Welcome to my corner of this wonderful community where I share my poetry, short stories, and occasional photos. My husband and I have been married for almost thirty-five years, and we have two adult children. Our furry family member is Copper, an 80-lb chocolate lab mix, and he just turned 13 years old.
I have published two collections of poetry: New Day, New Dreams (2013) and Finding a Balance (2015). My memoir, More than Coffee, was published in 2021, and my recent publication is a poetry collection titled Ever So Gently released in July.
I have finished my first children’s book and am working with my illustrator with plans to publish in 2024.
When you visit, I hope you find something to take with you, but that you also find something enticing enough to keep bringing you back. I truly appreciate your visit.
Cheers,
Lauren ❤️
Firs and pines closely observe us as we take a self-guided tour through their homeland, strolling slowly, while enjoying occasional granite-hopping. We don’t believe they’re bothered by our company because our vibes of respect are as profound as their whispers of wisdom. The lizards entertain as they run like sprinters in a race across the smooth stone, reaching higher elevations to avoid our footsteps, and of course, their safety is critical. All this we do beneath the brilliant blue canopy of sky – the color of my husband’s eyes. Debris crowds our minds, and our awareness is keen. But the warmth of tranquility pushes aside the mess like whisky leisurely flowing through our bodies. Rough edges of the universe begin to soften in this fairytale land. Then what a view! Beauty in its quietude glistens just for us. No other voices share our space, just the tree-tapping of a woodpecker. Each singular sparkle represents a glimmer of hope for the future. In its golden splendor, the sun smiles and delights in our reverence. An ideal getaway for rejuvenation never to become lackluster.
head-spinning events cause turmoil in heart and mind lake water beckons
It isn’t a sudden realization that fell from the sky like an unexpected deluge of rain – that she’s alone without him. But the insight flashes on every wall in the house like a persistent advertisement on television. Dodging its audacity staring her in the face is impossible. Its reflection glowers back at her in each mirror. And yet, don’t misconstrue, this share of vulnerability isn’t about loneliness. Her ‘me’ time is welcomed at the right time, but when he’s gone, there’s no pretending. Too many miles stretch in between her address and loved ones. Friendships reside in the past. Staring at the silent cell phone lying on the table, she wishes it to buzz and shimmy closer to her. The doorbell longs to chime in days of old. No one to laugh with, no one for idle conversation, no one to care. The only noise is the reassurance that she is alone, and it booms through her aching heart like a relentless bass beat.
life partner brings joy ‘me time’ brings satisfaction friends faded with time
Backpacking never entered my mind. When I was a young girl, summers and winters were spent at our cabin in Big Bear, CA. It wasn’t fancy, but cute and cozy nestled among sugar pines on a huge, corner lot. In the summer, we spent time swimming in the lake, but right in our backyard we played badminton, watching those birdies fly over the net. When snow blanketed the ground, we pulled the toboggan out and slid down the hills. Squeals of joy whirled around the trees!
I didn’t learn about pitching a tent until Matt and I met and married in our late twenties (almost 36 years ago). He had already embarked on several backpacking adventures. But the idea never appealed to me, and yet, after he started taking me camping, my love for the outdoors blossomed. I didn’t mind getting dirty or sleeping in a tent. One of my rules, though, was ensuring the tent stayed zipped up so that bugs of all species (especially, spiders) remained outside where they belonged. And of course, Matt didn’t want to sleep with bugs either!
When our daughter and son each turned one year old, they became our little campers. Was it easy? Not in the least with packing a highchair, port-o-crib, diapers, etc., but looking back at those precious photos makes the hassle worthwhile. Their imaginations ran wild as they played around the campsites, and it was special to witness. Matt felt they were old enough to backpack when our daughter was seven and our son was four. At the very mention of the idea to them, their excitement bounced off the walls! They were eager to get a pack on their back and hike on the trail like daddy!
“Young Campers”
They amble through the African savannah, eyes alert, keeping watch for big animals seeking out their next meal. But their excitement soars because they want to see the beautiful creatures. Suddenly, a thunder-booming growl echoes throughout the grassland! Their feet become blocks of cement, stopping in their tracks, as fear creeps up their necks! Terror escalates as they hold their breath! Legs shake like trees from an angry gust of wind. Any sound could be the end!
