A Poet's Heart

My hand glides across an empty canvass
Dripping in scarlet hues, my pen smoothly gildes
Filling the empty spaces and crevices
With words from where inspiration abides.

My heart, like a somnambulist lies
In dreams, trapped within the muse's lair
In lucid revaries, its spirit flies
Like a bird gliding through the air.

I hear the steady rhythm of my heart
Dancing to the tune of a forgotten nymph
Entranced by the beat I take part
In the dance of creativity and triumph.


I write as  inspiration takes the lead.....
My masterpiece I hope young and old will read.


© Mary Aris, All rights reserved.

Let Love be the Mantra of Your Soul

 Let love be the mantra of your soul,
Gentle prayer that like a soothing balm
Soothes us when stress takes its toll
If stress threatens to pierce your inner  calm;
Let Love be the mantra of your soul.

Let's dance to the rhythm deep within,
And sway to love's staccato drum beat
As your soul swoons to the violin,
Let Love's rhythm sweep you off your feet;
Let love be the mantra of your soul.



© Mary Aris, All rights reserved.

Riot at Mike's Diner

I created this story as part of a writing exercise.
The Exercise:  
Describe a food, using all your senses. Observe it visually, of course, but also include texture, smell and taste. Describe it again, but in a way that makes it disgusting: how a big juice steak, for example, must appear to a vegetarian.

                                                Riot at Mike’s Diner

I love a good burger!   There’s something about a juicy, tender, succulent, grade- A patty stuck between a soft sesame seed bun to get your taste buds flowing.  Everything about a burger is sexy.  Come on, what’s not to love about burgers?    I’m about to have one now.  I’m sitting on a booth now at Mike’s Diner, a 50’s-style restaurant in lower Manhattan.    The Jukebox is playing an old Elvis Presley song.  I think it’s Love me Tender.   But I’m not really an Elvis fan, so I can’t be sure of the track.  There’s a soda fountain machine over at the bar.  Bill, the Bartender is busy mixing ingredients for shakes.  I can hear the whirring of the blender in the background.  Customers are lined up at the bar, perched on chromed stools as they wait for their shakes to arrive.

Ah, there’s my burger.  I can hear it sizzling on Tina’s tray.  The juices from the burger are flowing down unto the plate.  A thick, chocolate milkshake accompanies my order and I can almost taste the milky chocolate concoction, its creaminess leaves a milk moustache on my upper lip. Tina sets the tray on a nearby mobile cart and puts the quarter pound bacon cheese burger right in front of me.

The aroma hits my nostrils, sending me to high heaven.  I can smell the smokiness of the bacon melting the cheddar cheese.  The plumpness of the quarter pound burger looks quite appetizing.  The special sauce smells divine and it not only drenches the burger with its tanginess, but makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble.  As I am about to plunge my teeth into this divinity,  I stop and turn around.  I could feel the icy stare of some stranger eyeing me in contempt from across the room.  He turns his nose up.  I can see him grimace with disgust.

“There’s nothing that revolts me more,” he says to his wife who is devouring a piece of vegan cake, “than the offensive smell of grease and the sight of bloody slaughtered beef.  It completely puts me off my vegemite sandwich. “ 

 His wife looks up at her husband.  She puts down her fork and stares at him.  “Now, Art, please don’t cause a scene.  I know we’re vegetarians, but we have to respect non-vegans, too.” says his wife.

“Sheila, please, I’m not causing a scene.  But surely you can agree with me that the smell of that beef, dripping in blood makes you want to hurl.”  Art turns his head and looks my way.  “I mean.....consider the poor cow they slaughtered to satisfy that woman’s whim?  What sin did that defenceless cow commit to make someone slaughter him just to satisfy a carnivorous craving?”

Sheila rolled her eyes at her husband.  “Art, we must all respect our neighbour’s preferences.  Just because we are vegans doesn’t mean we have to disrespect other people’s preferences.   Just finish your vegemite sandwich and let’s get out of here, for God’s sakes.”

Art kept staring at me.  He turned to his wife.  “You know, Sheila, I think they ought to divide restaurants into two sections...you know, like they do with smoking and non-smoking sections.  They ought to have a carnivorre section and a vegan section........but they should put the carnivore section in the basement.”

