​Grandfather fought for his freedom, not unlike the slaves who fought for their in the south around the time of the civil war. Grandfather escaped from a communist regime in Russia and Poland to make a better life for himself and his family. The things this man had to endure during his escape from what sounds like a living hell makes me realize the pursuit of happiness of the human race. A place to live in peace, freedom, liberty, and justice. The author of this book is his granddaughter a lovely person who carries on her grandfather’s legacy in a beautiful and endearing way. Read this short excerpt of Grandfather's life. It is humbling, to say the least. A feel-good read.
 
In 1913, Lucjan Czepirski was a man trapped in Russian occupied Poland. This short story concentrates on his escape and is suspenseful until the very end. Viv Drewa paints a story about a desperate man determined to have a better life. Five Stars.

Natalie Fisher committed suicide after an author stole her work and published it as her own. 
Two years later, her best friend Terri is found dead in her hotel room. 
Are the two deaths connected? 
Laura Fitz and Detective Gibbons are on the case to trap a ruthless author trying to get away with murder!

​Laura Fritz is back along with the characters I have come to love from this author's other books in the series. This time, Laura meets a couple of authors.Natalie, Silvie and Terri were close friends and struggling to be authors. When tow of the women die mysteriously, Laura gets involved and the adventure to solve a mystery begins. Karen Vaughan writes no-frills stories with amazing and believable characters. Grabbing a book by this author is like sitting down with an old friend and having a chat. Here novels are twisted mysteries with a cozy appeal and not to be missed. P.S. Winn

“Why do you call her the Ghost?” Tom asked Sam, as they sat in the cab of the truck.
 
“She is white now and has been extraordinarily meek and mild-mannered since her second foal. You hardly remember she is there most of the time.” He replied.
 
There was a sly lazy air about Tom. A bit slovenly, his long hair hanging greasy, on his shoulders, with a few strands combed across his prematurely balding head. Sam could hardly bear the smell of him, a combination of greasy hair and a pungent smell of stale beer clinging to him. “Will you open the window a bit, Tom?” Sam asked. He wore his blue jeans in what humans commonly referred to as a plumber’s crack; I don’t see how he can walk properly, I will have to get the boss to discuss his clothes it won’t do working with horses.
 
The red truck backed up to the gate of Sadie’s paddock, “Tom would you please go open the gate for me?” Sam asked.
 
“I’ll take a look-see, Sadie; be right back,” Nellie said as she walked back out to her paddock. Poking her head back in Nellie said, “One of them is old Samuel, but the shorter man looks like a real greenhorn Sadie I never saw him before.” He is a little man, a bit sly looking, with a mean look in his eye and the smell of cruelty.” Both mares’ ears perked up to hear the two men outside the small barn.
 
“Tom here’s the rope, go get the Ghost. You can bring her out through the paddock. I’ll be waiting at the trailer for you. She will be a bit cranky, but education is what you are here for. Besides I am here to show, not do the work.”
 
“Sam, which one of them is the Ghost, and if she is cranky, what’s the best way to get the rope around her?” Tom asked cunningly.
 
“As I already said, she is the white one. How long have you been around horses Tom? Surely long enough to know what a freaking halter is. Just go up to her, talk soothingly, and put the lead rope on the ring. It is the ring on the chin strap, at the base of the halter.” Sam shook his head in disgust. What the hell did the boss think when he sent this useless piece of shit to him for training? I bet this jerk can’t even tell the difference between a forelock and a frog. Maybe the guy was just lazy, though he might be like some people who acted stupid so they can get out of doing chores. Sam thought.
 
“I hear Nurse Mares have become a big business?” Tom said, to delay going into the barn. His voice full of bravado, but the mares could smell his nerves even with the barn doors closed. Sadie, could hear it in his voice. It worried her.

​Throughout history, people have enslaved others, regardless of their race or religion. They fought to own more, considered the land, water, animals, and yes at many times women and children to be the property of man. There have been exceptions to this rule. The societies that were a monarchy, not patriarchy, might have felt they owned men, who are to know I don’t. The Native American’s thought highly of their women, but also considered them tradeable as were animals. They didn’t consider the earth itself ownable.
This country was settled on a white supremacist attitude, and that bothers me a lot. It bothers me that even today, so many have these same issues of supremacy and ownership.
I do not own my animals or my land in this way of thinking. I am the steward of this piece of land. I am the caregiver and companion of my animals. I adopted them; they are incapable of caring for themselves as they were not raised to know how and therefore I owe them care. We give and exchange companionship. I would, however, fight to protect my home, animals, the land we live on to continue to protect it and them.
I do not understand the attitude that many have of superiority and ownership of anything that is living, be it animal, plant, air, water or anything else. If this makes me odd, so be it.