Then Mom yells, “Lunch is ready!” Fear subsides, and their adventure halts.
Until tomorrow … when their imaginations come alive again.
(From my book, Ever So Gently)
So, the tradition began and continued for several years, taking them to the Sierra mountains, and locally, Point Reyes National Seashore. During these times when my family was away, I’d get together with some girlfriends for a ‘girl’ weekend. It was a win-win! Now as adults, they thank their dad for showing them the beauty of the wilderness and for those wonderful memories.
Then one morning in my mid-fifties, I woke up with an epiphany! I was ready to backpack! I wanted to write stories from my own experiences. I loved listening to Matt’s tales with the kids, but the desire escalated to get a pack on my back. Matt was elated that his wife would join him on the trail! We soon headed for the Sierra Mountains, several years in a row. Up and down hills, carrying that pack, wearing the sunhat, using walking sticks when needed. There was always a lake to fall into once we had discarded the pack and set up our wilderness home. And there is something surreal and profound about carrying all you need on your back. What an experience! The shimmering lakes, trails, nature surrounding us with her critters and sounds, vivid sunsets, and oh, the memories made!
Our first trip to Shealor Lake– one of my favorite photos!
Heading to Spider Lake, 5 miles up hill, and no spiders were seen on this trip.
Matt in the moment with all the gear!
One of many miracles we witnessed!
After reading the book, Wild, by Cheryl Strayed, and then watching the movie starring Reese Witherspoon, a dream of hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail wiggled its way into my mind. This dream has been diligent in holding its place until I make it a reality. We haven’t hiked the PCT, yet, because returning to our favorite lake each year seemed to have had a magnetic effect. But now in our early sixties, the dream still wiggles! Are we too old? From what I’ve read, people of all ages hike in general, let alone, hike the PCT, so we’re not old at all. But in spring of last year, my health took a turn…
I wasn’t able to walk two houses down our block without pain. It’s been a challenging year, but the reader’s digest version is that I’m doing much better! Since the spring, I’ve been able to hike again pain-free. Thus, my recovery and learning how to manage an incurable but treatable diagnosis has woken up my dream from a long repose. One caveat from my doctor is that bearing weight on my back as in wearing a backpack isn’t advisable. However, to remedy this, Matt would carry more, but we’d both really pare down to go lighter than in past years. And a side-note…I don’t care about the distance I hike on the PCT, whether it’s one, two, or twenty miles – I just want to be able to say, “I hiked the PCT!” Consequently, we’re gearing up for 2026! I only pray that good health sustains for both of us to bring this dream to fruition.
From the web. It’s good to keep a visual for perspective and motivation.
“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” ~ Henry David Thoreau
Have you backpacked? What’s on your bucket list?
CHEERS TO DREAMS, BUCKET LISTS, AND TO GETTING ON THE TRAIL! 🥾❤️😁
I’m pleased to announce that my poem “Let Man Lay Down Rifles to be Ally” is published on Gobblers by Masticadores today! I am very grateful to Manuela Timofte and her staff for publishing this special piece. I hope you all enjoy!
Let Man Lay Down Rifles to be Ally
If only humans could absorb lessons From the largest mammals walking the earth. Their big hearts bursting with kind expressions, A principle understanding golden worth.
If only humans would shed their black greed, Knives and guns stealing an innocent life. Torturing for the sale of ivory Beneath a darkened sky, spine-chilling cries...
To read the rest of the poem, please click on the link below. And if you don’t already follow Gobblers, please do. You’ll discover amazing talent and thought-provoking writing. Thanks for stopping by!
Sunset would soon reveal itself On this day not quite the thirty-first. Late afternoon brought warm temps, He shifted the car into reverse.
Looking in the rear-view mirror Ready to part from the stall, His eyes blinked several times, What he saw took disturbing gall.
A clown from a horror film With head bent to the right – He thought, “What the hell?” Celebrating defense of daylight!
Mind and body didn’t easily scare, Toughened by the screen. But trepidation began to build, Though not in the least to be seen.
