" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><article about="/poet/robert-burns" role="article" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div style="box-sizing: border-box;"><div class="field field--field_image" style="border-bottom: 5px solid rgb(50, 209, 126); box-sizing: border-box;"><figure class="field__content" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;"><img alt="Robert Burns" height="280" loading="lazy" src="https://poets.org/sites/default/files/images/biographies/rburns.jpg" style="border-style: none; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle; width: 445.406px;" typeof="foaf:Image" width="286" /><figcaption class="poet__sidebar-img-caption" style="box-sizing: border-box;"></figcaption></figure></div><div class="field field--body" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #637381; font-size: 1rem; line-height: 1.18; margin: 1.2rem 0px;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;">Born in Alloway, Scotland, on January 25, 1759, Robert Burns was the author of <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect</em> (1786) and <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Tam O' Shanter</em> (1795).</p></div></div><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="field field--title" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="https://poets.org/poet/robert-burns" hreflang="und" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #007ab3; text-decoration-line: none;">About Robert Burns</a></span></p></article></div></div><div class="field field--field_poem_themes" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-top: 2rem;"><div class="field__label" style="border-bottom: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem; margin-top: 0.4rem; padding-bottom: 0.2rem;"><br /></div></div></div></article></div></div></aside></div></main><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-75919126959782763432023-12-23T06:33:00.000-08:002023-12-23T06:33:26.402-08:00First Christmas<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYJeRc0fAyNVzw8035Otb03lVuwEwy_8h8omfX_LoOpqOfELGSwByZyg56dIt2_WlLZwCvDmQuE_InXIAGLsN19cwQIeLUdchc9O4u4W4_z3rvGIu2Qm9hdASM4rQqLK8X3WWMn9Ax-aKm9bATTRt_D9V2FiHBMIvqXvjrrpRHNtqP7uBf1jx8KRKXSI/s6000/designecologist-ccCh-ogDvLs-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSYJeRc0fAyNVzw8035Otb03lVuwEwy_8h8omfX_LoOpqOfELGSwByZyg56dIt2_WlLZwCvDmQuE_InXIAGLsN19cwQIeLUdchc9O4u4W4_z3rvGIu2Qm9hdASM4rQqLK8X3WWMn9Ax-aKm9bATTRt_D9V2FiHBMIvqXvjrrpRHNtqP7uBf1jx8KRKXSI/w266-h400/designecologist-ccCh-ogDvLs-unsplash.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by Designecologist on Unsplash)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>First Christmas</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">When first I held you in my arms,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Overwhelmed by love's alarms,</div><div style="text-align: left;">A red face and a screaming lung,</div><div style="text-align: left;">My heart rejoiced with carols sung</div><div style="text-align: left;">By heavenly angels in the air:</div><div style="text-align: left;">You! -- the best Christmas gift of the year!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="background-color: red;">MERRY CHRISTMAS! FIRST CHRISTMASES ARE THE BEST! </b></div>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-67752154904013028392023-11-23T08:57:00.000-08:002023-11-23T08:57:44.218-08:00November<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwxPCwKhuKEaMwvmokWPN70disAyR2YJ4XINhBpoJPSBaBZlkG3W94eTXcVxYNkDNttdhRkP_z0WZvHbUS3Pa5NyswJpYJ39zZNvrOX27uFr70kIMEViChRCRd6kkrtK5PWVV3dqp9Hcm81qO56sLyfv209yAETU9YtD6JrTLltHlGD-g-mZbymD6O64/s3335/clay-banks-BIuzWHRgLhs-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3335" data-original-width="2224" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtwxPCwKhuKEaMwvmokWPN70disAyR2YJ4XINhBpoJPSBaBZlkG3W94eTXcVxYNkDNttdhRkP_z0WZvHbUS3Pa5NyswJpYJ39zZNvrOX27uFr70kIMEViChRCRd6kkrtK5PWVV3dqp9Hcm81qO56sLyfv209yAETU9YtD6JrTLltHlGD-g-mZbymD6O64/w266-h400/clay-banks-BIuzWHRgLhs-unsplash.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@claybanks?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Clay Banks</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/house-near-trees-BIuzWHRgLhs?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>November</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>by Dawn Pisturino</u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u><br /></u></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">When November came,</div><div style="text-align: left;">We sat around the kitchen table after dark,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Telling chilling tales</div><div style="text-align: left;">Of ghosts and other phantoms of the night,</div><div style="text-align: left;">While wooden logs crackled and burned</div><div style="text-align: left;">On the old stone hearth,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And a cold wind wrapped its spectral arms</div><div style="text-align: left;">Around the ancient wooden cottage.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We warmed ourselves with hot mulled mine</div><div style="text-align: left;">And spiced apple cakes, thickly iced, --</div><div style="text-align: left;">Laughed at our superstitious fears</div><div style="text-align: left;">While trembling in the candlelight.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The old crone, at the stroke of midnight,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Told our fortunes in our hands:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Wedding bells for the shiny-eyed young maid</div><div style="text-align: left;">In spring, and a son born by the end of the next year.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The yellow moon peeked in at the windows,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Laughing at our humble ways,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then rose into the sky on a thousand brooms,</div><div style="text-align: left;">A friendly witness to our midnight celebration.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Holding hands, we danced in the moonlight,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Our cloaks pressed tightly against</div><div style="text-align: left;">The frosty cold; and when morning dawned,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Feathery snowflakes drifted from the sky,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nature's sign that Winter celebrated, too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Published on <i>Gobblers & Masticadores</i> on November 4, 2022.