Featured Post: Keeping You A Secret – Robert G Wertzler

“Don’t call me honey when your mother’s around
Boy, you know you’re gonna drive her wild
Don’t call me honey when your mother’s around
Boy, you never again may smile”
{Buffy Sainte-Marie, ‘97 Men in This Here Town – Don’t Call Me Honey”}

Fifty years on I sometimes wonder
Should I have kept you a secret
Not told the plan till vows were said
Even though that would be months away
Taken the advice of a favorite song
Could there have been peace between
Two women so alike and very unlike then
Or would irresistible forces and
Immovable objects still have collided
There’s no way to know that
But love was not lost
Still lives in an oldest of friendships


Bob Wertzler is retired from almost twenty years in the mental health field in California and Arizona. There are times the title, “Recovering Therapist”, seems to fit. In 2006 he retired to move to Western North Carolina to help and become primary care giver for his father who had developed Dementia. Before all that, there was work at various times as a soldier (US Army 1967-70), community organizer, cab driver, welfare case worker, wooden toy maker, carpenter, warehouse worker, and other things. He relates to a line in a Grateful Dead song, “What a long, strange trip its been.”

Featured Post: Secrets Made for Truths – Ashley Jane

we slip into shelters
far away from prying eyes
a cosmic clash of beautiful madness

we evolve
we move between
we metamorphosis into something
m o r e
something born on the wind
and draped in the wings of nyx
h u s h

doll face darkling
you were never meant to be loved in silence
but there was a satisfaction
in keeping you a secret
my mystery
my melody
my sun kissed twilight
you blend moon into magic
and leave me mesmerized by the stars in your eyes
h u s h

i am adrift on the calm seas of your constellations
the ones drawn into the heavens
just for me to find
while the clouds hide the sun
i hide in you
floating through
the shadows that longer
beneath your skin
h u s h

we strip our souls down to nothing
and let them merge with the night
we build and undo
shatter and fall together again
we excel in the art of drowning,
never dreaming we’d need to come up for air
h u s h

but all secrets fear the light
especially the ones that should’ve never been hidden
i am gasping
found and flickering
consumed by a secret
that should’ve always been
a truth


Ashley Jane is an indie author from Alabama. She has been writing off and on since childhood, but she only started sharing her words a few years ago. She is the co-founder of FallsPoetry prompt, which runs on both Instagram and Twitter. She also co-hosts DarkLines and DrugVerse prompts on Twitter, and she is co-admin of Her Heart Poetry and Our Poetry Journey. She has two books of poetry out: Love, Lies and Lullabies and The Mums are Filled with Melancholy. She enjoys helps other authors pursue their dreams of publishing.

You can read more of Ashley’s writing on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and WordPress

Keeping You a Secret – by Rachael Ikins

She looked searchingly into my eyes as we hugged goodbye. That combination of fragrances that was uniquely “mom”, hair spray, Esteé Lauder and Scotch, though no more cigarette smoke, lingered.

We had been to dinner a last time before she and her husband went south for the winter. Her expression looked as if she expected me to say something or wanted to ask a question.
I disengaged from her bony arms and laughed. It had been a good time, a good meal. My partner Genevieve and I bundled up and dashed through the cold and snow. We had a long dark road ahead of us going home.

She said, “You ought to tell her. But it’s ok with me if you don’t.”

“It feels disrespectful to you, keeping you a secret,” I said.

“Not at all. You have that bad memory of the way she behaved after she was eavesdropping on you to contend with. Coming out is personal. I just think she is ok with it.”

Yes, I did. A college student living at home and working, I’d begun dating a woman I had a crush on. Late one night we had been talking on the phone with the kitchen door shut and my mother had burst in, yelling how disgusting I was, that she was going to go right upstairs and tell my father. The scar lingered, though I never did know if she told my dad. His behavior toward me did not change.

We crunched up our driveway. The dogs barked their exuberance making us smile. Soon they milled about our boots as we petted and told them to go pee.

We hung up snow-covered coats. Fed the cats. Banked the wood stove. Showered and before long were settled warm in our bed to read. It nagged at me, my mother’s inviting behavior at dinner. I stared into space, my book forgotten. Finally, Gen pushed her glasses down her nose and looked over the frames at me. She elbowed me gently in the side. “Go downstairs and call her.” She kissed my cheek.

I shrugged into bathrobe and slippers. Several dogs escorted me to the kitchen where a hopeful cat waited by an empty bowl. I postponed the phone call to pour Friskies.

My mom answered on the second ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I said, “We had a fun time.”

“Yes, it was.” said Mom.

“Umm, well, look.”I said. I was 52 years old.

Silence.

“Genevieve and I are in love and we want to make a life together.” The words tumbled out in a rush. Everyone in the family liked her already so I wasn’t sure what this confession would do.

Silence.

My heart pounded in my neck.

“So,” said Mom. “Does this mean you’re gay?”

Of all the responses I’d imagined, that was not among them.

