Never Try To Out Dance A Natural- Part 1

A good friend of mine always says, or at least his poems say "Husbands don't dance." I sigh each time I hear this. Because it's true. My man danced before I became his wife. We were always running and then bumping into each other on the dance floor back in the day when we were just friends, and dating. I miss those days. Sigh.

Don't get me wrong, I am crazy about my husband the way he is. We are so well suited for each other, we never fight. Disagreements and mood elevated moments happen, but most of the time we share the most wonderful times together. So why am I so hell bent on getting him on the dance floor? It's in my blood.

Even recently a friend and I went to a local night club, on the 'Elderly night', and as I began to shake my grove thang, she said I had moves. It's then I tell people my grandmother must have had an affair with a Spanish Flamenco dancer. I can really move to most any music, but especially Latin music. Even my son has my dance gene. I was introduced to The Gypsy Kings around the late eighties and was hooked to Latin rhythm dancing. I could watch and mimic most moves.

I could not find their music in conventional stores so I set out to hit a few Latin places along a strip in Dallas, known as little Mexico. I thought maybe I could find some really good music to clean house too. Uh huh.

My son in tow, because I home schooled at that time, I parked and entered a strange world of la música. Strange? Because I did not speak one iota of Spanish. I relied on the fact they would speak English. I asked if they knew The Gypsy Kings. Three guys behind the counter chatted amongst themselves for a few minutes and then one of them produced a tape. Yes, a cassette tape. Then a dinosaur ran past the front window chasing a homeless guy.

The young man, well he is now in my memory, put the music tape into their stereo system and I began to recognize the tune and beats. But the three guys all were talking again, in Spanish and pointing behind me. Had the dinosaur broke through the door? No. I turned to see my son behind me swinging his hips and making a various degree of turns he had never displayed before. Huh? Okay, so now you get it, we like to dance.

My father was a dancer. Swing, fox trot, and country, like the old two step, not the line dancing of today. He taught me how to dance in our kitchen when I was growing up. When I was old enough to accompany them to the dance halls, I was hooked. I still miss ole Belle Starr off Central Expressway. The good ole days. I miss my twenty something knees.

When hubby and I met he told me a sad story of his attempts at country two-step. He would go out to a few of the places well known around town and the old Gilley's. When he saw a girl he thought was attractive he would ask her to dance. Often enough they would take a turn around the dance floor, but they would stop him and say "When you learn how to dance come back and ask." Then they would walk away. He is fine freestyle dancing. I say let your freak flag fly in that area.

Hubby and I usually only dance at weddings these days. Not on my side, well one cousins in Fort Worth, but mostly his side. He is the oldest of eight, but the last of them got married last October. Now we have to wait for the children of his mother's children to get married. Sigh.

You can believe I will be throwing my son, if he gets married, a grand party. If our knees survive another hundred years and these dinosaurs feel like getting out on the dance floor. You can bet I will savor every minute. Because, 'Old married men husbands could dance'.

My whole purpose of writing this started with a thought of my childhood after reading a Peanut post over at ShrinkingTheCamel.com, Shrewd As Snakes and Innocent As Doves. It reminded me of a time in music class, maybe more of an all around 'Artistic' class in the day (before funds were cut back in schools). I will continue this story in a few days.

My poet friend Pasquale misses his wife, and I think came up with his poem due to regret... 

If you are missing the weekly 'Poem Share' then click on these words, Make Friday Write, and join us...

Dreams Tell All

The Truth In Dreams

It was extremely hot on stage as I took my final bow. Makeup was running down my neck and into my eyes. I scan the audience and that is when I see something, her face. Months, even years had passed since I saw anything but a shell of my daughter's body. Her reddish brown hair cut into a bob with short bangs. She was wearing a green dress with white trim. I knew she had on the black shoes we dropped off at the crematorium. I knew she would have them on. She loved to go out dressed to the tee. A girl's girl she was: prim and proper.

She was opposite of her mother, of course. I was a tom-boy as far back as I could remember. Sure my mom would take or send us to church in a dress, but it was not me. I like shorts or pants, even if my mother had sewn them herself. Elastic waist band and all.

I was glad to see her. The intensity of her presence meant a lot. Especially to a mother whose daughter had died before her. Parents are supposed to leave this earth before their children. But it happens. Something devastating takes them away from us. We can only hope they did not suffer, or are in any great pain where they might be.