However, he swiftly chose to ignore Since the dashboard clock continued to tick. No weapon glistened in light of day, Time did not allow for a lunatic.
The right move was decided To turn the other cheek. Pointless to provoke, yet, he wasn’t acting weak.
The sedan attempted to roll back As the clown surprisingly stepped aside. Avoiding contact with those eyes, the accelerator was applied.
A form of frightening entertainment, Ages ago, clowns, fun and comical. Their smiles joyful, but now creepy. An event surely psychological.
Nevertheless, a happy ending for this tale – Altercation dodged, he thankfully stayed safe. But fun appears in interesting forms – This afternoon, dreadfully, eerily displayed.
(The inspiration for this poem came from my son’s unsettling experience in college years ago. It turned into a timely post for the spooky event approaching at the end of this month.)
I was finally able to take some photos of these wonderful elephants that I pass by every day. They’re on the side of the building for Johnny Doughnuts. And I always think of my good friend, Resa, because she is the discoverer of fabulous murals that she shares on her blog, graffitiluxandmurals.com. After reading The Elephant Whisperer by Lawrence Anthony and An Elephant in My Kitchen by Francois Malby-Anthony, I fell head over heals with these magnificent animals. But as we all know, poaching is rampant for elephants. I can’t even wrap my head around this horrific deed and the heartless humans behind it. Anyway, a poem began to brew and a sonnet began to form. The iambic pentameter isn’t perfect, but so be it. Thus, I offer you my ‘somewhat sonnet.’
Let Man Lay Down Rifles to be Ally
If only humans could absorb lessons From the largest mammals walking the earth. Their big hearts bursting with kind expressions, A principle comprising golden worth.
If only humans would shed their black greed, Knives and guns stealing an innocent life. Torturing for the sale of ivory Beneath a darkened sky, spine-chilling cries.
Allowing these creatures to play their part Would aid ecosystems they occupy. No bullets tearing through a gentle heart… Let man lay down rifles to be ally.
But greed, a power tough to relinquish – Is this a pipe dream best to extinguish?
(I end with a question to ponder, but a rhetorical question because good-hearted man will always fight the greedy heartless to protect these amazing mammals that are vital to the ecosystems they inhabit.)
This year life seem to have happened more than once, so reading the books I have lined up has been slow. But today I share two that earned 5-star reviews. Two completely different and wonderful books, except with poetry being the common denominator. I hope you don’t leave empty-handed!
Haiku for the Midnight Hour challenges the traditional poetic art, according to author, Dawn Pisturino. She takes this syllabic form to a creepy level by experimenting with darker images and ideas. Pisturino emphasizes that her book is for those who eagerly anticipate Halloween and who like being alone in the dark. Well, I wouldn’t say that I like being alone in the dark. And ‘frightening’ anything, whether in a book or on the big screen isn’t my genre. However, I became intrigued, so I turned the pages of my paperback from beginning to end and read with mettle on a beautiful morning while welcoming the sunrise. Others might enjoy reading these haiku one evening when the sky has darkened, and the creatures of the night have come alive. I’m a fan of Pisturino’s writing, so I truly enjoyed this fast-moving, creative collection that is divided into seventeen chapters. A few favorites are:
Footsteps
Footsteps creep lightly on the stairs. Who’s there? Lights out. Heart freezes in chest.
Echoes
Tapping on the door echoes through the house, doorknob slowly…slowly…turns
Cinderella’s Shoe
Cinderella’s shoe a cheap imitation from a foreign country
The ‘Family’ section presents a whole new definition of family!
Sweet baby Jeanie crawls on the floor snacking on insects as she goes
From being home alone, to dealing with monsters, fairy tales, damsels in distress, angels and demons, and crystal balls, prepare yourself to be entertained! If you’re looking for the perfect book to read for the upcoming ghostly event at the end of October, I invite you to curl up with this riveting poetry collection, light a candle or keep the lights on – whatever makes you comfortable. But don’t let fear prevail – allow yourself to become captivated by Pisturino’s fabulous imagination for the midnight hour. Highly recommended for all poetry enthusiasts!
