White Girl Dancin’

Small town Mississippi

visitin’  a friend

 stayin’ in a shotgun house

tilted on one end

Main Street short

railroad long

light’nin’ bugs flicker

with their own torch song

Blues man playin’

me ‘an cook staff laughin’

 holding’ our bellies

at this white girl dancin’

White girl dancin’

White folk glarin’

Happy don’t care

 jus’ keep on starin’

visiting Miss“Mississippi’n Me”





Learning with challenges


Scoots’ hand in mine, we walk home from school. His other hand blows a new harmonica, one of many Miss Helen bought at Johnson’s Variety.

He’s getting better at playing “Has Anybody Seen My Gal.” He misses notes sometimes, but now I can almost sing along without hour-long Pauses between the words.

“You like playing, Scoot?”

He takes the harp from his mouth and wipes it on his sleeve like a real musician. “Like DeFord Bailey.”

“Who’s Difford Bailey?”

“DeFord Bailey. Best ever. That’s gonna be you someday, Scooter,” he says in a Frankish-enough voice I have to laugh. “DeFord had polio. Polio. Like me.”

“You never had polio, Scooter.”

“DeFord learned anyway,” he says, straight in my eyes.

And then I know. Scooter understands that, unlike most folks in Holly Gap, Frank believes in his abilities to learn.

Scoot drops my other hand and uses both to play us home.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket



A Falling-Out

After a falling-out with a friend I had visited in NYC, I originally wrote this as a song. But, of course, now I don’t remember the tune!


85th and Riverside

City of lights, its slice of the world

where friendships evolve and feeling unfurl

and you sit on the steps of a Brownstone reflecting

On words that were thrown without out you expecting

Your tone was so angry, your words were so cross

I felt myself drifting away

My heart, it was sinking, but the pain it would fade

I just hated to leave you that way.

(Chorus) Pick up the pieces you find, build something solid inside

When hearts collide

Time heals all wounds and friendships recover

the city of lights will go on

And though times get hard, there are others so easy

Just a small fall from grace from beyond

And times as it passes, still gets us back

the hearts are still beating inside

And you know where to find me (you know I won’t hide)

In that nest with my mouth open wide.

First and Last Impressions


Rummaging through my hoarding stacks of old journals and writings, I found another poem so you can Pillage through my words.

Side View Mirror

In a side view mirror with a dark side view

I’m driving down the highway and I’m thinking of you

I see a reflection

of a past I once knew

in a side view mirror with a dark side view.

And the clean rain falls

as it washes this place

while the moisture softens this hard luck face

But the scenery flies by

leaving nothing but a trace

As the clean rain falls on a tear-stained face.

Yellow stripes and concrete,

tumble weeds and dust

Gulf stream winds

blow back the bangs of lust

Passing cars of those

you think you’ll never meet

Leave a lasting first impression on the cracked leather seat.


My gift to you

I painted this on the first day of the Iraqi war and named it “Peace Bubbles.” (I sold this painting and believe it is hanging on a wall in a yoga studio in NYC)

Whatever traditions you celebrate this season, I hope your life is filled with peace, acceptance, grace, hope, kindness, joy and LOVE.

All the best to you, my blogging buds! – Carolyn



The truth about my blogging “friends”

I blogged many years back and stopped. Maybe I didn’t understand it or maybe I just didn’t care. But I came back into “your” fold this past August because  I was on a mission. I had a goal and I haven’t done such a good job achieving it.

But, as I like to say, “there goes that universes again” — because blogging has taught me things I didn’t expect.

I have to tell you. A few people in my life, including an attorney friend of mine, worries that “exposing” myself to the cyber world could be unsafe. That “many of those bloggers are not true to who they really are.”

If that’s the case with any of you, back up, Jack, and hit the unfollow button.

(But I think I “know” you.)

Unless I’m traveling, my world is a bit of a bubble. You know, routines and such. Not that I’m complaining. For the most part, I like my sac of familiar air.

But now I have cyber friends like you, who come from all over the world, who tell me through words or photographs about their life, and interests. Many of you share the same thoughts and ideals as me. And the ones who differ, teach me.

You are writers, strugglers, rebels, photographers, dancers, chefs, visionaries, travelers, poets, doctors, animal lovers, readers, humorists. You are mothers, fathers, new adults, aging adults, “in-between” adults.

And, here is the common thread: You are all thinkers who ponder and share the world as you know it.

So what’s not to like?

It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not so good at promoting my novels to make a “difference” in sales while sitting at this particular table.

But I like this wooden table. There is plenty of room for everyone.

And it’s round. 



(And yes, it’s an electronic cigarette)