Here We Celebrated.

I can say with great confidence that we’re all weary of COVID and the toll it has taken on so many areas of life.

Yesterday, in spite of everything, in spite of a young girl’s fear that the celebration of her eleventh birthday would be confined to the virtual world, a small family gathering took place at our home. Social distancing was respected, and my beautiful daughter had a chance to safely bask in the love of her three-dimensional family. However, physical touch outside of immediate family was a no-go.

I composed a short poem to reflect on what has been the experiences of so many.

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They came! Pure joy, bright smile, Grandma! Grandpa!

Air hug, squeeze tight, baby girl, please stay safe!

Can they play? I miss the swing, push me high!

Too close, I know, will my heart ache forever?

Daddy, I am glad, but sad, it hurts so bad.

Please play with me. We’ll catch a butterfly.

Leave the net, and step away, so they can see.

Daddy, you are holding me! I’m not a bug.

Who wants a bug when there’s an angel to hug?

Welcome to Day 12 of the 2020 RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour! #RRBC #RWISA #RWISARiseUp

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This post is shared from the blog of Author, PTL Perrin.  It was written by Author Nonnie Jules, and speaks volumes about the struggles that some are going through in relation to the Coronavirus Pandemic.

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by Nonnie Jules

By Friday, I doubted that I would even be part of this event.  I’m sure many of you noticed that I kept moving others ahead of me and ahead of me, until I ran out of members to move – as I struggled with finding the time in my schedule to write something.  As of this morning, I had finally decided that I just wasn’t going to be able to participate, as again, I saw no opening in my schedule that would allow it.

Then, I got a phone call at 7:37 this evening from a friend, sharing that her relative had just attempted suicide due to his personal struggles since the arrival of COVID19.  He had lost his job, had received an eviction notice, and saw no clear path to anything remotely close to “better” while the Coronavirus lingered.  That conversation forced me to sit down at my desk just as soon as I hung up the phone.  What you will find below may not be that great, but it’s what my heart rolled out in the final hour.


And So, I Believed

We are living through what is possibly the most trying time in many of our lives.  We are a world on lock-down, and though there are those of us who are living a bit more comfortably than others during this pandemic, many in the world are suffering.

Some of us are not concerned with how our mortgages and car notes will get paid.  Some of us aren’t concerned with where our next meal will come from, or, if we’ll have to suffer through another night filled with tears streaming down the faces of our hungry children, along with our own tears of helplessness.

For those who suffer with mental illness, their situations are creating a new wave of crisis, as many who see no way out, are, out of fear and desperation, turning to suicide.

My heart breaks for these innocents in this war.


It’s quiet.
I’m afraid​. ​
I’ve been locked up inside for so long, I don’t know my nights from my days.

It’s lonely.
I’m scared.
There’s no place to hide, ​and ​no other place to go​, ​because it’s everywhere.

I need to make a run
​…​just out to the store
…but, I’m not even sure
…it’s safe to open my door.

It’s in the air ​we breathe​
​…​on everything that we touch
I never realized ​until now​
​…​I needed people so much​. ​

I’ve no medical insurance
…so, I mustn’t get sick​. ​
My stomach is growling​​​
​…​but, it will soon quit​. ​

I’ll just stay inside for now.

I do need my meds
…to kill the voices in my head.
They’ve never been this loud before.
A little knock at the door
…would really help right now.

It’s ​too ​quiet.
I’m ​so ​afraid.
I open my wallet and remember…
I haven’t even gotten paid.

What will I do?
​How will I survive?
I don’t even know if it’s worth staying alive.
And, what will I eat?
What about the heat?

I know that it’s summer
…and it’s supposed to be hot
…but​, ​this thing has me terrified
…all tied up in knots.
​So, I strangely shiver as if it is cold.
While parts of the world move, my life is on hold. ​

Under the covers
…the only place I feel safe.
Oh, how I wish
…to feel the sun on my face.

How will I ​cover​
…the rent that is due?
My landlord’s expecting
…to be paid at two.

Some understand
…but others not
My luck ran out
…with the landlord I got.

“I’ve got a family to feed – you’ve only got you.”
He does not ​see​ that only me has to eat, too.

I don’t have the rent, dear Lord.
What will I do?
Where will I go?
I need a sign
…because I just don’t know.

How long will this crisis last?
No one knows for sure.
I’m afraid​ of my thoughts​.
How much more can I endure?

I just don’t know.

My mind is racing
…it just won’t stop.
Please slow it down, Lord
…these thoughts are just not – to your liking.

I cover my mouth
A cough escapes.
​I d​rift over to the window
…and pull back the drapes.
Unlocking the locks
…one by one
I can hear the calling ​
​…​not a voice​, ​but a gun.

​No, too noisy, I think.

And what if I miss?
I’m already afraid to even consider this.

Now, it’s a voice – louder – more clear
Almost a shout – deep in my ear.
“Come closer to me.
Look, I’m down here.” 

Five stories below me
Cars rush​ing​ by
​I hear the voice again​
“​C’mon, you can fly.”

I look back over my shoulder
As my landlord knocks
Then I glance at the wall
…it’s straight two o’clock.

