Magnolia Memories and Dogwood Dreams

2007-07-09T12:30:00.000-07:00

Against a black, southern sky,
Silver stars peered down
Like peeping toms
As we did the wild thing
On a grass-stained blanket.
Heedlessly,
Recklessly,
Shamefully,
I learned about love
And life
And, later, much later,
The lies he spoke
To anyone who would listen.

The Beauty of It

2006-09-13T19:09:00.000-07:00

We are one nation
Divided
Geographically
Politically
Phonetically
Monetarily
Religiously
Under God?
Allah?
Buddha?
Little green space men from mars?
All of those and none
None of those and all
We are one people
Of many colors
Free to agree
To debate
Free to protest
To campaign
To hate
To have mercy
One nation
A Freedom Nation
And that’s the beauty of it.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

Patriots Day - September 11, 2006

2006-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

"Patriot Day commemorates the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon on September 11, 2001. The holiday was created by a joint resolution of the US House on October 25, 2001 and signed into lay by President George W. Bush on December 18,2001."

- zingerbug.com

The Woods

2006-09-06T20:58:00.000-07:00

We were lost in the woods, my sister and I,
Which was absurd.
We grew up next to those groves of pine,
And knew every trail and every tree.
Even the coal mine shafts
Long forgotten.
Over time we had found
Copper pipes
From moonshine stills long gone.
Antique green bottles and clear glasses
From a housewife’s table,
Words rubbed off.
Trails led to fantasy places;
Like Case Rock, two boulders
Deposited on the banks of the Warrior River,
A jungle gym for country children
To find and climb
And bask on in the heat of the day.
Forests of bamboo, the sandy ground
was our playground,
the river our teacher,
watching water moccasins fall
from the trees into the murky water
and swim away.
And now, I am thirty-seven
And I am lost in these woods,
No longer are they familiar to my sister and I.
Logging has robbed us of our knowledge,
Most of our southern pines,
Our trails.
We find our way home
By the memories we share
But while we are lost,
I inhale the smells and memories
Of the Alabama woods I love
And I am glad I am here.

© 2005 Dana Sieben

Discovery

2006-08-24T20:32:00.000-07:00

In a green hollow, the river rushes
On its way down the mountain to the sea,
Over rocks and boulders water gushes
And with a gentle roar it welcomes me.

Crystal-clear pools beckon me to enter,
Up to my ankles my bare feet go numb.
Further out I go, to the cold center
Refreshed, I wait for whatever will come.

If I am quiet, I might see a deer
Come out of the woods to the water’s edge
Or a black bear and her cubs may appear
Out from behind a mountain laurel hedge.

The air is thick with a soft humid fog
Floating through the forest like a spirit
My chilled feet step onto a mossy log
And as I cross, I begin to hear it –

No cars, no airplanes, just river tinkling
And wind blowing in the forest so tall
I don’t even mind rain that is sprinkling
As I spy my first mountain waterfall.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

Deluge

2006-08-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

Deluge
Nature's passion.
Swollen rivers
Running overindulged to the sea
Which grasps at the shore in a frenzy-
In…out...in…out.
Floodwaters rise in the furor of the night.
The wind rages, flaunting its power,
Finally spending itself in
Early morning.
The world is gray...quiet.
The bay-
A nature-made mirror-
Reflects the fog, which hovers
Then merges with the low clouds
Before daringly drifting to the surface
Of the mirror and seeing itself.
Barely touching...
Softly meeting-
Like a tongue lingering on bare skin.

© Dana Sieben

* originally published in Long Story Short, June 2005

The Three Little Pigs - Twisted Fairy Tale

2006-07-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Last August, I entered Long Story Short's Twisted Fairy Tale competition and actually won Honorable Mention! Yeah, I know. I was flabbergasted too. Anyway, here is the story in it's entirety. Enjoy.

The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs. Well, they were little when they were born, but as they got older, they grew and grew, until their mother couldn’t afford to feed them any longer. The two oldest, Curly and Moe, were so lazy they just wanted to stay home. The youngest pig, George, yearned for the future, so he readily agreed to move out and start his life.

