2009 Book Giveaway
So here’s how you get one of these books: Choose the one you want, then write me a poem. Put it in the comments and I’ll choose the winning poem for each book. I might choose based on the best, the worst, the funniest… basically, the awesomest poem for each book will win.
Boring details:
→ ONE entry per person in each category, fiction and non-fiction. (So that means you may enter twice.)
→ The poem must be left in the comments to this post.
→ The poem must be 2 to 14 lines.
→ I must be able to tell from your poem which book you want. Say it straight out, or make me guess… just don’t make it too hard. (I don’t have all day, you know.)
→ Poem needs to be entered by Monday, January 4th, at 11:59 pm MST.
→ I’ll announce the winners sometime next week.
→ Winners will email me their mailing address, and I’ll ship the books via media mail.
Here are the books. Click on the book title to get to Amazon and learn more about each one.
Have fun… I’m looking forward to being entertained!
Fiction
Conspiracy in Kiev
by Noel Hynd
Intervention
by Terri Blackstock
Jane Austen Ruined My Life
by Beth Patillo
Havah: The Story of Eve
by Tosca Lee
The Shape of Mercy
by Susan Meissner
Non-Fiction
Transformational Architecture:
Reshaping Our Lives as Narrative
by Ron Martoia
Churched:
One Kid’s Journey Toward God Despite a Holy Mess
by Matthew Paul Turner
Your Life As Story:
Discovering the “New Autobiography” and Writing Memoir as Literature
by Tristine Ranier
Fearless:
Imagine Your Life Without Fear
by Max Lucado
A Million Miles in a Thousand Years:
What I Learned While Editing my Life
by Donald Miller
.
133 Comments
President & Literary Agent,
Gardner Literary Agency
Wonderful site. A lot of useful info here. I am sending it to several friends ans also sharing in delicious. And of course, thanks for your sweat!
I need to to thank you for this excellent read!! I absolutely loved every bit of it. I’ve got you book marked to look at new stuff you post…
Between me and my husband we’ve owned more MP3 players over the years than I can count, including Sansas, iRivers, iPods (classic & touch), the Ibiza Rhapsody, etc. But, the last few years I’ve settled down to one line of players. Why? Because I was happy to discover how well-designed and fun to use the underappreciated (and widely mocked) Zunes are.
very good i havent read such a high quality peice of work in a long time good job. The text flows very nicely and it is very easy read and it was also fun and broght up some interesting points.Study Island Answers
>Phooey. Just realized I went over the line count by two.
Note to self: next time you enter a contest on an agent blog of all places, read the rules twice. Thanks.
My apologies, good lady.
>Fearless of dawn, I loathe to yawn
>Jane Austen ruined my life, with a knife, to stab my wife.
>The news is a buzz with war and recession.
Anxiety and fear I now have in possession.
And you say I can live a fearless life?
Max Lucado go fly a kite.
>Stressed out day await each morn
No need to cry or be forlorn
Might as well divert my attention
I am in need of Intervention
>Havah
mother who passes down to me
insistent craving for forbidden fruit
painful loneliness of exile
(from both home and truest self)
pass down to me also
hope
that redemption will come
>(Your Life as Story)
In honest moments
I know: I write no story
ever but my own
>What if a pistol steers toward my face?
What if that truck jumps the curb?
Would I jump left? Right? On top of it?
What if that space heater tips over and
Sets my living room on fire?
Why do I react with fear?
Is fear my default reaction to
An uncontrollable situation?
Why do I turn to fear?
Why can’t I be fearless?
>It is with Sense and Sensibility
That I write with all agility.
I'd hie myself off to Northanger Abbey,
But I don't think I could get there by hiring a cabbie.
So I will travel to Mansfield Park,
Where I hope to arrive long before dark.
Emma and I have not a bit of Pride and Prejudice'
But we would like to be met there with a kiss.
Anne from Persuasion will travel along,
We'll each find our prince and burst into song.
So, pray don't tell me this won't have a happy ending,
Or this dreadful poem I wouldn't be sending!
>"Jane Austen Has Ruined My Life"
In studying the stack of classics on my night table—
Books with romantic heroes such as the honorable Edward Farris,
Chivalrous Mr. Knightley, and Mr. Darcy (the bare-chested Colin Firth version)—
It is clear that I have lost myself in Jane Austen once again.
Winter comes, the persistent cold seeps in,
And I lounge in sweatsuits and thick, cotton socks,
Fully absorbed in the pages of "Emma" or "Persuasion"
Again and again.
Someone might admonish me,
“Jane Austen has ruined your life!”
