Holiday traditions

I remember as a kid roaming on Halloween to decorated houses asking for candy. Mom didn’t have to walk with because I stayed in my neighborhood. I had the other kids to walk with me. When I grew too old to trick or treat Mom threw a halloween party.

I look around now at the neighborhoods, and find I am sad. Not many decorate anymore. When my teen was of the age to go we did trunk or treats because it felt safer. The one time we did the trick or treat in the neighborhood thing I was scared by a guy giving out funky shelled boiled eggs.

Now that she is too old for the trick or treat thing I find myself looking at what traditions I want for the holiday from now forward. We decided this year to do a horror/halloween movie marathon. I want to move away from Candy focused activities. To me it seems like so much of Halloween has vanished and I am at a loss as to how to fix it.

What traditions do you have, and why?

Another teaser from Serena

Walking around the town with a badge and a gun tends to create a attitude. Especially since the whole town knew that I was a seal. I had been considering going detective, even took the initial tests for it. Still, in the moment, walking my beat. .Well I felt like a bad ass. Even the asshole drunks didn’t tend to fight when I sent them home.
Yeah it’s easy to allow it to go to my head, so I would let the idea of being a bad ass run through my mind to boost my confidence before I patrolled. Confidence helped to prevent the idiots from challenging me. Jarvin really was not a place where violence is a concern. ~Tara Robinson

Excerpt from Serena’s novella

Everything that has been said up till now about Peter Pan and the lost boys was a lie. My grandmother spoke the truth in her diaries, where no one could see. I am going to share what I can from them and the journals of Hook that she owned. I am not going to try and excuse it. I am merely sharing what I have learned. To some extent, so I do not have on my conscience those who would fall victim if I am wrong about Peter pan and his lost boys being gone.

From Serena

An excerpt from Rust, Gore, and the junkyard Zombie :
Jimbo actually tried to bite him. Dad’s reflexes have never dulled in the twenty years since he left the military. He was always a more physical person, it was one of his more annoying personality traits. His exercise routine was nearly a religious thing. He jogged five miles every morning, and did other muscle builders as well. He claimed it was how he kept his body in shape. I was so stunned that all I could do was stare.
Dad dodged away and started cussing. “Jimbo, you damn fool! What the Hell is wrong with you? “ Jimbo only groaned, and followed Dad. Again, Jimbo lunged and tried to bite.
“Have you been in my good stash again? You know that you have no tolerance for the booze! Get your drunk ass up to the couch to sober up! And how did you get so damn bloodied up boy?”
Dad clocked him, as Jimbo tried yet another time to bite him. Not the first time Dad sent him flying, but this time something was different. Dad knew it too. A look of deadly steel settled in his eyes.
“Jimbo, I am done playing with you. This is the last warning. Back off!” Dad pulled out his Colt Desert Eagle, and grimaced as if he really did not want to use it. To be honest, he probably didn’t. He rarely did. “Pull your head out your ass boy!”
Dad snarled as he backed away, but Jimbo didn’t seem to hear him. Dad aimed for the knee. The shot rang loudly, ringing painfully across the entire garage.



Not knowing what to say,

Not knowing what to write.

It has never been the issue.

Having too much to pour out,

That endless train of musing,

It goes on a journey

From too much truth to heartache.

Putting pen to paper is like,

A vacuum to the heart.

In the end there’s a dirty bag of poetry,

And a soul drained of all emotions.

© Abirami

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Written yesterday


by Patricia Harris

A fickle beast.
Today a river flowing,
Tomorrow a dry gulch again.

The muse delighted
Ideas a plenty,
While art completed
Few indeed.

Feast, young poet,
Writer, or artist.
While the muse is generous,
Lest your time of
Creativity become too lean.

Inspiration monsters

Well I have been extra prolific this year with poetry. I just published my third volume for the year. That was three times what I have managed before. So I was not expecting to do much else poetry wise this year. I have two children’s stories I want to finish, a novel half written(as Serena), a novella that needs more(again Serena) and two stories due to an anthology I am doing by March. So I was sitting down to work on Serena’s Rust, Gore, and the Junkyard Zombie.

I found myself distracted…and so to clear my mind I started to write out my thoughts. A mental cleansing if you will. Next thing I knew I have seven poems for my next volume. I don’t have any idea of why I have been this inspired, but I am not going to complain.

Go peek at my author page. I have added Literary Drops already. There are other great volumes available too. It seems that my muse has decided to be kind, so I will be releasing more soon. Tomorrow, when I type the new ones in, I will be sure to post at least one for y’all to enjoy.

And in case you are curious about Serena, she has an Author page as well. Currently it only has a single novella, but keep your eyes out for that to change.

Word Jazz

inspired by CabbagesandKings

By Patricia Harris ©2017

Word Jazz
Not structured
Poetic improv

Pieced together
Thoughts, emotions,
Smiles and tears.

Word song,
Spilled soul
To paper
Spilled mind
To sight.

And smooth.
Makes the heart move.


Just when I felt my most alone,

Lost from my soul, unknown,

That is when discovery came.

Teaching me,

Learning how to lean in,

Learning to accept love

Growing, evolving.

Welcoming the arms

Of unconditional

Support wrapping

Self doubt,

Carrying the dream

Carrying the need

To be known.

Each one a star,

Shining brightly in

The darkness of the night

Of a soul lost and forlorn.

Stretching across the chasm

Of eternity.