“Oh, Art.......you can be so childish and idiotic sometimes.  Now shut up and eat.”  They sat in silence for a few minutes.  Art kept boring his eyes at me.  I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I stood up and approached their table.

“Hey, Mr.......Did you lose something?  You keep staring at me.  It’s impolite.” I said.  Art stopped eating and looked up at me.  His face morphed into an undignified grimace. 

“Lady, you are the one who is impolite..........YOU and your carnivorous cravings!” Art yelled.

“What?”  I asked.  “What are you going on about, Sir?”  I put my hands on my hips.  I wasn’t going to be insulted by a grumpy diner.

“You heard me, lady.  Why must you chomp on a poor defenceless slaughtered cow?  You people make me sick!  It’s people like you that are killing our world.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that!  How dare you stare at me so rudely and insult me like this! I’m calling the manager!” I yelled.   The man’s wife sunk down on her side of the booth feeling ten inches tall.  She looked at me as if to say,  “Don’t look at me............I don’t know this man.”

Art rose from his seat.  He towered over me.  He must have been six feet six inches.  He stared down at me.  His breath smelled of rapeseed oil and brewer’s yeast.  “Go ahead, lady, I’d like to speak to the manager as well.  I have a great suggestion for him.”

At this time we were getting inquisitive stares from other diners.  The bartender looked up from the bar.  I glared at this six-foot-and-then-some stranger and called Tina over.  Tina rose her head up from her seat at the bar.  She was calculating someone’s bill at the time.  She slowly rose and approached us.  “What seems to be the problem, folks?” she asked.

“The problem is that this......this Moran......keeps staring at me and has insulted me.  I want to speak to the manager about him!” I said.  Tina tried to defuse the situation and asked us both to calm down. 

“Sorry, toots, but this woman has revolted me with the smell of putrid grease and road kill.  Now she has insulted me and my wife.”  Art said.

“I haven’t said anything about your wife!” I screeched.  At this point I was losing my patience.  “Tina, please get the manager.......NOW!”  Tina turned and headed towards the kitchen.   Art hurled an arsenal of obscenities my way which startled some of the diners.   That was it...the turning point...........the straw that broke the camel’s back.   Reaching towards his table, I grabbed a slice of vegemite sandwich and smeared it all over Art’s face.  Art tumbled back on his heels, stunned at my actions.

“Why, you carnivorous, bitch!  You’ll pay for that!” Art barked.  He grabbed a piece of his wife’s vegan cake and smeared it all over my face.  The cake slithered down my neck and over my dress.   Grabbing hold of someone’s chocolate shake, I threw it at Art, but it drenched some other diner instead.   Art laughed..........a haughty, ugly cackle of a laugh which shook the Diner out of its foundation.   The diner rose in anger and threw a whole burger in mid air, landing at the back of Art’s bald head.   

“Who threw that disgusting piece of meat at me?” Art asked as he turned around.  He picked up a piece of apple pie and threw it at the diner but it hit a woman instead.  The woman threw her steak and kidney pudding at the man, missing and hitting the bartender.    The bar tender grabbed a pitcher full of strawberry milkshake and threw it at the woman, landing on Art’s wife.

“Mama Mia” cried the manager of Mike’s Diner as he walked in from the kitchen with Tina. “What have they done to my Diner?”  Just as he said this he was smacked on the face with a whole lemon meringue pie.   “Tina, who started this fiasco?” he asked his employee.  Tina scratched her head nervously. 

“Marie said that that man over there was rude to her.” Tina answered her boss in a squeeky, mousy voice.  Her boss wiped the meringue off his face and moustache. 

“Ah, I see,” Mike said as he grabbed a Key Lime pie off the shelf from the counter.  He flung it at Art.  Art nearly tumbled over.  “Out.....Out of my Diner, you slime ball!” Mike said.  Art picked up a plate of spaghetti and threw it at Mike but it landed on top of Tina’s head.  The place was all covered in food as diners flung plates of food around the joint and at each other. 

Just then, the doors flung open and a couple of cops stumbled in blowing whistles and waving batons.   The diners took no notice of them and continued their fray.  The cops ran every which way to try to establish order but fell on top of each other as they slipped on banana peels on the greasy floor.   The room stood still at the sound of a whistle followed by a booming voice coming from the entrance door.  A tubby little officer walked in shouting from the top of his lungs.

