Poems by smpalardy


trapped in the forest

as the trees were culled
the light penetrated the forest
it’s powerful magic awakening a beauty
a woman of secret elegant charm
not seen for many a seasoncaptured and trapped
in the soil of the bayou
by the curse of a witch
envious and resentful
of the lady’s allureas the forest warms up
the lady struggles and pleads
to be freed from the realm
of the witches damnation
but her pleading goes unheeded

has the witch triumphed
will her evil prevail
with time the young beauty
gets drawn back into her tomb of earth
never again to be heard of again.



my woman

a smile that gleams and shines on my day
piercing crystalline pools of brown
focus on mine and melt me away
succulent lips licking inviting a deep kisstalented, creative and hard to define
so many facets drawing me close
yesterday, and always forever
you are my dream, my lover, my musewe caress each other with abandon
passion pours in rivulets between our skin
as we join, you make me tremble with excitement
intensity reveals the palpable ardor

you made me yours from the moment we met
i made you mine wth my unending quest
today we are one for each other
true love in our color, true love in our pleasure

will you be mine forever I ask
you are my reason for living with joy
i will give you any gift of your desire each day
i am devoted to you in a most blissful way


Five Poems by smpalardy

my shelby

she sits quietly with unease
her heart is mean and strong
gleaming eyes sparkling ahead
her mouth gulping in air


flowing curves of sexy muscle
dominant and dynamic
dipped in liquid silver
she is a vigorous lady

– smpalardy


my muse

my muse
sensual curves
consume my mind
she distracts
she compelsthe land is weaving
following her will
quietly giving her
liquid melding way afar

what golden gift awaits
this jagged interruption
is it of nature
or of man
a secret held by my sweet muse

– smpalardy


beneath the rain

a tiny drop begins a rush 
bouncing off the tin sheets
of dull metal roofing
plink plunk plink


what once was insignificant
sheets of diamonds fall
waterfalls cascade and still
plink plunk plink

– smpalardy


mind games

there lives in my head
a very strange lout
long in the wind
very short in the whata simple squatter
a guest in the house
throw him to the curb
he’s causing much doubt

jumble and muddle
i meld into the upset
raised up by that goon
thinking is hurting so much

why do i amuse him
playing into his games
i will myself stronger
shut out his intrusion

raised up by the fire
fueled by good thoughts
i finally dismiss him
casting him out from within

– smpalardy


seeking my rainbow

my mama taught me well
ideals, faith, scruples
my pa trained me well
conduct, character, norms


i struggled with morality
wrestled with the judgment
i clashed with assumptions
standards, attitudes, ideology

filled with doubt and uncertainty
i agonized over my integrity
i was perturbed by my fantasy
the crux of my essence

i climbed the stone steps upward
directed, coached, expected
they were hard and distressing
on the core of my integrity

suddenly i came to see
i need not be disturbed
for high above the route i took
there shone my reality

no ambiguity, no agony
no turmoil or discomfort
there appeared above the path
the rainbow of my authenticity

all doubt dissipated from my mind
my spirit glowed with happiness
my rainbow awaited with bright hues
guiding my happiness and truth.

– smpalardy

Poems by Louisa May Alcott

downloadAmerican novelist and poet Louisa May Alcott worked hard her entire life and eventually was able to make a name for herself. Born on November 29, 1832 in Germantown, Pennsylvania, Alcott came into the world as the daughter of two transcendentalist parents. She died on March 6, 1888 in Boston, Massachusetts. 




Fairy Song

The moonlight fades from flower and rose 
And the stars dim one by one; 
The tale is told, the song is sung, 
And the Fairy feast is done.
The night-wind rocks the sleeping flowers, 
And sings to them, soft and low.
The early birds erelong will wake: 
'T is time for the Elves to go.

O'er the sleeping earth we silently pass, 
Unseen by mortal eye, 
And send sweet dreams, as we lightly float 
Through the quiet moonlit sky;-- 
For the stars' soft eyes alone may see, 
And the flowers alone may know, 
The feasts we hold, the tales we tell; 
So't is time for the Elves to go

From bird, and blossom, and bee, 
We learn the lessons they teach; 
And seek, by kindly deeds, to win 
A loving friend in each.
And though unseen on earth we dwell, 
Sweet voices whisper low, 
And gentle hearts most joyously greet 
The Elves where'er they go.

When next we meet in the Fairy dell, 
May the silver moon's soft light 
Shine then on faces gay as now, 
And Elfin hearts as light.
Now spread each wing, for the eastern sky 
With sunlight soon shall glow.
The morning star shall light us home: 
Farewell! for the Elves must go.