After landing a job at the local construction company, George bought a hillside hut near the ocean. It was not too safe considering news of a big, bad wolf prowling around the woods nearby, but George was saving his paychecks, buying bricks and wood, and building a new house in his spare time. Finally, his home was built. It was a brick two-story with gables and a sunroom. Mother Pig was so proud of George. She constantly bragged about him until Moe and Curly had had enough.

"Come on Curly, we can be as successful as The Runt. Why should he get a headstart on us anyway?"

"Yeah Dude! Let’s go!"

So off the two pigs went. In town, they landed jobs at the local Piggly Wiggly bagging groceries. Moe bought a log house in the woods. It was old and about to tumble down, but Moe didn’t care. It had a roof, a dirt floor and it was all his. Besides, he liked the rustic look. Curly’s house was on the beach a la’ Gilligan’s Island. He had a hammock, a sand floor and an ocean view.

One day George called his brothers and invited them over to see his new house. They watched NASCAR and drank beer, and when it was time to leave, George cautioned them about the wolf lurking nearby.

"Dude! Lay off! Moe and I can handle that wolf. Right Moe?" Well, Moe wasn’t as sure as Curly, but nodded anyway.

At the edge of the woods nearby, two wolves watched, one in anticipation, one with dread.

"Dad?" Fluffy Wolf asked.

Mr. Wolf turned his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the strolling pigs. "Yes, son?"

"Do I have to do this?"

"You know you do. All the Big Bad Wolves in our family have eaten pigs. Now it’s your turn."

Fluffy Wolf shuddered. He hated meat. In fact, he was a vegetarian, but he couldn’t tell his dad that. He’d flip for sure! How in the world was he going to attack and eat those pigs?

"Son, did you do your breathing exercises? You know if you are going to blow down those houses, you have to have optimum lung capacity."

"I know, Dad."

"Did you remember to stretch? How about we go through one last round of yoga? Get all limbered up. Let’s start with ‘down dog’."

"No Dad, I already did my yoga today, I did my breathing, so just let me get on with it." And off trotted a very nervous, nauseous Fluffy Wolf.

Inside his beach house, Curly was having a cocktail when he heard a snuffling sound followed by a cough. His hairy pig ears perked up as he heard, "Hey Little Pig! Uhhh, can I come in?"
Curly stumbled over to the peephole and spied a scrawny-looking wolf.

"Not by the wax on my surfboard! Go away, furry man!"

Fluffy stiffened. "I’ll have you know that I can blow this house down with one breath!"

"Dude! You just go on and try," Curly laughed and swallowed his drink.

Outside, Fluffy was so upset that he started having an asthma attack. He leaned against the house and took out his inhaler, but his weight caused the house to tumble down onto the beach.
A very tipsy Curly screamed, thinking he was being attacked. He crawled out from under the debris and ran off towards Moe’s house. Finally, gaining his brothers home, Curly ran inside and began to explain what had happened to an amused Moe who was sitting at his table eating pork-and-beans for dinner.

"Whoa! What are you talking about?" he said between chews.

"The Big Bad Wolf is after me. He’ll be here soon. We have to hide!"

Meanwhile, Fluffy’s cell phone was ringing.

"Hello, Dad. Yes, I know he got away. I’m sorry!" (Dad’s voice loudly emerging from phone)

"OK, OK. I’m going."

And off he went, dragging his tail and gagging at the thought of eating the pigs. I’m going to have to move to California, he thought. Out there, a wolf can be a vegetarian without fear of ridicule.
Once he got to Moe’s log home, Fluffy cleared his throat and picked up his megaphone, hoping it would make his voice a little stronger.

"Little pigs? Hey little pigs! You better let me in now!"

"No way, Jose!" Moe yelled.

Inside, Moe and Curly were frozen with fear. They didn’t know that outside, Fluffy was setting up a giant wind-maker that his dad had gotten from ACME Film Studios and was turning it on to full-blast. The resulting winds blew Moe’s log home to bits. The two pigs scrambled out from under the debris and high-tailed it up to the hill to where George lived.

