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Saboteurs target mass cycling event It's not the first time event opponents have tried to ruin the mass ride. Order by Oldest first Newest first Highest scored Lowest scored. Loading comments Suspend Last Updated:. Reply Quote. Edit Delete Report. Report This Comment.
Debris strewn across M5 after truck loses load
My first articles were with Backpacker magazine where I was a Contributing Editor for seven years. That was after I had three books pubished! Came in the back way!
The amount of magazines was staggering. When I added up each individual story, they totaled nearly nine hundred. That feels like a successful life as a writer- a magazine writer. What was that Journalism teacher talking about!! At one time, I had 50 published in a single calendar year. Now, it is twenty and most of them are with a handful of my favorite magazines, as in Pennsylvania Magazine, my absolute favorite.
These days, I would rather write books as I took a hiatus for ten years from book writing. Making up for lost time. It was interesting timing though. At the same time that my studio floor was covered in magazines, I got a message from a Journalism major at Northampton College. She said her class assignment was to shadow a magazine writer on assignment. Since I was heading to Easton, a city near her home, to write a week-end get-away, I invited her along for the day.
She watched how I interacted with folks I met, asked questions, took notes, shot photos, and discovered wonderful things about the town and its people that I could share in my story. We walked along an art trail by Bushkill Creek and I told her that she would have a happy life as a writer if she truly loved to write and communicate and if she loved that more than making money, because a lot of money is not in the cards for most writers.
She said that she did. I returned home from my press trip to Easton and gathered up my extra magazines strewn on my studio floor, only saving one copy of each.
Reds' road to glory strewn with injury and deficiencies, says Richard Buxton
Twenty-five boxes were hauled to recycling. I done good, I thought. Any writer can do well if they have something of value to share and they love to write.
This poem is in reference to one of my favorite paintings - "Ivan the Terrible killing his son" by Ilya Repin. The painting immortalizes the moments after Tsarevich Ivan Ivanovich of Russia strikes his son Ivan in the head with his scepter in a fit of rage, killing him. In brief, I use the word serenade to mean "serene" or "calm". Elated to see you aloft in the night sky To what do I owe this enchanted boon. In the merry company of winking stars, Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.
Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver. Accompany me through my sleepless nights. Watching over me with unwavering vigil. Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite. Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals, Sands drowned breathless but craving for more. Few nights now Smitten as you coyly turn away. Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades, Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face. A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.
More nights pass Now I see only a lesser moon Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon, I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed. I silently look up as more nights go by. I watched my lunar love dissolving into space. My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.
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- Organize Your Life Super-Simple Ways. - Byler Barns.
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Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair. I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void But they'd only twinkle in indifference Regardless of the pleas I've employed. Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.