Turtle Saw Photography

The Flight of the Autumn Swan

This is a selection from the creative photographic library of “Turtle Saw Photography” and is the copyrighted production of a talented Native American artist, whom I am graced to call friend.  If you would like to see more, please click the link below to visit the Facebook page featuring this artistry.

Turtle Saw Photography.

The Poetry of Billy Collins: For Bartleby the Scrivener


For Bartleby The Scrivener

“Every time we get a big gale around here
some people just refuse to batten down.”

we estimate that

ice skating into a sixty
mile an hour wind, fully exerting
the legs and swinging arms

you will be pushed backward
an inch every twenty minutes.

in a few days, depending on
the size of the lake,
the backs of your skates
will touch land.

you will then fall on your ass
and be blown into the forest.

if you gather enough speed
by flapping your arms
and keeping your skates pointed

you will catch up to other
flying people who refused to batten down.
you will exchange knowing waves
as you ride the great wind north.

Billy Collins

The Cicada and The Cricket


The Cicada and the Cricket

By Michele Habel-Coffey


Where is the August giant?

Has it taken to the trees?

While its shell has fallen down below,

nearly crushed beneath my knees?


I was looking for the pen I’d dropped,

in the dark-green, shaded grass

And saw abandoned the perfect shell

A formed and hardened carcass.


Ah, but this is no singing cricket!

This is nothing but a fly.

Good for nothing insect

with relentless, metallic sighs.


The red-eyed demon has long gone,

upon transparent wings has sailed.

I cannot see the ghastly form,

only hear his screeching wails.


But in the pause, I hear the cricket

and though she cannot fly,

She sings from the very tops of trees

A peaceful lullaby.


In Da Club

Brilliant personification of da beasties! Have a look. It’ll leave you purring.


A dog once asked a cat to dance,
He knew this kitty loved to prance,
But kitty said, “Oh no, I can’t
Go dance with you. The way you pant,
You’ll slobber on my gorgeous fur
And bark too loud. Why can’t you purr?
You’ll step on all my kitty feet,
And then you’ll want a doggy treat.
Not to be blunt, but dog, you stink;
It makes me want to hork my drink.
So no, I will not dance with you,
But prancing? Yes, that I can do.”

And so the kitty pranced away
With nothing more she had to say
While doggy scratched his left behind
And thought, Okay, then never mind.

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Saturday Edition: What we’re writing and reading

Live to Write - Write to Live

Welcome to this Saturday Edition of What We’re Writing and Reading in which we share some of what we’re up to with our writing (when we’re not here) and what we’re into with our reading (around the web). We’ll also pull back the curtain a little to give you a behind-the-scenes look at what went into a piece.

We hope you enjoy this little diversion and encourage you to share your own posts and picks in the comments.

Happy writing! Happy reading! 


headshot_jw_thumbnailJamie Wallace: My week was off-kilter this week. At noon on Monday, my daughter’s school called to let me know that my peanut was sitting in the nurse’s office feeling crappy. Luckily, it turned out to be “just” a cold, but she wound up being home on the couch until Thursday morning. Even though she’s a good egg and able to keep herself occupied with books…

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The Muse Become The Clown


The Muse Become The Clown

by Michele Habel-Coffey

Static from the speaker

Breaking through the music cleft

Between the crackling digital winds

And the wounded song

Alternating noises search for space

Caught inside the small black box

Where once was a beautiful song

Is now a war of broken noise

The symphony has drown

The muse become the clown

Artwork Credit: http://muse1979.deviantart.com/art/Just-a-clown-65498709