“Why are you hesitant? There’s only pain here for you.
There’s nobody to help, so, what will you do?
The world is on lockdown, but you can be free.
Do not wait another second; come and join me!
You see, I am free – down here.
And don’t forget, you can fly.”

And so, I believed.


To everyone reading this who might be struggling with thoughts in their head, that under normal circumstances wouldn’t make sense, yet, they seem to make sense in the moment, what you should always remember is that the devil is alive and well, and sometimes looks and sounds just like you and me. {And of course, he wants you to join him…in hell.}

Fight those voices that encourage you to harm yourself and others.

If you were not born a bird or created in the likeness of some type of aircraft, listen to ME – you cannot fly.

Thank you for supporting today’s RWISA author along the RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour!  To follow along with the rest of the tour, please visit the main RWISA “RISE-UP” Blog Tour page on the RWISA site.  Please leave a comment on the main RWISA“RISE-UP”Blog Tour page!  Once you’re there, it would be nice to also leave the author a personal note on their dedicated tour page, as well.  Thank you, and good luck!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you recall, Ancient One?

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Eyes fogged by cataracts of dust and grime

Rusted tears of neglected shame.

Those you’ve sheltered stolen by time

No one left to recall your master’s name.

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Those skillful hands that built your shell, now rest beneath the soil.

Yet cursed with an extended life, you’re forced to endure each era alone.

Generations came and went, until the day that final breath came in toil.

The final master was carried away, and hence forth, you’ve been silent as a stone.

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They gathered round your flaming hearth, to sing, laugh, and love

Stockings hung on Christmas past, enticing children to behave.

Can you still hear them, ancient one? Into your structure are those memories wove?

What of the one who wore this brace? To its support, was he a slave?

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Review of Silent Heroes, by Patricia Furstenberg

The Blurb:

How far would you go to save strangers in need? And who really are Marines’ most trusted allies?
Military Dogs would risk their lives for their humans in a heartbeat, but can soldiers do the same when personal struggles and global affairs defy humanity?

My Thoughts:

Patricia has certainly done her homework when it comes to research. Silent Heroes sheds light on the plight of the Afghan people, far better than any newscast. This ‘in your face’ tale may be fictional, but the vicarious journey into the depths of earthly hell cannot be underestimated. I was schooled on the true collateral damage, and that is the personal trauma of all who are dragged into war.

The desperation of a father who seeks his lost children, the terror of a village constantly under threat, and the bond between canine and soldier, are skillfully portrayed. The fact that Silent Heroes broached the subject of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a refreshing change from the usual, ‘good guy shoots bad guy and remains unaffected.’

What impressed me the most was Patricia’s attention to detail in her explanation of Afghanistan’s history and how the Taliban rose to power. I’d been completely unaware of these facts, despite years of watching news footage. I finished the book better educated and with a greater sympathy for all involved.

There were some areas where past and present tense were used interchangeably, and character perspectives changed suddenly, more clarity could have been given.

Silent Heroes is an intense and action-packed read that anyone with an interest in culture, foreign affairs, and the personal cost of war would find appealing.

Four Stars for Silent Heroes.

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Meet Patricia:

Patsmall

Patricia Furstenberg is a skilled, multi-genre author, poetess and mother, known for her uplifting, thought-provoking themes and her appealing characters. With a medical degree behind her, Patricia is passionate about mind, brain and education and the psychology behind it. Her writing echoes the realities of life and is accented by ‘creativity and vivid imagery.’ She knows how to ‘capture the reader’s imagination.’ Her prolific writing is described as: positive, diverse, crisp, joyful and uplifting. As a winner of the Write Your Own Christie Competition, the Judges ‘were impressed by her thorough investigation and admired the strength of her narrative; they were impressed by her style’. The judges thought Patricia’s writing style is ‘well structured, with a great sense of tension and suspense’, ‘confident and intriguing’. The Judges were Mathew Prichard, David Brawn from Harper Collins UK and Daniel Mallory from Harper Collins US. She lives happily with her husband, children and dogs in sunny South Africa.

Connect with Patricia and purchase a book: 

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What Haunts Me.

I usually write more positive and upbeat posts, however, this is not one of them. I’ve decided to share an issue that has haunted me for a number of years. No, I’m not looking for sympathy, not my style, but I wish to create an awareness of a condition that is prevalent in the First-Responder community (I’m one of them). Of course, this problem is not just limited to First-Responders and their families, there are many in the civilian community that suffer too, and I write for you, as well.

In fact, the therapeutic benefit of puttting thoughts to paper is one of the main reasons I began to write. This poem is a bit of a hybrid, done intentionally, to relay the message of life with PTSD.

Everyone is entitled to their opinion, all I ask is that your comments be respectful. I have lost six co-workers (some of the good friends) to suicide and there are many more whom I don’t know.

Morning light through window shines, but I wish for darkness to remain,

For with the light, come the demands of life, far too much

“Take your meds!” they preach. “They will help to reduce the pain.”

I swallow them down to banish the ghosts, yet never escape their clutch

What happened to the man I used to be? Full of life and no dark stain,

He’s but gone, a phantom from another time, never to return again