MARTA MORAN BISHOP
  • My World
  • My Books
  • Owl and Pussycat Promotions
  • New Releases
  • Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal
  • Guest Blogs
  • THE DIVIDE
  • Author Interviews
  • The Divide - Dawn Rises
  • My World
  • My Books
  • Owl and Pussycat Promotions
  • New Releases
  • Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal
  • Guest Blogs
  • THE DIVIDE
  • Author Interviews
  • The Divide - Dawn Rises
Search
Picture

It's the Simple Things

MY FRIEND

9/23/2019

2 Comments

 
Picture
The nearly three decades that lay between Bev and me made no difference in our friendship, they just didn’t exist except as a number some might look at from the outside. The difference in ages wasn’t there from the moment we met or the ensuing fourteen years. We were two women, and we were friends.


She accepted the quirky side of me, and I, the pragmatic side of her. We were friends and neighbors for most of those years but in the old sense of the word. An acceptance of each other and a finding of common ground. We talked, joked, joy and found comfort in each other. We helped each other where we could, sometimes it was only listening, and sometimes it was watching out for each other and caring.


There were no expectations between us, but there was an abundant joy in having that cup of tea, glass of wine, dinner together, and conversation. I have a love of history and knew a lot about the world that she was born into, it was a world that I found comfortable to listen to stories of, or to share my own that I had learned from my mother and reading. We shared as two women will stories of loss, adventure, love, and we talked about children. Though I didn’t have any, I enjoyed learning of hers and of her youth, her meeting her husband Red, their adventures in Africa and the mischief her children got into in their youth.


You see a woman has many roles, she is a daughter, a child, a young girl, a young woman, a wife, a mother, and as she ages and loses many of those she knew in her youth, few remember her as a woman and a person. Her husband sees her as his wife, her children as their mother, and many as an old woman, even before she has aged enough to be considered old.


Bev and I never expected anything from each other, we only enjoyed what was given freely. She had her passions, and they showed in her paintings, the thesis she wrote and shared with me, in her love of people, life, animals, and her children.


And she loved her children deeply, she was so very proud of each and every one of them and bragged about their accomplishments, and talked of them often. There was never anything hurtful or wrong in what she said. She accepted people for who they were and understood that they were people too.


She was my friend, and I was honored to know her. I was honored to be there for her when she needed me, and I was blessed to call her friend. As I grow older, I understand better how much she gave me of herself and how precious it was and always will be to me. And I know how difficult it can be to lose those that remember you as the young woman that you will forever remain, no matter how old or frail you get.
​
Her one wish was that her children would love each other and find acceptance of each other after she was gone. I am blessed to have met the Mentzer family, I am blessed she was my friend.


The night Bev passed she came to me in a dream, we were at a pier, her children were a ways off, with many people in between us, and she was wearing a faded floral dress that was too big. It kept falling off her shoulders, and she said to me “The dress doesn’t fit anymore.” And I said “It always happens as we grow doesn’t it?”


Bev said, “my boat is here, I don’t know my new address yet, but I will get it to you.” And I woke up. I knew she was gone, I knew she had given me a final blessing in coming to say goodbye, and I knew that Bev wanted me to tell her children how much she loved them and how proud she had always been of them.
2 Comments

Daytona Dead: A Laura & Gerry Mystery Book Three - by Karen Vaughan

9/22/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
Picture
Picture
The honeymoon of Laura and Gerry Fitz is off to a fast-paced yet deadly start when they arrive in Florida. There is a maniac behind the wheel who needs to win at all costs. When he wins, life is great but when he loses he is DRIVEN TO KILL!
The first victim off the starting line is Laura's ex-husband Lou, and she is taking it personally. Mix in a creepy cop and some unexpected surprises and you have a race for your life. Who will win and who will wipe out?...
Picture
Karen Vaughan spins this entertaining yarn about a honeymoon couple, a psychotic race car driver and crooked cops with wit and humor. The characters are likeable and her attention to the details of police protocol lend plausibility to the plot. There's never a dull moment in Daytona for Laura and Gerry, which is what makes this such a page-turner. Thoroughly enjoyed it.

By Joan P. Ashley
Picture
https://www.amazon.com/DAYTONA-DEAD-LAURA-GERRY-MYSTERIES-ebook/dp/B07D918NX7/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8
https://www.amazon.com/Daytona-Dead-Karen-H-Vaughan/dp/1460211340/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=
0 Comments

KAREN VAUGHAN INTERVIEWS MARTA MORAN BISHOP ON WRITERS ROUND TABLE

9/13/2019

0 Comments

 
0 Comments

FROM THE PAGES OF GRANDFATHER'S LIFE BY AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR VIV DREWA

6/2/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
Picture
Picture
​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.
Picture
https://www.amazon.com/Pages-Grandfathers-Life-Viv-Drewa-ebook/dp/B00I3PNX76/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
0 Comments

DEAD TO WRITES A LAURA & GERRY MYSTERY - BOOK 7 - BY KAREN VAUGHAN

5/4/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
Picture
Picture
Picture
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!
Picture
​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
Picture
https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Writes-Laura-Gerry-Mystery-ebook/dp/B07CJNG5P4/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8 https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dead-to-writes-karen-vaughan/1128533370?ean=9781717244826 http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Dead-Writes/Karen-Vaughan/9781717244826?id=6960723244637 https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dead-to-writes-3
0 Comments

The Nurse Mare's Tale - COMING SOON

3/9/2019

0 Comments

 
Picture
“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.

