Beanery Online Literary Magazine

December 12, 2012

Sancta Lucia Part I: Background

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BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

SANTA LUCIA Part I: Background

Jean Slusser

Read SWEDISH CHRISTMAS TRADITION WITH ITALIAN ROOTS
I am of German, Czecz and Norwegian ancestry, but have always identified more with the Scandinavian part, probably because I spent so much time with my Norwegian Grandmother and Maternal Aunt who lived in a small town in Wisconsin, Mt. Horeb near Madison. It seemed as though everyone in that town was Norwegian, with a few Swedes thrown in for good measure. All the festivals and celebrations were reminiscent of Norway—the food, costumes and customs.

       I was also raised Lutheran. In our church, we celebrated Santa Lucia day.  When I was in 8th grade, I was chosen to be Santa Lucia. The good news was that it was an honor to be chosen. The bad news was that it was necessary to walk down the very long isle of the sanctuary with a wreath of lit candles on my head without setting myself and the church on fire.  Luckily I made it through. 

     I also attended a very large Santa Lucia festival in Wisconsin which I will always remember because of all the candles, beautiful music and ambiance.

ST LUCY/LUCIA

St. Lucy is believed to have been a Sicilian saint who suffered a sad death in Syracuse, Sicily around 310AD. It is said she was seeking help for her mother’s long-term illness at the Shrine of Saint Agnes in her native Sicily, when an angel appeared to her in a dream beside the shrine. As a result Lucy became a devout Christian, refused to compromise her virginity in marriage and was denounced to the Roman authorities by the man she would have wed.

They threatened to drag her off to a brothel if she did not renounce her Christian beliefs, but were unable to move her even with a thousand men and fifty oxen pulling. So they stacked materials for a fire around her and lit it, but she would not stop (more…)

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December 5, 2012

The Intruder

THE INTRUDER 

Joanne McGough

November, 2007

 A piazza in Venice, Italy

      I wait alone. Le Ristorante al Gabbiano opens in thirty minutes. I sit at a wrought iron table and study its mosaic tile top. Some tiles are cracked, some are missing, all are weather worn and faded into a creamy gray mélange. Just a hint of true color remains in crevices where tiles are tightly abutted and the salty air from the canal hasn’t penetrated.

The morning is gray and so heavy with mist that my hair feels damp. Still, I am pleased to be in Venice and content to be alone. I feel meditative, breathing slowly and deeply, my mind as calm as it ever could be. I close my eyes from time to time. Often, I pause to write a note on my tablet.

My reverie is interrupted. A small brown bird lands on my table. His arrival is obscured by the near-opaque fog.

He is a bold little thing. In just two hops he is close enough to watch me writing. One hop closer and he seems to understand my work. He looks from my pen to my tablet, then back again, repeatedly. I sit as still as possible, watching him. He is beautiful, really, not solid brown but blessed with flecks of red and gold. He is obviously interested in what I am doing.

He knows I am watching him. I stop writing but he continues to stare at my tablet. I think he is waiting for something. Perhaps he thinks my tablet is (more…)

November 14, 2012

Transfixed

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BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

TRANSFIXED

 Patricia Orendorff Smith

 

On a glistening day

leaf color became vibrant.

Leaves fell like rain.

Autumn touched ground,

crunched and rustled beneath my sneakers.

A scarlet maple leaf

floated by.

A deer approached from the woods.

I did not tread on his territory,

nor he on mine.

Transfixed,

our eyes locked in a stare

of respect,

reverence.

Ephemerally,

I breathed, breathed in the toasty

brown whiff of autumn.

Too quickly the day faded

into winter white.

The cold sting on my ears

advanced my pace.

I rushed home to a steaming

cup of cocoa,

thinking,

I need no more than this.

To read more of Patricia Orendorff Smith’s work click on https://beanerywriters.wordpress.com/category/wrbw-pat/

November 7, 2012

Chris Moore Interviewed Chuck Martin in Jones Mills (PA)

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

CHRIS MOORE INTERVIEWED

CHUCK MARTIN IN JONES MILLS (PA)

Sal and Chuck Martin often attend Mello Mike in Ligonier, Pennsylvania, where they enjoy meeting with friends, dining on Ligonier Tavern food, and listening to music and readings by local musicians and writers. Often, they themselves read work that they’ve written.

However, on November 13th they will not be attending Mello Mike. They will be sitting in the comfort of their living room, with neighbors Rock Foster and his wife, watching television.

And Chuck will be wondering who that “old guy” on the television is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Truth be known? It’s Chuck Martin himself.

Recently Chris Moore, host of Ch. 13-WQED television show Black Horizons, drove from Pittsburg to the tiny community of Jones Mills on Route 31 just east of Route 711.

Chuck is a person of interest because of a series of photographs he took on April 4, 1968—-the day after Rev. Martin Luther King was assassinated.

At the time, many major cities were in flames and rioting was rampant, according to Chuck.

