Thought Wheel

Ann Chiappetta

A publishing Success! 📕

| Filed under Poem writing Writing Life

I am sharing the acceptance letter with you.

If anyone reading this would like me to send the poem via email, please let me know: anniecms64@gmail.com I cannot share it publicly until after it is published in the anthology.

I’ve been working hard improving my craft and style. In 2023 I submitted my work to ten publications and was accepted to three.

 

Dear Ann,

 

It is Oprelle Publication’s great honor to congratulate you on being chosen as the

 

Third Place Winner in the 

2023 “Coming Home” Poetry Contest

This contest was uniquely challenging in that the competition drew awarded and published writers as well as complete novices …where so many times, we find diamonds! Needless to say, the Coming Home competition always draws some tough contenders. Our judges really enjoyed your poem, Where the Heart Lives

Your lines like,

Presence

Human touch

Holding hands before

Slipping off to sleep

will not soon be forgotten. We really enjoyed your poem’s gentle journey in imagery and thought.

 

Your writing will gain excellent exposure because your poem and name will be featured in the upcoming “Coming Home” Anthology. The book will be in a 5.5 by 8.5 layout.  We are looking forward to a really beautiful paperback later this year.

 

by Ann Chiappetta | tags : | 0

Annie Shares News V 2 Issue 12 🧧🎁💖

| Filed under blindness Poem writing

Annie Shares News Volume 2 Issue 12 December 2023

anniesharesnews@groups.io

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Web: www.annchiappetta.com

Blog: www.thought-wheel.com

 

🎅  🤶  🌲  💖

 

Christmas and holiday greetings, readers. In these trying times of war and strife, peace and joy are elusive and sometimes difficult to express. It is for these reasons I am writing this newsletter. My purpose, as insignificant as it may be, keeps me grounded and it is my hope it helps someone else to keep the hope going.

 

I am pleased to report my second novel, Imperfections, is being sent to the independent book publishing company, DLD Books  for formatting. The release is planned for spring 2024.  It’s been a long and rewarding path for the writing of this story. It is less biographical and  I hope different enough for readers to rave about. I’ll be telling you all more about it in the January 2024 newsletter.

 

Also in my Sharingdom, Smashwords/D2D is launching an End-of-year eBook sale from December 15 to January 1, 2024. The sale will include genres from children’s books to horror titles.    Upwelling: Poems, my first poetry collection is free and my other titles are discounted. eBooks make great gifts! 🎁🧧

Save this promo link so you can shop as soon as December 15 rolls up:

https://www.smashwords.com/shelves/promos

 

Of course, by now, being a subscriber to this newsletter, you are aware I am a person with a disability. I support other writers with disabilities as well as promoting my own writing and books. One such writer, Patty L. Fletcher, is the person who  had a role in assisting me to find my own path to independent publishing. I am excited to include the information for readers to check out her new book.

The Blended Lives Chronicles: Sides of the Order.

 

If you prefer an anthology, check out this one, hot off the indie press, Behind Our Eyes 3 A literary Sunburst. It is written and edited by writers with disabilities and the proceeds from the sale of the book go directly to funding the Behind Our Eyes organizational literary programs , most  offered  free-of-charge. Sales will also assist in the costs of publishing  their biannual literary magazine, Magnets and Ladders.

 

 

My gift to you is a recording of the poem, Little Tree by e.e. Cummings. Below is the text.

[little tree]

  1. E. Cummings

 

“little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see            i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid

look           the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold.
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/miiljk17ugsupwqud79m9/little-tree-by-Annie-c.mp3?rlkey=1c9rsomli57qm8s5h05pudfao&dl=0

 

 

 

 

Christmas Poem 🌲

| Filed under Poem

Happy Holidays to all.

🌲    🤶  🎅

Below is the text of Little Tree, a poem by e. e. cummings. The reading of it is also part of this post. I hope you enjoy it.  As for the poet, e. e. cummings – he was a poet before his time. Born in 1874 in Cambridge, Massachusetts,  he experimented with  breaking literary traditions, hence the lack of capitalization and punctuation in  his work.

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._E._Cummings

 

[little tree]

  1. E. Cummings

 

“little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see            i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid

look           the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold.
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

 

 

Train Trip

| Filed under Poem writing

Last week I boarded the train on a trip from Pittsburgh Pennsylvania to New Rochelle, New York. The ride, about eight hours in total, lacked the typical stressors of airplane travel.  I’ve always liked trains and after this longer trip, I discovered  the rails do something I never noticed before. They sing.