But I would only murmur slightly,
Turning another page of "Pride and Prejudice"
Before offering a reply.
pjshaw@comcast.net
>My life
anyone's story
My strife
enemy's glory
Our lives
everyone's story
Victorious rise
the Lord's glory
>My life is the story I tell,
the characters carved from my heart
the plot running in my veins
I write the acknowledgements, typeset the manuscript,
self-publish
My life is the story I tell;
the one I know best,
the one I want to have a great twisty second act, full of surprises
and a ending everyone talks about,
amazed at the craft of it
wishing they knew how it was done
wanting to read it again
>(Vying to win worst poem award)
SHAPES
I thought about shapes.
yes, I did.
and I thought that the shapes should be for things.
like
things that have no shape.
like
you know
mercy
'n stuff
like that.
THE END
>Miller mills theology
Blue Like Jazz rang true to me,
If I read a Million Miles,
Will it help me edit me?
>Here's a poem called
"Almost Completely Missing the Point (Again)"
The kid in Big said
"There's nothing fun about
a building
that turns
into a robot.
Who wants to play with a building?"
I bet Transformational Architecture has
the secret
blueprints so I can finally build one for myself.
>There once was a man from Nantucket.
Which was enough of a poem for Rachelle to stage an Intervention.
>I know that boy.
I sat beside him in Sunday School
long church-basement mornings ago.
We watched while somebody's mother
moved figures on a flannelboard
to show us how David slew Goliath.
I wonder about him now —
have the years brought him
his own Goliaths?
And how has the slaying gone?
I know the trajectory
of my own path —
what about his?
>A little boy churched
One life wholly messed
Despite even this
The kid journyed
To God and being Holyed
>She's the mother of all Man,
The bone of Adam's bone,
Her form,a softer image of his own.
She graced the earth in designer attire made by the Almighty.
Yes, a la natural chic outfits made with the finest oak leaves.
Her insatiable appetite for fruit and knowledge, led her astray.
Her vulnerable emotions and mind beguiled by the cunning snake.
She lived, she loved and conquered the first child birth without a midwife or epidural. Kudos to her!
>A million long miles,
A trillion hard trials,
To edit how a life should be.
A thousand long years,
With joy and sad tears,
To write a compelling story.
God’s Word is the best
Outshining the rest.
To Him, be all of the glory!
>The dark was my enemy,
The light my friend,
Chick flicks were my thing,
Horror movies made me shiver,
Spiders, snakes and lightning as well.
But now I'm older,somewhat bolder.
Fear, like a stormy cloud is now gone,
And peace and courage sit in my heart
like a precious stone.
>At the beginning of this writing journey am I;
Sometimes I question why?
Yet, I know it is only my life story to share,
Tis' interesting one of the chapters talks about Dare.
From genre's, to finding voice or adding humor,
The tools I need to evolve my story
Appear to be hidding in this 22 chapter journal.
"String your Pearls also caught my eye,
Could it be this will help answer my question "why?"
So, to assit me in this quest,
Please gift me this book, so I can try and do my best!!
>the form of forgiveness
the configuration of kindness
the silhouette of sympathy
the outline of forbearance
the likeness of leniency
the profile of pity
the structure of charity
the contour of compassion
the image of clemency
the figure of unmerited favor
the semblance of grace
the body of blessing
the shape of mercy
>A flicker
A movement
A scurry
Heart pounding
Fears abounding
A leg
Then two
Then eight
Pulse racing
Demon facing
Whenever I am scared
Or overwhelmed
Or anxious
Spiders
I see them
Everywhere
But all I want to be is
FEARLESS
>Too much fundamentalist church
Left Matthew Paul Turner in the lurch —
He's a "David Sedaris for the Baptist crowd,"
& his new book would make me laugh out loud.
>In ’09 I got my Master’s in English Lit,
And now I’d like to have a bit of fun with it.
By reading modern tales of antique things,
Like Bronleewee’s Illuminated or Bunn’s Gold of Kings.
The Jane Austen tome is like this I’m told,
For Austen fans it’s to be treasured like gold.
I watched Pride and Prejudice during the holiday season
To whet my appetite, another good reason.
My own book will be published in two thousand ten,
Good fiction will fill my time until then.
I love a good read, and writing’s a joy,
As I share with others about raising boys.
But reading’s a passion I’ve long loved and adored,
To receive a free book would be a lovely reward!
>The silence threatens to overtake me
I run through the mist steadily
The winding roads sometimes confuse me
I take the twists and turns though I cannot see
The magnitude of the race overshadows me
I want out of the maze I long to be free
The cold damp night nearly freezes me
If I stop to warm up will I cease to be
The pain of the journey hurts emotionally
I choose to go on incredibly
I run towards the prize and where it has to be
I keep moving against the odds more determinedly
I keep my mind intact and stay with my journey
I won’t let the silence overtake me
>Is this a contest?