She was saying it was okay for me to do what I needed to do. She would be at my side until the day I die. Maybe there would be lapse of time before I needed her again. To sooth my pain she would come when I needed her.

See I had not seen her face in my dreams for a long time. Parents often have a hard time looking at photos, or even videos, because it is hard, at least for me. I am not sure I could ever look at any of that stuff again. But I began worrying that I might not remember what she looked like. I had doubted my details. The last time I saw her in person was when she had passed away. It was in the hospital. They had left her on the gurney in her hospital gown. Surprisingly she was neatly groomed. Right down to the hairstyle in my dream. The hospital staff allow the parents to visit before her body is removed.

Moving on, and because of my experiences with psychic abilities, I had not wanted to have her visit me shortly after her death in an spirit form. Could anyone handle that? Somehow I managed to ward anything such as that off for all these years. See I donated some of her much needed her body parts to be used by other children who might need them to live a better life; it made me afraid I would see her with no eyes or skin. Maybe zombie like. She wouldn't have wanted me to be afraid. I had seen her pulsing spirit in animals and in my recent client's daughter. I will write about that one day. Animals and children have experiences with spirits. I have heard its amazing.

The night was coming to a close and the crowd had been entertained, time for me to come out of my guise, so she revealed herself. How do I interpret the whole dream? My feelings? Anelisa wants me to be myself, to relax and begin to enjoy my life. Sure things have drastically changed for the better, but I was having a hard time. My client’s daughter was dying from a similar heart disease, and I knew it from the first day we met. Years would go by as I was reliving my own daughter’s death again. Her mother was going through what I had already been through, and I was supposed to be a support system for their family? I barely had a support group myself.

In many ways working with their family did me move to a higher healing ground. I did begin to relax. My biggest loss outside of Anelisa's death was my happiness had disappeared, and I wanted to find it again. She was telling me things were going to be alright. She smiled at me in a way a mother smiles at their own children, in a way unconditional love would shine through. Like when women become pregnant, they have this glow. It never leaves a mother.

Next thing I know Anelisa and I are at home together (still in dream state). My new home in the north east. We go to sleep right next to each other. The next morning we woke up and I made breakfast for her step-dad and brother. When they come into the room I say Hey, look who came to see us! Both look at me like I was crazy. I hug my daughter and say, See she is right here. Everything is going to be alright!

Afterward, I woke up with such a strong feeling she had been right next to me. Through the whole night I could feel her. They say when an arm is damaged or removed the body still feels the limb as if it was still intact. And because this was a dream, a meaningful dream, a bond which could never be severed had begun between Anjali's mom and I. We don't share the same spiritual beliefs, but we both feel the girls are in a better place.

The harness of sadness was loose and I began writing again; it was a kind of freedom which I had not experienced in a long time. I do strongly believe our spirit speaks truth in dreams.


This is a little writing practice. Get the mind going...while I hear thunder and lightening outside...and for those of you who know me, a true story. - E. Stelling, 2011

What Do You Have To Say

Let's do something different over here...since I am so deep into writing, and have not been inspired to post here.

What does this picture say to you?

Does it imply something missing?

What is missing from this picture?

Do titles imply what will take place in a story?

Write a short paragraph about what you first thought, or what you think fits...

Here is mine...

Dead Town, USA

The streets were hot and why hadn't we seen any people. We had been walking around for two hours, and there was no historic jail house to be seen. Jacob insisted we stop in this god forsaken town so he could visit a place mentioned in his stupid guide book. I wanted to throw that damn book out the window five towns back. It was bad enough the mountains kept our wireless phones and electronic pads from working, but now tired and hungry we hadn't seen a good place to rest in miles. The town was not only deserted, but every building looked dry, dusty and colorless. Like an old movie. This restaurant was on the last street we had turned. And there it was, a bright neon string of lights flashing 'Open'.  

Thank goodness. There were three tables but no chairs out front, so I walked through the swinging door to check out the menu. Jacob and I hadn't spoken the whole trek, at least after I yelled at him before leaving the car. So I didn't bother even asking him if this was okay. A good look at their bar told me something cold and refreshing was due. Maybe the waitstaff could recommend a good hotel for the night. Now that I think about it, I could eat a horse. I hope the stove is big enough. It was then I turn around and realize Jacob never followed me in.



Maybe write what happens afterward...

