Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Spotlight: Jennifer O'Connor

Not too long ago, I profiled Jennifer O'Connor and mentioned she was worth keeping an eye on.  She hasn't disappointed me.

Jennifer has been busy acquiring and leveraging her skills.  Shortly after our Profile, Jen became the Assistant Layout Editor at The Chronicle, student newspaper of The College of Saint Rose.  That gig has recently culminated in being promoted to Layout Editor.  Congratulations, Jen!

Jen has been actively employing her gifts, most recently in producing a Garage2Glory segment.  I was honored to be her guest in the control booth to watch her in action!  Currently, she is in the final stages of a film project for The Moving Message, highlighting achievements of individuals victimized by brain injury, stroke, or other neurologic conditions.

Jennifer's photography website just underwent a major upgrade and her impressive catalogue of work has been expanded to include photos of her sculpture and art work.  The website now showcases two original short films also.  One is an exceptionally clever commentary on social media, while the other is a heartwarming inspirational piece for cancer awareness. 

I'm always awestruck by Jen's ability to capture and accentuate ordinary detail so easily overlooked by the rest of us. She truly sees the world through her unique Jen's Lens.  Being an accomplished drummer as well, Jen's motto has always been "more cowbell."  I know she's going to continue to deliver it.

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Wrecked by Jim Scott

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the fourth selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

Wrecked...a poem by Jim Scott



Wrecked



He’s dreaming of the shore that he’ll never see once more
And lamenting now his fate so cruelly tossed.
He never thought that life could go so fast,
The shadows of the past are merely all the ghosts of what he’s lost.
He used to run so free when he sailed upon the sea
Never knowing of the ports to which he’d call.
Adventure borne on every southern gale
Which filled his vagrant sail to take him every place and see it all.
 
 
And love he surely knew, whether false or whether true,
From as many girls as he’d seen distant lands.
But now his eyes look back toward the truth,
So hidden in his youth, and tears flow as he quietly understands.
He chose to sail alone, now he’s stranded on his own
With no other soul with whom he might grow old.
He should have settled down and made a home,
But chose instead to roam in search of what adventure’s path might hold.
 
 
His journeys ended here where the waters run so clear,
And tomorrow’s been decided by the past.
He didn’t feel the turning of the tide,
Nor knew the sea might hide the dangers where his future’s now been cast.
He’s grounded high and dry, as the ebbing tide flows by,
In a distant land he’d tried so hard to find.
He wished now that he chose the other tack
That would have sailed him back to places he now yearns for in his mind.
 
 
His keel’s been broke in two. He’s no strength to build anew
And he hasn’t got the spirit, nor the heart.
He’s only got the memory of what’s gone.
He wants to carry on, but doesn’t see at his age how to start.
If only he’d have known of the pains from being alone
When the wind drove him upon this leeward shore,
He never would have set that wayward track
That never took him back to where he thought of settling down before.
 
 
And dreaming of that isle brings a melancholy smile
As he thinks of all the happiness he lost.
That lass he’d left there waving from the sand
With flowers in her hand. This empty soul his wanderlust has cost.
He turns to let the spray wash his bitter tears away
As he curses loud the calling of the sea.
His fists are clenched in anger at the thought
Of life so come to naught. Of prison made from striving to be free.
 
 
He stares upon the waves and imagines there the graves
Of his fellow sailors similarly cast.
He puts another bottle to his lips
And while he quietly sips, the present seems to blur into the past.
And once the bottle’s drained he has youth and heart regained
And forgotten all the sadness of before.
He’s running free again before the breeze
And challenging the seas to carry him away from memory’s shore.
 
 
While stumbling to stand with the bottle in his hand
He is hoisting every sail his dreams can find.
He sees the dolphins phosphorescent trail
Beside the leeward rail. The alcohol, this time is being kind.
And sailing to the shore that he’ll never see once more
He is laughing at his fate so strangely tossed.
Reality could never live this fast,
Through shadows of the past, and wasted opportunities now lost.
His mind is running free as it sails the open sea
Never knowing of the ports to which he’ll call.
A memory on every southern gale
Which filled his younger sail, to take him every place and see it all.
 

 ………….A memory on every southern gale…………
But now those winds must fail………….
There’s no more dreams to sail ………
…………..He’s dreamed them all.





© 1998 Jim Scott. All rights reserved.