Or are you testing your readers?
I've seen this tactic,
By Russian Mafia leaders.
Do I examine the facts?
Or analyze the hear-say?
Is this innocent?
Nyet, it's a conspiracy!
>I'd like to enter,
But I'm too scared.
Afraid of poetry,
I'm prose-impaired.
I shake in my boots,
When words start to rhyme.
But buy a book to help?
I don't have a dime.
So I'll keep shaking,
The fear is my fate.
But shaking might be good,
If it will help me lose weight.
>For contests like this I'm afraid I'm not suited.
If I entered, your comments they might get polluted
By rhymes that don't work and by meter that's faulty,
By words that would sound to your ears quite assaulty.
So p'raps I should skip it and go take a walk,
Have a nice glass of wine, call a friend up and talk.
Well, but then I'd be missing my chance for a book
That is free, so for me, that might be worth a look.
Which one? is the question that now I am thinking,
While sitting and surfing and reading and drinking
A nice glass of wine, 'cause it helps me to write.
(You can tell, since my rhymes have been turning out right.)
So I think that "Your Life as a Story" might do–
And I know I just added an "a." So would you
If you needed the rhythm to turn out just so…
and now I'm getting silly. I think I should go.
>I noticed your 2009 giveaway, and decided to check out each book
One of them caught my attention, it has an adorable hook
This zombie-free story looks lovely, and since I'm a huge fan of Austen
It seems like a total no-brainer, that this story's the kind I'll get lost in
I hope you enjoyed my poem, and thank you so much for the chance
If you do pick me I'll be filled with glee, to get swept up with love and romance
>S/W/F Haiku
Does Mr. Darcy
Have a nice single brother,
Perhaps-not so smug?
>Garden fragrant, sweet and new,
serenaded by birdsong, kissed by dew.
Wake! and discover first love's blessing,
Eden's story, Eve confessing.
Mother of all, Adam's lover,
Paradise lost, sin to discover.
A story old, yet told anew,
serenaded by birdsong, kissed by dew.
>I told stories of love and loss.
Lady's swathed in taffeta and lace,
Gentlemen donning tails and tophats.
Scenes of rolling English hills and quiet countryside gardens.
My characters fell in love in the rain and sealed their hearts in four poster boudoirs.
I did not not intend to ruin your life while I wrote of the fantasies within mine.
Nycole
knycks1@aol.com
>How tempting, Miss Gardner's book bin!
(Is to covet these titles a sin?)
Addicted to prose,
I duly compose,
with hopes INTERVENTION to win!
>You guys can write some good poems!
Got the "we can't help you any more" thing from the doctor the other day, and I was thinking of writing a poem to ask for Lucado's book on fear.
But nothing came out good. It was either stupid bravado or stupid self-pity, which only proves I'm not a poet.
So I'll opt out of the contest, but give y'all a poem which I hope will help people in a similar place – it was written by Frank Hewlett, an Army officer who was captured in the Philippines and died before his camp was liberated.
"I see no gleam of victory alluring
No hope of splendid booty or of gain.
If I endure I must go on enduring
And my only reward for bearing pain – is pain
Yet though the thrill, the zest, the hope are gone,
Something within me keeps me fighting on."
>A conference dinner we shared
While our lives we compared.
Susan looked in my eyes,
Caught my heart by surprise.
She said, “Write your story
And give God all the glory.
Many hearts you may mend.”
(Toward her books I now tend.)
I love books by Meissner —
They make me much wiser.
The Shape of Mercy’s my gain
Should I entertain.
Your announcement next week
Could make my knees weak.
Then my email I’d send
For the book of my friend.
>My life as a story,
Well, it just isn’t gory.
Nor is it plain.
It might entertain.
Although there’s been trouble
My heart can still bubble.
My story is worth it.
This book could help birth it.
>In January, layered fat like matrioshka,
they trudge flat-booted feet past onion domes
of Sofia, Andrey and other saints,
For the daily bread.
Back home each peeled away coat reveals another,
Each glove more gloves, each sock more socks
When Kiev’s final doll reveals herself you’ll see,
She is not so orthodox.
>Your Life as Story is not a French dessert.
It is honey mixed in medicine
So you don't notice the awful taste.
The epiphany in my story is as much a surprise to me
As the sudden relief from a tummy ache.
Happy New Year, Rachelle and all.
>Rachelle, you're so giving,
So awesome, so kind,
I hope you'll intervene
And make a book mine.
Oh, please Rachelle, please,
Look favorably on me!
For I have just spent
An hour plus three.
For I am a writer,
A reader, oh yes!
