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Home of the free?

 

I doubt very many know the history of the nickname,and for good reason.

Unlike Paris, a city that many fled to when the spotlight of segregation, racism and hatred filled the streets of our country, Birmingham became the icon for all that was and is grossly, horribly wrong with any one race, or individual, feeling superior to another.

 

Life Rewritten

 
  • Rediscovering You – the Original

  • Romancing the Odyssey

  • Realizing the Opportunity

Our mission and passion is to help women change their lives using writing as a medium for rediscovery.
To that end, we will issue a weekly invitation to contribute your creative writing.

So, you know there have to be a few guidelines,
and here they are.

 
 

Rules for publication:

  1. Every submission must be less than 600 words.
  2. No slandering of ethnicities, color, religious preferences, sexual orientation, gender, deficiencies of any kind, will be accepted.
  3. And yes, that even includes political candidates, as deficient as they are (we want you to share your views, just without slamming anyone in the process, consider it an opportunity to challenge your vocabulary)………
  4. Basically, write heart, not hatred.

All work must be submitted for approval four weeks before publication.

 

Enjoy these other blog posts I've written.

 

Peapod

a poem by Michael Aaron Lloyd

Taken from the cinema life,
of cold storms and discord
miniatures of once called kings
the metamorphosis of clay
the moss on the rock.

a fear of thunder
the frogs leap beyond
that gentle storm formed
at the foot of the traveler.

Both looking to the same sun for guidance,
an easier tour through the imagination
a score orchestrated
leading a suite of memories
long and dark
narrow at times
covered in water
airless and placid
a cavern meant for echoes
or forest for the frightened

There are great plains here

ever fertile soil that blooms
such magnificent flora
the architects plight in the city made of mud

what grows from that city
men formed out of clay,
battening eachother's clay hands
making clay pots and clay dishes,
wives taking clay vows
while draping clay veils,
crying joyous clay tears revealing
tiny rivers that dam as the tears lose momentum, the two
together making clay children,
inventing imaginary friends
made of quartz or flint,
whose shadows leave residue that
dry and become dust,
who form clay bonds and become larger
who build clay cities and tower over the clay towns and clay
villages, whose clay towers block the sun so that nothing grows.
Until one day a rain comes,
the clay men quickly try to find
enough leaves to cover their clay homes,
their clay wife
&

child,
the leaves do not hold
and all of the clay men

women
children
become
one once

again.




SO VERY HAPPY YOU COULD TAKE A MINUTE TO JOIN US. WE KNOW HOW STRETCHED YOUR TIME AND YOUR LIFE ARE.

WE ARE HONORED TO HAVE YOU.

If You Enjoyed What You Read, Forward This To Your Friends And Family….. If You Didn’t…… Well, Let Us Know How We Can Better Meet Your Needs….

And Don’t Forget To Take The Plunge And Send Us Something Of Yours For Publication….See Your Name On The Www!

Until Next Week –

Bises! – Á Bientôt