The Rock and The Bubble

 Oh! a bare, brown rock 
Stood up in the sea, 
The waves at its feet 
Dancing merrily.

A little bubble 
Once came sailing by, 
And thus to the rock 
Did it gayly cry,-- 

"Ho! clumsy brown stone, 
Quick, make way for me: 
I'm the fairest thing 
That floats on the sea.

"See my rainbow-robe, 
See my crown of light, 
My glittering form, 
So airy and bright.

"O'er the waters blue, 
I'm floating away, 
To dance by the shore 
With the foam and spray.

"Now, make way, make way; 
For the waves are strong, 
And their rippling feet 
Bear me fast along.

But the great rock stood 
Straight up in the sea: 
It looked gravely down, 
And said pleasantly-- 

"Little friend, you must 
Go some other way; 
For I have not stirred 
this many a long day.

"Great billows have dashed, 
And angry winds blown; 
But my sturdy form 
Is not overthrown.

"Nothing can stir me 
In the air or sea; 
Then, how can I move, 
Little friend, for thee?" 

Then the waves all laughed 
In their voices sweet; 
And the sea-birds looked, 
From their rocky seat, 

At the bubble gay, 
Who angrily cried, 
While its round cheek glowed 
With a foolish pride,-- 

"You SHALL move for me; 
And you shall not mock 
At the words I say, 
You ugly, rough rock.

"Be silent, wild birds! 
While stare you so? 
Stop laughing, rude waves, 
And help me to go! 

"For I am the queen 
Of the ocean here, 
And this cruel stone 
Cannot make me fear.

Dashing fiercely up, 
With a scornful word, 
Foolish Bubble broke; 
But Rock never stirred.

Then said the sea-birds, 
Sitting in their nests 
To the little ones 
Leaning on their breasts,-- 

"Be not like Bubble, 
Headstrong, rude, and vain, 
Seeking by violence 
Your object to gain; 

"But be like the rock, 
Steadfast, true, and strong, 
Yet cheerful and kind, 
And firm against wrong.

"Heed, little birdlings, 
And wiser you'll be 
For the lesson learned 
To-day by the sea.



 Mysterious death! who in a single hour 
Life's gold can so refine 
And by thy art divine 
Change mortal weakness to immortal power! 

Bending beneath the weight of eighty years 
Spent with the noble strife 
of a victorious life 
We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.

But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung 
A miracle was wrought; 
And swift as happy thought 
She lived again -- brave, beautiful, and young.

Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore 
And showed the tender eyes 
Of angels in disguise, 
Whose discipline so patiently she bore.

The past years brought their harvest rich and fair; 
While memory and love, 
Together, fondly wove 
A golden garland for the silver hair.

How could we mourn like those who are bereft, 
When every pang of grief 
found balm for its relief 
In counting up the treasures she had left?-- 

Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time; 
Hope that defied despair; 
Patience that conquered care; 
And loyalty, whose courage was sublime; 

The great deep heart that was a home for all-- 
Just, eloquent, and strong 
In protest against wrong; 
Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall; 

The spartan spirit that made life so grand, 
Mating poor daily needs 
With high, heroic deeds, 
That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.

We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead, 
Full of the grateful peace 
That follows her release; 
For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.

Oh, noble woman! never more a queen 
Than in the laying down 
Of sceptre and of crown 
To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen; 

Teaching us how to seek the highest goal, 
To earn the true success -- 
To live, to love, to bless -- 
And make death proud to take a royal soul.

Saturday Special #3 – RICH RICH RICH: Richest Americans


  This next series of Saturday Specials will focus on the world’s richest and their lavish homes, cars, boats, etc. The stuff that makes us gasp at the luxury and the spoils of the world’s privileged 1%.

I am going to divide the series into different parts starting with the richest of the good old U.S. of A.  In the following weeks I will cover the wealthiest of the world – including what info I can gather on royals and specifically the Saudi Royals and the Sultan of Brunei – in posts that will reflect different aspects of these ultra rich denizens of the world.

Today the USA, next week… THE WORLD!!!!! Enjoy…










Yeah, Maybe – A Poem

Image result for maybe

via Daily Prompt: Maybe

yeah, maybe

maybe  yes and maybe not
i do not want to answer
i do not want to choose
maybe is my expertise
yeah, maybe

i roll my eyes
i huff my breath
my hands rise up
the shrug is next
yeah, maybe

you’ll have to wait
i don’t really know
i’ll have to guess
you’ll get to know
yeah, maybe

sm palardy


It’s What We Do

REBLOG: I thoroughly enjoyed this post by Storyshucker and I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys a lovely story with a kicker of a moral!


