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.
Share the Joy of Reading with
- MOONSCAPE - A Dose of Nonsense
- MOLECULARLY SPEAKING...
- A MIDSUMMER DAY'S INTERVIEW - with Amy Zhao
- enVISIONing A WORK-IN-PROGRESS
- JOE DOG and LOLLIPOP - A Pandemic Memory
- FYI - 2021 BAY AREA BOOK FEST
- A COSMIC DELICACY OF GALACTIC PROPORTION
- BONTON POTATO CHIPS, 5 CENTS A BAG - A Retrospective
- CONFESSION OF A LATE IN LIFE WRITER
- GOING GREEN
Holy Schlamoly – honored that my post “2 A.M.” was
© 2012-2021 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.
BLOG-MATIES I VISIT
Tag Archives: poem
I woke up this morning, with my back to a tree wond’ring how on earth my chin hairs had grown past my dimpled knees. The last thing I remember, someone cried out, “trick-or-treat!” Now it’s suddenly December? Are those gnomes … Continue reading
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
“…gather your witches, vampires and bats, spiders, ghosties and arch-backed black cats. Stand them together with goblins and ghouls, then stack them up high on the backs of pack mules, Or store them in boxes way up in your … Continue reading
‘Tis three nights before Christmas, the day after Hanukkah, eight from St. Lucia, and five ’til Kwanzaa. ‘Tis two months since Diwali, India’s festival of light, as Sun settles into our world’s longest night. A breeze hugs the mountain, nudging … Continue reading
Three hours in, and it’s a crapshoot as to whose self-control has disintegrated faster than tissue paper kissed by a lit match. From where, oh where did that blast of vile wind spring forth? What insidious organ expelled you from its … Continue reading
If no one sees my tears, Does it mean I do not cry?