But I am no poet,
Perhaps you have guessed?
>Jane Austin ruined my life,
Not from her lost letters of love,
But from her overoptimistic love addiction,
Her men of leisure and breeding,
Her woman in peril of lust-less lives,
Her happy endings always with a side order of grief and guilt,
And I eat up every word as if reading hard enough would release me from her unyielding grasp,
Yes, Jane Austin has ruined my life,
And I have loved every minute of the misery.
>Once I longed for a model's figure,
Believing it's what I was supposed to be.
Now I bask in my savior's grace,
Shaped by His loving mercy.
>A conspiracy you say,
in Russia, no way,
I want to believe
that this is the book I'll receive.
Please pull my name and you will see, just how happy I will be.
>Here comes the fear again
A faint rumble in my belly
Tiny bubbles rising to my throat
Until I feel I cannot speak
Damn it woman, say what you want to say!
You think your writing is so damn good!
Maybe I can soothe myself somehow
But my heart beats faster still
I can’t seem to catch my breath
Damn it! I should know better
But there is no stopping ME
another contest I'm afraid I won't win
If this fear gets the best of me.
>Here comes the fear again
A faint rumble in my belly
Tiny bubbles rising to my throat
Until I feel I cannot speak
Damn it woman, say what you want to say!
You think your writing is so damn good!
Maybe I can soothe myself somehow
But my heart beats faster still
I can’t seem to catch my breath
Damn it! I should know better
But there is no stopping ME
another contest I'm afraid I won't win
If this fear gets the best of me.
>Transforming takes time
And can be a tough climb.
Architecture change
can feel and look strange.
Advice from Ron
Could help me get it done.
>I'd like Conspiracy in Kiev.
Have read and learned from My Life
as Story.
As an economist and then a political scientist in Burma and then America
I've read a lot about Problems of Communism.
Reading Alan Furst's Spies in Warsaw
which is how I found you.
I lived and studied in Warsaw 8 months in 1969-70.
Will soon query you about my novel.
Kyi May
http://kyimaykaung.blogspot.com
Free Aung San Suu Kyi and Burma blog
>Austen, please …
The reviewer called it
cotton candy –
that's better than
bubble bath.
No soapy aftertaste,
and still a soft, sweet chance
to slip away
from a world where
the fun read budget
gets spent on
practicality.
>When the comments be numbered
And the entries all in
Please give me the book
That no one else wins.
>Onward, Christian writers!
Freely! Fiercely! Fearlessly!
Onward then, ye happy people!
>Thank God
His mercy is
never
out of shape.
>Apples to Apples is a saying
All the while I sit here praying
Yet the hope of a book for free
As they say, if it's free it's me
Still wondering which name?
If only Eve didn't play the game
Would paradise then ensue
or would someone else made us stew?
>(my husband says this is too stupid to post, but maybe I'll get a vote for the "worst")
The dork won't stop though I yell for him to.
He twists harder as I go boo-hoo.
I think of pleasant things to make me smile,
to take my mind get off the burning for a while.
Like a circle-shaped cookie or a triangle Christmas tree.
Or a rectangle box filled with caramel for me.
But after a moment my arm takes on a purple hue.
I can’t stand it much longer, the unthinkable, I must do.
I stare at my brother, the word stuck in my throat.
“Mercy” from my mouth, the exclamation does float.
The release is real and the pain still lingers,
Defeat is great but at least I still have use of my fingers.
>Fearless
To love is to be fearless
To grow is to be fearless
To try is to be fearless
Even with knowing in each you could fail.
>The choice is so hard
when not a practicing bard.
So I reviewed the list
until I could not resist.
Not able to make up my mind and ready to leave,
finally I settled on the Story of Eve.
>For too many moons
Every thought was held captive;
Anxious for love,
Reluctant to live.
Light now defines me,
Encompassing my heart;
Satisfied to love,
Strength to live.
>A husband sits upon the couch,
A frown is on his face.
For resting there on his wife’s lap
A book’s taken his place.
It’s one she has not read before,
Of love and dreams and such.
And though he tries to talk to her,
She doesn’t hear him much.
The Shape of Mercy’s like a drug,
She cannot put it down.
And since he will not read it too,
He wears an angry frown.
He grumbles and he squints his eyes,
A literary grouch.
“I hope it keeps you warm tonight
while sleeping on the couch.”
>I’m not a numbers guru.
I’ll stick with words.
But to traverse acres of land over time stretched limber
like a Pilates pose…
Is there no greater feat?
To know where you’ve been in order to get to where you’re going.
It’s the equivalent of moving a million miles in a thousand years.
I drool for books. Enjoyed playing.