Have fun...and I will tell you what did happen in a few days...

Strange, Disturbing, and Fun

Or at least I hope you find this fun. I have a new website that will go up before Halloween, Zombiepoetry.com. Yay! Since I am writing a trilogy called, no wait, I will not let that cat out of the bag yet, but I will share a few fun things I just wrote. A poem for the site, and a recipe from the Gourmet Zombie Eats Cookbook, yes recipes for zombies! I know Toon will like this, and hopefully others.

I have hired a graphic designer to begin helping me create my website and book details!

It will grow on you like a second set of rotting skin...yes, I made that bad joke! But it will. I prefer Vamps, but they will be in the books as well. Secrets you will have to find when you order my book and read it!



Much of this is still in revision stage (and totally bogus as far as recipes goes, all in fun and adapted from real recipes of beef, chicken, pork, and or fish, I am not trying to turn anyone into a cannibal, or a zombie), and in the process of being copyrighted. Let me know what you think, any ideas to improve...and its all in fun!

(content of poem and recipe removed for revision and publication)

Materials in this post may not be copied or borrowed by any persons without the authors permission!

Submissions are now open for what we are calling 'Z-composition Magazine @ ZombiePoetry.com'. We are looking for obscure, necro-style, sci-fi, dream like, horror, dark, comedy, mainstream, all/most styles and humorous. We want you to stretch yourself in what you see. This will be a quarterly on-line publication and each quarter publishing 3 to 7 poets and writers; 2 artist and photographers will be chosen to represent Z-composition each quarter, or we may publish more if they are outstandingly good. You may send in 3 to 5 submissions each quarter, and zombie content not required. We also do not care what you do in your real job, or if this is your real job, just send us your best stuff. elizabeth@cookappeal.com

Submission amounts and deadlines are subject to change as we move forward. (We as in I have 2 editors, 1 pending so far) If you are interested in working on Z-composition Magazine on a volunteer basis please contact me at elizabeth@cookappeal.com.

Attention: boysgirls- A Book Review

I like all genres of reading. However I lean more towards history, mysterious history, period pieces, mysterious period pieces, CSI investigations, and yes sci-fi'sih anything. But as a child I loved fairy tales. I loved them so much it was the first thing introduced to my own children. Anything imagination stretching, and my son still loves those same stories. And especially better if it takes on a poetry or prose form.

Katie Farris does just that, give us some sci-fi'ish crossed with fairy tale'ish dream like story images as she spins us into her of un-thought of reality, well never in my own dreams, but conceivable. A quirky kind of prose comes through these girl and boy tales. At first read I did question, was it for teens, then was it poetry, but eventually just went with it. I liked fairy tales as a child, so why not fairy tales for the grown up kid in me.

Katie's introduction, as I said above, was poetry like. Her bold prose language perhaps with rhyming lines that lead you to a wardrobe, point past large creature like coats, and out into a magical anticipated white drawing board where she would begin drawing her characters for us. Can I really explain the cool imagery she supplies the reader? Not hardly, but it is so great.

I had not known of her or that she was a creative writing teacher, or even a poet, I just knew I was drawn in with the introduction. If you are not familiar with Katie Ferris, then I suggest you read this book. Do you really need a wordy review to tell you that I've read it three times already!

boysgirls by Katie Farris, Marick Press 2011

Some Southerner Sharing

A friend I grew up with in Texas shared some photos and gave me permission to share them on here. Scott Welch and his family have property with horses in Texas. Unfortunately with the drought, one of the worst in years, they say since 1950's, he is losing the watering holes that many enjoy for fishing and keeps the cows and horses in water while they are pastured out. This could have affects on all for years to come.

The photo above is what the ground begins to look like as water dries up in serious heat. Scott had to take his tractor plow down to one of the ponds and decided to make it deeper and prays it will fill up. The pond he keeps fish in has not completely dried up, he has put out a call to anyone who wants to fish for 10 pound cats to come on over and fill up your freezer. (this photo is from earlier in the year- I do miss seeing cowboys in their garb)

Scott also shared photos of properties all around him going up in flames. They are not the wildfires which have destroyed so much around Texas you are hearing about in the news, but are still dangerous when so much is dry like this.

The is one of the reasons I all too happy to leave Texas- the heat and so much brown landscape from June until the fall. My heart does go out to Scott and my many other friends who are enduring the heat and drought.