 

During  a handful of long stretches, the familiar clickety-clack we all associate with a moving train faded and a resonating hum emitted. I found it hypnotizing; since I am not a musician I don’t know if   the notes were in a major or minor key or which key. It  started with a low note and increased until the note  reached a soprano and  ended. The audible phenomenon lasted only a short distance and varied. Think of a  finger circling  the lip of a wine glass on a grander scale.

 

Rail Song

By Ann Chiappetta

 

Rails and wheels marry

Sharing the miles

Conversations carry

Conductor  sashays past

In the distance the horn blast

Rebounds reaches the last car.

 

Pastoral corridor  lulls

The song is heard

A message

It conveys

The paring of rail and wheel

The joy of invention.

 

Disembarking  upon arrival

from west to east .

The urge to thank  the thrumming metal beast

For performing it’s rail song

Twitches fingers

 

Stays with me.

 

NPM day five

| Filed under nonfiction Poem

The Ride

To Pepsi, the best horse I ever rode.

By Ann Chiappetta

forge the stream On docile

chestnut Appaloosa. Hooves

splash and click on  submerged stones

this is big country air crisp and wild

A split trail. Guide points

“Mountain lion won’t look for you there. You got two hours, follow the stream to get back,”

 

Horse and rider   brush Past weeping willows and wildflowers.

A light shake of reins, a tap of heels

Trot, canter, galloping

horse jumps. clears mud puddle

rider  flies,

lands with a wet plop

on back, breathless

warm breath,  big nose nuzzles face

mud splattered Eyes open

soft  equine gaze says,

“Hey, let’s finish the ride,”

 

Lake Tahoe, Nevada September  1980

 

by Ann Chiappetta | tags : | 0

A Lack of Motivation

| Filed under blogging Poem Relationships Writing Life

Motivation Acrostic

By Ann Chiappetta

Most days it is present

On the days it is absent

Touching   the creativity fails, dispersed

Into me, whispering within, like

Veins packed with  scribbled, microscopic   cells

Alphabet  infused molecules jumbled

Twisting and turning liquid

Impossibly

Overflowing with brain food I’ve

No chance of catching.

 

What can I say? Some writing days are better than others. One good thing that helped me write this poem was being able to end a writing-related  gig I found no longer provided the inspiration I needed to support my writing style.  A pressure has been alleviated and I feel  much better. Being a Pisces is complicated. ♓

 

I learned what I don’t want to write and what type of writing gig  could be more enriching for me.

The Masher’s Last Stand

| Filed under blogging Poem writing

The Masher’s Last Stand

By Ann Chiappetta

I learned to cook prior to food preparation machines and commercial blenders

We used whisks, hand-crank mixers and potato mashers.  I stood on the Romper Room emblazoned stool beside Mom until my little arms tired. I whipped cream, eggs, and sifted flour. I was practicing to be a Suzie Homemaker, don’t you know.

 

After my parents divorced and we moved into an apartment, the budding skills became necessity. At nine I learned to scramble eggs, boil water for macaroni, and help make

meatloaf and meatballs.  The spoon with the little holes and the potato masher made the move with us.

I estimate the utensils are over fifty years old, the spoon is solid stainless riveted to hardwood handle grips. The masher is also riveted and sturdy, not even a bit of rust.

 

Dad’s carpenter’s   measuring stick   given to him by his father

was the final tool

Laid in a reverent place among elderly scrapers, hammers and planers.

Bobby, said a friend, your making mistakes, get rid of that thing.

 

The measuring tape wasn’t as fun to play with

And pinched my tender fingers more than once

Dad would release the stop and we listened to it retract as if by magic and

He would chuckle and say something about

The wonders of modern technology

Then whip out the stubby pencil from behind an ear, mark the wood

clip it back to his waist and return to work with the hand saw.