~ Wendy
>I’m out of it because I write.
I bathe in it because
I’m God’s.
The the and the of are insignificant, hardly needing a mention.
Set one next to the other and you get the contour of compassion.
Fun, fun!
~ Wendy
>A million words in a thousand years,by sheer might, I write–inking the dream, waiting … it is coming. I feel the pages turn.
A million words,a million miles, a thousand years, one yes … it is time.
>Indecision has always been my bane,
From the beginning of my life's reign.
There are three special books I crave,
About these authors I often rave.
So how can I choose between Patillo, Meissner, and Miller??
To pick one is just a killer.
Actually Patillo is not a name I know,
But the title gives the book a go,
'Cause I'm such an Austen freak
You could actually call me a literary geek.
But the beauty that flows from Susan's pen,
Makes me read her again and again.
And Donald? The things he does with ink,
Totally makes me ponder and think.
And though this poem is totally chessy,
All I can say is pleasssssy!
>Wrting real, writing fact
Your Life as Story
We all have lived
Amazing tales…
To speak its truth
To show and tell
That God alone would get the glory..
🙂 Thanks Again Rachel.
>That time long, long ago I spent drudging through the dark soul of Russian literature,
When I was too in love with all things French to ever fall for a Kiev story,
I dare you to surprise me.
>I never thought I would say, 'Happy New Year' it's twenty ten.
Freedom came from the touch of the power of His gentleness
The "Intervention" that turned my life around
Breaking chains and the shackle of shame.
His Light revealing truth, dispelling darkness. breathing life.
Teaching the power of faith
To stand tall, to walk free.
Happy New Year Rachel…as always – your awesome. Sarah
>Poetry to win
Fearless by Max Lucado
Can't rhyme–I haiku
Pretty please with ex
tra sugar on top gimme
The Shape of Mercy
>When the hurt is too great
A gaping wound in my soul
The bitterness consuming
Every inch of me
It is You who reaches
Gentle hands that transform
Ashes to beauty
Leaving space that becomes
The shape of mercy.
>I spoke the heavy words… then I saw my wife's fierce glare.
"Yours was ruined long before
You let Austen in upstairs!"
I had scarcely time to duck,
As Northanger skimmed my hairs.
(Goodness knows I am so grateful talk of e-books fill the air.)
>Be gone by begone,
Living the present,
Seeking the mystery of future.
I am turning to scorn,
Its bad no more decent,
Thee shall be lure.
Lost in my research,
To find an idea,
To be a writer.
Hanging by the porch,
Never been to Ikea,
OMG,am I trying hardly to be a rhyme-r.
Your Life as Story is in need,
For my writing skills to feed.
>The man just kept on staring with pencil in his ear,
Then with a thumb outstretched he seemed to measure all my gears.
He jotted down some notes while whistling a tune,
Then turned and sauntered off, surprised to end so soon.
His notebook left behind, I read the simple phrase,
This architect divined from looking at my face.
“This plain and dreary life, for transformation’s grounds,
Unfortunate, but clearly, I must declare unsound.”
I need a second opinion.
>Such is life: ink on a page
Red ink marking from a critic's pen
Black ink running from a writer's heart
Critic and writer in me both
Fighting for mastery of the scenes
Struggling to make every sentence mean
And God? God is a writer
Who never edits; He gets it right
The first time–
Or maybe He does. For the joy of it,
for the painstaking love of the work.
To make in an instant as is glorious
To shape in a lifetime as is good.
>I was reeling in perfection
Underneath the dome-like skies:
All the colors and the flavors
And the light in Adam's eyes,
And the symphony of gladness,
And the singing of the bees,
And the glow of ruddy sunset,
And the whispers of the leaves.
All is fallen, all is aging;
Now the world is in decay,
Shaking, choking on its sorrow
In the swirl of ashy gray.
It is drowning in its sadness,
Filthy in iniquity,
It is waiting for the Son of God
To set His people free.
—
I guess I'm a blog "lurker"…I haven't commented here before, have I? I was too intrigued to keep silent on this posting, though, because I am endlessly fascinated with Adam and Eve, so "Havah" caught my eye, and also I enjoy writing poetry. =)
Happy New Year!
– Trustedwriter
>The weight was dark, it held me tight
I did not know how low
Until I soared in freedom’s light
No encumbrances in tow.
The distant thunder stirs no alarm
Safe in the Shepherd’s arms I rest
God came near, I’m safe from harm
A new vision is my quest.
>Dearest Jane,
My own Darcy leaves my resolve in ruins, can you advise? Much Affection, Comtesse di Suburbia
>My poem can be sung to Old Blue Eye's "The Second Time Around":
Life is lovelier, the second time around,
Just so wonderful to take your feet off the ground.