"Dang!" Fluffy exclaimed. "Those pigs are fast!"

George opened his door to let his brothers in. After hearing what was going on, he went outside to see a forlorn Fluffy trudging up to the house.

"Fluffy is that you?" he asked.

"George?"

"Why are you chasing my brothers?"

"Dad."

"Ahhhh!" George understood. Fluffy and he were friends and he knew about Mr. Wolf’s expectations. "Come on in, Fluff, and I’ll tell you what we’ll do."

Later that night, they all sat around George’s fireplace and celebrated. George had sent a note to Fluffy’s dad telling him that Fluffy had joined the Marines. Mr. Wolf retired to his vacation den in sorrow. As for Fluffy? He was liberated and had a one-way ticket to Los Angeles.

© 2005 Dana Sieben

A Favorite of Mine...

2006-07-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

I wanted to share this with y'all since it is one of my favorites. Mr. Hughes wrote poetry like I wish I could. Absolutely beautiful.

Daybreak in Alabama

When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.

Langston Hughes

Sizzle

2006-07-15T14:19:00.000-07:00

July is scorching.
The grass is crusty and brown.
The heat rises
Off the streets in the downtown
Where herds of people
Walk,
And live,
And bake,
And are desperate for autumn,
But in denial of winter.
Then chairs will denote
Parking spaces saved
And plows will
Block the driveways with snow.
For now though,
Summer holds court.
The cicadas are buzzing loudly,
And the highways make
The slow-moving cars
Sizzle.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

Bottle Tree

2006-07-14T09:20:00.000-07:00

Bottle Tree

My mama’s bottle tree stands tall,
Made up of nothing at all, but
A small, thin cedar tree
With partially amputated limbs
And covered in glass bottles
Of all shapes, sizes, and colors
Of the rainbow.
Old brown beer bottles,
Green River Soda bottles,
Cobalt blue…all sprinkle the sunlight
Over the garden.
The wind whistles through
Their tops like a flautist
Playing a country symphony,
Calling the spirits of family home.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

If You Stay Up Late

2006-06-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

"If you stay up late
You might see something odd,"
Said the little old man
As he began to nod.

"See something odd," I exclaimed.
"What do you mean?"
But he just yawned and said,
You’ll see what I’ve seen.

"If you stay up late," he continued,
"you’ll see something rare,
Something weird and as strange
As a rainbow-colored bear."

"A rainbow bear?" I snorted,
"There’s no such thing!"
The old man just smiled,
The funny old thing.

"If you stay up late,
I’ll give you a clue,"
The old man said sleepily,
Nodding off as old folks do.

"Wake up, old timer,
and tell me its name,"
I begged over and over
to my everlasting shame.

"You must have stayed up too late,
you strange old fellow,
and now I’ll never know
what turned the world yellow.

But all of it was a dream
As I found out the next day
And I missed the old man
And his strange little ways.

I stayed up too late,
I admitted to myself
As I blinked back the dream
Of that sleepy little elf.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

Finding the Elusive Four-Leaf Clover

2006-06-24T16:26:00.000-07:00

In all my days
I found only one.
I searched and searched,
but they remained elusive
in their secret gardens.
My children asked me,
"Mommy, did you ever find a four-leaf clover?"
To which I responded with a tired yes.
"Only one," I gently said,
thinking to halt their dreams of treasure.
My children searched for only a few minutes
and found not one,
but three four-leaf clovers!
Three elusive,
hidden,
tiny,
green secrets, and
putting their mommy to shame.

Country Haikus

2006-06-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

These were my first attempts at haiku. I know they aren't exactly haiku according to the experts, but they came out nice anyway.

