My latest four poems


At the end of each day

I write a mental list

Of the things I have done

And those that I’ve missed.

The list never grows less

But I try to justify to myself

I’ve made good progress.


I always want to do more

I always over-estimate

There is so little achieved

Perhaps it is my fate

To always feel that it’s not

Enough. I should have worked

Extra time striving hard to

Write on and not have shirked.


I feel guilty for things not done

Why not relax and have some fun?

Perhaps because I feel my life

Was wasted by being a wife

And mother. Yet I am proud

Of what my children have become

Feet set well on the path begun

So I shouldn’t be glum!

This summer I reach another decade

Time rushes on, stopping for no man

So if I hope to make the grade

I must work, so I can span

The wasted years. God has blessed

Me with talent I must not waste

So that remains my hopeful quest

So I strive to make every haste


To learn, improve and do whatever I can.

Yet much is lost and much is missed

Worrying whether my poetry will scan

Friends and lovers should be kissed

Life should be lived and wishes wished

Perhaps I should be driven to fill

My hours with pleasure and fun

For while I sharpen my quill

My time may almost have been run.


Clouds And Seagulls

clouds and seagulls

Seagull sat on a chimney-pot

Unmoving watching the world below

Kind of comic standing as if it’s got

Knowledge of where the winds blow.

Arrogantly posed like a handsome man

Expecting to be admired.


Clouds decorate the sky behind him

Moving so slowly they appear still

Promising weather dark and grim

The seagull looks like he could kill

The clouds and rule the world

For centuries to come.


The gull moves from one pot to another

Still poised ignoring the clouds at bay

Standing sentry for wife or mother?

Uniform smart of white and grey.

Yet ominous as a harbinger of bad

Weather long expected.


Another seagull flies and he follows

Is she late, getting ready for your date?

Swooping, soaring above like swallows

Acrobatically turning a figure eight

With pride and dignity they wheel

Dismissing my insults.


My car is decorated with their love

Precision bombing from above

The clouds will soon soak the scene

And leave my car sparkling clean.

Do the seagulls know I wish them gone

From my vicinity?


Yet I am jealous as they soar high

Do they despise me stuck here on earth

And wish me a special goodbye?

Or consider me of so little worth

They dance in the sky for simple joy

Ignoring my existence?


No poem todayRonnie O'Sullivan

I won’t write a poem today

I have not got enough time

Or anything much to say

That is worth making it rhyme!


The poems I’ve written recently

Are really not my best work.

I should sit and write my Regency

And not just stare and shirk.


On Saturday, Guilt I penned

Seagulls and clouds came next

Not sure if they’ll ever mend

Perhaps I should stick to writing text.


But the lads tempt me to have fun

And watch them with their cues

No-one can please everyone

I try to resist, I really want to refuse


If I succumb to the lures of the baize

My heroine will not become a bride

The hero with love will never blaze

My dilemma, please do not deride


Me. Most days I work really hard

And write whatever they tell me to

But today I fear being tarred

With feathers for what I want to do!


I know I should stir my witch’s brew

And let my characters fly or swim

But temptation lurks, I can’t pooh pooh

The longing to succumb to a whim.


So please forgive me if I am torn

With desire to watch snooker on TV

Rather than write lovers forlorn

But I can see Ronnie’s on a spree!



Mystic MistMannanan mac Lir

Mannanan son of Lir has woven his magic brought the mist

The Isle now blanketed, with a single flourish of his wrist

No birds cry out in shrouds of bandaging white

The sun cannot reach through and is lost from sight.

Houses, cars, roads, people, all have vanished

Sounds are muffled, the island banished

Into fae, as Mannanan shields us from the day.


Five nations should be seen,

From Snaefell’s pinnacle

Surrounded by a sea of green

Now none are visible.

All the land that is in sight

Is draped with air of ghostly white

Sight and sound are locked away

Now we are descending into fae.


If fairies danced right in front of me,

I would not doubt what I did see.

But beg to be allowed to follow

To dance along, risking no tomorrow

Let the magic drag me far within

The dance would swirl me in a spin

Of time passing Oh so slow

I would follow I would go.

I would leave this plodding world behind

Treading a measure with fairy kind

Family, friends I don’t even wave farewell

Knowing fae will sound out my death knell

Yet I have no desire to fight

Or hide from those fairies’ sight.

To enter fae and know it’s real

To see, to touch, to hear, to feel

Even though I will never return

To tell the world what I have learned.


Wave your magic over me today

Or let the sun brightly burn away

Your foggy mist and leave the Isle

To bask is sunshine for a while.

If your magic is that strong

Let me hear the music of your song.

Or flee foul God back where you belong

You must accept that it is wrong


Of you to bring the magic of the past

Into the future, let this be the last

Time you veil our glorious land

With the magic you have fanned

Making us desire your mystic skill

Tingling our skin with imagined thrill

Only to leave us in reality once more

Dive into the ocean, depart our shore.