While out walking yesterday evening I smelled sunscreen as someone passed by. In an instant I was mentally back on the beach waiting for cousins to come down from the house so we could get in the water together. I was also reminded of something I once wrote about years of our family’s summer traditions:

It’s a rustic, waterfront cottage on the Chesapeake Bay in an isolated cluster of other old cottages a mile or so off the main road. It’s been added on to over the last fifty-plus years and is filled with second-hand furniture, hand-me-down linens, and old pots and pans. To do anything from use the kitchen stove to turning on the water pump requires knowledge of idiosyncrasies so specific that they’re passed down like family history. There’s sand on the floor, the smell of salt water in the air, and to me it’s perfect.

The actual owner…

View original post 946 more words

TEDx – Collection #2

TED (Technology, Entertainment, Design) is a global set of conferences run by the private nonprofit organization Sapling Foundation, under the slogan “Ideas Worth Spreading”. TED was founded in February 1987 as a one-off event and the annual conference series began in 1990. TED’s early emphasis was technology and design, consistent with its Silicon Valley origins, but it has since broadened its focus to include talks on many scientific, cultural, and academic topics.

The main TED conference is held annually in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada at the Vancouver Convention Centre. TED events are also held throughout North America and in Europe and Asia, offering live streaming of the talks. They address a wide range of topics within the research and practice of science and culture, often through storytelling.

TEDx conference events are independently organized.













A Little Slice of Zachary

Hello friends!
I am not a professional writer nor did I have an editor or proofreader.
I wrote this short fiction because I felt like it and it made me feel good.
Sooo… feel free to enjoy it (or not 😜 ) and make comments about whether or not you liked my story, but PLEASE NO COMMENTS ABOUT SYNTAX AND SUCH. THANK YOU!


download (1)


A billowing cloud of dust leaped through the air and landed with a thump on the rutted and narrow strip of loose soil and pebbles that led deep into the forest on the outskirts of Danby County. Had the sudden movement not sent all the little critters scooting back into the safety of the thicket, they would have seen that at the center of the intrusive explosion was young Zachary Blake, pumping the pedals of his bike with all his might as he careened down the hill towards his house. The loose soil and ruts beneath his wheels made steering particularly difficult but today nothing could slow him down as he raced to his destination – the safety of home.


Just as he came perpendicular to his driveway, Zach slammed on his brakes and his rear wheel swung around and pointed him up the drive. As he shot up the gravel drive, Zach took in his surroundings and started to calm down. Home at last. Home, where Ma and Pa took care of him; where nobody bullied or made fun of him.


The quaint single-story clapboard house sported a new coat of slate blue paint and the door and shutters were a brilliant white. The porch that ran the length of the front housed a swing at one end and two weather-worn rocking chairs with a huge pot of geraniums at the other. Lacy yellow curtains could be seen through the large living-room window. Expansive flower beds resplendent with an orgy of vibrant colors decorated the front of the house and up the drive to the corner of the house. Where there were no flowers, the front property was spotted with fragrant pine and robust maple trees from whose branches hung a multitude of homemade birdhouses and feeders.  It was truly a welcoming homestead.


When he reached the stone path that led from the drive to the house he disembarked from his bike and, after taking a few deep breaths to relax, Zach began walking towards the back of the property to his father’s garage where he stored his bike. As he turned the corner of the drive he came to a dead stop and his hands tautly gripped his handlebars. There, parked in front of the garage, was the county sheriff’s car. From inside the gaping maw of the door of the garage, he could hear the deep, bellowing voice of the sheriff and the muffled responses of Pa. The sheriff was at his home – his safe haven was compromised and it left him completely panicked.


Of course, his was not an entirely unusual reaction to finding Sheriff Duane at one’s house. The sheriff was quite imposing physically; his demeanor was even more so; and he had a booming voice that silenced all others. In short, he was a bully with a badge and he reigned with terror. Constantly the butt of much teasing and bullying, Zach found his ultimate nemesis in the the sheriff.


The sheriff had his back towards him so Zach stood as still as he could; still clinging to the idea that maybe, just maybe, the sheriff was not here about him. Then the men changed positions a bit and Zach could make out the pinched and tired face of Pa as he seemed to grow more and more haggard the longer he listened to the vitriol of the sheriff. Watching the interaction between the men made his breathing grow more shallow and the blood drained from his face. Zach’s palms grew sweaty and the handles of his bike slowly slipped from his tense grip until it came crashing down in a rattling heap at his feet. The crash came and all other sounds stopped.


Sheriff Duane Strathmore had been talking loudly and gesticulating wildly when he heard the crash of Zach’s bicycle hitting the ground. He stopped mid-sentence, dropped his arms and spun around to see what had made such a noise. Standing like a deer caught in headlights, there stood Zach with his mouth and his eyes wide open. He looked as if completely unsure as to whether he should bolt or faint. Before he could do either, Sheriff Duane recovered from his surprise and hollered at Zach; beckoning him to come to the garage immediately.