Cold metal dipper
icy-wet well water flows
sweetly down my throat

Southern pine trees sway
so tall in the southern breeze
And smell of citrus

Sagging, old buildings
tasting of our history
rotting, forgotten

I smell the mountains
the rain, the damp moss and leaves
The scent takes me home

Chicago Blues

2006-06-14T21:31:00.000-07:00

The smoky Chicago hall
Filled with laughter
And sounds of forgetfulness,
Wails with the blues,
Pulses with every guitar strum,
It hummed and throbs.
Piano and sax,
Jazz and lonely bluesman,
Mixed to create a new sound
One that will change the world
One that will turn it around.
A man strolls
Along the sidewalk outside
Where broken amber bottles
Litter
Beer-smell all around.
The open door
Showcases the new sound
And the man hears it.
The man knows it.
He feels the Blues.
Inside the piano-player goes on,
The room is blue with smoke,
The singer croons
A sad worn-down tune,
The music leads the folks
This hot summer night in June,
Leads them home,
With the Blues.

Lament for New Orleans

2006-06-12T15:49:00.000-07:00

* I wrote this after Hurricane Katrina devasted New Orleans and the Mississippi coast.

Lament for New Orleans
(after the flooding of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina)

Like a sci-fi novel-
apocalyptic,
empty city,
dead city of light.
Rotting, death groans
breaking the hearts of millions
who watch and weep
while civilization breaks down.
Rogue humans preying
on the weaker,
unhealthy victims of fate
who wait on help that isn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
Vacant city,
populated by the dead,
scavenged by the lawless,
poisoned and burning,
drowning in it's own sewage,
and calling to be saved.

Tripping the Organic Fantastic

2006-06-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all. This is an article I had published over at Weight-LossArticles.com. It is a tale of a meat-and-potato gal in an organic store...

Tripping the Organic Fantastic

My neighbor, Jan, and I went to lunch today. The kids were in school, the day was bright and we needed to get out of the house. We were just two women with time on their hands and debit cards in their purses.

Usually, we go to Olive Garden for salad and soup, but today we decided to try ethnic food. So, with coupon in hand, we descended upon Taj Mahal, an Indian/Pakistani restaurant in Orland Park, IL. I had always wanted to try Indian food, so this was going to be a real treat.

I have to say the Curry Chicken was scrumptious. Everything was scrumptious! I have no idea how healthy it all was, but I figure it had to be healthier than some things I can think of.
Bon vivant, I am not, but I could appreciate the yogurt and curry flavors in my mixed vegetable medley.

Afterward, we had a little more time on our hands before picking up the kids, so she asked if we could stop at this little health store across the street. Being the good friend I am, I agreed and drove on over.

We walked in and immediately I knew that this wasn’t Kansas anymore, Toto. Rows upon rows of products that I had no knowledge of. Pills, packages, organic spaghetti sauce, colon cleansers, Burt’s Bees foot and facial creams, facial lotions made of all organic ingredients, organic bath products, Krill oil, lycopene, macadamia nut oils, and other items I can even pronounce.
Needless to say, I was lost. I had no idea what all that stuff was. Colon cleansers seemed fairly understandable. Progesterone Creams – what’s that all about? And what about these?

Ashwagandha
Ligustrum
Schisandra
Reishi

Now, Jan was moving across the store and knew exactly what she needed and proceeded to get it, while I stumbled around by the Burt’s Bees display, looking at the foot lotion. Jan is into natural healing and chiropractors, while I am wondering what the heck astragalus is.

The nice lady at the register gave me a complimentary health magazine as I was leaving and I have been checking it out.

Hmmm, that colon cleansing sounds interesting…

Bar B Que

2006-06-11T18:01:00.000-07:00

Now, all southerners love their Bar B Que, and when I was given an assignment to write a poem about that spicy dish, I went at it like a woodpecker on a bug-filled log. Instead of one, I came up with two. Dadgum! Now I'm hungry.

Bar B Que

Best if cooked slowly over the coals
And rubbed with spices
Ribbons of smoke caress the meat,
Bringing forth the juices and smells
Quite delightfully
Until you feel you will just die if you can’t
Eat it.

Bar B Que

The smell
Hickory and spice
The cook slathers the sauce
We smile as we load our plates up
Messy

Welcome!

2006-06-11T16:11:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all! I decided to start a new blog where I could post just my short stories and poems in order for you to be able to find them easier.

Happy reading!