0 Comments

Thoughts on ownership.

6/3/2018

0 Comments

 
Picture
​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.

0 Comments

When I Was Not Myself

3/31/2018

0 Comments

 
Picture

WHEN I WAS NOT MYSELF
 
There is beauty in my soul
And kindness in my heart
A sadness for mistakes I made
 
When I was not myself
 
It’s easy to go astray
And lose oneself
When you follow not your spirit
Or the whispers in your head
 
The desire not to hurt
Or disappoint can overwhelm
The pressure to fit in
The need to belong
Can blind you, so you cannot see
 
When you are not yourself
 
I do not seek to judge
Those I once called friend
For I know not their pain
Or what is in their hearts
Nor could I have sought the answers
 
When I was not myself
  
I honor all the memories
Of those that I have lost
For even in my anguish
I learned a lot.
 
To listen to the whispers
The screaming of my spirit
Even when it sees those things I wish weren’t so
I am grateful to those who stayed

When I was in the dark
 
It can’t have been easy
But you helped me find my way
As I walk toward the light
And listen to my soul
As it takes the splendor in
 
And I become myself
 
I’ll remember those days of dark despair
When the world closed in
A few scars will remain upon my heart
From lessons I have learned
 
When I was not myself
 
I’ll not judge myself
For those mistakes I made
Nor flog my spirit bloody
But take them as lessons learned

For you cannot go back
 
As I travel on my path
Through the deep dark woods
Muddy black bogs of loss
As I make my way back
Into the beauty that I am
 
The darkness and despair
The loneliness and sorrow
Will be a memory of the days
 
When I was not myself

​From the book When I Was Not Myself.

0 Comments

December 21st, 2013

12/21/2013

0 Comments

 
0 Comments

FOR THE LOVE OF POETRY

1/26/2013

0 Comments

 

ADULT POETRY VERSUS CHILDRENS POETRY

Picture
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


Picture
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?


Picture
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.
Picture
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……



Picture
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.

Picture
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!





Picture
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….


Picture
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….



Picture
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.

Picture
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.



 

0 Comments
<<Previous
Forward>>
    https://www.tumblr.com/blog/martawrites

    Author

    ​Whether I am reading, or writing I am taken out of myself and will return more enlightened. From the magic of the places I have been, the people I have met, and the story that captured me for a while.

    My first book, Wee Three: A Mothers Love In Verse, a children’s poetry book, illustrated by Hazel Mitchell, was a collaborative effort and a labor of love. I took the short, sweet verses my grandmother wrote in the nineteen thirty’s for her children and expanded those and added additional verses of my own.

    I have been called a prolific and versatile writer. I currently have two children’s poetry books, Wee Three: A Mother's Love in Verse and Innocence and Wonder, four novella's Darkness Descends, The Between Times, The Choosing, Keeping the Upper Paw: A Cat's Guide to Training Your Human 

    My novel Dinky: The Nurse Mare’s Foal, based on the true story of my rescue foal and written from his point of view and is enjoyed by both children and adults alike. Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal, won best Equine Rescue book at the EQUUS Film Festival, for 2015 and 2016 season.


    The Divide Series, takes us into a world that could be, it is a dystopian series that starts with book 1 Darkness Descends, and book 2 The Between Times, it tells the story of a bleak world, where society consists of the poor and the rich and the poor live in squalor, with only a prophecy for hope of a better future. It has a touch of paranormal in its pages.

    I have written four adult poetry books and a variety of fantasy and paranormal stories. A few of them are stories that my mother wrote over forty years ago and I finished while others are new and vibrant stories.

    I learned that one needed to have a plot and conversation to move the story forward from a particularly bad play I wrote at the age of six. It was the worst play ever written or performed. It was so awful my mother stopped the production after about three minutes.

    I currently live on a small farm with my husband, three horses, cats and a green cheeked conjure named Jack. They help me remember to view the world through a child's innocence and keep me young and imaginative.

    Visit me on Facebook  

    Archives

    February 2022
    October 2021
    June 2021
    September 2020
    August 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    September 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    March 2019
    June 2018
    March 2018
    December 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    February 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    July 2011

    Categories

    All
    Embrace
    Entwined
    Giggles
    Grins
    Joy
    Lovers
    Rainbows
    Trees

    RSS Feed

    Marta Moran Bishop Author

    Promote Your Page Too
Marta Moran Bishop is an award-winning author, poet. A radio show host and one of the team for Owl and Pussycat promotions.
  • My World
  • My Books
  • Owl and Pussycat Promotions
  • New Releases
  • Dinky: The Nurse Mare's Foal
  • Guest Blogs
  • THE DIVIDE
  • Author Interviews
  • The Divide - Dawn Rises