Square Peg in a Round Hole by Robbie Cheadle and her son, Michael, is a remarkable collection of poetry, art, photography, and micro fiction. The book begins with Robbie’s candid introduction where she voices, “I have always been an outlier, a square peg in a round hole. As a small girl, I was different than my classmates. My life revolved around books and my taste in reading material was always eclectic.” I could relate to some aspects of Robbie’s younger years, which was only the beginning of her drawing me into this amazing work of art.
I appreciate Cheadle’s voice on important issues such as the plight of animals and the distressing state of our planet. Her love for nature, which resonates strongly, is apparent through her expressive language. Whether she writes in freestyle or syllabic poetry, or micro fiction, Cheadle opens up about her experiences, both joyful and challenging. She includes love, illnesses, career, and death. These topics live with all families, so this collection truly hits home. It is difficult to choose a favorite. But I’ll share a few poems and pieces of artwork that stand out.
“The Visitor,” which is written from the perspective of Eleanor, a Hadada bird, is absolutely delightful. “The Watcher” speaks about canned hunting, an appalling concept. As an animal lover, this poem made my heart ache. “To a Lion” is profound. Here is an excerpt:
You’ve seen your peers shot – their heads stuffed and Mounted Victims of canned hunting Perpetrated by fools who do not appreciate your beauty Or the vital role you play In the maintenance of the African ecosystems And all its amazing creatures
Now, you are experiencing the effects of climate change A situation to which you have not contributed But you will pay the price, innocent or not There is no justice In this man-made world of materialism Which runs on greed and a hunger for power
Cheadle also paints gorgeous pictures through her elegant words, such as in “White Orchid on Black” –
Fragile as china/delicate petals cluster/around slender throat
Her Micro Poem 6 elicited a memory that will never fade. I feel like this poem is written for my husband and me. 1991 brought us our first child, our daughter, but also took his mom away. A bittersweet year full of heartache and celebration.
Newborn child’s clock starts/elderly person’s clock stops/yet time, marches on
When Cheadle began to share her sketches and paintings, they added breadth to her talent and skill in the art world. They are all gorgeous, but a few favorites are Sky, an oil pastel of an elephant silhouetted in a twilight sky, Sunflowers at Dawn, and a watercolor painting of a male lion. In addition to Cheadle’s stunning drawings, paintings, and photography, she includes her incredible fondant and cake art. Baking has always been part of my life, especially for special events and holidays – my mom’s tradition that I carried on. And yet, Cheadle’s baking raises the bar to an almost unreachable status. She then moves towards a conclusion in her compilation with Ekphrastic poetry inspired by photography of Wayne Barnes. And then the beautiful collection closes with emotional poetry by her son, Michael, who undoubtedly, follows in his mom’s talented footsteps. There is an emotion for everyone to be felt in this collection. Highly recommended for all poetry fans!
I am also helping Maggie Watson out by spreading the word for her new poetry collection that you can pre-order now. The release date is October 7th where the paperback will also be available. Maggie opens up about her experience with domestic abuse and how she made it to the other side. ❤️
I shared a poem about The Natchez Trace Parkway here after visiting our daughter and son-in-law a couple of weeks ago. So today, I’m sharing about the famous Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge located in Williamson County, Tennessee. I’m including one of the photos I took, along with a gorgeous photo found on the National Park Service website during autumn. I’d love to visit during this season, but we’re home now so maybe next year!Of course, inspiration stirred some poetic thoughts, but I was in the mood for a challenge. So, I wrote a septet for the first time, and I hope I wrote it correctly. I could only read it so many times before the words began to blur. So, go easy on me, please. 😁
Anyway, bridges are always special, holding some kind of significance, so we were literally in awe. I hope you enjoy!
Arches curve with honor and elegance as we gaze in awe beneath sun of gold enticed by crimson autumn elements. A phenomenal vision to behold, motorcyclist’s freedom to unfold. Praised for design and historic facets – homelands of the Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Natchez.
Note: The rhyme scheme of a septet poem: A 7-line poem that is also known as a Rhyme Royal. Traditionally, Rhyme Royals have the following rhyming sequence: ababbcc.
Baydreamer Writes ~ Lauren Scott, Author & Poet 