</div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-84807839559091177322023-10-28T07:53:00.000-07:002023-10-28T07:53:37.780-07:00Psychology<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33Qsj0MjPWnufGy_rPDSqlUkLHEQ_l576L2EWWHQccO1EXKQTiiguOtMqyiG6p6EuCH42v26BWE88BFf8W_lx2xUAnLSHg3mHqZoEZdn0dqBgaRXslazCogADpWUa9yo_m1r5ZLLoGmxvPasm5nA6yP_IYLHH1bsWQWBnnFmqVJNLlhg4dHrkaGFl_Vs/s1700/old-woman-spillwords-photo-by-glen-hodson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1700" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh33Qsj0MjPWnufGy_rPDSqlUkLHEQ_l576L2EWWHQccO1EXKQTiiguOtMqyiG6p6EuCH42v26BWE88BFf8W_lx2xUAnLSHg3mHqZoEZdn0dqBgaRXslazCogADpWUa9yo_m1r5ZLLoGmxvPasm5nA6yP_IYLHH1bsWQWBnnFmqVJNLlhg4dHrkaGFl_Vs/w400-h211/old-woman-spillwords-photo-by-glen-hodson.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Psychology</b></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: center;">by Dawn Pisturino</p><p style="text-align: left;">A psychologist by trade,</p><p style="text-align: left;">She brought order from chaos,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Splicing together the broken threads</p><p style="text-align: left;">Of fragile minds:</p><p style="text-align: left;">Listening for the right tone,</p><p style="text-align: left;">The right inflection, the right notes</p><p style="text-align: left;">To harmonize the deepest</p><p style="text-align: left;">Fears and desires of her clients.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But, in her own disordered brain,</p><p style="text-align: left;">She heard the voices of <i>her</i> people,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Day and night,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Crying out from the death camps,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Screaming from the gas chambers,</p><p style="text-align: left;">While men in black jackboots</p><p style="text-align: left;">Goose-stepped through the square,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Claiming victory over her crumbling world.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When the Alzheimer's bore deep into her brain,</p><p style="text-align: left;">Like a hungry insect,</p><p style="text-align: left;">And consumed the last of those dreadful sounds,</p><p style="text-align: left;">She embraced the silence, like a long-lost Lover,</p><p style="text-align: left;">And slept peacefully.</p><p style="text-align: left;">~</p><p style="text-align: left;">Published on Spillwords Press as a featured post on June 18, 2022.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>I STAND WITH ISRAEL! </b></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-67249331668291424742023-08-02T14:05:00.000-07:002023-08-02T14:05:25.449-07:00Graveyard Thoughts<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkszBZ98H_dpAY1o-kqm35OKk3n9mch41gAjKSxH7zBLKjCqgXfRYDpOfVbAMM9PA2JYcD62vNcWS1UL5xCAA7MPKsgrRyh4jFQ_jlzsc98-n07zcJKcTf4LHtW7N9x4iDecasgouEuMkAIZPAEB0nVXWBGSHjARH3BBLdhsQ0paOEaxbG_5aUKD3oyNo/s5000/oguz-yagiz-kara-OhC9aDrGsHU-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5000" data-original-width="4000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkszBZ98H_dpAY1o-kqm35OKk3n9mch41gAjKSxH7zBLKjCqgXfRYDpOfVbAMM9PA2JYcD62vNcWS1UL5xCAA7MPKsgrRyh4jFQ_jlzsc98-n07zcJKcTf4LHtW7N9x4iDecasgouEuMkAIZPAEB0nVXWBGSHjARH3BBLdhsQ0paOEaxbG_5aUKD3oyNo/w320-h400/oguz-yagiz-kara-OhC9aDrGsHU-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Photo by Oguz Yagiz Kara</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Graveyard Thoughts</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">by Dawn Pisturino</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The long hours of night stretch endlessly into morning,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I am alone, utterly alone, and content.</div><div style="text-align: left;">The cares of daytime activity cease.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Noise, noise, and more noise:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Now all is quiet and sleeping and alone.</div><div style="text-align: left;">My thoughts run loudly in my head,</div><div style="text-align: left;">And I can hear them!</div><div style="text-align: left;">No human voice clutters my brain</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or tenses my nerves or assaults my body.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Peace</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">A precious commodity,</div><div style="text-align: left;">So rare and wonderful</div><div style="text-align: left;">A thing to own,</div><div style="text-align: left;">We hardly recognize it</div><div style="text-align: left;">When we have it.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Humankind, accustomed to the horror of war,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Has forgotten the glory of peace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Copyright 2023 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-59424486090882778182023-05-12T07:07:00.000-07:002023-05-12T07:07:57.118-07:00Political Poems by Dawn Pisturino<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_kPQoePaDUUAVoNjgZG_xhQnmOBgp_tinGxPD2HkOmroKD09CvtTKtEjrswG2XtC4Q45WeEQi3UP446mF_nMoCiSR1n9Xef19HaHAIP__l4th-QgLvMTSorsUHr2Gizda-JnvDSeSPWC8JLf0PyXjE6wiq99I2wTtM5b2hHQKNjrlH4hpVp5zpdy/s1844/broken-donkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1844" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_kPQoePaDUUAVoNjgZG_xhQnmOBgp_tinGxPD2HkOmroKD09CvtTKtEjrswG2XtC4Q45WeEQi3UP446mF_nMoCiSR1n9Xef19HaHAIP__l4th-QgLvMTSorsUHr2Gizda-JnvDSeSPWC8JLf0PyXjE6wiq99I2wTtM5b2hHQKNjrlH4hpVp5zpdy/w400-h250/broken-donkey.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><b>The Pathway to Hell</b></p><p><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>When you vote for poverty,</b></p><p><b>Don't be surprised</b></p><p><b>When your belly aches with hunger.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>When you vote for slavery,</b></p><p><b>Be aware that you willingly put on the chains.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>When you vote for lawlessness and anarchy,</b></p><p><b>Don't complain</b></p><p><b>When the violence</b></p><p><b>Comes home to YOU.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>When you vote for corruption and lies,</b></p><p><b>Don't cry</b></p><p><b>When you find yourself</b></p><p><b>On the Pathway to Hell.