“HEY! Silence, you lawless bunch of maggots!” he yelled, calling for order.   From across the room someone hurled which started a wave of sick diners like a domino effect, drenching the unsuspected officer.

“Was it something, I said?” said the chief of police in a monotone.  “Officers, rustle them up like cattle and take them all down to the station, please.  They ought to learn not to play with their food!”   One by one the officers rounded the diners up and placed them all under arrest and into a paddy wagon for causing a scene and disturbing the peace.

An Interview with Mary Aris

I have been Interviewed on  We Write Worlds Blog.

You can view my Interview by clicking the link below:

An Interview with Mary Aris.

Love's Flaming Torch-Overview and Excerpt

 Synopsis

A series of fires have recently erupted throughout the city of White Plains, New York and fireman Garcia is the local hero. He rescued Professor Paul Smith from his burning house. His friend, Mary Reilly was grateful to Eric for rescuing her long-time friend and mentor. As time went on Mary began a relationship with Eric but was devastated to learn that there was something more to this heroic fire fighter than meets the eye....and who was this red haired lady in the picture on Eric's mantle? He claimed she was his sister, but there was no resemblance. Suspicious, Mary Reilly visits Eric to end their relationship only to discover a secret so horrible that it makes Mary's blood run cold. Can Eric really be a pyromaniac?

Excerpt


         "Love waits for no man." That's what I have learned from my ordeal. Love creeps into one's life no matter how prepared one is. No one is exempt. Love ignites like a gentle flame inside one's heart. Sometimes, for the wrong reason, the fire starts with but one small flame and burn like wild fire, devouring all within its path. Some times we often fear the fire and resist lighting it. Sometimes we inadvertenly light it and then it rages on. If one's not careful, the winds of change can fan the flames and next thing you know there is an unquenchable fire in your soul. Sometimes the fire rages for days on end destroying anything in its path; other times it extinguishes quite easily with indifference just as easily as it ignited. For a lucky few the fire of love is like a bonfire that warms the soul in the depth of winter.

    When you feel this fire burning, you can either extinguish it right away with indifference or let it warm your soul with its' sweet passion. You do have a choice.
I let the fire burn slowly in my heart, warming my coldest nights with the passion of its' incandescence. Before I met Eric Garcia the fire of love had extinguished from my heart and all was left was an empty void. Once upon a time, I too, was full of hope and dreams. I thought love was a silly intangible that only happened in romance novels. Girl met boy, they fell hopelessly in love, found something in common, got engaged and got married. That was before I got burnt by the flame for the first time in my life.

   I was nineteen at the time and thought I had met a wonderful man. David swept me off my feet just like in those romance novels. He was a student at Mercy College. Like me. he was working towards a Bachelor's degree in English literature. In a month we became friends and shortly after that we became an item. Then he proposed to me and I was over the moon. I was just turned twenty and thought my life was about to turn for the better. Not only was I going to earn my degree in English Literature that summer, but I was also going to be a bride. Then in December of that year, a little before Christmas, I caught David in bed with a swanky freshman. That's when the fire in my heart extinguished. That was the end of my love life. David swore he was drunk and didn't even realize he had brought this girl to our apartment....the apartment we had bought together as a couple with the money we earned working part time. I threw the engagement ring....a 1 Karat diamond ring which he had bought from a friend of his who owned a jewellery store on Main Street. He picked up the ring from the floor, put it in his pocket and said, "Your loss, Babe!" Then he looked at this crack whore lying on the bed, gave her a nod and asked her to get dressed. The game was over. He picked up his things, opened the door and walked out. He never looked back. I never saw David again after this. Furious, I stood there with tears in my eyes vowing never to let any sweet talking man with fire in his eyes waltz into my life again.