Never return for never more

Sink back into your days of yore

Don’t tease us with magic from long ago

Which you won’t reveal or let us know

Keep your secrets, stay deep below

Hide your cards so they don’t show

Or offer delights we must forego.


















Guest author Rosanna Leo

I’d like to offer a big welcome to Rosanna Leo, my guest author! Rosanna Leo is a multi-published, erotic romance author with Liquid Silver Books who lives and breathes paranormal romance. Several of her books about Greek gods, selkies and shape shifters have been named Night Owl Romance and Two Lips Recommended Reads. When not writing, she can be found haunting dusty library stacks or planning her next star-crossed love affair. 12957 (167x250)   KEEP ON KEEPIN’ ON!” I’d like to offer a big thank you to Giselle for hosting me today. It’s a pleasure to be here. Recently, I had the pleasure of launching my tenth book, Predator’s Claim, Gemini Island Shifters 4, the latest addition to my shifter series. In writing this book, I couldn’t help but look back and muse about my personal writing journey. Once I was first published in April 2012, the ball rolled swiftly, although it felt as if it was a long time coming. I was fortunate to find a publisher who believed in my very rough work. The staff at Liquid Silver Books nurtured and encouraged me. However, before that amazing day of acceptance, I got my share of rejections. This can be so disheartening for a writer. One crafts a piece, as well as one is able, only to see it turned away. I understand now I was initially rejected for a reason: plainly speaking, I wasn’t a good enough writer. No matter how much I read and studied, my first drafts were badly structured and had a lot of holes in them. Nevertheless, we love our children, warts and all. It’s terrible to know others don’t see their charms. I could have stopped with those rejections but something told me my stories had an audience out there somewhere. I just had to improve on them and locate that audience. Easier said than done. My advice to new writers is pretty much always the same. Read voraciously. Absorb criticisms, but don’t let them scar you. Become familiar with the market in which you hope to sell. Make sure your story has the right elements for that market. And don’t give up. That acceptance letter might be around the corner. LSB Cover Art Template for PhotoShop   Predator’s Claim  – Gemini Island Shifters 4 For years, wolf shifter Bart Cairo has harbored secret feelings for his co-worker, Charlotte Moffatt. Even though he thinks he’s been discreet with his affections, everyone at Gemini Island’s Ursa Fishing Lodge knows he and Charlotte, a fellow wolf shifter, are meant to be mates. Everyone but Charlotte. Charlotte could not be less interested in mating. A free spirit, she wants nothing more than to succeed at her new career in the big city and leave small-town Gemini Island behind. However, she can’t deny Bart stirs up unwanted emotions inside her. Emotions she swore she’d never feel again. The occasion of Bart’s family reunion compels him to assume new responsibilities, and to consider a role he never envisioned for himself. Family tensions rise to the surface as a new Alpha is proclaimed in his pack. And when old grudges escalate, Bart must stake his claim. Charlotte resists as he stakes a claim on her as well. But when he begins to employ sexual tactics of temptation, she wonders if the only solution is submission to the enticing wolf man. Can she trust her heart again? And can they find their happy ending before an enemy cuts their story short? Excerpt from Predator’s Claim He pushed aside one of the suitcases in his way and backed her up against the sitting room wall. He put his hands on either side of her head, closing her in, and leaned toward her. Soaking up the scent of her talc-scented skin and her womanly heat, he inhaled deeply, knowing she was hot for him. “Did our kiss mean nothing to you?” She blinked. As she stared at him, tears threatened, pooling at the corners of her eyes, but she banished them with another punishing series of blinks. “Nothing.” Oh, she was good, but he was better. No kidding a kidder, after all. He wet his lips and pinned his gaze on hers, which were now trembling ever so slightly. “You’re fooling yourself.” “I’m not,” she said on a gulp. “I’m not…” “Oh yes, you are,” he warned, his voice low and deep. “But that’s gonna stop here and now, Charles.” He moved his face closer to hers, bent his head, and dragged his tongue up the length of her neck. When she gasped, he felt her hold her breath and moved his tongue as slowly as possible. He ground his hips against her, and his cock thumped violently against her belly. She slammed her hands against the wall behind her, clearly trying to get purchase on anything but him. Even still, her hips rolled against his in obvious invitation. “I want you to stop,” she cried. Her chest jerked as the plaint escaped her, and her tears finally tumbled down her cheeks. He moved away, just millimeters so she could breathe. Cupping her face, he stared her right in the eyes. “Say it again, and maybe I’ll believe you this time.” “I want you to…” she squeaked. “What was that? I can’t quite hear you, princess.” Her lips wobbled and her eyes crinkled in what could only be agony of the worst kind. “I want…Oh God! I want you.” He let out the breath he’d been holding and shots of heat radiated through him. Yes! He took her mouth in a savage kiss, meant to illustrate his dominance over her. He nipped at her lips, none too gently, and felt them swell under his touch. Good. That’s how he wanted her. Plump and overcome and ready for him. Always. As he drove his tongue into her mouth, tangling it with hers, he heard her groan. Ecstasy made his cock riot in his pants, and he would have done anything in that moment to strip her of her clothes and plunge into her sweet moisture. His Charlotte. His woman. He’d make her his in every sense of the word, and soon.   Predator’s Claim is available at , ARE, Amazon, Kobo and other e-outlets.

