Words Are All I Have

I truly believe in the right to bear arms. I also truly believe that we don't need to bear assault rifles. But then there's that militia thing. I also believe in a well-armed militia being our final line of defense (not sure about the "regulated" part). I don't know where the answer lies, but I do know this - our innocents should not be paying the price.

Here is my contribution to the cause:

Innocents Lost

By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

Layer by layer,

The onion loses life, peeled,

By insanity.

 

Death by senseless death,

The world loses innocents;

Heaven gains its stars.

 

The tears of angels

Flood our universe with grief —

The tipping point gained,

 

Its settling unknown —

Known only this — attention,

This time, must be paid.

Sixth in my Series on Dying

In the Depths of Sweet Misery

          …on My Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            NaNoWriMo is over, and having enjoyed a sweet respite from my life, I am now back, with a vengeance. I am dysphoric. I have always been dysphoric. I will always be… You get the idea. To those who have found happiness in this life, I make obeisance. Good for you, but for me, on the whole, life sucks, always has and probably always will.

 

 

 

When life hands you lemons,

Make lemonade.

Yeah, try that without the

Sugar to coat it.

 

My poem of the moment follows. In the Throes of Dysphoria — the sixth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

In the Throes of Dysphoria

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

I'm sorry that I got

Old and near to dying.

That the myriad nails in

My coffin have all but

Burst this old, wounded heart.

Now I'd trade my life's long

Misery for a moment

Of fatal happiness.

For I'm tired in my soul

And find scant respite in

The fetid air I breathe.

Melancholy causes

The clouds to dark my sky.

The wind now barely moves

From dawn to dusk, from birth

To death. The tide brings in;

The tide takes out, and I

Lie washed upon the shore

Waiting, but biding time,

To be borne out again —

To lay my tired soul

In the arms of sweet peace

As I've not lain before.

This day I face regret,

I shall not die today.

 

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com

Change of Focus

Change of Focus…

          …A Journey of Death

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

            Perhaps I should change focus from contemplating my final dying breath to merely exploring my more imminent mortality. It may not be as direct, but perhaps, it would frighten my friends and relatives less.

            And as long as I am living a little more than day-to-day, perhaps I should also get my ducks in some sort of order. I have nine novels in various states of completion, and I have a memoir to write. Also, my DH should at least know where the financial and legal papers are located (as soon as I locate them, of course).

            As to why I should finish my novels and write my memories when it appears few are interested in my work - even my dying declarations - I simply ask why not? They may mean nothing to anyone else, but at least they will occupy my mind and keep me from sleeping what's left of my life away.

            Also, since I have lived through most of eight decades some of what I remember may be of historical interest. At the least I can offer opinions and comparisons of the times and draw some conclusions that no one will bother to heed. (I sense a trend here.)

            Do you know it used to take seven long hours to fly from Midway Airport in Chicago to Los Angeles? And that's non-stop on a prop job with actual propellers. And LAX was in the middle of farmland as far as the eye could see. Even in the 60's gas was 25¢ a gallon, if you crossed the county line a few miles away. A loaf of bread was also a quarter, and those hamburgers from under the golden arches were 15¢ - 2¢ extra for cheese.

            Not much ranting today - just some and some advice:

A half-empty glass

Is still half-full.

 (An admission of perspective.)

            My poem of the moment follows. Mortal Writer - the fourth in a new collection which will be published at or before my death, depending on how long I have left.

 

Mortal Writer

            By Ann Wilmer-Lasky

 

I am merely mortal,

Yet embrace thoughts of gods.

In my well-penned hand I

Do create paper lives

And deal them blows or boons

With equal whim, fancy

That I might perhaps gain

My own most mortal coil.

I write death's scenes for good

And evil as the same,

Nor feel within my soul

That justice ought prevail.

Among the words, I blur

The good deed done and flaunt

Perpetration of bad.

For grayness tints and taints

Life as I perceive it.

And I would not draw those

Lines as black, nor as white.

If I could curb my words,

I would say the same of

My life as the life of

My neutral pen's worst fiend

With bold audacity

To create life and claim:

I shall not die today.

Ann Wilmer-Lasky is living and dying in Roswell, New Mexico where she writes Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror novels. Her published works include: The Chronicles of Acqueria: Blood Moon Treachery , The Seasons of Sam Rock  and the 25th Anniversary Edition of The Castleweaver's Tales - all available on Amazon.com