I said, “Well, uh, Love is Love no matter what equipment a person has in their underwear so why does it matter?”

“Well, you were married to a man you loved for many years.”

She laughed. “I asked your brother if she was gay the first time you brought her here. He wouldn’t tell.

I knew it!” she chuckled.

What the hell, I thought.

Suddenly serious, “Do you love her? Are you happy?” she asked.

“Yes. I love her a lot. I am.”

“Then, that is all I care about. That my child is happy.”

We giggled together a bit more. I was sweat-soaked with relief and also bemused at the conversation.

I set the phone in its charger and flicked the light switch.

Once I was back in bed, dogs and cats piled around us. Genevieve looked at my smiling face over her glasses again, setting her book down on one thigh, “So?”

A few nights later we pulled in the driveway after a long day of work. I headed for the mailbox while she locked the car in the barn and let dogs out. They boiled down the driveway around me as I grabbed junk mail and letters. Halfway up the yard, in the light from the back door, I saw an envelope addressed to Genevieve with my mom’s distinctive back-slanted, leftie script.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I couldn’t help it. Dread. Panting, I dashed into the house, barely remembering to hold the door for the last dog. Gen was putting leftovers from our supper on the road in the fridge. Its light shone on her freckles.

“What is it? Your face is white as a sheet.” She straightened up.

I held the mail out to her.

“My mother,” I breathed. “She sent you something.”

She took the proffered envelope and examined the addressee, only Genevieve, and return label. It said it was from Mom and husband.

“Open it.”

I watched her read, standing so close we were breathing on each other. She held the card so I could see, too.

“Dear Genevieve,

I understand that you and my daughter are in love and you want to make a life together. My husband and I would like to welcome you to our family. We wish the two of you all the best.

Love, Rosie.”

Our eyes met, brimming with tears. We gripped each other in a bone-crushing hug, paused for a long kiss, lips still chilled from winter outside, and then laughed. Hugged again and re-read her note. I brought it upstairs into our study and thumb-tacked it to the wall over the desk.

Life is filled with surprises. An 82 year old woman who was by then married three times had spent time over the years, a few of them when we did not speak at all, thinking.

Proof, I thought; a person can grow for her entire life.

Though the card was lost some moves ago and Genevieve and my mom are both gone, the gift of my mother’s words will stay with me as long as I live.


Rachael Ikins is a 2016/18 Pushcart, 2013/18 CNY Book Award, 2018 Independent Book Award winner, prize-winning author/artist with 9 books. Syracuse University grad, member CNY branch NLAPW, and Associate Editor of Clare Songbirds Publishing House, Auburn, NY. Her new memoir Eating the Sun a love story narrative punctuated by poetry and garden recipes available 4/2019 at Clare Songbirds Publishing House.

Featured Post: Keeping You a Secret – John Collins

I remember the fear
You showed in your eyes
Your expression
You didn’t want to disappoint
Not that you ever could

I was a man out of time
Brought up when men were men
And women were…
Not now; I’ve changed
Fatherhood has saved me

Remembering my little girl
My only daughter
Running with the boys
Holding your own
You made me so proud

I guess I knew then
They had no chance with you
And you never shied away
No bully messed with you
Or any other girl!

And now you’ve opened
To me this day
“Dad, I’m Gay”
Isn’t that what a boy would say?
Don’t be afraid little girl

It is I in the wrong
As I cry, remorsefully
Embarrassingly
That I caused you fear
In telling me here

Don’t you ever be afraid
The world is cruel but
You are strength young woman
And while I am your haven there’ll be
No need for keeping you a secret


Friends call me JC and I’m a Welsh Poet from the coastal city of Swansea in South Wales. My inspiration has come from many aspects of my life and the beauty of my local surroundings. I also like to add a little imagination for good measure. I am a contributing writer for the blog Free Verse Revolution and you can read more of my work at The Mush from the Hill.

Christine’s Daily Writing Prompt: Keeping You a Secret – Julie Anne Peters

Throughout the month of September, Christine will be providing a daily writing prompt based on the title of a well-regarded book where the main character is a lesbian or a woman exploring her sexual identity. You certainly don’t need to be a lesbian or even a woman to participate, nor does your response piece need to be written from a lesbian perspective.  These are designed to inspire you to write a poem, prose piece, or a piece of flash fiction in 30 minutes or less.

The only rule is that you use the book title as your piece title OR integrate all the words in the title into your piece somehow

If you would like to have your piece considered for publication on Brave and Reckless and/or Whisper and the Roar, email your prompt inspired pieces to Christine at her.red.pen.wordsmithing@gmail.com.

You can also participate on Facebook by tagging your writing with:

  • # the title of the daily theme
  • #SmittenBookChallenge
  • #braveandreckless66

or on Instagram by tagging your writing with:

  • # the title of the daily theme
  • #SmittenBookChallenge
  • @christabelle1966

You can also share your response pieces in the comments below the Daily Prompt.

Keeping You a Secret