The Spirit of California

I have a faint memory of living for social media.

What a sham.  What a shame.

What is a best picture to take today?  I see white ash all around my walkways from the burning fires in Northern California.  However, that’s not sexy enough to get traffic from those who want to see the beauty of California and nobody has the gumption to photoshop that out – because it’s real.

The coastal, wild west, American California dream looks like devastation to me.  Schools closing, towns gone, families misplaced, pain, suffering and smoke-filled skies with wildlife searching far from home to get water (yes, I currently have a family of raccoons living in my backyard).

The image of devastation is the tragedy of home, hearth, and heart.

In 2 days it will be Thanksgiving here is the USA and California looks more like a battleground than a Norman Rockwell painting. It arises deep feelings of angst, but here’s what I love:  the Spirit and Heart of California can’t be beat and we will push on as though it’s our last breath.

Thanks for Reading,



Combustible Courage to Write

Finding your literary voice can take courage after a long time of silence.  When you’re up against yourself facing the knowledge that it’s go-time…well then – allez! When that something buzzes inside of you that compels you to sound-off – you must sound.  For whatever your reason of silence, it was your reason and it was a valid reason.  Therefore it’s up to each of us to gather our wits, dust off old beliefs and feelings, re-evaluate self-stance, and punch through that self-imposed wall of writer’s block.

We have all had our reasons to stop writing.  Whether they were good reasons or bad reasons, they happened.  Exhausted by wordiness, exhausted by trying to represent and then re-represent your meaning is merely the burden of broken words. Then there is my personal favorite – writing for the impossible critic. C’était impossible.

Take your own writing as a love letter to yourself. Re-teach yourself the meanings behind your own words.  Stand beside your old words and read everything. Articulate your meanings and write them better.  If readers find them – bravo!  If they don’t – well then – bravo! Dive into the life you once loved as a writer and find a better outcome with better words. Develop your you. Others will admire your effort by reading you and by seeing you through pictures and music.  You can’t please ’em all, so please yourself.

Life can be messy, but then that’s the seduction of living.


Thanks for reading,





Friday Night

If your road less traveled

is yellow-bricked and never ending,

Or your Walden’s Pond

has frozen over,

You can still cut a rug,

To make you love,

A quarter note Friday evening.


(All right reserved 2018 – Mary Bedient)


A fountain

is just a fountain,

until you add a wish.

A wishing well

is just a wishing well,

made rich

by your financial pitch.

But caution to the fish,

who might eat your pitch,

and be served sauced

on another’s dish.

For the wishful dish,

stolen by a thieving fish,




(2018 – all rights reserved – Mary Bedient)



What’s On the Menu?

What are you serving for breakfast?

Ah yes, carrots and peas.

Well what are you serving for lunch then?

Why sir, carrots and peas.

So what are you serving for tea, may I ask?

You may.  Carrots and peas.

And what are you serving for sup later on?

Our chef says, carrots and peas.

Dessert, let me guess, don’t tell me.

Will it be carrots and peas?

Oh no sir, we serve fresh coffee,

just for you, to put you at ease.

How lovely!  For me?  I’ll take one large cup

and filled to the brim if you please.

Right away sir! How do you take your coffee?

With one carrot

and two peas.

(2018 – all rights reserved – Mary Bedient)

Musical Trenches

Trebled times envisioned

by the staff leader’s shadow,

the rise and end of a boastful summer cadence.

The one looks at five.


Soulful, enigmatic, leering

by the brushing broomsticks on decks

to the last breathing branch of song.

Making trenches,

filling trenches,

fast as the shovels scoops

the bugle sounds.


(all rights reserved – Mary L. Bedient)