To my readers- Sorry for all the sad crap I have posted lately....back to the funny southern Creative TMI in the days to come...I might throw myself into a giant vat of doughnuts and ruin my new healthy eating style if I keep this up!

-This image above was taken in Canadian, Texas

Huffington Post, 2011- As the state struggles with the worst one-year drought in its history, entire ecosystems, from the smallest insects to the largest predators, are struggling for survival. The foundations of their habitats – rivers, springs, creeks, streams and lakes – have turned into dry sand, wet mud, trickling springs or, in the best case, large puddles.

"It has a compound effect on a multitude of species and organisms and habitat types because of the way that it's chained and linked together," said Jeff Bonner, a wildlife biologist with the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department.

Since January, Texas has only gotten about 6 inches of rain, compared to a norm of about 13 inches, making it the most severe one-year drought on record. Last week, the U.S. Climate Prediction Center said the La Nina weather pattern blamed for the lack of rain might be back soon, and if that happens, the dry spell would almost certainly extend into 2012.

September 11, 2011

Early one morning heart disease hijacked my fourteen year old daughters life, shooting down my home hearth as my family and I knew it. Sound familiar, yes we all witnessed terrorists attacking The World Trade Centers Twin Towers I & II in New York City, but some of us were already suffering from other loss.

I do not mean in any way to sound unpatriotic, but I feel we should remember our loved ones every day of our lives, not just on certain days, or years. I guess because the pain was so great after only one year, my heart was numb. Does this mean I have no connection to that horrible day, of course I do, but I feel this day has turned into more of a holiday than what it really was.

We should fly our countries flag everyday, not just today on facebook or our blogs or on September 11th. Maybe I am flying my daughters flag? I do not go one day without feeling sad in some way or another. I loved her so much.

However my heart does go out to those who lost on this day. In a way we join hands in a link of loss.

This poem is my own monument for this date, and from my book 365 Days X Ten (publishing still pending)...

Twin Tower I

Many of us, sat and watched
one by one as twin towers

hit by planes
punctured a democracy

Still numb from my own explosion
a world no longer spinning

staring numbly at the screen
I wanted to jump

how sad life had become
years earlier, a tiny heart

held me hostage, for so long
the terror of not knowing

I sat in a similar chair, television revealing
a space shuttle blowing up

Holding my new baby in terror
hoping their loved ones

would be okay
as new life would be celebrated.



Love and pain can occupy the same time and space,
but are never the same each time around - A mother's own words...  


(the above flag is my own photo taken 7/21/2011, and flies over the World Trade Center memorial site in NYC)

Let The Games Begin...

Is anybody a zombie fan? I have read that some of you are. Yes, you my artistic friends.

At some point in our lives we are zombies, or similar.

You will be glad to know the zombie books I am writing are progressing. I have taken my work to professionals and gotten many ideas for the story line, and other areas.

If you follow this blog, you read a piece from the book many months ago. I shelved it for a while since I had my poetry manuscripts to finish and turn in. I got news about my first book. Sucks really. Because it was not good news. I will not talk about it any further, just will be something else one day.

I saw this on the grass at a rest stop on our rather rainy and long trip home from New England. Nine hours or more on the road. I lost count hearing hubby complain and complain about traffic, road delays, flooding, braking, did I say braking. That can turn anybody into a zombie...traffic. A mad, out for blood, traffic eating brains creature of some sorts.

Well this photo reminded me of how we need to begin building our Zombie Apocalypse Arsenal. Now I need to find a nail gun. Or at least my characters need too.

Are you excited about the movie 'World War Z' coming this fall? (Brad Pitt plays the lead character) I am because I read the book and am wanting to see how they film it. We saw 'Battle LA' and I really liked how they filmed it. I hate military style movies, I hate killing really. Blood and guts, and all that. But I like the idea of Vampires, Werewolves, and Zombies? Real war gets me. I liked it, maybe because of the alien element.

Who would win? Aliens or Zombies? They almost move at the same speed.

What are you writing?

I Love The Road Less Traveled

Hubby travels at any given moment, yes, I never know until he comes home and tells me he will be leaving the next day or on the weekend. I have learned over the past fourteen years to accept it. Many of my girlfriends laugh and say they wish their husbands would leave town, so they could have some peace and quiet. I always thought once the kids were gone was the time for that. I do enjoy doing my own thing when he is gone, but once in a while he says I can go with him.

