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.
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Holy Schlamoly – honored that my post “2 A.M.” was
Member Since 2007
© 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: poetry
Bold. Blue. Megalithic. To think I might have begun as a whispered word on an ancient’s breath,a droplet in the spray of a neolithic sneeze, the spatter in a sputtered warning, “Run!”a single snowflake spit from a cloud, delivered on … 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
This Page This Blank Page This Spotless, Blank, White Page Why is it so terrifying? So intimidating? So daunting?
Winter Dissolving crystalline crust decomposing evaporating
A Daily Post Photo Challenge – inspired by a recent accidental photo taken from a Chicago hotel room window… Dusk nosedives, hits street below Twilight flaunts a brave new world Should I stay or should I go?
One homemade heart trimmed in frilly, white lace, One arrow, one promise of a sweet, warm embrace… Once it’s notched, drawn, and trained on his chosen bullseye, Cupid first blows a kiss, and then lets it ~~~ fly ~~~
Mourning in the morning is more difficult than at night since your ghost is visible in the daylight, said the woman, hands folded, as if reciting a prayer, to the aide sliding a comb through her once shiny, thick hair. You know you can’t hide inside that disguise! She … Continue reading
One homemade heart trimmed in frilly, white lace… One arrow, one promise of a sweet, warm embrace… Once it’s notched, drawn, and trained on his chosen bullseye, Cupid first blows a kiss, and then lets it ~~~ fly ~~~