   Then I met Eric Garcia and at first I resisted him, putting up a fight at first and telling myself this was David all over again. But his blue eyes bore through me like an unquenchable fire. There was something about this fire fighter that lit my soul completely. We went out on a couple of dates and I thought I was wrong about love all along. Love was this unquenchable fire that raged within one's soul and lit one's soul like a candle. Then, I learned something so shocking about Eric that extinguished the fire again and for the second time in my life I was left in total darkness. I knew Eric was too good to be true and so I resisted telling him how much I loved him until it was too late. Now all I have left is the memories of Eric and this little boy who looks so incredibly like Eric. Every time I look into this little boy's blue eyes, I see Eric. I learned love's lesson on that cruel September morning in 2011 and it was this: Love comes into your life, for some, just once and when it does, you should hold on to it; embrace it....never let Love's incandescent flame extinguish because if you do, in a fleeting moment; in a wink of an eye the sweet flame of love will extinguish forever leaving you in the dark.

Love's Flaming Torch

Main Characters

Mary Reily

Age: 35

Born:  April 7 1964
Ethenticity: Irish American:  Third generation

Protogonist
Ocupation:  Student at Mercy College studying for her Masters in English Literature.

    

  Mary Reilly is a pretty 35 year old college student from White Plains, NY who is studying for her Master's degree in English Literature.  Mary falls in love with Eric Garcia, the fire-fighter who rescued her friend and mentor, Paul Smith from a fire at his home, 1087 Maple Drive.

Mary Reilly is confused about love.  She is adamant in forming a relationship after recovering from a date rape in Senior year and a devastating break- up with her ex-fiance, David after finding him in bed with another woman.  Then Eric Garcia, the fearless fire fighter who rescues her mentor, Paul Smith from a fire, looks at her with his penetrating, Spanish blue eyes and ignites a fire deep within the recesses of her heart.

Eric Garcia

Age:  41

Birthday:  March 3, 1960
Ethenticity:  Spanish American:  Third generation

Died:  11 September 2001
Occupation:  Firefighter/ EMT

Eric Garcia is a firefigher who died on September 11, 2001 when he was sent to Tower South of the Twin Towers.  When Eric was fourteen he was sent to reform school for committing several acts of pyromania.  He was reformed and reintroduced to society at age 18 under the mentorship of vetran firefighter, Joseph Patrick O'Brien who took Eric in and taught him the ins and outs of firefighting.  With Patrick's encouragement, Eric got training as a ETM technician and later became a fire fighter.
Eric met Mary Reilly on 7th November 2000 when her mentor, Paul Smith's house burnt down.

As Nutty as a Fruitcake

      Christmas congures up visions of sugar plums.  That said, by the time November rolls along, after consuming the last of the Pumpkin Pies I endevour to make my annual Christmas Pudding and Christmas Cake. Steeped in tradition, the Christmas Pudding, a quissential British Christmas staple, is steamed on Stir-Up Sunday (the last Sunday in November) by many a British housewife.  The Christmas Cake is also made months in advance and feed a steady diet of brandy and placed in a tin and hidden away in a dark cupboard until it is unveiled in all its glory on Christmas Day.

    The Christmas cake, a cousin of the fruitcake, is a spicy, dense or light cake, swimming in a sea of Brandy and made with eggs, flour, brandy soaked dried fruits, candied peels, glaced cherries and almonds. The cake is then covered in a blanket of marzipan and fondant icing.  It is hard to fathom that this majestic cake, the highlight of the Christmas dinner, has in its infancy and origins, once been a porridge  made of oatmeal, plums and raisins.

   In the 16th century the porridge was re-invented; this time cooks no longer used oatmeal but flour in the recipe and with the introduction of sugar cooks no longer used honey to sweeten the cake.  It was much later that eggs and almonds were added to the recipe.

  The term, 'As nutty as a fruitcake', meaning a derranged or eccentric person, was first introduced to the English language in 1935.  The word 'nuts' to describe insanity was first coined in 1700's.

So why are we so obssessed with fruitcake?  Why are our tastebuds so craving this type of cake in December?  Why do cooks and houswives slave to make this type of cake which, consequently, takes four hours to bake plus many days to ferment only to give it away as gifts?  The fruitcake has been a topic of jokes for centuries.  Johnny Carson often cracked jokes about it.



But the proof of the pudding is in the eating....the fruitcake is a very tasty and spicy cake to enjoy this holiday.  With its sturdy composition which packs well and is great for posting in the mail, no other cake can hold a candle to the fruitcake.

Sources:  http://www.foodtimeline.org/christmasfood.html#fruitcake
               http://find.mapmuse.com/interest/fruitcakes