Poetry from collections

As I have written a lot of poetry I thought it was time to share some more with you wonderful readers. I have been sharing poems this week on my various blogs and decided to do put up poems from various collections here. From a multi-author anthology to my own personal collections, here are some glimpses into how my mind works.


This first poem is from the anthology Reflections of the End.

Smoke Tree

Beneath the smoke tree I sit
Looking over what is left
Once the world was green
filled with promise and dreams

But then they came from above
on wings of fire and darkness
burning away the life we knew
nothing could stand strong

I watched it all from here
And I changed as I did
The fire did not touch me
It seems nothing about me burned

Yet now I sit here
beneath the smoke tree
how cuold I be still here
When the world about me is gone

Nothing lives around me
They destroyed it all it seems
and now I come to realize
that I am smoke too


Here is a poem from my collection, Generations of Love


It was so hot
the sun beating down
as she dragged us around
from Camels to Polar bears

But how could we say no?
How would we say stop?
Her little face alight
laughter echoing in the air

The joy on her face
matched the wonder on yours
a father long denied
with his baby at the zoo


This poem is from the collection, Love, Loss and Lonliness

A song in the distance

between you and I
between love and life
music bridges the gap

A song
reminding me of you
bringing you close
behind my closed eyes


This poem is from the collection, Random Musing of a Poetic mind


I let you go
to find your heart with someone else
and I smile when I remember
the times we were so close

A truer friend
you’ll never find
but you needed so much more
and so I set you free

Now I look to the sky
and I hope someday
you will return to me
my butterfly


And this piece is from my collection, Seasons of my Mind


Green leaves,
flowing down the trees,
vines wrapping tight,
like many arms about the trunk.

Soft, dappled light,
animals scurry by,
I lie back,
and stare up through the leaves.


And finally this poem is from my erotic short story and poetry collection, Distance Means Little to Love


A word in the dark,
A distant touch,
I barely know you,
Yet I know you so well.

You reached out a hand,
Lifted up my soul,
With your soft words,
You’ve stolen my heart!


I hope you have enjoyed the variety of poems I have shared this week.

Another tragedy

I had planned to blog here this week about the poems I had written for charity and the role of writers in honoring those fallen to tragedy. Over the past few years I have donated work to books that we hoped would raise awareness, to fill in hope and to honor those who died for inexplicable reasons. Then a madman with an agenda decided to buy  weapons and shoot up people because they held different beliefs about love than he did.

There have been and will be many who write on this topic. From Trump’s self serving rants to those who spew hate and want to use this as another example of why we should hate. I find these people to be truly awful.

As has happened so often in the past few years there are those who will defend he right to buy any weapon his wishes. To misinterpret the second amendment as a free ticket to stock up on weapons meant for professionals. For police and for the military.

Those who know me from my personal facebook page know that I don’t like guns. It is a personal choice and I would not dream of taking a rifle from those who need it to feed their family or even a handgun from those who believe (if irronously) that they need a handgun to protect themselves from people in their homes. I strongly disagree that any person needs an automatic weapon, the weapon of war, in there homes.

The tragedy this weekend has once more proved to the world that once more Americans can’t control themselves. I was born in the US, lived most of my life there and was very proud of how safe and wonderful a place it was. But then we started getting mass murders, crazy men (in most cases) buying weapons of war and deciding to kill people either to make some imagined wrong right or to become famous. This needs to stop.

In the United States, a country that was supposedly built on inclusion, there is a major divide building. It saddens me that the place I grew up, that taught me that if we fight for our dreams we could become more has descended into this divisiveness. Remember kind readers that we are all human. No matter who we love, no matter what we believe, no matter where we were born, we are human. We need to truly look into the eyes of those around us and see ourselves. See the child who looks at the world with wonder, to see the heart that beats inside each and everyone of us that looks for that one soul who understands us. Can we try to agree that tragedy is tragedy and killing is wrong?