The Circle of Life

By Giselle Marks Yes

I wrote this short story for the Charity Anthology for J.A. Mes Press which has the theme of Re-birth.

shield_wall_bigI wake again from another dream of my death. In every direction around the muddy field are bodies piled high, bloody and hacked to pieces, crows cackle wheeling high in the sky, before plunging down to feed. The stench of blood and ordure lies over everything and I try to cover my mouth and nose to shut out the smell, with little effect. A few of the bodies groan, trying to crawl away, but even my bewildered glance knows that they won’t last long. Women search through the bodies, some for the bodies of their men, but most to strip whatever they can steal from the corpses before they rot. More than one soldier is given their blessing with a simple knife thrust to send them on their way to their heavenly rest. I search with them trying to find my body, to see how I had looked in life, but I never find it. I am whisked away from the battleground and back into waking, unsettled once more by the vividness of the dream.

When I first had these dreams I feared they presaged some violent end to my very boring life, but now I try not to dwell on them when I wake. But I still wonder how I could have been a heroic warrior in so many lives, dying in violence on some battlefield far away and yet now I am getting ready for my and now be a clerk in a big name bank, a little cog in a giant clock. No explanation is forthcoming.

Travel on the tubes is packed and uncomfortable as usual, crammed standing against the bodies of other travellers. I smell the mingled perfumes and body smells of those packed close around me and listen to the beat of their hearts. For a few seconds I am back in the shield-wall, then the doors are opening and we are pouring out, speeding on our way, without talking to each other as we rush to our places of work. I am no different from the rest of the herd of commuters who struggle into town every weekday. My walk is short and I am allowed in, greeting my fellow workers, hanging my coat and making myself a coffee before the doors open for the day. I wonder once more why I am persecuted by these dreams of a epic bloody death. No-one could be less heroic than I.

I take my place as the door open for the day. Customers trickle in and I serve them automatically, counting and ticking off money being paid in, paying out cash and organising statements and new standing orders. There is nothing unusual in their requirements that I have not handled hundreds of times before. A few regular customers pass the time of day with a smile, a joke or a few words and I respond politely. I am the respectful bank clerk who deals efficiently with their business. Then as the morning lengthens and I am thinking of my lunch break in an hour’s time, three men enter, they look out of place. They are all wearing wooly hats, and scarves cover the bottom of their faces, even overcoats on this summer’s day. I press the button without thinking, before I even see the guns. Before they start yelling orders to the customers to move to one side and lie on the floor, before they even order us to raise our hands. The customers are screaming and Anita who is two positions down from me is sobbing in fear. I raise my hands as ordered but my mind is urging me to fight. I ignore the adrenaline rush because already I can hear the sirens in the distance coming nearer.

The robbers hear the police coming closer too, they act panicking as they are demanding that Anita and Clive hurry to fill their bags with money. For some reason they do not appear to notice me. But the robbers look as frightened as the customers huddling in the corner. Anita and Clive’s hands are shaking as they shovel money into the bags provided. Then it is all over and there is the sound of megaphones as the police outside shout for the robbers to come out with their hands up. The robbers try taking a couple of hostages who they force at gun-point in front of them. They leave the bank with their bags of cash, not really a great deal of money considering how much really is here. Not enough I think for the risk they have taken.

I can no longer see what is going on and check on Anita and Clive, but I am amazingly calm. After what seems like hours, but is really only minutes a number of armed and armoured police-men enter the bank. We are thanked for giving the alarm, but only I pressed the button. The police congratulate me on my quick thinking and brave presence of mind. We are questioned and give our statements, but it turns out that the robbers soon gave up the fight, when they realised that their getaway driver had already been handcuffed and put in the back of a police-car, they clearly realised their odds of escape were minimal.

I am praised by my manager and later in the day the big nobs from head office come down and I am made much of. Promotion is mentioned and I am quietly grateful for their attention but I find that I still feel the desire to fight. Maybe the warrior is still part of me. I resolve to join my local taekwondo class and perhaps get a bit fitter, maybe then I will dream no more of warrior deaths and battles. 

