it’s been more than a year now,, since father left us,, mother, and i alone.. things have not been easy,, but we are making our way,, in this strange world,, into which we’ve both been thrown…

with father gone, and little in the coffer,, after his illness and burial and such,, our one saving grace,, has always been, the ivory keys on fathers old piano,, under mothers gentle touch..

every eve, after we’ve sup’ed,, in the dim light before we go off to bed,,, mother sits down, and speaks thru those keys.. they are her words… words left unsaid….

she speaks sometimes of her love for him,, and the music is soft and sweet,, it is playful and ticklish and smiling,, sometimes i have noticed her blush,, with a thought,, perhaps indiscreet….

and others she will wail,, and bang down hard,, on the surface of black and white keys.. reliving her days of frustration,, whilst fighting that horrible disease..

the wasting sickness that swept up father,, like a pile of old spent leaves,, and carried him away to the dustbin of life,, like a swift cold unforgiving breeze…

sometimes she will play,, and i am sure that it is,, hope i hear springing to glorious life,, and as she continues i pray that it wont spiral down yet again,, filling her heart with strife…

it has been for us both,, a blessing and a curse,, our nights spent around that piano,,, catharsis, and hope,, anger and joy,, she’s accompanied us,,, mother and i,, where ever we go..

and tomorrow when they come,, and haul her away,, to her new home in a place far from here,,, we will look on with sadness,, as if we are losing a friend, one we have both held most dear..

i cant help but wonder how we will fill our nights,, with both her and father reposed,, just mother and i in the still of the eve,, after supper,, when the drapes are all closed..

will we sit every night in the darkness,, speechless, thinking solely,, never saying a word?? or will it draw us closer,, on this road full of losses, which together she and i,, have incurred..

it is my solemn prayer,, that one night very soon,, mother will draw me to her bosom and say,, “tho’ it hasn’t been easy i’m richer by far,, having you,, daughter,, here with me each day…

by: paisley

photo:
At the Piano by James Whistler

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at at the piano.

The most recent to earn this status is Holly Beth Mann: mother, philanthropist, traveler, poet, and renowned author of Honest Riches.

Holly Mann – YPYS Pioneer

It was May 2008 … everything looked dark.

Poems and Stories had got off to a great start, with more than a hundred visitors a day and more than 20 members.

But navigating the site was a little slow. Actually, it took forever to load a post!

So we had done a little research decided it was time for a new web host.

Little did we know what dangers lurked around the corner, in the dark, dusty alleyways of Website Migration.

Moving a WordPress blog from one location to another is a treacherous task for the uninitiated.

Before we knew what was happening, our blog was gone!

Nowhere to be found!

Replaced by ugly, intimidating, unscrupulous code errors messages!

We didn’t know what to do. We Googled. We scrutinized. We wrote to our previous webhost (ouch) and to our new webhost (who responded in what sounded like very helpful Japanese.)

Finally, in a last desperate measure we contacted someone who we knew would not have time for this.

Holly Mann, author of Honest Riches, saved the day! She logged in to our account (from Thailand!) and she saved our blog! Not only that, but she gave us a brand new theme which is exactly what we have been looking for. (Okay, it’s in Italian. But you can’t have everything!)

Thank you Holly. You will always be remembered as one of the YPYS Pioneers who helped get this blog off the ground. Without you I don’t know where this blog would be – but it definitely wouldn’t be online!

P.S. Holly has also helped to promote this blog from her own, Honest Holly. I have personally read Holly’s Ebook, Honest Riches, and it is very good.

Paisley – YPYS Pioneer

Next, I mention someone who is actually the first person to win this title: paisely, of why paisley???

Paisley has been with me from the very beginning. This was my very first WordPress blog. And when I didn’t know what to do, paisley was always there to give me a helping hand! She has answered my emails almost instantly with help and advice. She has always been there with words of encouragement to cheer me on!

She has also been very active on the blog, contributing her poetry and giving great feedback on other people’s work. She helped me find the right plugins, gave great advice on handling design issues, and patiently accepted my millions of questions without a problem. She has also helped to promote this blog on her own blogs, such as why paisley???, and the ink pot.

Many thanks to the above YPYS Pioneers!!!

Love,

Anna V. Williams

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Pioneers.

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at celluloid.

cold blooded killers, for the most part
truly societies bane
predators at heart,, feeding sick minds
staving off their pain..

the ones that perished within these walls
denied admittance to the next plane
walk the halls, of a full moon
it has become their domain..

they have been spotted on a midnight clear
feeding on the slain
at banquet tables rich with blood
drinking expensive champagne

so tread lightly here,, if at all you must
better to refrain
for inside these hallowed halls they dwell
much to their disdain…

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at haunted hospital.

i watch you live,, your chalice full
as in emptiness i am bound
crackled leaf and bitter root
the thistles,, with which i am crowned

desires incalescence, like fever burns
yet yields, to frozen,, blood curdling,, fear
as this malaria like a cancer grows
life’s siren song,, so weak,, i strain to hear

in this theater of my own dead soul
shut out,, all, but temptations moan
i watch you walk among the living
as to my grave,, i walk alone..

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at jealousy.

by: paisley

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at as the dust swirled.