Writers Resources Cafe Magazine

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Visit Mo's Art Gallery


Haiku of the Day

Big sandy dog smiles
from the back of red kayak
his mistress paddles.


~~~~Mo Conlan, July 21, 2014

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Art on this page by Mo

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Photo and Haiku

Hail the sun dipping
below Mother Lake; come back
early tomorrow.

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Here is an excerpt from, Babies' Breath, Kathy's award-winning short story contained in her anthology of the same title:

"My heart burned as red-hot as the ancient round stones edging the fire-pit and my tears sizzled and steamed like spit when they fell into the flame." Read on here.


Kathy answers questions
for blogger, Betty Meyette,
about Babies' Breath
at this link: Meyette's Musings


Kathy's five-star-reviewed
short story collection
can be purchased by clicking :

Babies' Breath

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Fourth of July
Kathy recalls the clamor and fun of family gathering for The Fourth.

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Sailing with the kids

presents new challenges


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Art by Mo

Kathy's story suggests that sometimes romance is a product of practical cooperation. This big family makes it to their vacation destination where Mom and Dad can brush shoulders and be simply a couple once more.

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When the newsaper
is sold out... We may miss
the Fourth Estate.

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Kathy wonders if
LIKE-MINDEDNESS
is a good thing?

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Goodbye Cancer


Patty describes her journey through Cancer-Land


- The only thing I am not behind on is haircuts.
- The only reading materials in the surgeon’s office are cancer magazines and a coffee table book on Spring Grove Cemetery...
Read the rest of Goodbye Cancer

Chapter One

Chemo-land

Side Effects


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Finding favorite books forgotten on the shelf and re-reading them twenty years after the first reading creates an interesting phenomenon. The experiences in the twenty year interval alter some sensibilities and and evoke new sentiments.

Kathy finds new reasons to re-read old favorites.

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Writer Walter Seton Bunker
has a funny chat with The Bard


I had a dream one August’s night, a dream so vaporous and yet so vivid it passes understanding. It’s hard to know what was fantasy and what reality.

In my dream I found myself striding the battlements of Elsinore.... Then a helmeted figure emerged from the fog.
Click here to read the rest of the essay.

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Visit Mo's Art Gallery

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Vase with gold and red


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Visit The Cafe Blog.
and subscribe to the Cafe.


To discover what makes us tick,
click on Biographies

Mo, Patty and Kathy


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Note to visitors:
The stories, poetry, essays and artwork
on this site are copyrighted,
owned by the writers and artists.
No commercial use of them by others is permitted.

Birds call early
in the morning

by Mo Conlan

It is Saturday morning and a god-awful racket wakens me at 5 a.m. It is the birds and they are right outside the window – no; they are on the bedpost right outside my ear.

Singing, squawking, rat-a-tat-tatting, chirping, whistling, chattering, twittering, fluidly fluting loudly, insistently, unceasingly. Low sounds, like bullfrogs; high-pitched trills approaching the decibel range of a dog whistle.

It’s like a loud, bad symphony of contemporary music -- the kind that conductors may foist on an unwilling audience –just the classics, thank you, except for that one from “Nixon in China,” “The Chairman Dances.”

Then I think, wait, maybe this bird noise is actually a conversation. One bird is an ad man – with a cheery musical sales pitch he repeats again and again.

Chirpitty, chirp, chirp, chirppetty chirp. Chirp.

Another -- whom I picture as a world-weary Jewish scholar -- sends back a one note reply.

Sol.

Chirpitty, chirp, chirp, chirppetty chirp. Chirp.

Sol.

A rich, round, oboe-like note distinguishes itself in the din. Could it be an owl? Are they up at this hour? Why are any of them up at this hour? Are they looking for mates? I thought they would already be hooked up for the season by now.

It’s possible they are making all this noise for the sheer joy of it. I am anthropomorphizing like crazy. But, hold on. What makes me think that humans are the only creatures to express joy? Though tiny of body, they sing out big.

I get up and go down to the side porch. The geese waddle into view on the lawn outside the window and start up a stereophonic honking that sets my teeth on edge.