we all are gypsies of a sort wandering traveling through this life other lives space and time here there and yon on roads less traveled - this is a written and visual journal of my own travels - imagined and/or real - come along with me - we'll dance among the stars under the sun and over the moon - share our stories around the campfire - come along -

this site is simply a streamofconsciousness rambling of words and images in which i find meaning and beauty - there is no organized order of thought or format -
poetry painting and writing on love and life and things thereof from the heart and through the eyes of a louisiana gypsy spirit travelin' roads less traveled...enjoy -


My photo
A...WOMAN IN MOTION WITH HAIR AS DARK AS NIGHT HER EYES WERE LIKE THAT OF A CAT IN THE DARK... SHE WAS A GYPSYWOMAN... she danced round and round... from the fire her face was all aglow... she was dancing... dancing... waiting for the RISING SUN... loving caring relationships are like THE RISING SUN...we are nourished by their warmth...we are energized by their strength...we grow in their light...we find shelter and solace there...they are our sanctuary... born in the sign of the sun, i am a true LEO-love the sun and its hot orange red fire-passionate in and about everything i do-i believe in instant chemistry charisma love/lust at first sight-in the magic of the eyes and the beauty of the soul-in the instant recognition familiarity in meeting someone from a past life and in the knowledge that we might meet in a future life-i believe that we are each ageless and flawless-i believe in the beauty of the moment-the whisper of yesterday-the hope of tomorrow-the power of forgiveness for even ourselves-the absolute and total beauty of love---[credit to brian hyland and curtis mayfield]

to dance with life

to dance with life
come dance with me...

Friday, September 27, 2013

red sun setting...

it was the time
of white stars shining
the spring of the deep forest dent
when sadness settled in
like the gods' seven signs
and the screaming storms
filled the canyons tall
                                                      and the deer ran wild
                                                      and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of the red sun setting
the summer of all hell bent
when sorrow sprang up
through the orange trumpet vine
and the bleeding clouds
filled the rivers red
                                                      and the deer ran wild
                                                      and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of red leaves falling
the autumn of anguish
when agony rolled in
like a cancer’s sick slime
and the blistering hail
filled the white devils’ pail
                                                     and the deer ran wild
                                                     and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
of the pale moon rising
the winter of discontent
when grief reigned down
on the green mountain pine
and the howling winds
filled the barren skies
                                                   and the deer ran wild
                                                   and the buffalo roamed
it was the time
the time of                                 white stars shining
                                                   pale moon rising
                                                   red leaves falling
                                                   red sun setting
it was the time
the time when                           white on red maliciously tread
                                                  red on red no longer bred
                                                  red and red no longer red
and the
red son met                               the spring of the deep forest dent
                                                  the summer all hell bent
                                                  the autumn of anguish
                                                  the winter of discontent

and the red sun set

it was the time
the red sun set                         and the deer no longer ran wild
                                                 and the buffalo roamed no more
it was the time
of the red son
                                                 no more
and the red sun



Tuesday, September 17, 2013

night song...

night songs sung in
blue velvet time
seas open wide
their cryin’ eyes
washin’ away
lost love’s grime
as hands reach out
in languished love
and love burns down
to chared remains
nothin’s the same

Monday, September 16, 2013

i will forget you...

i will forget you

i will forget you
every morning as the sun forgets to shine
i will forget you
every night as the stars forget to sparkle
and i will forget you
as the moon forgets to rise in blue velvet
i will forget you
i will forget you

Saturday, September 14, 2013

the dance...

and cranes took flight
to the morning light

and the red sun shone
o’er the mountains steep
strands of love
cut from the skein

 and the pale moon rose
o’er the jungle deep
a white rhino
glistenin’ in the rain
and the tin stars froze
in their slumber keep
as flamingos pranced
in silent campaign

and the night winds sang
in shades of blue
threadin’ their kites
in silver dew

and i kissed the day
your lips came to stay

and we danced
the dance
of love’s

Tuesday, September 3, 2013


After a party, sixteen-year-old Fran accepts a ride from Chesnie's brother, and her life changes forever.  She leaves her parents and her boyfriend to live with her best friend's grandmother at the edge of a woods.  In the woods, the girls practice a secret ritual to exorcise the memory of what happened that night.  Would the magic work?  Maybe, but not in the way either girl expected.  Fran must do battle not only with her own demons but with Chesnie's also, as she tries to forget that fateful ride home.  But Fran still wants to keep her best friend, even as Chesnie becomes obsessed with revenge.

This first book of Ms. Pelrine-Bacon, The Blue Jar, a young adult novel, is scheduled for release by Plum Tree Books in October 2013.

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Marta Pelrine-Bacon writes modern fairy tales and makes art from the printed pages of those tales.  

Where Marta grew up - on a long stretch of road in central Florida - her father told her a witch lived in the abandoned house under a cluster of punk trees, and moss and hot air balloons carried Santa's elves overhead.  Their own house faced a lake big enough for an island in the middle where blackbirds settled for the sunset.  For her, Florida was a perfect place to develop an interest in sharp objects and shadowy places.  She says that is why she writes stories with odd twists, turns and edges.

She was born in the Sunshine State.  Her maternal grandmother moved there in the 1920s.  Her father moved there in 1959.  That's hardly any history at all.  Except in Florida, that's a lot!  But she left home at 17 to study English and writing in Indiana, and she followed that with her Master's Degree from Kent State University.  To see something else of the world, she joined the Peace Corps and taught English in Bulgaria for two years.  One way or another, she has always written and made art.

According to Marta, she writes because stories well up in her brain.  She would go mad if she didn't let them out.  While her past inspires her stories, her stories are not her past, and she is not her characters.  Characters come to her in images, and she writes to discover why they are doing what they do.  

If you take a look at her art, all the words in the pictures you see are from her novels and stories.  The images are not representational of the writing but are images she likes and finds compelling, and perhaps the images capture the mood of the words.

The author/artist also works with other people's words.  She created a CD cover and insert art for John Zainea and the Mania's album, Summer of One-Thousand Seeds, using the lyrics and notes.  She has also used favorite poems or words in other made-to-order pieces and pieces for fundraisers.  Her work has been shown three times over three years at Genuine Joe's Coffee House in Austin and two years at Art City Austin.  It has appeared in Onomatopoeia Mazagine and has been featured over at 7 Impossible Things Before Breakfast.  NPR's series "In Character" selected a short piece on her love of Dorothy Gale, and a fairy tale she wrote appeared in the May 2011 issue of Scheherezade's Bequest.  One of her flash fiction pieces appeared in the online journal 50 to 1.  Currently, Ms. Pelrine-Bacon is the graphics artist/illustrator for Plum Tree Books.

Art, Marta believes, can be made anywhere by anyone.  Make something.  She also believes in writing whether or not anyone is reading.  But if you are reading, she thanks you!

Marta will soon finish chemo treatment and embark on the adventures of being post-cancer.  For 17 years, she has lived and continues to live happily every after with her husband, son and three dogs in Texas.

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