</b></p><p><b>~</b></p><p><b>Some People</b></p><p><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Some people will never quit</b></p><p><b>Until they've built a structure</b></p><p><b>On every inch of empty land.</b></p><p><b>Some people will invite</b></p><p><b>Every stranger into their home</b></p><p><b>Until, eventually, those strangers</b></p><p><b>Take over and kick them out.</b></p><p><b>Some people salute the flag</b></p><p><b>Of every nation except their own.</b></p><p><b>Some people applaud the exploits</b></p><p><b>Of dictators and madmen,</b></p><p><b>Embracing slavery and chains,</b></p><p><b>Forgetting that they were once free.</b></p><p><b>Some people throw away their lives</b></p><p><b>On violence and pain,</b></p><p><b>When all they had to do</b></p><p><b>Was open up their hearts to love.</b></p><p><b>Some people crave money and fame,</b></p><p><b>Throw their friends and family under the bus,</b></p><p><b>And wonder why they die alone.</b></p><p><b>Some people are you and I</b></p><p><b>And all the rest of us.</b></p><p><b>Some people take,</b></p><p><b>Some people give.</b></p><p><b>It's an age-old story.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>All poems by Dawn Pisturino.</b></p><p><b>Copyright 2023 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</b></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-85583785406069098192023-04-15T06:06:00.000-07:002023-04-15T06:06:58.693-07:00April Poems<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNWTU8JW2ggUn_P_bXZ5mF8fNHz7SVg8YvGk5RBANj3LOu91I3ZO3Z-jeLK7uE_vZVsTOrYxt3_nPmidLLq0jZNdYT-wOl339gPMe4QMTcF2XAX_GeYWjmk2F945K5lBoLf9_a4BevwR1p4plSwPIhhKjg63hDSRP6CUT9MlUlpHiEEIvoAQTAScx/s1024/pansies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="1024" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNWTU8JW2ggUn_P_bXZ5mF8fNHz7SVg8YvGk5RBANj3LOu91I3ZO3Z-jeLK7uE_vZVsTOrYxt3_nPmidLLq0jZNdYT-wOl339gPMe4QMTcF2XAX_GeYWjmk2F945K5lBoLf9_a4BevwR1p4plSwPIhhKjg63hDSRP6CUT9MlUlpHiEEIvoAQTAScx/w400-h253/pansies.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b>April Showers</b></p><p>I looked into the heavens</p><p>And saw the face of God. </p><p>He was a kindly gentleman</p><p>And not too very loud.</p><p>He wore a watch upon his vest</p><p>Which gave the time of day.</p><p>He looked at it: "The time has come,"</p><p>Was all he had to say.</p><p>And soon a gentle rainfall</p><p>Came from the April sky.</p><p>It kissed my wondering up-turned face</p><p>And poked me in the eye.</p><p>But then a very curious thing</p><p>Did happen at my feet.</p><p>A tiny flower sprouted up,</p><p>All blooming and complete.</p><p>It opened up its tiny leaves,</p><p>Embracing fast the rain,</p><p>And if I ever doubted God -</p><p>I never did again.</p><p>Published on <i>Gobblers & Masticadores</i> on April 8, 2023</p><p>~</p><p><b>Haiku</b></p><p>White cherry blossoms</p><p>Spring from decrepit old trees,</p><p>Martyred souls react.</p><p>~</p><p><b>Spring</b></p><p>Spring! The vigor of new life soars in my veins!</p><p>I am free and alive and wonderful,</p><p>Free as the silly sparrow twittering in the tree top,</p><p>Too gaily alive.</p><p>Alive as the new-sprung fountain of youth in the riverbed,</p><p>Which knows not that it is bound by grassy banks,</p><p>But runs down the waterway in a mad race for the finish.</p><p>And wonderful as the tiny petals of a flower,</p><p>First opening up to the Father Sun</p><p>Like a virgin bride in the marriage bed.</p><p>Sun gives new life to the blood,</p><p>And blood gives new life to the body,</p><p>And the body gives new life to the soul,</p><p>Ad infinitum, ad infinitum, ad infinitum.</p><p>But every Spring plays its part as a new beginning,</p><p>And we never tire of the encore.</p><p>~</p><p><b>Robin Red-Breast</b></p><p>When Robin Red-Breast comes to town,</p><p>All the children dance around,</p><p>Clapping hands and stamping feet,</p><p>Happy with their little treat!</p><p>~</p><p><b>All Poems by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p><b>Copyright 1985-2023 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</b></p><p><b>~</b></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-82532840188276065082023-03-31T08:24:00.000-07:002023-03-31T08:24:19.187-07:00 I HATE SNAKES<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cP9y0fDtcl01gRNDaz00iHfo6TA7TXHpQ2xfb0nTjn3Wn2ALKN0-eg5NoZeYBgyuNGE6ZtUNspMSzRXi0RnOSaqLyMmwZE_1pG1hMvs1U1nezyiKsuNy8ItZzhtH26M9wpgmVn5t_3aB3M2Sekq0DTQrsxqfHtcqk51Vh285GbgtZLc3V3qeSSD2/s6751/annie-spratt-GIK1tsETnXI-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5174" data-original-width="6751" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cP9y0fDtcl01gRNDaz00iHfo6TA7TXHpQ2xfb0nTjn3Wn2ALKN0-eg5NoZeYBgyuNGE6ZtUNspMSzRXi0RnOSaqLyMmwZE_1pG1hMvs1U1nezyiKsuNy8ItZzhtH26M9wpgmVn5t_3aB3M2Sekq0DTQrsxqfHtcqk51Vh285GbgtZLc3V3qeSSD2/w400-h306/annie-spratt-GIK1tsETnXI-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I HATE SNAKES</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">by Dawn Pisturino</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Don't go into the swamp!</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">But we ignored them, </div><div style="text-align: left;">For we were great explorers, </div><div style="text-align: left;">Hunting for lost civilizations</div><div style="text-align: left;">And buried treasure</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the deepest jungles of Africa.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We plowed through the snake grass,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Climbed over rotting tree trunks,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hung from wild grape vines,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Chattering like monkeys.</div><div style="text-align: left;">And we never considered the dangers</div><div style="text-align: left;">Lurking in our "jungle."</div><div style="text-align: left;">The old summerhouse lay hidden</div><div style="text-align: left;">Among tangled green bushes</div><div style="text-align: left;">And thorn-studded berry brambles,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Overlooking the banks of the St. Joseph River.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I pushed open the creaky door to look inside</div><div style="text-align: left;">And froze in shock at what I saw:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Slithering, crawling, scaly snakes</div><div style="text-align: left;">Formed a moving carpet on the floor,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Entwining in an intimate embrace,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Lying together in a clump of shimmering bodies,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Moving slowly and surely in the rotten shadows.</div><div style="text-align: left;">We beat a hasty retreat</div><div style="text-align: left;">And never visited our "jungle" again.</div><div style="text-align: left;">And that's why, even today,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I HATE SNAKES!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Published in <i>Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology</i>, January 2023.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">BIO:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dawn Pisturino is a retired nurse in Arizona whose
