Why I Will Never Be Freshly Pressed

You are sweetheart 🤩🤩🤩😘

yadadarcyyada

I don’t own an iron…

Many of you reading this are WordPress Bloggers. You may have heard of being ‘Freshly Pressed’, where WordPress Editors pick out posts that are instantly given a lot of attention. It feels like their way of saying some bloggers are better than others, that they’re more worthy of sharing.

I even Googled, ‘How to get Freshly Pressed’.
Hmmm, note to self, next time you search, add, ‘on WordPress’, because, wow, that got weird, really fast.

Apparently none of my blog posts have: ‘enlightened’, ‘inspired’, ‘entertained’, or got the WordPress Editors ‘talking’.

Oh well, at least I’ve learned a lot about blogging, sorta…

• I’m more concise (applause).

• I know about: fonts, stats, sharing, widgets, I know what SEO stands for, Search Engine Oops, maybe I don’t.

• I’m on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, LinkedIn, Google+, Pinterest – I’m…

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#WordPress Hates Me, How About You?

I do LOVE YOU 🥰 WE all Love You ❤❤❤❤❤🥰🥰🤗🤗🤗🙏🙏❤❤❤

yadadarcyyada

WordPress hates me
I don’t know why…
sometimes it makes me
want to cry.They do not like me here or there,
they do not like me anywhere.

They steal my Likes
That’s just, yikes!

Screwing up my posts,
Hurts the mosts.

Fellow bloggers they unfollow
A giant bitter pill to swallow.

Ruining posts with unpaid ads
Really, really makes me sadz.

They give us new stuff
that don’t work.
We say enuff!
They go beserk!So what if each blog post ain’t a pearl?
On them haters I’m gonna twirl…They do not like me early or late…
What you gonna do, haters gonna hate.They do not like me here or there.
They do not like me anywhere.

They don’t like bloggers who point out their vices…
https://yadadarcyyada.com/2015/03/26/why-i-will-never-be-freshly-pressed/
Each day on their platform is a crisis…

They may like you.
You will see.
as they hope
you pay…

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Muscadine

House of Heart

In memory  –  Father’s Day 2019

His mother named him Carlos, such a strange name for a Welshman. Perhaps she loved Spain. 

Summers heavy cloak hung over fields of Goldenrod, their long limbs reaching out to mesh with spiky leaves that sheltered bundles of marmalade florets.Their invasion of the meadow met with merciless machetes that hacked through  the unwelcome invaders who hadn’t the courtesy to extend a pleasant fragrance.

The trail led to an arbor by a trickling brook. Nestled  in a stand of trees a precarious trellis  bowed heavy  with  never ending appendages that wound and wove through dense clusters of bulbous translucent nipples clinging tenaciously to their host.

The scent of peppery earth stung the nostrils and attracted white tail deer that ravaged the vines of their treasure. The old man once snaked a garden hose through the lattice to frighten them, a guise that worked only to  astonish lovers lingering at fertile ground, a sacred rendezvous.

Soon the clammy dragons of summer breathed their fiery breath and the skin…

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Her Twinflame

yaskhan

She sees his face in the white of moon
In azure reveries, she feels his soul holding her in the indigo of night ..
In the hush of sleep, his lips ignite in a moonbeams song..eyes caressed by starlight- humming a lullaby .. a jasmine rhapsody on a stardust cloud
She inhales the scent of his tranquility as he lulls her to the hues of the night
They breathe together to become complete
A sacred blending of two souls
Waltzing across the starlight.
In the light of dawn, as the sun laughs into her eyes
she finds a memory living in her heartbeat
a temptation of hope..
Flaming into an endless devotion.

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Brother Love 8 — A Confession

Teagan's Books

Saturday, June 15, 2019

Welcome back to the crossroads.    

Image collage by Teagan, featuring a photo by Dan

This chapter has two things from  Dan Antion, who shares his photographs to illustrate Brother Love.  Read on to see how I used Bubblegum and Newspaper in this episode.

The third “thing” that is used to drive Chapter 8 is from Fraggle, aka C. J. Hyslop, who is a marvelous photographer.  It’s easy to see what a terrific imagination she has at Fraggle’s Other Place.  What was Fraggle’s thing?  Camera, of course!

I have to give Dan credit for a line in this chapter.  In our discussion about the two evangelists who inspired my Doug Armstrong character, Dan talked about something the preacher from his past said about not inviting people to dinner.  Keep reading and you’ll see what I mean. 

Chapter 7 — A Lament.

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Widow

Lance Sheridan

She is a blind glass resembling water,
A body, a dead syllable; she is a woman
In a dead package, numb as a lily looking
For an appropriate sun scissored into a
Black cloud. It seems to give her warmth,
Like a live skin. Widow: God made no
Promises; your prayers singed like a burning

Arrow up to heaven. You mourn in loneliness
Like a drunk sleeping in a puddle, wet in a
Dull sense; thoughts, crusted and sallow. Are
Your friends four seven eight and nine praying?
They are folding hands with nothing in between.
Their souls pass through one another in stale air,
Blinded grey to their own bequeathed marriages.

So kiss your husbands in dubious doorways and
Forget their Monday names. Their minds flicker
Like candles while playing prodigal charades.
Hello again to a sweet girl with churchyard ears,
Until you get stiffed again with a wink…

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I’m Your Density!

fabulous ❤ ❤