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Short Story: Joyce Bagley

A SUNDAY MORNING IN AUTUMN
It is really early and quiet. I live on a beautiful pond with a mountain in the background and the trees are almost at their peak. There are reds and golds and orange and green and every color in between. There are a pair of swans that live on our pond and I feel as though I know them as they glance my way as if to say “good morning” and go on with their breakfast. Mother Nature has outdone herself this year. My mind wanders to my youth as I take in the beauty and grandeur of the scene and remember the autumns of my life.
Fall has always been my favorite season. It is MY new year or rebirth. For some it is the spring with its new growth and the crocus peeking out from beneath the earth while the days grow warmer. Others come alive in the summer with the smell of suntan lotion and the long hot days stretching in front of them. Still others love the peace and solitude of a new snowfall as winter graces us with her presence. But for me, the fall has always been my favorite time of the year.
Perhaps I love fall because it brought the beginning of a new school year. I loved school as a child, although by June I guess I was as ready for my summer vacation as everyone else if I recall. I love the warm days and the cool evenings with a cup of fresh cider from the orchard as we pick apples and get our pumpkins for Halloween. I love the football games and making a nice dinner and gathering family and friends for Thanksgiving, one of my favorite holidays. We put some logs in the fireplace and everyone sits down for dinner and I look around and take a snapshot for my heart. I have no idea how many my parents have left so I cherish each and every holiday now. So, it is in Autumn that my heart swells and grows nostalgic for the smell of burning leaves…
©2010 Joyce Bagley
Poetry: Joyce Bagley
DIGNITY
I would like to hire you but….
You are overqualified
You are underqualified
You are not qualified
Therefore you have been disqualified…
I would hire you if….
You were older
You were younger
You were slimmer
You were dumber…
I would work for you but…
You are NOT qualified (to judge me)
You are NOT worthy of my respect
You are NOT breaking my spirit
You are NOT the only game in town!
©2010 Joyce Bagley
Lyrics: Bill Wooding
Fast Little Mama
(You will have to imagine the genre to put this to, most likely a Modern pop, Latin etc.)
There once was a beautiful girl I had known..
She had wind swept hair in the car she drove..
Red and fast as she traveled the roads..
Never finished last she was always on the go..
Fast red convertible off it goes..
Fast little mama with red painted toes..
Fast little mama with hot pink clothes..
Fast little mama..off she drove..
She jumps in her car and grabs the stick..
Throws it in first and lets her rip..
Down goes the top and on goes the tunes..
Hot little mama is on her way to the moon..
Fast red convertible off it drove..
Fast little mama with red painted toes..
Fast little mama with hot pink clothes..
Fast little mama..off she goes..
She’s on her way fast to anywhere..
She moves to the beat like Fred Astair..
She drives down the road without a care..
When she drives by all the guys they stop and stare..
Fast red convertible off it goes..
Fast little mama with red painted toes..
Fast little mama with hot pink clothes..
Fast little mama..off she drove………
©2010 William Wooding
Honorable Mentions
Poetry
Sonya LaRae: “Spoken Words Of An Old Soul”
Susan Musumeci: “stm69”
Bill Wooding: “Lake Of Dreams”
Short Story
Joyce Bagley: “My Best Friend – A Eulogy”
Diane Chapman: “The Awakening”
Diane Chapman: “Empty Box”
Jerrie Dziechciarz: “Two Sisters”
Beth Geller: “Through A Grandma’s Eye’s”
Richard Lessing: “Visions of a City”






