A Little About Me
I am an adventure seeking ponderer of the mysteries of the universe, writer of children's books (represented by Stephen Fraser of the Jennifer DeChiara Literary Agency), and lover of anything involving armor, archery, or swashbuckling.
MAY 4-5, 2019
Share the Joy of Reading with
Holy Schlamoly – honored that my post “2 A.M.” was
- MINDING MY Ps AND Qs – A Punctilious Quest
- MINING 4 MEMORIES IN THE LEAST LIKELY PLACE
- SECRETS, LIES, and SFOGLIADELL’
- IN HOT PURSUIT OF THE UNTETHERED MIND
- KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON – A Teacher Appreciation Dissertation
- POETIC PONDERING ON: What rhymes with Wisteria?
- THE POWER OF LOVE
- KALAALLIT NUNAAT – Can’t Get You Outta’ My Head
Member Since 2007
© 2012-2019 Donna Gwinnell Lambo Weidner
Punishment for ignoring said © is, at best, death by hanging from the tallest yardarm. Content may be shared for non-commercial use as long as credit is given to Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner and linked to http://donnaweidner.com All photo, art, and media content that is not my own are for representational + non-commercial purposes. I do my best to give credit where it is due.
PORTS I FREQUENT
Category Archives: POEMS
webs of spun silk billow in morning’s mild breeze sparkling orbs handiwork of moonlight’s toil twinkle plucked from the cosmos of recollection a cache of memories cling to spider’s haphazard roadmap many muddled fuzzy out of reach others beckon for … Continue reading
An abundance of wisteria if found flourishing in Bulgaria might migrate to Bavaria causing
If I were a simple love poem I’d, first of all, want to rhyme, then, be flawless and impeccable in meter and time, but since life is not perfect, nor is this holiday poem, I’ll continue in free-verse (maybe) to a chorus … Continue reading
I know it’s presumptuous, and most likely, not easy. It just might, in fact, be considered quite sleazy, to expect you, dear Cupid, to share your day with another, even though this worthy project has been sanctioned by your brother. … Continue reading
Our angel is weary. The eggnog’s all gone. Tree needles are falling onto unvacuumed parmesan. The stockings all hung from the chimney last week are now socks on my feet which are starting to reek. We were all forced to … Continue reading
This Page This Blank Page This Spotless, Blank, White Page Why is it so terrifying? So intimidating? So daunting?