My first memories of poetry were from A Child’s Garden of Verse by Robert Louis Stevenson,  the same author who wrote the beloved classic Treasure Island

A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young, Now We Are Six, and the Winnie the Pooh stories. These beloved verses and the illustrations of E.H. Shepard were to see me through my childhood filling my mind and fertilizing my imagination as they did for so many children.

Yet where did that love of poetry go for so many people?

I think it is in the way poetry is taught in today’s world. For instance, on my first day of Honors English class in college as the professor was giving us the curriculum for the semester.  listed what we would cover in the order in which we would cover it. The very last on the list was poetry, with a shrug she said “I’m not really comfortable with poetry, so am leaving it for last. I hope there isn't time.” I heard much the same, when I joined the editorial board of the college Journal of the Arts. The poetry picked for the journal by and large was full of abstract thought. It was as if the general consensus about poetry is if it’s abstract and difficult to figure out the meaning behind the words than it must be good. No wonder so many say they don’t understand poetry or don’t like poetry, when English professors admit they don’t understand it.  "Life doesn't frighten me." Maya Angelou 

It is a shame that poetry has such a bad rap, (no pun intended) as poetry weaves through our entire lives, even if we don’t know it. You hear it in the lyrics of the music. It is in our greeting cards on coffee mugs, in commercials, you name it and you will find poetry. Yet many parents shy away from either reading it to their children or picking it up and reading it to themselves.

What is the meaning of poetry to me you might ask? Poetry and verse are short stories telling the tale lying in the heart and mind of the author. It doesn't matter if it is adult or children’s poetry, I don’t want to have to study the poem to understand the concept behind the verse. This doesn't mean that if it is complex and difficult to figure out its , Maya Angelou, any more than a piece of abstract or minimalism art is bad art. It only means it isn't a preference of mine. I prefer my poetry to speak to me. I want it to carry me into the emotions and thoughts of the poet.

If I am reading or writing poetry aimed at children, I prefer it speaks to a child in their language and doesn't talk down to them. I like it to help me remember those feelings I had as a child thus connecting me both with the child within and with children in general. The same goes with adult poetry I want to feel something to see a picture and experience the mind and emotion of the author.

As I see it the main difference between the children’s and adults’ poetry is children think more literally. They feel the same emotions but don’t always understand where they are coming from. They are still learning and their vocabulary is growing. They see the world with more innocence and wonder. An adult on the other hand has seen more of life which usually means they will have a larger vocabulary and understand their emotions more or the subtle nuances and complexity of a poem.

Poets, who have stood the test of time and are considered great poets, tell a story in their poetry. Between children and adults the stories differ, but still there is a story and the use of imagination and/or emotion.

If you read the work of a contemporary poet like Maya Angelou, who is universally acclaimed one of the finest poets of our generation she tells a story in her poetry. It is full of beauty, sorrow, imagination, and hope. One of my favorites is her Phenomenal Woman you can find the link to the rest of the poem below as well as a youtube video of the reading.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNj9cpvj-pU Maya Angelou, Phenomenal Woman

 http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phenomenal-woman/[b2] 

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me……

You can also find that same lyrical, storytelling style in the poetry of any of the classic poets. For example look at Edgar Allan Poe’s, A Dream Within A Dream, below is the link to the whole poem and a short example of the poem itself.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxg7OFFtWQE&feature=related Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within A Dream.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dream-within-a-dream/

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

Some classic poetry rhymes, all of it is lyrical. Most children’s poetry rhymes because children remember rhymes more easily making it simpler for them to learn. They enjoy the rhyming and it helps spark their imaginations.

Many articles have been written on how rhyming helps children learn and why the classics are a great way to both entertain and teach children. You can read it in many articles, one of them is classic poems for kids.  http://www.squidoo.com/classic-poems-for-kids  It shows the simplicity that inspires children’s poetry.

This simplicity is shown so well in, William Makepeace Thackeray’s, 
At The Zoo .