Jim Scott was raised in Old Shoreham in the south of England and since leaving school as soon as he was able has travelled pretty much the rest of his life covering "five continents and three oceans" (the title of his first book). Merchant navy apprentice in India, attacked by a rattle snake on the Inca trail, farming during African insurgent war, shipwrecked in Portugal, surfing in Morocco, making dream catchers with a Mohawk shaman in Canada, battling Caribbean hurricanes, coordinating maritime search and rescue missions, commercial diving in the Mediterranean; his numerous real life adventures have inspired the dozens of true stories and scores of lyrical "songs and verses" (his third book's title) he has written. Now at 60, having raised three great kids, for several years as a single dad, he melds the unique experiences of an incredible life with a passion for writing and is soon to publish book 2 to complete the "Wanderings and Sojourns" trilogy (published out of sequence .... a little like his wayward life has been) "On Tropical Islands and Sparkling Seas".


To learn more about author Jim Scott, visit http://www.caridiangroup.com or http://wanderingsandsojourns.com






Wednesday, December 4, 2013

The Session by Lynn Gerrard

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the third selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

The Session...a poem by Lynn Gerrard



The Session…
 
The psychiatrist’s name was Molly
She’d been dead for about 60 years
Her job was to greet the newly deceased
And assuage them regarding their fears.
She’d a nice little vault in the cemetery
Where her counselling sessions took place
But the one she was dealing with currently
Involved a most unusual case.
 
A living soul weeping and wailing
Crept into the crypt one bleak night
Unaware of the councillors presence
Too consumed by her pitiful plight.
Trembling hands held between them a locket
Within which sat an image of old
Where a handsome and happy young couple
Still had all of their dreams to unfold.
 
Molly watched from the shadows with worry
As the old woman, bent in her pain,
Took a packet of pills from her pocket
To be back with her Joe once again!
Now whilst it was never the done thing
For a spirit to interfere with the living
Molly knew if she didn’t do something
She’d be full of ectoplasmic misgivings.
 
So she looked at her list of arrivals
And sure enough there was old Joe
She recalled how he’d settled in nicely
After their chat about one week ago
But her need now was to aid the woman
Whose agonies racked her form still
And persuade her that life was worth living
And stop her from taking the pills!
 
Molly approached the old woman
Whose terrible misery was such
That she had no fear of the apparition
Indeed welcomed her ethereal touch.
Gradually her sobbing subsided
As she listened to Molly’s warm words
Expressing how Joe would be horrified
If she chose to depart from her world.
 
She went on to explain how Joe told her
That Maude was the love of his life
Said he’d look forward to spending Eternity
With his love who had never caused strife.
Molly smiled at the woman and gently
Reassured her that all would be fine
But for now she’d to stay with the living
Until the day it was her time.
 
When that day came Joe would be waiting,
And off they would go hand in hand
Together forever and ever
A joyous reunion as planned.
The old woman seemed much recovered
As she stood and thanked Molly for caring
Her facial expression was brighter
Quite detached from the one she’d been wearing.
 
She told Molly she’d every intention
Of now living her life to the full
Considering what she’d discovered
Her new life would never be dull.
Molly looked lost and quite puzzled
The old woman’s mood had so changed
So she asked what she had discovered
To make her reaction so strange.
The woman’s eyes looked somewhat steel like
As she then told Molly the cause.
Her name was actually Gladys
Her deceased best friend was called Maude!
 

 

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

 

 

Lynn Gerrard (aka The Grumbling Gargoyle) is an accomplished poet.  Find more of her incredible work at www.thegrumblinggargoyle.blogspot.com

 Follow her on Twitter @LynnGerrard
 
 
 

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Untitled #13 by Glenn Ghiazza

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the second selection of The Twilight Blue Initiative...

Untitled #13...a poem by Glenn Ghiazza



untitled#13

 

wintry mix, well fuck that shit

let loose the hounds and don't lose hope

full steam ahead it is my friend

and damn to hell that slippery slope

 

a deluge sunders heart and mind

so ride the crest and surf the swell

ferocious gale or salty brine

the battle's on, go give it hell

 

inferno that we hurtle towards

that searing mass of false intrigue

it's this and that and then some more

so soldier on, don't claim fatigue

 

ashes burn, a filthy scar

sense memory, a long lost trail

we forge a path, let’s not forget

the bloody war from which we pale

 

a maelstrom that surrounds us all

and draws us to the great abyss

there is no rest or sweet respite

it‘s life or death or sweetest bliss

 
 
and so we stop and draw a line

the shifting sand, it’s hunger shorn

it buries life’s forgotten souls

and from it springs a life reborn


 

© 2013 Glenn Ghiazza.  All rights reserved.
 