He felt compelled to (to continue reading click on Chris Moore Was in Jones Mills (PA) to Interview Chuck Martin )

October 31, 2012

At Sewickley Creek: a novel excerpt

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

AT SEWICKLEY CREEK

An excerpt from WARPATH, a historical novel

Sal Martin

     In 1756 there was a meeting to discuss peace. One of the negotiators was from the eastern Turtle Clan Delaware named Teedyuscung. Teedyuscung wanted peace for his people and houses and teachers. The conferences at Easton eventually brought a lessening of the hostilities.

“The land is the cause of our Differences, that is, our being unhappily turned out of the land; … they do not act well nor do Indians justice …We on our parts gather up the leaves that have been sprinkled with blood, we gather up the blood, the bodies and the bones, but when we look round, we see no place where to put them.”

That spring, the Martin and Knox children and other white captives made another trip, of twenty some miles, down the Allegheny to Fort Duquesne, in canoes. There were about 200 prisoners at Fort Duquesne at that time. The French commander was offering a bounty for pioneer scalps. He had already paid for 500 scalps. A bounty for Indian scalps was also being paid in Williamsburg and Philadelphia.  That the Pennsylvania Council would do such a thing horrified the Quakers to the point that they withdrew from politics.  Franklin’s anti-Quaker group had won.

The French at Ft. Duquesne did not have enough food for all the mouths and sent the captives along, in canoes, down the Ohio. Martha and Jane Knox and Martha’s two little brothers were taken instead up the muddy Monongahela River to the clean, clear Youghiogheny River, and then on up to Sewickley Creek. They stashed the canoes and carried their precious possessions, blankets and winter clothing up to Captain Jacob’s Cabin.

It was spring and the children were enchanted with the glory of (more…)

October 24, 2012

Time

Filed under: WR/BW PAT — beanerywriters @ 3:00 am

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

TIME

Patricia Orendorff Smith


Time for a child is
measured in seasons:
Spring, splash the puddles,
Summer, shed the shoes,
Fall, dance the leaves,
Winter, stack the snowman.
Perception of time is limitless,
forever in a child’s mind.

Time is a paradox.
When we have the most (more…)

October 17, 2012

The Power of Dust

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THE POWER OF DUST  

Diana Hunt

    Listen up!

Yoo-hoo, out there!

Turn off your stereos, televisions, vacuum cleaners, and any other magnetic dust attracting devices you may have on right now and read this for a moment. Take a breather, as they say.

Do you like to laugh? How about at something you take seriously when you find out that it isn’t as serious as you think?  You would be laughing at yourself then, wouldn’t you? Well, in this case, you would be laughing at most of the industrialized world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve always wondered why such tiny particles of next to nothing, accumulating out of seemingly nowhere and landing on everything, anger everyone in such little time. Is there no way to avoid the frustrating accumulation of dust? Maybe, if you cover everything.

The average American doesn’t like to hide from dust, or grime or dirt either. We are warriors and filth is THE ENEMY! Once upon a time, feather dusters and rags were enough to clean a home. Now there are special (more…)

October 16, 2012

Beanery Online Literary Magazine Returns

Filed under: ANNOUNCEMENTS — beanerywriters @ 3:00 am

The Beanery Online Literary Magazine is returning after a long period of not posting regularly. My apologies, but life happeings interrupted many of my regular activities. Two new sisters entering my family (never having met in over sixty years) and the illness/loss of a brother-in-law, for whom my husband held medical power of attorney and was executor of the estate (eleven hours north) took a toll on my time and energy.

I hope to post once weekly and in January return to a twice-weekly posting.

The Beanery Writers welcome submissions. Please email to beanerywriters@yahoo.com with the word “SUBMISSION’ in the subject line.

Carolyn Cornell Holland, Beanery Writers Group facilitator

February 2, 2012

Toward Harboring at Evening

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BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

TOWARD HARBORING AT EVENING

Robert A. Woodall

This poem, Toward Harboring at Evening, was published as part of a collection of Robert A. Woodall’s poems,  Let Mind Give Way to Heart. It seems appropriate that it be posted today, since Bob began his sail on “a virgin sea” on January 21, 2012.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is this the time when I must leave

            sure things that I have known

And sail a virgin sea to where

            the winds of fate have blown

 Me onward to another shore

            with new horizons bold?

Pray not an empty dream, but by

            His light this vision hold!

Oh! Captain of my ship of life

            sail by the eastern star,

That on this dark and storm tossed sea

            I shall not wander far.

Although her helm may twisting test

            my sinews and my mind,

By sextant of a faithful heart,

            I’ll clear safe channel find.

And when by evenings light I sail

            into the golden bay.

With ensign full atop her mast,

            “Come, Harbor Master, say”

That I may lower anchor here

            and sing upon this shore,

In faith to find my moorage paid,

            that I need sail no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

ADDITIONAL READING:

Poems by Robert A. Woodall posted on the BOLM

THE VIEWING

QUINTESSENCE

LET MIND GIVE WAY TO HEART

January 31, 2012

A Haiku Poem: Jean Isobel Myers

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BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

A HAIKU  POEM      

Jean Isobel Myers

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ahoy all writers

Let’s set sail, “swinging the lamps”

Steady as she goes…

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

ADDITIONAL READING:

A Beanery Writers Group Story in Photographs

Tamarindo: What is It?

Fifteen Minutes of Fame: Part 1—The Real Thing

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