publishing credits include poems, limericks, short stories, and articles. Her
poetry has appeared in these anthologies: <i>World Poetry</i> <i>Anthology</i>,
1987; <i>Best New Poems of 1988</i>; <i>Great Poems of Today</i>, 1987; <i>New
American Poetry Anthology</i>, 1988; <i>National Poetry Anthology</i>, 1988; <i>American
Poetry Anthology</i>, 1988; <i>Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women</i>,
2022, and <i>Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology</i>, 2023. In 2007, she had her own health and wellness column in the<i> Kingman
Daily Miner </i>and published articles in<i> The Standard </i>and the<i>
Bullhead City Bee. </i>Her poems, limericks, short stories, and articles have
appeared in <i>MasticadoresUSA</i>, <i>MasticadoresIndia</i>, <i>Gobblers & Masticadores</i>, <i>Spillwords Press</i>, <i>Underneath the Juniper Tree</i>, <i>Brooklyn
Voice</i>, <i>Danse Macabre du Jour</i>, <i>Psychic Magic Ezine</i>, <i>Working
Writer</i>, and others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has several
novels in progress. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, the Arizona Authors Association, and the Black List.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Author website: <a href="http://www.dawnpisturino.org">www.dawnpisturino.org</a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Author blog: <a href="http://www.dawnpisturino.word">www.dawnpisturino.word</a></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><a href="http://press.com">press.com</a></span></p></div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-36167308829910373962023-03-20T06:40:00.000-07:002023-03-20T06:40:41.355-07:00The Listener<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tD6nTYQpbS2e-eSGfNOK2Nl8grcmNvLZW3wJdKXFAA9s0et0-r8FYx-eA-3CLsxotSfSYg13x4IZmpPvPgdn9fo9DbUfrButo8uWPMSKvK-xaPCdcRFQAkP7d_a6rB2GMRy5VNgSRbTlOajRbo-8aQLZFaeL7YX9Ms7XJNgGCUcPJ1E11N2Sa6na/s4000/markus-spiske-JnNcm9EBsTw-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="2667" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tD6nTYQpbS2e-eSGfNOK2Nl8grcmNvLZW3wJdKXFAA9s0et0-r8FYx-eA-3CLsxotSfSYg13x4IZmpPvPgdn9fo9DbUfrButo8uWPMSKvK-xaPCdcRFQAkP7d_a6rB2GMRy5VNgSRbTlOajRbo-8aQLZFaeL7YX9Ms7XJNgGCUcPJ1E11N2Sa6na/w266-h400/markus-spiske-JnNcm9EBsTw-unsplash.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by Markus Spiske, Unsplash)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The Listener</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a small child,</div><div style="text-align: left;">I lay in my small bed,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Listening to the mourning doves</div><div style="text-align: left;">Crying softly, "Coo-hoo! Coo-hoo!"</div><div style="text-align: left;">From the woods across the road</div><div style="text-align: left;">In the early morning light.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At night, the owls called to me --</div><div style="text-align: left;">"Who's there? Who's there?" --</div><div style="text-align: left;">A comforting lullaby that</div><div style="text-align: left;">Quieted my childish fears</div><div style="text-align: left;">And lulled me fast to sleep.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The thunder spoke to me</div><div style="text-align: left;">When the rain called my name,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Throwing his fierce lightning bolts</div><div style="text-align: left;">Across the black, menacing sky.</div><div style="text-align: left;">And when the storm passed away,</div><div style="text-align: left;">A hungry mosquito berated me,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Demanding a bloody feast.</div><div style="text-align: left;">~</div><div style="text-align: left;">The world is not a silent place,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Nor a place of peace.</div><div style="text-align: left;">~</div><div style="text-align: left;">As I grew,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The sounds of life grew louder:</div><div style="text-align: left;">Crashing metal when a truck turned over on the icy road.</div><div style="text-align: left;">My mother screaming,</div><div style="text-align: left;">My father shouting,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then silence. . . when the unknown driver breathed no more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Published in <i>Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology </i>(2023)<i>, </i>a #1 Amazon bestseller.</div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-20874146748614330102023-02-17T05:37:00.001-08:002023-02-17T05:37:31.454-08:00Available Now! - "Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gRRpk8YkBnO5tippw1I646bmfaaTDVRu2ra_aVO4SkHeE9w1aL3hRPmNn9YXEzhiSZloBV2MkGPvPeCenrP8KzO0dxmOhIWE3CbRrTFCAJ9spcz0vxRIC-xa1jowg5gb4Ei5F_7mydnDTK6kOfFuFeWbTISmvPg6xayhnpJx7edMOGluGv6cifnk/s1080/Hidden%20in%20Childhood%20front%20and%20back.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gRRpk8YkBnO5tippw1I646bmfaaTDVRu2ra_aVO4SkHeE9w1aL3hRPmNn9YXEzhiSZloBV2MkGPvPeCenrP8KzO0dxmOhIWE3CbRrTFCAJ9spcz0vxRIC-xa1jowg5gb4Ei5F_7mydnDTK6kOfFuFeWbTISmvPg6xayhnpJx7edMOGluGv6cifnk/w400-h400/Hidden%20in%20Childhood%20front%20and%20back.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Two of my poems are included in the anthology, "The Listener" and "I HATE SNAKES." Available now on Amazon.com.</p><p><br /></p><p>Dawn Pisturino</p><p>February 17, 2023</p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-4453935807780634532023-01-01T05:46:00.000-08:002023-01-01T05:46:11.325-08:00"Nature's Child" in 2023 Arizona Literary Magazine<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWyJ6NVJgVkmJC1sF6ofUSpjGm5r6QSHyMNZi77qdDAnxVezK-s6kw2c_U3L4ArNSzQu3OqFWhLonYZ7Q_jHXWtJ-vJOGiYiXEm4vssRRYGZcVKqg_wtkyNGQyr5Ph1aYmR0OPVJQRQffforoS-QPt9wYAnoMnCir6jpLL4T-yoTLA_ym9kTL-hLR/s499/2023%20Arizona%20Literary%20magazine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="386" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjWyJ6NVJgVkmJC1sF6ofUSpjGm5r6QSHyMNZi77qdDAnxVezK-s6kw2c_U3L4ArNSzQu3OqFWhLonYZ7Q_jHXWtJ-vJOGiYiXEm4vssRRYGZcVKqg_wtkyNGQyr5Ph1aYmR0OPVJQRQffforoS-QPt9wYAnoMnCir6jpLL4T-yoTLA_ym9kTL-hLR/w310-h400/2023%20Arizona%20Literary%20magazine.