And if Donald Miller can do it, so can I.
I can edit my life to reflect the ending I want to achieve ere I die.
If your Volkswagen won't take you up the hill,
Take the air filter off and get ready for a thrill.
'Cause with prayer and maintenance you'll surely find
That with God on your side, the results will truly blow away your mind.
Life is wonderful if you paint it Blue Like Jazz.
Just so wonderful when you add that razzmatazz.
So, don't be content to leave your life to chance–
Put on your golden slippers and go on out and dance and dance and dance!
>Oh man I'm so bad at this but here goes:
——
I'm in love with Mr. Darcy
His creator too
Just a little
Okay, a lot
——
Man, that was so very lame haha sorry but I'm not a good writer nor will I ever be. You can imagine how embarrassing English class was for me. Either way I still adore J.A 😉
>Oh man I'm so bad at this but here goes:
——
I'm in love with Mr. Darcy
His creator too
Just a little
Okay, a lot
——
Man, that was so very lame haha sorry but I'm not a good writer nor will I ever be. You can imagine how embarrassing English class was for me. Either way I still adore J.A 😉
>It once was my Intension
To create a great Invention.
My wonderful Invention
would do a virtual-Intervention.
A successful virtual-Intervention
could be worth a mention…
(on Rachelle Gardner's blog)
Happy New Year to all!
>Oh, Jane…
You've left me swooning
with my heart yearning
for more.
How could I possibly compete?
My sticky fingers
leave chocolate on the pages
and my worn bathrobe,
as I run
because it's
3 o'clock
and the children
are coming home…
>Reading through Jane like the back of my hand,
I knew my life would turn out to be grand
But all was not so, it turned out to be,
For Jane taught that love was always happy.
>God’s Tiny House
Ms. Stanley left her pillow where she wanted to sit, always sat,
the far end of the second row.
It was understood that the first row would remain empty,
except for the little girls who lined up to escape the rolling pews and anointing,
to be churched for a moment in blessed solitude,
alone in the single, private toilet.
One by one, we left and returned, passing by the pillow,
where Stanley sat (who knew it was her first name?),
putting down her paper accordion fan to
praise the holy spirit, and be an angel
when you’d tucked the back of your dress into your panties.
>Dara, the rules don't say you can't name the book! In fact, I'm relieved that some of you have named the book, so I don't have to work so hard. 🙂
However, I did some editing in the rules to make it clearer.
>Although generous to a fault
Rachelle’s call grasped me to a halt.
Poetry and me never see eye to eye
But give me drugs, murder, and some Blackstock rye
Sprinkled with suspense for me to ponder
And I become the bad poet Rachelle will surely honor.
As you can see I suck at poetry. GRIN
>Oh goodness. I love writing poetry. Absolutely love it. However, my great love of writing poetry is exactly in proportion to how horrible the poetry I write is. Truly. I'm not exaggerating. I'd have to make everyone sign indemnity forms before letting them read it, and that would just create a big mess.
So, I'll enjoy reading the poems, wish everyone luck with the contest – which is a fun one! 🙂
Also, Happy New Year to everyone! May 2010 be wonderful and bring you grace, goodness and prosperity. 🙂
>I,like Gideon, need reminding
Of the boldness God designs
For our souls so fear-finding
to be complete in love divine.
>At Intervention I would like a look.
Will you please let me have the book?
>Many nights I read your books
poring through the decades
finding meaning where other found none,
your witty characters made me laugh
your charming men made me dream.
But the knowledge I gained from you
hasn't helped me earn a dime
now I have my MA
and I see your face everywhere
mind my matters
hold my chin up right
but if you could help me sharpen my resume
I might think you're alright
So ode to you Ms. Austen and the others I studied all night.
I will think of you while I live with my father-in-law
and try desperately to find at least a part-time job.
>Well, I'm slow–just re-read the rules and saw I wasn't supposed to state the book I wanted 😛 Oops. Oh well; it was fun making it!
>If Mercy had a Shape
It'd be a Rhombus.
If this poem had a Point
I might win myself a Book.
>If I win A Million Miles
I will Smile a Billion Smiles
Should it take me the next Zillion Whiles.
>Did She Not Have Love
Demon arrived in plain brown wrap.
I'd felt the urgings of his tap.
Determined is he, for our fall.
In listening she condemned us all.
Who, without hunger, not a trace,
Desired the fruit and turned her face,
Away from God, as in she bit.
God was not going to forget.
She slayed us all with greedy lust,
Offspring to ashes, then to dust.
>I exceeded
The 14-line limit
In my previous poem
But
I would still like
The Jane Austen book.
Please?
