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Book Review: Rainbow Chaser

Book Review:  Rainbow Chaser
by:  Connie Biltz

One of my blogger friends, Daisy, at:  www.conniebiltz.com, has written a terrific poetry book, Rainbow Chaser. Here's a brief review of her book.

Biltz, Connie.  Rainbow Chaser. Bradenton, Florida:  BookLocker.com, Inc., 2015.  163 pp., paperback.  $14.95.

Connie Biltz chases the gloom away with her delightful poetry book, Rainbow Chaser. Sip a cup of hot cocoa and refresh your soul with her verse.  Her title poem seeks goodness in the world:

"Bring on the colors, the glow, and the hope.
...so call me a rainbow chaser.
Bring on the balloons, the chocolate, and the confetti,
I guarantee we won't regret it."

Connie takes the readers on an image-filled journey in her poetry book.  She uses sounds and word play to keep the fingers flipping the pages.  Her sense of humor amuses and surprises us.

Nature influences her poetry.  Not even the rain keeps "Rainy Day Daisy," down:

"Swaying in the wind,
a daisy stoops…

New Year's Day

The last day
of December
black dots
punctuate
the verdant grass
flash floods
the field--a pond
deer nibble cut corn
rhododendrons budding
in the Blue Ridge Mountains
unseasonable weather
El Nino
traffic startles
the crows
a black blanket
soars to the pines
squawk, squawk, squawking 
a scarlet ribbon
flutters through fog
the cardinal
heralds
a New Year!
         --Brenda Kay Ledford

I wish my blogger friends a very Happy New Year!

Old Christmas

OLD CHRISTMAS
Circa 1932

Not a sound
in the Matheson Cove,
snow glowing on black velvet,
cattle kneel at midnight.

Rabbit tracks zigzag
across the Shewbird Mountain,
wood smoke curves heavenward,
icicles dangle from the log cabin.

A hickory log flickers
in the fireplace,
corn pone bakes in the Dutch oven,
paper chains and popcorn

drape the fir tree.
Younguns toss in feather beds,
listen for reindeer on the roof,
will Santy Claus find the cove?

Early Christmas morning,
cranberry skies spill across
the Blue Ridge Mountains
echoing with sleigh bells.

Ronda, Reba, Ralph, Reuben,
Rena, Robert, Robenia, and Ray
grab goodies from their stockings:
apples, oranges, hazel nuts,

candy canes, peppermint drops, toys
Pa carved in the woodshed.
Before dinner Ma reads
the story of baby Jesus.

Robert gets his fiddle,
voices blend with carols.
An old-fashioned Christmas,
come to the manger!
                     --Brenda Kay Ledford











My mom ( Blanche), and I wish all our blogger friends a very Merry Chr…

Freedom Barn

There's a unique barn located on the outskirts of Hayesville, NC.  It captures the Appalachina culture and our country's freedom. 

A replica of the Statue of Liberty and an old tractor grace the front of this historical building.

Bruce Davenport of Hayesville, owns this barn and has restored it.  He and his family decorate it seasonally.  The old girl shines in all her glory at Christmastime.

It's ironic that Bruce placed the Statue of Liberty in front of the barn.  In the Blue Ridge Mountains, the barn was central to farm life.  Here the mountaineers stored hay, housed the livestock, milked cows, fed cattle and horses grain, cleaned the stalls, shucked and shelled corn, and stored the tools to upkeep farm equipment.  Work.  Always work.

The good old days were hard.  There was hardly any leisure time for the farmers.  In this sense, I think freedom is a good symbol for the old barn.  Freedom from working sunrise to sunset on the farm, digging a living out of the earth is…

Veteran's Day

It was one of those days.  My list of chores included shopping for groceries.  Most times I don't dread this task, but I was running out of time and needed to hurry, hurry, hurry. I pulled into the parking lot at Ingles and rushed to get my groceries.  A soldier sauntered across the lot wearing his uniform.  He walked straight as a stick with his head held high.  I wanted to shout and thank him for his service, but he was gone before I had a chance to show my appreciation. My mind raced with thoughts of our military.  Despite what some folks might think, our country is in war overseas.  Soldiers are giving their lives for our freedom.  How often do we think of our soldiers?  How often do we remember to pray for their safety?  Many men in my family served in the military.  Uncles fought in World War I and World War II.  My brother served with the US Army in Vietnam.  My nephew completed two tours of duty in Iraq and was wounded in the line of duty. Other families have suffered gr…

Cherokee Heritage Festival

The Native American fall festival was held at the Cherokee Heritage Center in the mountain town of Hayesville, NC on Saturday, September 19, 2015. 

It was perfect weather for a fall festival.  No rain!  The bright blue skies of September dazzled above the Cherokee village.  Dusty lilac asters, goldenrods and knockout roses dotted the trail.  Cinnamon, nutmeg, molasses, and pumpkin spice leaves fluttered in the wind.

Native Americans demonstrated carving bears and arrowheads, pottery, weaving baskets, blow guns, playing stickball, and other crafts.

Dan Hollifield played a Native American flute in the Cherokee winter house.  He hand makes these instruments. 

A storyteller spun tales about the Cherokee culture.  The smell of barbecue, fried apple pies, and other food wafted across the village.

Cherokee dressed in traditional costumes entertained the crowd performing the groundhog, buffalo, frog, and corn dance.

The Cherokee Heritage Festival was the best ever held in Hayesville.  It g…

Sweet September Memories

Fire on the mountains,
sweet September memories.
Looping across Cherohala skyway
in Daddy's old black Ford.

A magical time,
my parents and I
taking a joy ride
on Sunday afternoon.

Work can wait
on the farm,
time with family
can not wait.

I look down
on the rideline
burning like hickory
sticks in the fireplace.

We stop at the overpass,
eat a moonpie and RC Cola,
a whippoorwill whistles
and the cool breeze

brushes my face.
Daddy and Mama smile,
I feel their unconditional love:
work can wait!

                  --Brenda Kay Ledford

My sister, Barbara, Daddy, Mama,
front row:  little Brenda and brother, Harold.



Good Neighbors

Just as I finished my breakfast, the sun broke through a bundle of cotton clouds.  Rays skipped across a ribbon of mountains, and poured lemon juice on my kitchen.

Something clicked in my kitchen.  It wasn't the clock on my stove.  "Oh, no!  Something's torn up again," I moaned.

I noticed the little solar-powered flowers on the windowsill waving their hands.  Click.  Click.  Click.  The daisies were dancing a jig in the sunshine.

I smiled and thought it would be a good day.  I heard a mower humming.  I glanced out the window and our neighbor pulled into the drive.

Mr. Wimpey asked if we needed any fresh vegetables:

Tomatoes red as rubies,
the aroma of hot peppers,
visions of fried okra!

"Oh, yes!  We would love some vegetables," I said.  I was grateful that our neighbors had thought of us and had graciously shared their garden produce with us.

Until recently, Mama raised a garden every year.  She enjoyed sharing her vegetables with family and friends.

As s…