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>I'm proud and happy to announce that my poem, <i>Nature's Child</i>, has been published in the <i>2023 Arizona Literary Magazine. </i>The poem won Honorable Mention in the Arizona Authors Association 2022 Literary Contest.</p><p><b>Nature's Child</b></p><p><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p>She overflowed with poetry and music and laughter,</p><p>Spilling the boundaries of her life</p><p>With delicious rivulets of innocence and joy.</p><p>She danced -- naked! -- in the pure white light of a waxing moon</p><p>On a soft, sultry night at the Summer Solstice</p><p>And sang to the icicle stars in the middle of winter.</p><p>Her nakedness gleamed in moonlight and candle-light,</p><p>Sunlight and lamplight,</p><p>But she feared not the shadows or the darkness of night.</p><p>They called her witch, priestess, sorceress of the Devil.</p><p>She laughed at their ignorance --</p><p>These holy men of the Church --</p><p>And covered her nakedness with rose petals and fern.</p><p>Green ivy adorned her wavy red hair -- </p><p>Long strands of vine cut from ancient oak --</p><p>And, in time, she began to resemble the earth itself.</p><p>Green moss sprouted between her virgin legs</p><p>And beneath her hollow armpits.</p><p>Her toenails twisted and curled at the ends of her feet</p><p>Like earthbound roots sunk deep into the soil.</p><p>Her arms opened wide beneath the golden sun,</p><p>Offering prayers and sacrifice to the deity of Life.</p><p>She gathered all the richness of sun and rain,</p><p>Exulting in the wild green world of her existence.</p><p><br /></p><p>She withered with the passing years,</p><p>As her limbs grew gnarled and bare,</p><p>And the birds no longer nested in her hair,</p><p>Until hunters from the village</p><p>Found her standing on the banks of a gushing stream</p><p>And bowed down to worship Nature's Child.</p><p>May 31, 2022</p><p><br /></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-63091017508346982192022-12-23T05:34:00.000-08:002022-12-23T05:34:00.837-08:00Christmas Poems by Christina Rossetti<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtd-hgwZyxnx_RAUK7Or4wFo1FaT3FZBtRlvW-Ua3U5_RUdCdAzMK4ldrFbADJPxuuZ4yflshzKq5510e1g5agvkjnIYILa6XyTdW5Na1TIfoHTT4GVU_sqm76NE4K9qTScUoCNvAAE3VgV-pUqV6yuQOi9IpM1wlgluRule8U-uOFB_yCOtVOwq1/s1018/English%20Christmas.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="1018" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwtd-hgwZyxnx_RAUK7Or4wFo1FaT3FZBtRlvW-Ua3U5_RUdCdAzMK4ldrFbADJPxuuZ4yflshzKq5510e1g5agvkjnIYILa6XyTdW5Na1TIfoHTT4GVU_sqm76NE4K9qTScUoCNvAAE3VgV-pUqV6yuQOi9IpM1wlgluRule8U-uOFB_yCOtVOwq1/w400-h286/English%20Christmas.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><b><u>Christmas Eve</u></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Christmas hath a darkness</b></p><p><b> Brighter than the blazing noon,</b></p><p><b>Christmas hath a chillness</b></p><p><b> Warmer than the heat of June,</b></p><p><b>Christmas hath a beauty</b></p><p><b> Lovelier than the world can show:</b></p><p><b>For Christmas bringeth Jesus,</b></p><p><b> Brought for us so low.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Earth, strike up your music,</b></p><p><b> Birds that sing and bells that ring;</b></p><p><b>Heaven hath answering music</b></p><p><b> For all Angels soon to sing:</b></p><p><b>Earth, put on your whitest</b></p><p><b> Bridal robe of spotless snow:</b></p><p><b>For Christmas bringeth Jesus,</b></p><p><b> Brought for us so low.</b></p><p><b>~Christina Rossetti~</b></p><p><b>1893</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>A Christmas Carol</b></p><p><b>(Set to music as "In the Bleak Mid-winter)</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>In the bleak mid-winter</b></p><p><b> Frosty wind made moan,</b></p><p><b>Earth stood hard as iron,</b></p><p><b> Water like a stone;</b></p><p><b>Snow had fallen, snow on snow,</b></p><p><b> Snow on snow,</b></p><p><b>In the bleak mid-winter</b></p><p><b> Long ago.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Our God, heaven cannot hold Him</b></p><p><b> Nor earth sustain;</b></p><p><b>Heaven and earth shall flee away</b></p><p><b> When He comes to reign:</b></p><p><b>In the bleak mid-winter</b></p><p><b> A stable-place sufficed</b></p><p><b>The Lord God Almighty</b></p><p><b> Jesus Christ.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Enough for Him, whom cherubim</b></p><p><b> Worship night and day,</b></p><p><b>A breastful of milk</b></p><p><b> And a mangerful of hay;</b></p><p><b>Enough for Him, whom angels</b></p><p><b> Fall down </b><b>before,</b></p><p><b>The ox and ass and camel</b></p><p><b> Which adore.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Angels and archangels</b></p><p><b> May have gathered there,</b></p><p><b>Cherubim and seraphim</b></p><p><b> Thronged the air;</b></p><p><b>But only His mother</b></p><p><b> In her maiden bliss</b></p><p><b>Worshipped the Beloved</b></p><p><b> With a kiss.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>What can I give Him,</b></p><p><b> Poor as I am?</b></p><p><b>If I were a shepherd</b></p><p><b> I would bring a lamb,</b></p><p><b>If I were a Wise Man</b></p><p><b> I would do my part,--</b></p><p><b>Yet what can I give Him,</b></p><p><b> Give my heart.</b></p><p><b>~Christina Rossetti~</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>BIO: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) came from a family of talented poets, writers, and painters. Her father, Gabriele Rossetti, emigrated to England as a poet and political exile from Vasto, Abruzzo, Italy. Her mother, Frances Polidori, was the sister of the notorious Lord Byron physician, John William Polidori. Her brother was the renowned poet and painter, Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Christina often posed for her brother's paintings and became a popular poetess in her own right. In popularity, she became the successor of Elizabeth Barrett Browning after the famous poetess died in 1861. Christina published her first collection of poems in 1862, <i>Goblin</i> <i>Market and Other Poems</i>, which remains popular even today. Two of her poems were set to music: <i>A Christmas Carol</i> and <i>Love Came Down at Christmas</i>. She is buried in London's Highgate Cemetery.