Marilyn Glover
Bio
7x Medium boosted poet, editor, and Reiki Master who is at her best when in nature. Creating to boost humanity while often not coloring within the lines. Follow me at: https://gmarilyn009.medium.com/
Achievements (1)
Stories (162/0)
October, Is Black Cat Awareness Month
As an animal lover and advocate for black cats, I am here today to draw attention to keeping our furry friends safe. October is black cat awareness month, and I would like people to be mindful of these little guys as Halloween draws closer. The black cat has long been the center of many myths and superstitions portraying them as evil creatures. Unfortunately, these ideas place them in danger of brutalization and ritualistic sacrifices. Even in modern times, the risk potential is a threat to these animals, so I am hoping today I can debunk some of the myths that still follow the black cat making people more aware.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Petlife
The Day I Learned That Evil Can Live In A Human Body
My mum often told me that my life story is much like watching a horror film. I can hear her words “I cannot believe this” now as I write. I suppose she is correct as I have played certain events from my past on repeat for two decades. Oh, how I wish my memories were only snippets of a scary movie, but the fact remains: all details are actual. My experience has taught me that evil does exist in our world, and sometimes it walks among us wearing human flesh.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Families
A Pair of Black Cats
Many moons ago, in a suburb of Pennsylvania, there once lived an intriguing pair of black cats. Matilda and Mildred were the only survivors in a litter of ten, born of a sickly mother. Matilda, the oldest by three minutes, was long and lean, quick-witted and agile. Unfortunately, she also had a bit of an attitude problem and was abrupt with her words. Mildred, on the other hand, was short and stout, solid and sentimental. She could chat for hours, loving meaningful conversation.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Fiction
It's Time to Stop Dancing Around the Subject
Nylah threw back her third shot of fireball while her best friend, Yasmine, continued to flirt with the bartender. Yasmine tossed her long lavender-dyed coils over her bare shoulders as she leaned in closer to the handsome young fellow mixing drinks. Her white tube-top left little to the imagination as her cleavage peeked over like mountain summits. But of course, she knew what she was doing, and the man was happy to oblige.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Fiction
The Last Sunflower
I can still feel the energy surging through my veins in a fireball explosion as a sheet of blue electricity struck down from the heavens immobilizing me. I will never forget the smell of my long black hair singeing at the tips or the sight of a smoke bomb escaping every threaded inch of my clothing. An eternity of torture amassed in moments yet I survived. Physically, I escaped with burns only to my palms. Mentally, my brains were fried and scrambled like freshly cut potatoes sizzling in oil and my morning eggs prepared just the way I like them. A decade ago, this was my ascending orchestrated by The Creator calling me to rise for the sake of humanity.
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Fiction
Who Is She?
A sweet little girl smiled at me this morning Beaming from ear to ear with such radiance She stirred up feelings of safety and warmth Likened to shelter of any welcoming home * Although a stranger, I could not shake her My heart yearning for answers questioned Of all people in this world, why this child? Something was familiar yet still out of place * Leaving me with the a weighted burden And an unanswered question: Who is she? * Perhaps it was her golden spun pigtails Gentle spirals bouncing off her shoulders Soft and spongey like shortcake springing Back after a gentle push with one finger * Her coils reminded me of my childhood Mornings, wakening, leaping out of bed Bounding to the television set greeting Bugs Bunny & all his Looney Tune pals * Memories of a savory taste yet unfulfilled Starving to still understand: who is she? * Maybe it was her hazel eyes swirling Jade & coffee tones speckling bronze Her eyes were twins to my very own But hers were a widened revelation * Water encircled each iris overflowing Like a river feeding an ocean of dreams Two twinkling stars shining her emotions She held an ever gaze of wonder & surprise * Seeing her so clearly ignited my smoldering coals A burning desire; innate, to know: Who is she? * Perchance, it was her incorruptibility A tender age of innocence exploring All options without resistance or fear Oblivious to all judgement or rejection * Her soul was free and most willing Not shrouded in shame or confined Instead, poised & buoyantly soaring To heights often avoided with age * Her ambiance struck a buried chord in me Recovered notes responding to" who is she”? * A sweet little girl smiled at me this morning At first sight she was just a pleasant stranger Inviting me to know her better prompting Another look into my mirror to fairly reflect * She sat there staring back at me urging Me to remember; once again connect Too many years passed by dismissing The inner child in me longing for freedom * A promise to let her play releasing repression Reunited me with the she who is in fact, me!
By Marilyn Glover3 years ago in Poets