150 hits

http://www.thelinnetswings.net/?stn=96409&pageno=1

this one is doing well :)

tweetthemeat

I like writing really short things but writing to a theme in only 140 characters including spaces is SHORT and let me tell you difficult! So I'm proud of this medieval themed story. It took longer to tell you about it than the story is...

http://tweetthemeat.blogspot.com/

Two new poems at The Shine

Natural Enemy and The Coldest Heart are up in the February Issue. I'm particualrly fond of The Coldest Heart

http://www.theshinejournal.com/joslinoms.htm

Winter's Last Breath

I don't think we've seen the last of it yet and Tuesday is Groundhog Day better known as Candlemass - one of the Quarter Days of the old ecclesiastical calendar. It's kind of opposite Halloween - as far away from the shortest day as the equinox. So I thought you'd like to go over to Boston Literary Magazine's Winter edition and reread this poem which seems appropriate.

http://www.bostonliterarymagazine.com/winter09poetry.html#winter09breath.html

The Linnet's Wings

I love this magazine and I've been in it before so do look in the achives but on this occasion my contribution is a poem.

In addition some of my friends are there too, Bill West, Jennifer Stakes, Casey Quinn, Rumjhum Biswas Check it out

http://www.thelinnetswings.net/?stn=96409&pageno=1

25th January

A day for poetry - it being Burns' Night and I'm celebrating with a poem at Bewildering Stories which you can find here http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue369/hawk.html Accomplice to the Hawk

Will I be having Haggis, neeps 'n' tatties? Of course I will - despite not being Scotch myself. Great excuse for a small libation! I have to celebrate poetry - it's part of the job :) And so I gie ye Burns'

Address To A Haggis
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

Still hope - for Haiti

Good News

depends on your point of view.

Pessimists see only the quake
blood on the snow
death


Optimists see a thousand tales of courage and survival
another meal for the fox
a new beginning

Every blade of hope cuts two ways.