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-48772303753788805352022-12-03T07:44:00.003-08:002022-12-03T07:44:29.284-08:00"Nature's Child" won Honorable Mention<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwa3pnioNCPWj-56_FPsC0_r7m6w3IrVn0LyyP9N5Vya_DB4_DXzHsI0BQ_OFlgvJX6PF16o3AAE_3ZBZ5j_IrxlZc7gwPrS7ufDfFGP_N7g8zg3nViw7HqKKxein0oLuU-F6mQsHNM2ipWgxVZGI9G-M9Xv1fvs3s3y6a4u5PLF-WqA8ZGrveOhY/s490/WinnerBadge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="490" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWwa3pnioNCPWj-56_FPsC0_r7m6w3IrVn0LyyP9N5Vya_DB4_DXzHsI0BQ_OFlgvJX6PF16o3AAE_3ZBZ5j_IrxlZc7gwPrS7ufDfFGP_N7g8zg3nViw7HqKKxein0oLuU-F6mQsHNM2ipWgxVZGI9G-M9Xv1fvs3s3y6a4u5PLF-WqA8ZGrveOhY/w400-h391/WinnerBadge.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I'm pleased and honored to announce that my poem, "Nature's Child," won Honorable Mention in the Arizona Authors Association 2022 Literary Contest.</p><p><br /></p><p>Thanks for visiting!</p><p><br /></p><p>Dawn Pisturino</p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-64874188016267256332022-11-23T06:39:00.000-08:002022-11-23T06:39:25.184-08:00Autumn to Winter<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyza1H7Qiv9k4CuAya3zFegPBxa1c8v1gA1UDs2ddq99HDJKP95J4WahLtYSkx7I1qZhD87OcQaTvlyjWQ7Tmnk5dzNGZEEPETziRYUbf3CuThfImSDIwOZZ5RVNMB7EbaXkkTcnikxtmzNsYGT85AnoZDFZHln1_yjk40u5PagxAQ8rHYECS_KXF/s5184/lester-hine-VU4HnNmyRcs-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTyza1H7Qiv9k4CuAya3zFegPBxa1c8v1gA1UDs2ddq99HDJKP95J4WahLtYSkx7I1qZhD87OcQaTvlyjWQ7Tmnk5dzNGZEEPETziRYUbf3CuThfImSDIwOZZ5RVNMB7EbaXkkTcnikxtmzNsYGT85AnoZDFZHln1_yjk40u5PagxAQ8rHYECS_KXF/w400-h266/lester-hine-VU4HnNmyRcs-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@lesterhine?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Lester Hine</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/frost-on-leaves?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Autumn to Winter</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The old year is fading</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>and Autumn blows</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>the misty clouds</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>of Winter our way.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #ffa400;">Happy Thanksgiving!</span></b></div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-33828353192016518992022-10-31T06:13:00.000-07:002022-10-31T06:13:38.530-07:00The Vampire - Charles Baudelaire<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQW1tXv1OvasizYuX1jbmPYeGicKKBzngKDakZKg_hk9CTXFKx7Kj_X2cckbsQqxYSjGevvx3fyOdD8qxO44V0_QmOX-VqT_4e9jLRw8rAPALbK1c_UuwnssvKDb6irwVlVvUh2bhUIBCJ_RxJtAGEnmym0D-f4tnE2spSzmIN9Js7ApwUuIld1kV/s7952/rhett-wesley-NQexDDK9P9w-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5304" data-original-width="7952" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQW1tXv1OvasizYuX1jbmPYeGicKKBzngKDakZKg_hk9CTXFKx7Kj_X2cckbsQqxYSjGevvx3fyOdD8qxO44V0_QmOX-VqT_4e9jLRw8rAPALbK1c_UuwnssvKDb6irwVlVvUh2bhUIBCJ_RxJtAGEnmym0D-f4tnE2spSzmIN9Js7ApwUuIld1kV/w400-h266/rhett-wesley-NQexDDK9P9w-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b>The Vampire</b></p><p>by Charles Baudelaire</p><p>You who, like the stab of a knife,</p><p>Entered my plaintive heart;</p><p>You who, strong as a herd</p><p>Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,</p><p><br /></p><p>To make your bed and your domain</p><p>Of my humiliated mind</p><p>-- Infamous bitch to whom I'm bound</p><p>Like the convict to his chain,</p><p><br /></p><p>Like the stubborn gambler to the game,</p><p>Like the drunkard to his wine,</p><p>Like the maggots to the corpse,</p><p>-- Accurst, accurst be you!</p><p><br /></p><p>I begged the swift poniard</p><p>To gain for me my liberty,</p><p>I asked perfidious poison</p><p>To give aid to my cowardice.</p><p><br /></p><p>Alas! both poison and the knife</p><p>Contemptuously said to me:</p><p>"You do not deserve to be freed</p><p>From your accursed slavery,</p><p><br /></p><p>Fool! -- if from her domination</p><p>Our efforts could deliver you,</p><p>Your kisses would resuscitate</p><p>The cadaver of your vampire!"</p><p>~Charles Baudelaire~</p><p>(Translated by William Aggeler, from <i>The Flowers of Evil</i>)</p><p>BIO: Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) was a French poet, art critic, essayist, and translator whose innovative style influenced such poets as Paul Verlaine, Stephane Mallarme, and Arthur Rimbaud. A close friend of painter Edouard Manet, he is best known for his collection of poems, <i>The Flowers of Evil.</i></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-19360782072183708872022-10-24T06:08:00.003-07:002022-10-24T06:08:57.572-07:00October Sunrise<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbZWrpisoLlJfM0RUa8raAK6v7Gnj1oOvBCbRtmYLoyrF0IqgHls7kXcH9MPG_6MTXJbGN06AxnRhSNPcaRjk9R7yHZJNaICiGgpaCbcLfn8FI2nS0K06qt-a4eht2NtLgisFPCoWhKHMKOJcdBedBWKT-A1VEWwgaGulOQUcpZllaolrj2xv-aLB/s4608/DSCN2857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbZWrpisoLlJfM0RUa8raAK6v7Gnj1oOvBCbRtmYLoyrF0IqgHls7kXcH9MPG_6MTXJbGN06AxnRhSNPcaRjk9R7yHZJNaICiGgpaCbcLfn8FI2nS0K06qt-a4eht2NtLgisFPCoWhKHMKOJcdBedBWKT-A1VEWwgaGulOQUcpZllaolrj2xv-aLB/w400-h300/DSCN2857.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">Photo by Dawn Pisturino.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>October Sunrise</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">Orange cotton candy balls</p><p style="text-align: center;">Burst across the sky,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Playing peek-a-boo with Mr. Sun,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Slowly rising from his slumber,</p><p style="text-align: center;">A comical clown dressed in lemon yellow.</p><p style="text-align: center;">~</p><p style="text-align: center;">Dawn Pisturino</p><p style="text-align: center;">Poem and Photo: Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-86170460452521577712022-10-14T06:04:00.000-07:002022-10-14T06:04:14.087-07:00Song of Autumn<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PWFGr_0wif0438ItNFrBaGWqTEMV3Vx0q4Pofibvz1QJPdnjF3VtAEughmWdxlfWErwO_klYNM08HNyuEIvT0XNy81nMExObkbU7M3-0_33uyfyV03YiOnGrvfLQ7G8cgKIveg8K5ASTmnmBKWLhgLRy3d3gaUJJ7WbxOeMlcoer-6_6vMYJYjG-/s4032/aaron-burden-AtDUYurMJIU-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PWFGr_0wif0438ItNFrBaGWqTEMV3Vx0q4Pofibvz1QJPdnjF3VtAEughmWdxlfWErwO_klYNM08HNyuEIvT0XNy81nMExObkbU7M3-0_33uyfyV03YiOnGrvfLQ7G8cgKIveg8K5ASTmnmBKWLhgLRy3d3gaUJJ7WbxOeMlcoer-6_6vMYJYjG-/w300-h400/aaron-burden-AtDUYurMJIU-unsplash.