Sylvia Hubbard tells us about herself



Today she answers questions about herself and her writing.
Sylvia Hubbard(1)

  1. Tell us about yourself. I am first and foremost a person deeply and devoted to words – a writer and a reader, always wanting more. Words are my drugs. Words are my life. Words are my Everything. Being a mother, a woman and a human being becomes secondary in my life.
  2. How did you get started writing? When I was six years old. I used to lie to my mother a lot and after she would give me punishment I would have to write my lies down. My pain became my pleasure. My lies looked so good on paper and I could make them longer and longer. The only bad thing is that I can’t lie verbally anymore so I have very little friends.
  3. What genre(s) do you write in and why? I started writing first historical romance because that is the genre I started reading in. I was a little paranormal fan, but I didn’t want to make up new worlds. Although I love history, I found that I couldn’t find my voice because it was a lot of research and I didn’t want to keep facts so straight and accurate. By the age of seventeen I realized I wanted to be a contemporary suspense romance novelist and the first book I ever finished was Stone’s Revenge, my psychological thriller, which actually became my 2nd independent work I published.
  4.       How many books have you written? Do you have a favorite?

I have over thirty published works since 2000 and to ask me which is my favorite is to ask me which is my favorite child. My books are so hard to choose from and I actually try to re-read them every once in a while not just to pass the time or look for new characters to bring into other stories, but just because they are that enjoyable. I write because I can’t find what I want to read and I still have that challenge as a reader. I love really all my books. Now my favorite character, and most challenging one, would be Lethal Heart. I’ve woven him throughout a lot of my books. He’s dangerous, sexy and crazy. Just the way I love my men.

  1. Tell us about your current series/WIP.

My current book series is His Substitute Wife. (Two books as eBooks but one whole paperback book.) Bringing Charisse to life with her problems and past was difficult and hard. I could feel her inner emotional pain. Dealing with her family, especially her sisters, the frustration grew to a tipping where she had nothing to live for. Parker Mills was a man who knew he wasn’t perfect, but he craved a family. Doomed to be in a loveless marriage he tries to make the most of his situation by allowing his wife to convince him to let Charisse have his baby. Getting Charisse pregnant with Parker’s baby was easy part. Filled with drama, suspense and romance, The His Substitute Wife… My Sister Series has given me a great joy to bring to my readers.

  1.       What inspired your latest book?

Studying other phobias, I found Charisse condition and wondered if I could actually write a romance with a woman who hates to be touched? It was a challenge and I’m proud of the story.

  1.       What is your next project and when will it be released?hissubCover 600

Betrayed is my current Work In Progress. Cons, Revenge, Deceit and Love can’t mix, but I’m going to try.

  1.       Where do you get the ideas for your stories?

Life, living and observing the world around me. My mind is an open syringe looking for the unique, strange and ominous.

  1.       What is your favorite part of writing?

The initial process itself. When an idea hits and you must go to write it down. Once I start I can’t stop. It’s addictive. I sleep with my kindle with a keyboard right by me or under my pillow in case I wake up in the middle of the night and get the urge.

  1.   What is your least favorite part of writing?

The marketing of my work, but I’m glad I earned a degree at it so it comes a little bit easy to me.

  1.   What is your typical day like?

I get the kids off to school, answer emails/fanmails, chk my socials and then I try to write the majority part of the day while catching up on all entertainment on Netflix’s and playing my music loud to inspire me more. By the afternoon, I work on marketing and promoting. I network offline in the evening or take a class I found on meetup and then I’m back home. I blog, update my website, fix any issues and then I write more by the end of the night before I go to sleep.

  1.   How does your family feel about your writing career?

A lot of them just thought it was a hobby ten years ago, but at least now they call it my gig. I guess it might take ten more years to see that I’m “really serious” about it and call it my career.

  1. How much time do you spend promoting your books? I try to spend at least four hours a day marketing, two hours blogging and one hour working on websites I manage in order to make my books sells work for me. I look at promoting like a real business. If I opened a store, I’d dedicate at least twelve to sixteen hours a day to my business. I do that for my writing career tirelessly promoting and tirelessly writing more for the upcoming year.

What works best for you? Blogging on my website always has worked best for me or being on other bloggers. I’m an avid tweeter and FB’er, but I use those as breadcrumbs to get more people to the website.

  1.   How has your experience with self-publishing been?

Awesome. Since I’m a control freak I love it.

  1.   What advice do you have for other authors wanting to self-publish?

Research and learn what you have to do before you do it.

  1.   What was the deciding factor in self-publishing your book(s)? Did you decide on ebook or print only or both?

Before printing a book, I usually wait until the ebook has sold at least five thousand downloads. Initially I printed books first (back in 2000) but when that expense was way too costly for a single mom with three mouths to feed, I feel into ebooks by accident and once I knew I could profit from them, I have never looked back.

  1.   Where can readers find you?

I can be found on my website at, FB: Twittter: