Ode To Autumn

Autumn is here – lovely poem

S C Richmond


Here we are again,  Autumn has rolled around quickly and now the leaves are turning golden red and the temperature is dipping, preparing us for winter.

I wanted to share one of the most beautiful poems ever written about Autumn.

Ode To Autumn  by John Keats

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, 5

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease; 10

For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting…

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Author Spotlight: H.M. Jones-Monochrome

Feminine Collective is publishing – book looks good

Nicole Lyons


Monochrome has a new publisher! Feminine Collective is re-releasing it as a 3rd edition Sept. 2016, with the above cover as an e-book and Oct. 2016 in paperback.

 Monochrome is an IndieBrag Medallion book, an Honorable Mention at the 2016 Los Angeles Book Festival, and a NIEA Book Award Finalist in the NA category! 


Monochrome H.M. Jones: Synopsis

What would you do to save your most precious memories?

That’s the question that Abigail Bennet, a new mother, must answer in this dark fantasy.

The cries of her new baby throw Abigail into rage and desperation. Frightened by foreign anger and overwhelming depression, the first-time mother decides to end her life to spare the life of her only child. But before she acts on her dark intuition, she is overcome by a panic attack and blacks out.

When she awakes, everything is blue: the trees, the grass…

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At First Thought – Matthew D. Eayre

A husband’s real love.

Nicole Lyons


The very first time your eyes met mine, there was a promise made, a guarantee given from my mind to yours that there will never be a day that I forget this moment.

There will never be a time when this moment means less because your eyes sing to mine like Etta James on a slow southern night, your eyes are the stars shining in the clearest night. There was a promise made, and I agreed without reservation or consideration, without a moment’s hesitation,

I agreed to live the rest of my life knowing

for an absolute fact

that love is real,

love is meant for me,

that the one person

that I truly need is you.

The promise was made, and I have never felt one second of remorse, not one thought of regret, I promised to always understand what it meant in all those fairytales, when the eyes…

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Real strength

Ruby Pipes

We sit in his car and I wipe tears away with my coat sleeve. I’m reminded of how my Portland therapist taught me the difference between being tough and being strong. The difference between acting like nothing hurts and knowing things will hurt, but doing them anyway.

My best friend tells me my heart is always going in fifty directions. That is must be hard if not impossible to follow something like that.

On the wall in the restaurant two signs hang next to each other. One reads “be strong” while the other “be gentle”. Finally I’m at the place in my life where those two demands do not seem at odds with each other.

In his apartment I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him as close to me as I can. One part pride, one part relief, two parts heartbreak. I cling tightly to the idea…

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A Family Plan for Depression

Having a plan for dealing with depression as a family is way better than not having one. Nicole knows whereof she speaks – listen.

Nicole Lyons

The first time I posted this was in 2014 but I have no idea where it is, so here we go again, because it’s that time of year and I know what could happen. My fingers are crossed that it won’t, but this ain’t my first rodeo, better safe than sorry.


Being a Mom is tough, wonderful, but tough. Being a mom who sometimes becomes overwhelmed with depression and anxiety is exceptionally tough. Most moms that I know personally struggle with thoughts of “how bad am I screwing up my kids?” These are common questions that the most loving and caring mothers think, usually on daily basis. The funny thing is that we know we are amazing moms. Throw depression into the mix and pack your bags because we are going on a guilt trip.

Back in October I was thrown into a pretty intense state of depression. It was a…

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There is a theme that runs through some of the recent deaths of Americans at the hands of police. That theme is the failure of the citizen in question to comply with an order or demand by a police officer. Repeatedly, we hear that somehow that noncompliance was regarded by one or more officers as a mortal and immanent threat to their safety. Some significant proportion of those killed (Accurate and complete statistics are not being kept.) have been Black. Another group that seems to be disproportionately involved is the mentally ill. Whatever the race, ethnicity, social-economic status, religion, or mental state of the victim, this is wrong. Noncompliance with a police officer’s order is not supposed to be a capital crime. It is wrong for it to resutl in summary, extra-judicial execution.

Very often in these situations we hear that the citizen killed had a gun, or something that appeared to be a gun, or was believed to be reaching for a gun. I one recent case, the dead man had informed the officer that he was the holder of a permit to carry his gun and was killed anyway. *[I’ll come back to another aspect of this.]

I’m going to do a small thought experiment with a possible rule about when police would be allowed to shoot someone. I do not expect the rule ever to be adopted. It is a fantasy. I know also that if it were used it would increase danger to police officers, so don’t hammer at me that I’m trying to get cops killed. This is a “what if” experiment.

The rule would be that the police could not, no doubt with some exceptions, shoot unless the subject shot first. Simply having a gun, or brandishing a gun, or having what appeared to be a gun, even pointing or appearing to point a gun at the police would not be enough. If such a rule had been in effect, it is likely that the gentleman killed on Tuesday in Charlotte, NC would still be alive. Tamir Rice would be alive. The 13 year old with the BB gun would be alive. That man in Baton Rouge would likely be alive. Even that fellow involved in the occupation of the wildlife refuge in Oregon would possibly be alive. I don’t know how many others, or at what price to our police.

*Returning to the matter of people being killed because they have a gun, there is a generally very vocal faction I would expect to be quite concerned with that, but from whom I am not hearing about these incidents. I speak of the defenders of the interpretation of The Second Amendment as enshrining an individual right to be armed. I should think that the idea of American Citizens being killed for having a firearm in their possession would be anathema to that community, that they would see that as the most egregious possible violation of a sacred Constitutional Right. Maybe I’m not tuned into the right channels, but I do not hear their outrage. I hope it is not because of who is dying being more important than why they are dying.


More poetry from Jessica Scott

The Well Tempered Bards


Big grey clouds are covering my skies lately. Every so often there’s a

break where the sun shines through but then,

too quickly,

the clouds eat it up again. I’m flailing here.

I don’t know what to do,

so all I can do is simply sit

and wait until the storm begins and, then,

ride it out.
It’s tiring, this waiting.

I try to build up a sand-bag partition because

I know it will flood

but the bags are so heavy and I tire from the work.

Besides, it’s just sand in the bags. One rip and it all washes away

and the water will still continue to trickle through. Or else,

the sand will absorb only so much of the water and then that’s it.

It can take no more.

Maybe I’m the bag of sand.
Sometimes I’m the water,

threatening to rage across the land,

devour everything in…

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