booksbylois
fiction and poetry
Welcome to my website. Books and Poetry
Hello and welcome.I am a resident of Michigan. I have been writing for a few years; mostly poetry. I just finished my first novel. "Ghost Of A Vampire" was released 03- 12- 09. "Ghost Of A Vampire" is available for ordering through publishamerica.com or amazon.com. If you are a fan of vampires; this book is for you; Ghost of A Vampire is for readers over seventeen years of age. I just finished my second book "Dust Of His Bones". Feel free to check in frequently for updates. Please sign in and leave a comment. I enjoy hearing from everyone' tell me what you think; what's on your mind.
Ghost Of A Vampire
Amy is a young woman drawn into a web of deception. The man she meets at her friend's party slowly drains her blood--and her life. Once he finishes his task--she becomes his vampire bride--life as she knew it- is no more. She has a strong craving for blood. She makes other men pay for what her lover has done to her.
Where Wildflowers Bloom
Jolene is on a train; she is going to meet the man of her dreams; theres only one thing wrong; she dosn't remember how she got on the train; in fact she remembers nothing of her past; that is until she hears a strange voice whispering to her. She meets Jacob at the train station; he seems different than what she expected. She soon falls in love with him and they get married; but then there is the river not far from the house. Jolene jumps into the river one day and discovers a bright light; she soon learns that she can travel back and fourth through the light; one side holds the future and the other side holds the past. Jolene finds a connection to her sister on the side of the future; but things are not what they seem to be. In the river; Jolene discovers dead bodies. She sets out to solve the mystery. Just how did the bodies end up in the river?
Dust Of His Bones
Lori is leaving town to get away from her cheating boyfriend. On the freeway; she sees something in the dark in front of her car. She's not sure what it is--until the shadowy form of a ghost gets into her car. He wants a ride to his home town--the place where he was murdered years ago. She takes him home; but then he has one more request--he wants her to dig up his grave and rescue the poems that were buried with him. Two other ghosts arrive on the scene and have different plans for the two of them.
In The Garden
It was as if the dark shadows of dusk had fallen over me; as if the flowers had ceased to bloom in the trilling sun, I was thrown into sudden gloom.I raved in a private asylum. I wished for amnesia but it didn't happen. In the midst of my tears the day seemed overly long and saddened.I racked my brain looking for meaning but nothing was certain. How does grief end and when? My heart mourned night and day for the part of me that had gone missing. On the day mother died eveything had gone wrong. There was no stopping the pain. I thought I was going to die, that I would find mother and bring her home. It has been years since that day and I am no longer searching; I discovered mother is still here; she lives in my heart; she is in my garden; giving me peace and enlightenment.Each day I find myself where sunlight spills and the wind whips my hair. I walk down cobblestone paths, where gentle breezes rouse the petals; the scent of mother's lavender tickles my nose. In the chilling breath of winter I found a way to get through the pain. I thought it would take forever; but here I am; seeking out the garden where mother lives.I shall never forget mother; she taught me the beauty and the pain of love.Without doubt; I am lured to the garden by mother;s undying love; it's like the drenching rain after the long drought of pain that day she went missing. In the garden; laughter abounds where life is blooming.
Next Spring
Standing outside in the morning mist; I take a deep breath; thinking of the cancer inside me; but then
my eyes catch sight of the lavender rambling along the beaten path. Seems the blooms have a touch of the blues. Putting everything aside; I stoop to touch the scattering petals. Soon the wind and cold will strip them bare.; muted tones of pink and lavender will be rare. But next spring there will be smiles and hope for coming life. The blooms will once again burst forth; presenting stems and petals filled with life.It is without a doubt; the blooms will return next spring. A mist forms in my eyes; I wipe it away. It's ok to cry. Through my tears; I see a robin light on a nearby tree branch. His song of spring soothes my heart; he tells me that he will return again,next spring. The robin never fails to bring a smile to my face. And I whisper to him; I will do my best to meet you here next spring.
Winds of Change
One windy monday. shadowed by moody moonlight, she stares into the mirror, shrouded in black lace. In silence and submission, she waits to rediscover herself in the dark, to hear sweet music brush with words. She would not let the mirror defeat. Chemo makes the hair fall out, while within, the mind writhes like an hourglass filled with sand just beginning to fall. She would learn to close softly, one door at a time. in the face of the enemy, she has reached a good place. She could once again laugh at herself. The living moment exhales sweetly around itself, with eyes full of sparkling misty sight. She has vowed to face the darkling hour on streams of light. The blues are out of season. Sweet music sounds and dark clouds fade. Breathing in the rain-cleared air, she takes one step back and and two steps forward.
Jingles
A trinkling of lights, spill pour and fall outside the window. Moonlight grandeur spills its gold. The keys of a grand piano, jangles in the season with a gingle bell sway as a sparkling of icicles dangle nearby. Over midnight sky, shooting stars gleam on silken threads. Winter is here and delicate snowflakes mingle in the frosty air.
Interludes..... Published in Artists For A Better World Anthology
Penciled sheets of music; wads of paper where they fell,
It makes her satisfied.
Specks of light have faded to dusk,
sad and lonely the musician strikes the piano keys, trolling her soul.
Deep in the field, the moon is down, and then a minuet befalls,
On the silence of dark; the nightbirds sing a priceless score,
a fountain of notes--in upward creschendo.
Stirring the air is a cascade of harmony on the bare stage.
And the musician dances on the perennial blaze of notes.
The Truth Of It All
If I could do it again, I wouldn't do the things I did
I cannot tell you how it began
I can tell you that what I did was never what I was meant to do
All I can say is this
Youths fading echo tugged at my flesh
I couldn't resist the thrill of it all
The things I did seemed perfectly right to me
I didn't think about the deep regret
And the truth of it all--
Is that I missed out on my melody of chances
The years have passed
And now a bitter wind chills my laden heart
which pounds in pain for what is lost.
Time
Yearning to return to long ago days
Swamp sparrow and jelly bean dreams
Riding wide-tired bicycles down gravel roads.
Endless summers where a stream of light washes the countryside
A place where wildflowers open as the morning sun,
seeps insatiably toward them.
A place where the laughing child looks to all things simple--
a melody of chances over the hill.
The past---it grips
Leaving endless footprints, leaving us wanting to hold on to what's vanished.