 

I pretended the curled papery shavings  from planing the wood

that fell like

Dogwood petals onto the shop floor were

Secret messages from fairies or a mouse

 

I put them to my nose and inhaled the fragrances

Cedar or pine was the best

 

Pop gardened and gave me the first taste of fresh mint

Strawberries warmed and sweetened by the sun

Pickled cucumbers in jars so big a child’s hands could not

carry or open them

My little fingers squeezed

Lupini beans from their casings as directed

By the little Italian lady visiting

From next-door

and my lips tingled from

a bit of afternoon antipasto

and my confidence was tempered

by losing a few hands of Casino

 

I tried buying lupini beans and couldn’t find them

Though I remember the card game rules and pulpy fragrant

Refinements Of the shop

And how attached I am to a few outdated implements

The telltale products of my youth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Annie Shares News Vol. 2 Issue 9

| Filed under blindness blogging novel writing

Annie Shares News Volume 2 Issue 9 September 2022

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🌑 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌙

Wonderful Things Afoot

 

The creative life is often compared to an ebb and flow, like tidal or moon phases. The last two months were a prime example. I barely wrote anything more than email correspondence due to being removed from our home of thirty years no thanks to asbestos contamination in our old floors. During a vacation in temporary housing via an Airbnb to await the asbestos abatement and installation of new floors, no thanks to hurricane Ida, I managed only one poem. I disconnected and it was probably for the best. I read, I soaked in the blessed silence, basked in the sun, brushed Bailey until my arm was tired, took in the evocative smells of country living and scratched my bug bites with complete complacency.

 

The day prior to our return the stress flared and another two weeks of creative cut-off overtook me, but this time it wasn’t attributed to adjusting to the ambiance of country living and black bears eating the tasty apples from the tree in the yard next to us. It was frustration and disappointment that shut me down. Our home was in chaos. Boxes from floor to ceiling, many of them unmarked. It was beyond dirty, our appliances were unplugged and left to leak all over the kitchen floor.  The list goes on but it is behind us now. It was a helpless feeling, for sure.

 

The lifeline appeared when I attended a few writing-related zoom meetings. The first was the regular Friday afternoon Writing Works Wonders  Community Call podcast streamed by the ACB Media Network. It helped me reconnect with my creativity by providing a writing prompt and it resulted in a poem which will be in a sweet little online literary pub called the Plum Tree Tavern. Then, the following week, the WWW hosts Kathy and Cheryl provided a second prompt that resulted in yet another poem, posted below, which was well received by other writers and is looking for a publication home.

 

Thanks to a fellow author and editor, Robert Kingett, I signed up for an open mic call and I read five of my more recent poems and was thrilled to receive high praise from the listeners. The facilitator followed up with me resulting in an opportunity to record one of my guide dog poems. It will be added to a poetry project for the  Chicago Public Library.

 

While writing is solitary, the sharing of it is not; the sharing is what pushes me to write, to create and keep a productive mindset.   Being good at something like writing and hearing others say my writing is good gives me a feeling of belonging and purpose. I’d lost those two aspects of self when I became blind and reclaiming them over the years felt like gluing the jagged pieces of my soul back together.

 

Opportunities abound, from online writing prompts given by Writing Works Wonders to focused feedback and email lists to connect like   in the writer’s group, Behind Our Eyes. One never knows where the opportunities and connections will appear but one thing is sure, striving to produce good writing and sharing it with readers is the goal.

I value you all, it is you, the reader, the listener, the literary compatriots, for whom I write. I will keep writing as long as you keep reading and listening.

 

 

Summer’s Book

By Ann Chiappetta ©

 

August is

A perpetual ending

Of wilting haiku blossoms

Of Heat and drought and rain on wind chimes

Of crisp leaflets capturing autumn’s promise and

open fields of earth’s parchment

awaiting to harvest and scribe

richness into Nature’s book with stories of Winter white.

 

2022

 

Dreya sends her fanciful smile your way, what’s better than a book dragon asking her friends to read more books?

This image requires alt text, but the alt text is currently blank. Either add alt text or mark the image as decorative. Dreya the red and green book dragon smiles and floats in the air with her best friends, winged books and musical notes.

 

A Poem for Country Living

| Filed under blogging nonfiction pets and people Poem

Transformation

By Ann Chiappetta

 

My City Dogs become Porch mongrels

Laying  beside the mason jar of sun tea

The basso drone of a honey bee

The snap of a Jay’s call

The aroma of a grill

A whisking breeze   bestows relief

 

It is a call to prayer

 

Soon  we  will rise

Shake free of the   delightful

porch-dog torpor

trade  the carefree for the city

But for now  we are  country hounds.

2022

 

view of field from back of vacation house, mountain can be seen  from a distance through the trees.