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@aaronburden?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Aaron Burden</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/autumn-landscape?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Song of Autumn</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>I</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Soon we shall plunge into cold darkness;</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Farewell, strong light of our too brief summers!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>I already hear falling, with funereal thuds,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The wood resounding on the pavement of the courtyards.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>All of winter will gather in my being: anger,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Hate, chills, horror, hard and forced labor,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>And, like the sun in its polar hell,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>My heart will be only a red icy block.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>I listen shuddering to each log that falls;</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The scaffold which is being built has not a hollower echo.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>My mind is like the tower which falls</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Under the blows of the indefatigable heavy battering ram.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>It seems to me, lulled by the monotonous thuds,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>That somewhere a casket is being nailed in great haste.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>For whom? Yesterday it was summer; here is autumn!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>This mysterious noise sounds like a departure.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>II</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>I love the green light of your long eyes,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Sweet beauty, but everything today is bitter for me,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>And nothing, neither your love, nor the boudoir, nor the hearth,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Is worth as much to me as the sun shining over the sea.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>But despite all that, love me, tender heart! be maternal,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Even for an ingrate, even for a wicked man;</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Lover or sister, be the passing tenderness</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Of a glorious autumn or of a setting sun.</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>A brief task! The grave is waiting; it is avid!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>My head resting on your knees, let me</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Enjoy, as I grieve for the white torrid summer,</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>The yellow gentle ray of the earlier season!</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>~Charles Baudelaire, translated by Wallace Fowlie, from <i>The Flowers of Evil</i>~</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>BIO: </b><strong style="text-align: center;">Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) was a French poet, art critic, essayist, and translator whose innovative style influenced such poets as Paul Verlaine, Stephane Mallarme, and Arthur Rimbaud. A close friend of painter Edouard Manet, he is best known for his collection <i>The</i> <i>Flowers of Evil</i>.</strong></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-41279532911622708292022-09-27T07:53:00.000-07:002022-09-27T07:53:05.600-07:00Autumn Equinox<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUlgqBfNQyG8N0-Ywss79cksnULPc5cMIIFy2-RmY17nLYA1jJubi2hW4Jri92dHa6Tx0USeZ3yUATpP55nYUcQvKnHafJRzEV4XFBZuLC_EuvhnLUnIZogCDjriyCpujTOL11A1kfywwDVgoMswqfcdOKF11flQEH4dspyyLufqt0GDfMIfaC8bf/s406/Maple%20Tree_discovery.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="406" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUlgqBfNQyG8N0-Ywss79cksnULPc5cMIIFy2-RmY17nLYA1jJubi2hW4Jri92dHa6Tx0USeZ3yUATpP55nYUcQvKnHafJRzEV4XFBZuLC_EuvhnLUnIZogCDjriyCpujTOL11A1kfywwDVgoMswqfcdOKF11flQEH4dspyyLufqt0GDfMIfaC8bf/w400-h400/Maple%20Tree_discovery.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b>Autumn Equinox</b></p><p><b>by Dawn Pisturino</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>The autumn equinox</b></p><p><b>brought the first morning dew</b></p><p><b>sparkling in the sun</b></p><p><b>like tiny crystals</b></p><p><b>welcoming a new day</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>September 22, 2022</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</b></p><p><b>BIO: <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dawn Pisturino is a retired nurse in Arizona whose publishing credits
include poems, limericks, short stories, and articles. Her poetry has appeared
in these anthologies: </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">World Poetry</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Anthology</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, 1987; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Best New
Poems of 1988</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Great Poems of Today</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, 1987; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">New American Poetry Anthology</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">,
1988; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">National Poetry Anthology</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, 1988; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">American Poetry Anthology</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">,
1988; </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, 2022. In 2007, she
had her own health and wellness column in the</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Kingman Daily Miner </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">and published
articles in</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> The Standard </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">and the</span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Bullhead City Bee. </i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Her poems, limericks,