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys-mercy, how unpleasantly they-smelt!

Or in Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems The Cow and The Land of Counterpane, which describes  so intensely just how a child’s imagination works.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MouuBLfHBBc Robert Louis Stevenson, The Land of Counterpane

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0K-umvbKgY The Cow by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Cow
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart….

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bedclothes, through the hills….

In Wee Three: A Child’s World, you find a similar rhyming quality that helps a child stretch their imagination and will speak to them in the language of youth. This language is full of imaginative, innocent, and literal ways children look at the world. There are many children’s poets but the ones that seem to stand the test of time all write as though they were looking at the world through the eyes of a child.

In my book A Poet’s Journey: Emotions, my style is more like the poets of the past and present  who tell a story in their verse and less abstract. It tells of the emotional roller-coaster that life can be.

If you read either children’s or adults poetry I believe you will agree the main difference between poetry written for a child and that for an adult is in the sophistication of the poem and the type of story it tells. At least this is true of most of the classic poets.



 

The elite of the horse world are the high-dollar mares. They are show animals or racing animals, bringing high dollars for their foals because they have a history of excellence and winning. For them, time is money and it's important that the mare be kept busy birthing instead of spending weeks nursing her offspring. That job is given to a nurse mare.

Much like the old-time wet nurse employed by wealthy mothers throughout history, the nurse mare is of uncertain or unimportant bloodlines and incapable of bringing substantial income to her owner. In order to nurse the important foal, she must have recently given birth and produce the necessary milk. The question is: What becomes of the nurse mare's foal?

By many called a “junk foal,” this unfortunate newborn is considered a necessary
evil, a disposable byproduct. The cost of trying to nurse this foal until it is
weaned is high, so often the“junk foal” is killed outright and disposed of.
Sometimes it's shipped off to auction and bought by manufacturers who use its
hide to make expensive bags or shoes. Whatever its fate, the nurse mare's foal
is considered an unimportant nuisance.

The nurse mare’s foal is usually taken from its mother anytime from one day to a
week after birth instead of the ten to twelve weeks that foals commonly nurse.
The times vary, depending on when the high-dollar mare foals. Generally the
nurse mare is shipped off to the farm to nurture and foster the high-priced foal.

The horse industry benefits from this barbaric practice because the high-dollar mare gets back in shape more quickly, so she can show well and invite more offers for her offspring. While some stables allow the mare three to four weeks to
recuperate after giving birth, many are sent to the stallion for rebreeding
within seven to ten days of giving birth.

There are Equine Rescue Leagues that have spent their time, energy, and money to help the rejected foals. Without them, more of these small lives would be lost. Most of the rescuers are knowledgeable, but there are a few well-intentioned people who want to save the newborns without any knowledge of horses. In some cases these organizations succeed almost by accident, and in others they make matters worse for the animals in their care. Unfortunately these groups sometimes rely on unscrupulous people, self-proclaimed experts who have their own hidden
agendas.

The lucky foal is adopted by people who know and love horses or who go out of their way to learn the needs and care of this fragile baby animal. Too many are
adopted by men and women who know little or nothing about horses, let alone the
unique care these foals require, and the new owners soon become overwhelmed. As a result, some foals are bought and sold several times before they reach
maturity. Others die from lack of proper nutrition and proper parasite control.
The nurse mare's foal unfortunate enough to fall into the wrong hands usually
grows up with multiple deformities and bone development problems. Some have
social development issues, never learning how to be a horse or understanding the
role of a horse with a human companion.

This book is the story of one nurse mare's foal and its fight for survival.

Marta Moran Bishop and Toni Boyle

My heart and soul are full today; the holiday season has brought peace and joy to me. Spending time with family on
Christmas Eve and then spending Christmas with my husband, watching the Kittens play with their toys.


Our three horses were so overjoyed with the extra treats in their breakfast bucket and the extra time we spent with them. It was a quiet day, Ken and I watched a few movies some old John Wayne and some new brought a much needed respite for both of us.

I hope all of you had a joyous Holiday season, however you celebrate it and wish for all a happy, prosperous and healthy New Year. Blessings

Spirits danced high on waves of colored lights
Joyful song, laughter and well wishes fill the air
Kittens snuggled up near the woodstove today
Warming their backsides on this cold winter day
Bless all the children and the furbabies too.