Zach did not respond well to being yelled at; it made his anxiety and distress soar. He did not move; he could not move. The sheriff took Zach’s lack of action as a lack of fear and respect so he hollered louder and moved towards Zach. Seeing the look of abject terror in his son’s eyes moved him and Zach’s Pa came out of the garage and ran to his son to protect him despite his own fears.


Pa stood between his son and the sheriff; one terrified and the other terrifying. Although of a similar build as the sheriff, Pa was quiet, kind and gentle. He was a mechanic who worked out of the garage in his back yard and was known as an honest and hard working man. As he stood before the sheriff, wiping his grease-stained hands on his stained overall’s, he kept shaking his head and insisting that his son was not responsible for the incident that had brought the law down to his home. He maintained that if Zach had assaulted Jamie Wilcox with his lunch box then it was purely self-defense. He reminded the sheriff that Zach may have an anxiety disorder and a personality disorder but that he was not an aggressor; he was the victim of some of the boys bullying him and humiliating him because of his hardships. He pleaded and begged for some understanding on the sheriff’s part but the sheriff was a hard man with a hard head and what little kindness he possessed did not extend to “kooks & crazies”. His retort to Pa was to suggest that if Zach was such a problem then he should be interned in an asylum. 


Regardless of his inability to educate the sheriff, Pa managed to keep the sheriff at bay for a few minutes but the sheriff had the upper hand and he kept approaching.  Suddenly, the back door of the house burst open and out came Ma wearing matching sundress and apron, and wielding a large wooden spoon. She was screaming at the sheriff to get back in his car and off her property. Ma wasn’t normally a confrontational person, but she’d been defending her special boy at any cost for quite some time. 


Ma came right down into the yard next to Pa, who was sweating profusely by now, and pulled Zach by the sleeve so that he would be directly behind her.  All the while, the sheriff kept approaching; yelling that he would take them all in if Zach didn’t come with him peacefully and immediately. Ma could tell this stand-off was not going to end well so she tried to reason with the sheriff but he was in no mood to be reasonable or understanding. He was just like the bullies at Zach’s school – mean and nasty because mental illnesses scared them and they wouldn’t admit to fear so instead chose to denigrate, bully and stigmatize. 


When Zach saw the lack of empathy in the cold grey eyes of the sheriff as he steadily approached them, he could no longer control his distress and he broke down into big gulping tears. Both of his parents turned to comfort him and as his mother took him into her arms the sheriff saw his opportunity and he swiftly and forcefully placed Pa in handcuffs and pushed him to the ground. Wasting no time, he turned and pulled Zach from the arms of his mother and down to the ground next to his father where he put tie wraps around Zach’s wrists. As he hauled him to his feet and led him to his patrol car Ma kept pace; all the while beating the brawny shoulders and back of the sheriff with her wooden spoon and screaming at him to let her son and husband go free.

When they reached the patrol car the sheriff shoved Zach onto the trunk of the car and turned to deal with the screeching woman making his blood pressure rise. He pumped himself up to look as daunting as possible and, shouting at the top of his lungs, he told her to stop hitting him and calm down or he would arrest her as well for assaulting a police officer. Then he reached to his belt for the keys to the handcuffs and threw them at her; telling her to go let her husband loose. As she scurried off in tears to do so, the sheriff opened the rear door to his patrol car and pushed Zach inside. Then he got in himself, turned on the ignition and began to drive around the yard and back towards the driveway.

Meanwhile, Zach’s ma had freed his pa and they both ran after the sheriff’s car but to no avail. The sheriff had their son in custody and there was little they could do about it. The sadness and fear overwhelmed them and they clutched to one another and sobbed as they watched Sheriff Duane drive off with Zach’s face pushed against the window looking profoundly frightened and alone.

– sm palardy

The 10% Rule – A Poem


 The 10% Rule

every life unfolds
on its own terms
every person fights for life
on their own terms

a game-plan for existence
life has the ball and is running
move right, move left, up and down
reacting to life and it’s vagaries

anguish, despair and vexation
the price of futile combat
life is complex and powerful
wielding weapons of mass depression

the constant worthless battle 
trying to control and manage
life is a formidable, tireless foe
yours and mine and theirs

the power is ours to do and make due
attitudes must be challenged
negative thoughts, feelings renounced
confidence and positivity breeds zest and zeal

the rule of 10% lives on
when life serves you torment and misery
become the 90% that transforms
life becomes wonder, victory, joy

– sm palardy