short stories, and articles have appeared in </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">MasticadoresUSA</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Underneath
the Juniper Tree</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Brooklyn Voice</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Danse Macabre du Jour</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Psychic
Magic Ezine</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Working Writer</i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">, and others.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">She has several novels in progress. She is a
member of Mystery Writers of America and the Arizona Authors Association.</span></b></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-22421243642858952232022-09-06T06:14:00.000-07:002022-09-06T06:14:03.365-07:00Boudica's Soliloquy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82b9nv3M3OCZ21EDWyH7sxNJjlkOlmaVwVVuU5sWopTT3CtdjHF2cCLK8AHtWNmoAXZPJhR9HK8aWjD5rmGcXNg3ITa9ANjjSo-giwfAywthEkcWVQVmAZk7MM2OaLNnmPNEsTUdnqepuv3tFB5-gxTzdrIn8zAzwssdUeVsD8hmNciPC9Z05Xhpc/s2048/boudica.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="2048" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi82b9nv3M3OCZ21EDWyH7sxNJjlkOlmaVwVVuU5sWopTT3CtdjHF2cCLK8AHtWNmoAXZPJhR9HK8aWjD5rmGcXNg3ITa9ANjjSo-giwfAywthEkcWVQVmAZk7MM2OaLNnmPNEsTUdnqepuv3tFB5-gxTzdrIn8zAzwssdUeVsD8hmNciPC9Z05Xhpc/w400-h206/boudica.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Boudica's Soliloquy</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>by </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Dawn Pisturino</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Foul deeds of war have broken me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Come, smell the blood! Hear the moans of the dying!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The corpses of my daughters lay silently at my feet,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shamed and murdered by our Roman tormentors.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Colchester and London -- what glorious victories! --</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The blood flowed freely from Roman wounds.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They howled in rage as they died. How we cheered!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But Rome's crawling legions caught us in their snare,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And now, we are vanquished.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Britannia is no more. Weep for a chastised people!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No longer Queen, I am marked for death.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No longer Mother, I will not be consoled.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">No longer Wife, I burn with revenge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I lift the flask of poison to my lips, tasting the bitterness in my mouth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I will lie here with my daughters, my shield across my breast</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And my spear by my side, and welcome Death with honor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Published in the June 2022 <i>Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women</i> anthology, #1 Amazon best-seller in New Releases of Poetry Anthologies. Available now on Amazon in print or Kindle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Amazon Description:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“<em><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3c434a; font-family: "Noto Serif",serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 107%; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Award-winning
authors, Pushcart nominees, emerging poets, voices of women and men, come to
the fore in this stunning, powerful, and unique anthology. Their poems testify
to the challenges that women face in our society, and to their power to
overcome them. A memorable collection of over 200 poems by more than 100
authors, this anthology is a must-have for anyone. We all can benefit from the
poetry of survival, and of healing. We all can benefit from the experiences so
beautifully evoked in this book. We can all come together to emerge triumphant
from pain.”</span></em><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><em><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3c434a; font-family: "Noto Serif",serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 107%; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">~</span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3c434a; font-family: "Noto Serif",serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 107%; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Dawn Pisturino</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3c434a; font-family: "Noto Serif",serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 107%; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">September 6, 2022</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; color: #3c434a; font-family: "Noto Serif",serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 107%; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><br /><p></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3784469638656434609.post-34748041115518368782022-08-16T10:23:00.001-07:002022-08-16T10:23:22.599-07:00Joe Biden<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQIYNWSxxQE3du1QxSitnMvqJ0A7R7Tv3GDwsAdxuKp-efyQaRn-7E9vS3pZALRRPlCpGU7eF-yYqUWqulX7aLvTQMhPW1mELhO_Fqf_uJVL3xabWTnjmW3Fk7l4L8lV9ZiTKjBVjH3S6a8kpx9-96CRp5a-c7CgdUhqMDi0LEmU3nMy93E71ZQfD/s259/Joe%20Biden%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="259" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQIYNWSxxQE3du1QxSitnMvqJ0A7R7Tv3GDwsAdxuKp-efyQaRn-7E9vS3pZALRRPlCpGU7eF-yYqUWqulX7aLvTQMhPW1mELhO_Fqf_uJVL3xabWTnjmW3Fk7l4L8lV9ZiTKjBVjH3S6a8kpx9-96CRp5a-c7CgdUhqMDi0LEmU3nMy93E71ZQfD/s1600/Joe%20Biden%202.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b>Joe Biden</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>The decrepit old fool in the White House</b></p><p><b>With creaky jaws</b></p><p><b>Squeaks out lie after lie</b></p><p><b>Until nobody believes him anymore.</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><b>~ Dawn Pisturino ~</b></p><p><b>Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.</b></p>Dawn Pisturinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06136366709880693159noreply@blogger.com1