>FEAR . . .
smothering joy
shackling souls
scorching hope
obstructing beauty
fettering freedom
choking life
clinging to the core
until at last
The One
who is More
looses chains
and makes it
. . . LESS
>Come in, my dear.
Sit down.
No, no, here, this one’s more comfortable.
Are you well?
Would you like some tea?
No?
You look so beautiful in your red dress.
Ah,
I see you notice my Jane Austen collection.
I have read each one
A dozen times
At least.
Come,
Take a look.
They are beautiful bindings
Are they not?
Look closer…
Ah my dear,
That was too close.
The crimson stain
Of your life
Is spoiling your dress now.
Perhaps I should take you outside
And lay you
In the serene garden
Of my mind.
>Jane Austen ruined my life,
such a book with strife.
I feel the need to read
such prose to make my heart bleed.
So please send me this lovely novel,
I really hate to grovel.
To be a poet I should think twice,
but isn't that cover nice?
>Shot off a killer query
Tipped with poison
Straight to the heart…
Never heard back.
Internet arrows
Black Holes
Pixels
Vanished.
>I read a remarkable work
The romance of it gave me a quirk.
I married too early,
He left me for Shirley.
My Darcy is really a jerk.
>If Austen's done badly it's not very fun,
Which made me reluctant to spring for this one.
Rachelle says it's good so I'll take her word,
That Beth's new attempt can stand out from the herd.
AP Guide and Garner's are new on my shelf,
So now I'm too broke to buy it myself.
>The idea of making the personal public
Is far and away too much to bear.
An expose published with any luck
Is like standing outside in my underwear.
Am I trying to journal the incorrect way?
If I had instruction in the non fiction art
Then I could start writing my memoir today
Of the torments and joys jogging my heart.
So send me a copy of how I should do it.
Absolution of all the ways I could fail
I’ll send along with the what you may intuit
Is my life unbound that you’ll find in your mail.
>A leaf tumbles down
mingling with rich, foreign soil.
Living without fear.
>Thank you for offering this fine occasion
to write an eloquent poem of Persuasion.
I'm not a poet with Pride and Prejudice,
therefore the challenge to find the words for this
that rhyme with Sense and Sensibility
and timing turn into tranquility.
A jotted poem, in fine short measure
to lead to future reading pleasure.
>She was taken from Adam's rib
You know, the guy who told the fib
A honey in her birthday suit
It all changed when they ate the fruit
The universe erupted
His creation now corrupted
Smiling, the snake slithered away,
"Forever Man will rue this day."
>Might I Persuade you to give me a chance?
I long to read a Sensible Victorian romance.
>OK, trying my hand at a haiku for The Shape of Mercy 😛
Mercy's Legacy
Crosses time, transforms two hearts
Hope is never lost.
Happy New Year!
>BookPage says this book
is like a cup of English tea.
Something that's always
Been so comforting to me.
England and Austen–
Of my life, you have control
Since our very first meeting
You've been my heart and my soul.
Should this book come to me
With much joy and glee I say:
I would be so grateful
For evermore and a day.
***********************
Thank you for the contest!
Happy New Year!
All the best for 2010!
>A Haiku:
I want the Blackstock.
Oh, to find Christian Fiction
that I truly like.
Happy New Year's, Rachelle!
>My dear, my daughter
I must confess
It was I who turned you
Into this mess
I will be clever
And fight forever
To do what it takes
With these high stakes
On your behalf
We will laugh
When we clear your name
And restore your fame
>Claws dig deep into my soul
Torment, terror, ever to know
How often I shrink from that I must do
Fearless is not friend but foe
Will their chains ever break from me
or will my world be ever dark. . .
like my got-run-over-by-a-reindeer blackened toe?
What can I say? I guess that's why I write fiction and not poetry.
>Seven billion grains of pure quartz sand;
His hands scoop, the crucible fills.
Refiner’s fire applied, scarred edges meld.
Divine breath shapes, perfection takes form:
A Holy Goblet for precious wine.
Are you a battered, indistinguishable pebble on a vast shoreline?
Or have you been transformed into a facet of His Glorious Story?
>Crank, meth, the monster
Ellen Hopkins introduced
addiction, and now
Intervention will wrap up
That painful cycle
>Oh Donald Miller, Oh Donald my friend
You’ve been blue like jazz, blue to the end
Running, walking
Singing, talking
Did you know that one day you’d be famous and known
With the miles and years that you’ve been shown
A million miles won’t do, not even close to being done
A thousand years won’t do, make it a thousand plus one
Running, walking
Singing, talking
Did you know that we’d be here today and see
That what we are is not just you and not just me
>Unrelenting thoughts
Crash against my consciousness,
Dragging me under
With the receding tide,
Not to slumber,
But the bowels of Fear
As I face the terror of living.
