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
Member Since 2007
© 2012 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 OF CALL
Tag Archives: adventure
Alice Wetherby Pimms physically felt time pass in the coursing of her blood for as long as she could remember. Every second -tick, tick, tick- was like an invasion of needle-nosed imps nipping at the underside of her plump flesh. Each … Continue reading
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
Why do I write? Good question. It’s not because it’s been a passion ever since second grade when Sister Ann Michael praised my poem I WANT TO BE A DOG for its wit, rhyme, and wild imagination, or the inclusion … Continue reading
Until I was six, I thought Uncle Sally’s name was Who-Gives-A-Sh*t. Everyone called him that – the neighbors, the few friends he had, his business associates, the family – even his mother, my Nana. She’d hoped the label wouldda’ forced her caro … 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?