Glenn Ghiazza is an enigma.  Discover more of his work at http://saxophotography.com or
http://lacucinacastano.com

 
 

Monday, December 2, 2013

The Ending by Jim Scott

The Twilight Blue is pleased to introduce the first selection
of The Twilight Blue Initiative...
  
The Ending...a poem by Jim Scott




The Ending


In passions of beginning, accelerating thought,
Our dreams of love were spinning the webs in which were caught
The hopes that should have born us on toward the life that now is gone.
The life that never was, nor could have been.

It died before conception.  Before it witnessed light.
Devoid of loves affection in solitary night

The quiet words we tried to speak of what it was we’d strive to seek

Were never heard, and tears were never seen.

 
Our lives were lived in lying.  Hiding what was true.
Consciences denying, everything we knew

Of all the years that lay behind, with scarce a smile that we could find.

With scarce a word that we might try again.

And knowing it was ending we turned upon the past

Exhausted from pretending that we might make it last.

We turned upon the dreams we dreamed with hatred for their lies which seemed

To magnify our anger and our pain.

So now as we’re departing from what our dreams became.

Alone, are we restarting, or merely just the same?
Though traveling now by different ways through different lives, the future stays

A product of the differences we shared.

We’ll walk in two directions, impossible to cross.

We’ll bear our own reflections of compromise and loss.

And given up we can’t look back to where we left the severed track,

Nor where we joined …........ to see how much we cared…........

…...... When passions of beginning, accelerated thought,

When dreams of love were spinning the webs in which were caught

The hopes that should have born us on …….

…….  toward the life that now is gone.


© 1998 Jim Scott. All rights reserved.



Jim Scott was raised in Old Shoreham in the south of England and since leaving school as soon as he was able has travelled pretty much the rest of his life covering "five continents and three oceans" (the title of his first book). Merchant navy apprentice in India, attacked by a rattle snake on the Inca trail, farming during African insurgent war, shipwrecked in Portugal, surfing in Morocco, making dream catchers with a Mohawk shaman in Canada, battling Caribbean hurricanes, coordinating maritime search and rescue missions, commercial diving in the Mediterranean; his numerous real life adventures have inspired the dozens of true stories and scores of lyrical "songs and verses" (his third book's title) he has written. Now at 60, having raised three great kids, for several years as a single dad, he melds the unique experiences of an incredible life with a passion for writing and is soon to publish book 2 to complete the "Wanderings and Sojourns" trilogy (published out of sequence .... a little like his wayward life has been) "On Tropical Islands and Sparkling Seas".


To learn more about author Jim Scott, visit http://www.caridiangroup.com or http://wanderingsandsojourns.com



Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Invasion of Grey

The invasion of grey
Has since turned white
While the gleam in my eye
Is a little less bright
The ache in my muscles
Is clearly pronounced
Old age is upon me
Without being announced
A wry smile flickers
Betraying cognition
Grim Reaper waits patiently
For my submission


© 2013 Michael P. O’Connor. All rights reserved.



Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Call for Submissions: The Twilight Blue Initiative

It occurred to me after discussing the literary publishing community's apparent indifference to rhyme and the subsequent dearth of publications devoted to traditional, metered, rhyming poetry that a unique responsibility existed.  OCEnterprises Inc. was founded as "an incubator for creative development" to "inspire and nurture your creative spark" and it seems logical to me that The Twilight Blue is the perfect portal to foster a remedy to the decline of rhyme.

The Twilight Blue humbly launches a call for submissions of traditional, metered, rhyming poetry to be selected for posting on The Twilight Blue blog.  It's intended as a first step toward reviving a fading genre.

Criteria for submission is simple.  Maximum of two (2) original compositions of traditional, metered, rhyming poetry.  No other restrictions.

I'm not an expert in what constitutes the above requirements, but I'll be charged with making the selections nonetheless.  If you're curious as to my taste, explore my original work as a guide, but selection will encompass a broader appeal than by what constrains me.  

The Executive Selection Committee (Me, Myself, & I) will select five (5) submissions; each to be posted on The Twilight Blue blog on consecutive days (December 2 - 6, 2013) as well as tweeted on @OCEnterprises Twitter account.  You otherwise retain all rights to your work.  No prizes will be awarded, other than self-satisfaction of contributing to keeping a genre alive, and whatever marginal promotion the effort accomplishes.

You may email submissions to: ocenterprisesinc@yahoo.com

or alternatively, submit them through the contact page on the official OCEnterprises Inc. website.

Please include your name and email address on any submissions. (This information will be used solely to identify your work and contact you, if necessary.)

Deadline for submissions November 30, 2013