I am caught in the undertow—
Unable to breathe,
Unable to escape.
Please, God, help me!
But not even He can find me
Drowning in the depths
Of my own mind.
>I don't know why she did it
The author wouldn't quit it
She spun tales of romance
And cynical men who
do not want to
dance
But woe is me, oh, the strife!
For Jane Austen Ruined My Life!
>Thanks for everything this past year, and happy New Year.
>Regifting
Budget cuts limit purchases at my local library,
Where fewer new authors and titles I see.
Delightful as Beth Patillo’s story does sound,
Shelved in the stacks she is not to be found.
My wish for her novel includes this promise to you,
I’ll donate it to my library once I am through.
>(Said to the tune of "When I Wake Up" by the Proclaimers)
When I wake up, well I know I'm gonna check,
I'm gonna check Rachelle’s blog just to see.
When I click it, yeah I know I'm gonna click
The Rants and Ramblings of this nice lady.
If I write words, well I know I'm gonna send,
I'm gonna send my book to her for show.
And if she likes it, Yeah if she smiles back to me,
I'm gonna get published with a glow.
But I would write 500 years,
And I would write 500 more,
Just to gain some insight from the millions…
Walked by a great mentor.
>Christmas Day has ended
The bows are in the trash
Cavernous debt lies before us
The wallet is without cash
We cannot buy any books
Lest the price be 'zero'
This is why Rachelle
Has now become my hero
I long for the lovely read
authored by Beth Patillo
But if I lose this game
I'd settle for an armadillo.
Happy New Year!
>Haiku for Ms. Patillo
I am curious:
Jane Austen ruined her life…
Who will ruin mine?
>Enter left, Ms. WhatsTheHype,
Naught but a cardboard stereotype
There to serve a dreary tale,
To neither drive the action nor regale.
She stumbles through a weary act,
Bored and boring — that's a fact.
This isn't right — what to do?
Act One, Scene One: Take Two.
The life well-written moves apace
From comic relief to gratuitous chase.
An edit here, a filmcut there,
Turns tears to laughter, flat to flair.
Outtro, as the music swells —
Yes indeedy, the rewrite sells.
>"Hey, Mom," asked my son.
"How long would it take to walk a million miles?"
"A Thousand years, my little one."
"Would I have to go it all alone?"
"No, my dear it's already begun.
Great great Grandpa saw its start.
Now, it's your turn to do your part."
>It's not often I want to read Austen.
In this book a lot can happen.
Emma Grant wasn't a tramp
Divorce wasn't the course she was mappin'-
But it sounds like she was a champ
Using clues to solve the thing
while love remained her lamp
Perhaps reading some romance will advance my chance?
>On the day before New Year's, and all through my house,
n'er an Austen book stirring that hadn't yet doused
my penchant for reading; when all else does fail,
I tend to rely on a well-written tale.
The writer Patillo shares my passion for Jane,
and she writes in a genre that's my claim to fame.
Rachelle, oh Rachelle, please pick this writer
to win Patillo's book and make my heart lighter.
>She runs!
The stranger chases like a shadow of conspiracy.
Where is Kiev? Where is hope?
He knows – but will he reach her.
First.
>I cannot write a poem
But two of these books I want to own
Love her or blame her
A story about her I want for sure
From the non-fiction its hard to decide
But I think it's the fear I must not hide
>Where is the gate to my soul?
Is it grand? Is it far?
Faith is a long quiet journey.
It began behind me.
It's architecture is ever
transformational.
Light the lamp.
Walk the path.
Dare not glance behind.
Walk on. One step – then another.
And again.
>I should have, I would have, submitted a poem
But for this one reason made obvious
By trembling hand and mouth dry as sand
That’s been baked in a sun hot and furious.
“Take courage,” I said. “Be still, heart,” I pled,
Ensconced all the while in my tower.
But rhyming words failed me as dark doubts assailed me.
‘Til next time. Sincerely, A. Coward.
>Matt was a fellow who tried to be good,
In fear of the day
When the guy with the scythe and the hood
Would appear at his door and motion him down.
Or potentially up;
If he could only confound him,
With tales of good deeds,
Of the countless examples of charity and grace,
Of the prayers he had uttered,
Of how he’d embraced
The big G upstairs and his dozen commands,
The reaper might leave him
Reborn and unharmed.
>I'm very very scared to say
I've never entered Rachelle's giveaway.
That is, of course, until today.
But winning would chase those fears away.
So tell me, Rachelle – what do you say?
>To run, to fly one million miles
With stories I have wept
Before forming that first foot print
I rather hope I slept