Stay gold, ponyboy…

Photo by Kerri Maniscalco

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Happy autumn! <33333333

Top Five Shel Silverstein Quotes and Poems

1.) “Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me… Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” Shel Silverstein

2.) “All The Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas.. Layin’ In The Sun, Talkin’ ‘Bout The Things They Woulda-Coulda-Shoulda Done… But All Those Woulda-Coulda-Shouldas, All Ran Away And Hid From One Little Did.”  Shel Silverstein

3.) There is a voice inside of you. That whispers all day long, “I feel this is right for me, I know that this is wrong.” No  teacher,  preacher, parent, friend, or wise man can decide … What’s right for you–just listen to the voice that speaks inside.” Shel Silverstein

4.) “If you are a dreamer come in. If you are a dreamer a wisher a liar, a hoper a pray-er a magic-bean-buyer. If youre a pretender com sit by my fire, for we have some flax golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!” Shel Silverstein

5.) “Draw a crazy picture, write a nutty poem, sing a mumble-gumble song, whistle through your comb. Do a loony-goony dance ‘cross the kitchen floor, put something silly in the world. That ain’t been there before.” Shel Silverstein

I think Shel Silverstein is a literary rockstar. What an inspiration! XO

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

“Leprechauns, castles, good luck and laughter
Lullabies, dreams, and love ever after.
Poems and songs with pipes and drums
A thousand welcomes when anyone comes.”

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!! 


Happy Birthday Poe love me & Jeff Buckley

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
– Edgar Allan Poe


Words are things


Photo credit

“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.”-Lord Byron

If you’re not getting any bites on your 300,000+ ‘fiction novel’  perhaps your words are falling a bit more like… a torrential downpour. Just a thought.

The Road Not Taken

This is still one of my favorite poems of all time…

Photo by Kerri Maniscalco

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

Should I ever find myself walking alone in the woods, I will most definitely have a panic attack while deciding which road to take. Thanks a lot Robert Frost.

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday

I love autumn, especially in New York. The changing leaves, the crispness in the air… I can almost smell those marshmallow’s toasting now.

Autumn Leaves-Kerri Maniscalco


Photo credit

The autumn leaf falls like a ballerina twirls

Without a sound as it gently touches the ground

In beautiful poetic swirls

It paints a picture for me, Of a distant memory

Frozen in time like a black and white photo

The leaf has a story to tell

So beautiful in death

Like a penny thrown into

The depths of a wishing well

It’s color is so rich with burnt umber

With a slight crisp as I step across it

I begin to wonder

The winter wind is setting in

And another season has come to an end

Summer’s dead and gone

With the autumn leaves all around

Falling hopelessly imprisoned

As they hit the ground

Gracefully they float to the earth

As their beauty is forgotten

Their bodies lie like soldiers in a war

Crimson tides that have rotted

All across the winter’s floor.

I thought I’d finally written something uplifting. Then I was informed: “the leaves are lying in a pool of crimson – rotting like dead bodies. This is uplifting?” Well it WAS until you put it that way Debbie Downer. Thanks a lot.