This was one of those times. A chance for a road trip to New England. Unfortunately the weather was apparent- rain rain rain. With the flooding the east coast has had, could we be in for a disastrous drive? A friend had just shared while taking her mom on a similar road trip, they could not travel on the rural roads due to flooding damage. We decided to give it a try, but the photo above shows you what we encountered. All along the way we experienced 'dips' and missing road edges that were not even near a river, just along the mountains.

This was a road that lead to a sculpture garden I wanted to visit on the way through Connecticut. We had to take a detour the GPS did not recognize. At times the rain just dumped down so hard I could not see, so we pulled over. At times it did the same and we were on small two lane roads; it was really scary. We made it, and now have to face flooding in our neighborhood again. I am hoping this stops and heads to Texas where fires are destroying many homes. My heart goes out to these people who are losing everything they own. I guess life is more important, so I send my best to them.

I did accomplish what I had set out to do on this trip, write three more chapters in my book. There was a chance with it raining so much for me to think about, the direction my book was heading, and I got to do some brainstorming. No pun intended!

While in the hotel the last few days I took notice of how the walls were painted a bright sunny yellow, because n the past I had painted my bedroom (whole house) walls yellow. In St. Louis and New Jersey rental properties. The sun would come up first thing in the morning and make my room too bright to sleep, I hated it. But now with the rain drops on the window screen, blowing trees outside, a temperature drop further north, and coming our way, well, I welcome the feeling of a little sunshine brightening my day.



The home next to this river (above picture) was on a low flat area, then went back down hill. We were wondering if it would take out their house if it got worse. Also, for those Leaf Peepers, I hope it clears up in time for that New England road trip.

Feeling Secure- Poem Share

Are we? Really?

I often feel driving is the safest mode of travel. But in the past, experts say flying is safer than driving.

I have airplane issues, so I prefer to drive. You see more, creative juices flow, and so on...

Trying to decide where to go with this. The photo above is like a story of someone who runs from their fears or monsters, but at every turn they see them in unlikely things.

Monday I discovered the pool was open and decided to take a walk. When I saw it was possible to go for a swim, I did. The water over the past three weeks, with night air cooling down from the eighties, this was no different, it has been cold. Maybe a few degrees cooler, uh yes, but I could handle it right? I went in head first. It was then the memory of hitting the river in 'As The World Churns', well, it hit me. A cold blast of somewhere between I cannot breath, and what was I thinking. But the body and mind did worked together.

With help from my legs. I pushed on and used it for an advantage, of weight control. Exercising vigorously the past two months has been great. Another monster to conquer. But the pool is no river. A bit calmer.

Rivers are monsters we should never challenge.

I have never tried using Greek Mythology in my poems before, until this. I have heard a local guy who attended my open mic, reading his own GM filled works. At times I felt it was boring, and had heard others say the same, but now I think his work will make more sense, and I have a greater appreciation. I do like reading about mythology. Jessie Carty has switched our poem share from Thursday to Make Friday Write!

       Before Man Grew In Numbers

       "Wild as the blasts of roaring Boreas, or shouting Notos
       when with hurricane-swoop he heaves the wide sea high, 
       when in the east up-rises the disastrous Altar-star 
       bringing calamity to seafarers." -Fall of Troy

       their voices proceed       
       lurking, just beyond dense wood
       where primordial son, Euryalos run
       cyclops wide stepping and clumsy
       moving land and 
       leaving the fallen under feet
       to brothers rot and decay
       under gods who
       make sanctuary of gray monument
       of rivers reaping blood
       forging tears from woman's womb
       filling a monsters shoes.

Here are my original lines that lead to the above-

       I begin looking for the fallen
       down rich green paths
       man made signs direct us, past 
       gray monuments
       our feet pressing down
       new shoots, flowerless
       bottom life forced back


       a beetle settled on green leaf
       speaking to the sky
       talking of water gods
       they had already arrived
       for centuries left in command
       brothers fear and paralysis
       began laying the foundation
       bringing this sanctuary to a close.

Not sure where I will go with these. I am trying, and have written many more lines.


This is the river view after it took part of Route 287 (above and below). Local police and road workers look down in amazement. I look at the layers of dirt and sand put down over the years as the road is built, then widened, and see how the power of water can do such damage. I also understand how monsters are used to create more power.

But do monsters have a conscious? Or do they just unleash nightmares...