When Lyric Met Limerick is free for only one more day on Amazon! Grab it here and read all about Declan Decker’s pre-fame days, when he was just a moody dreamer looking for trouble.
“Why do you write songs?”
“Because I have to. Why do you write limericks?”
“Because I can.”
In the short story When Lyric Met Limerick, author Dawn V. Cahill combines comedy and danger with a hint of faith, set in the early 1980s. Howard McCreary, better known (or not so much better known) as Declan Decker, is a songwriter aspiring for fame who doesn’t mind using underhanded methods to get what he wants. As soon as he meets Luna Rickles, a poetess who writes personalized limericks for her customers at an open market booth, Howard is sure that he wants her. However, an unfortunate run-in at the market may foil the next step of Howard’s plan to pursue the woman who’s swiftly captivated him.
His scheming and self-seeking ways notwithstanding, Howard turns out to be a fairly charming character, if for nothing else, for the comical picture he makes when he’s unable to resist popping up with an air guitar and ever being the performer regardless of his surroundings. The author also gives a glimpse of Howard’s vulnerable side through his reflections about his past, his grandmother, and God. Luna adds more than a pretty face to the story with her perception, her talent, and a rather vulnerable situation that she’s in herself.
For just five days, When Lyric Met Limerick will cost you zippo, nada, zilch on Amazon!
Check it out here
This word-play lover has to share this post with my lovely readers. Meet my poetic friend Linda and her special sonnet~
Driving to Seattle yesterday to go to a play with my sister, niece, and cousins, this poem started playing in my head, but I only came up with the first line and a few other words and concepts. The allure of alliteration led me to finish it up this afternoon.
Savior so sweet
so steadfast seeker
shall savor salvation
For this week’s giveaway, I’ll draw one name of a new follower or subscriber, and announce the winner next Tuesday, Nov 24. The winner will receive a copy of my 4-star ebook, When Lyric Met Limerick.
Guidelines to enter:
- Just fill in your email on my home page and sign up as a subscriber.
- Or, if you’re already a subscriber, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or Pinterest. I’ll be pulling a new follower’s name out of my hat from all my social media sites!
- For a greater chance to win, you may sign up on all four sites if you wish.
- Only residents of countries with access to Amazon are eligible to enter. I still love ya, I just don’t have a way to send you a copy 🙂
More light verse–credit to Fearless Linda.
After writing my first Kyrielle yesterday, I apparently had Kyrielle rhyme schemes on the brain when I went to bed. Once the lights were out, the first stanza of one with the rhyme scheme in which the refrain does not rhyme started forming in my mind. When I had repeated to myself four or five times I realized it wasn’t going to let me sleep, so I flipped on the light and write it down in the notepad I keep on my nightstand. It’s kind of silly, but silly is good sometimes.
I wrote the next two stanzas mostly in the shower this morning. Then when I read it to my son, he wanted to know if the refrain had to end with purple. I said, “I picked purple because it is a word that doesn’t rhyme with anything.” He replied, “You could have used silver. Or orange.”…
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“The hunter crouches in his blind
‘Neath camouflage of every kind
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys.
This grown-up man, with pluck and luck,
Is hoping to outwit a duck.”
“God in His wisdom made the fly,
And then forgot to tell us why.”
“Middle age is so much more
Than wrinkles on our faces.
It’s when broad minds and narrow waists
Begin exchanging places.”
Now this is poetry…
This is one of my most favoritest poems ever. If you can’t tell, I prefer poetry that speaks about something solid. Especially funny poetry.
I’ve Got An Incredible Headache
by Jack Prelutsky
I’ve got an incredible headache,
my temples are throbbing with pain,
it feels like a freight train with two locomotives
is chugging about in my brain.
I’m sure I can’t stand it much longer,
my skull’s being squeezed in a vise,
as regiments march to the blaring of trumpets,
and thousands of tap-dancing mice.
My head’s filled with horrible noises,
there’s a man mashing melons inside,
someone keeps drumming on bongos and plumbing,
as porpoises thrash in the tide.
An elephant herd is stampeding,
a volcano is blowing its top,
and if I keep hitting my head with this hammer,
I doubt that my headache will stop.
So often in life we do this. Not literally. But a…
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