Like people all around this blue globe I send my prayers for those hurt and the families who have lost a child/father/husband/brother/uncle. My prayers may go to a different face of the divine than most but I know that we all deserve support. I no more want to hear about the man who took his homophobia out on a nightclub of innocent people. I want to hear about the lives touched by this tragedy. Hear about the wonderful people who were hurt, the heroes who tried to save lives and of the lives lost. For every person to be born on this planet is a story worth knowing. Lets not let those who died, those who were injured become statistics. Let them become heroes.

Writing and emotional pain

In the word of writing what goes on in the life of the writer effects what they write. If good things happen, authors can write happy, upbeat stories. If bad then the author can write darker things.

They tell us all the time that you need to write what you know, but as writers of fiction, especially fantastical fiction, we will write abut things we don’t know personally. It is taking what we do know, what we have experienced that helps make these children of our mind become real to the reader.

In the past few months I have had many sad things happen in my life. Loss is one thing that can make or break writing. I have always used writing of one type or another to deal with emotions. The amount that have come at me since the beginning of this year have put me in a confused place.

I have started a handful of different things, from fiction to nonfiction. I hope today to sit down and type up the many notes I have scattered through three different notebooks. From a story about a mute dancer priestess to a letter to the dead, I keep scribbling down notes and hoping they will make sense in the future.

Every author goes through periods of time when they cant write, this has seemed to be mind again. While I have put out collections over the past few weeks I haven’t really written a lot of new and amazing stuff. Today I plan on changing that.

How about we be original folks

There is a lot of argument all over the web about making more inclusive characters in books, comics, tv and movies. Now I am totally for having characters of every race, color, religion, sexuality, etc. What I am not for is taking well established characters and forcing them to be something their creators did not intend just because it is a current thing.

Taking heroes and making them villains because people don’t want heroes anymore is just wrong. Deciding that two same sex characters who are FRIENDS have to be in a secret sexual relationship just because we are now more accepting of those of different sexualities doesn’t make sense. We have gone over board lately. Two people of any sexuality can be just friends, very close and not want to have sex.

If people are so desperate for great characters who are evil or gay or transexual or anything, then you need to WRITE them, MAKE them.

This blog is yes a complaint from a writer and reader and fan who is getting really annoyed with people.  As a watcher, a reader and yes a fan, I want new and wonderfully rich  characters to sink my teeth into. I don’t want beloved characters that I have read or watched gutted and made into something they never were meant to be just because some young person wants them changed to fit their idea of fandom. It might be me being an older fan but I think it is really just I love looking for new and amazing characters to love and enjoy.

I have for decades read fanfiction and this is never more clear than in the fanfiction world. There are thousands of authors out there writing new stories in old worlds. The best of them stay true to the characters they have come to love and they add in new characters that interact and fit into the worlds they are playing in.

In fanfiction people have been exploring those topics that are so hot right now for ages. The best of the authors there have been taking characters who are ambiguous and make them fuller is okay. They make the stories rich and intriguing. They don’t take established characters who are either straight or traditionally sexed and turn them into a chimera of themselves.

You fans out there need to realize that these characters, including the ones I write, are not yours to take and warp into your version. They are gifts to you to enjoy, to get a brief glimpse into the mind of the creative souls who make the characters. Realize that the writers, the creators, pour their heart and souls into these people, the children of their minds and hearts. Don’t mess with them. Read them, watch them, love them but if you desperately need a character to be more like you, Write them, Create them and then gift them to the world.



Been a while and look what happens

Hey you few brave and loyal blog readers. Yeah it has been a while. Life threw me a number of curveballs since last summer. The details are too many to go into but I apologize for not being a good little blogger/writer and keeping the world up to date.

Today I have seen one real sign of what happens when a writer drops out of sight for a while. When I googled myself I found that another Lisa Williamson who is a writer has taken over. Now what bugs me is a writer with just one book with the same name is a big name. Okay I am sure her book is a good one but really it is just a book about the current hot topic of transgender people.

First off, NOT ME. Those who have contacted me thinking I was her, sorry. I am a writer of short stories, flash fiction, poetry, novels and so much more. I write fantasy, science fiction, horror and paranormal romance. I try not to grab onto something that is the hot topic and write a tale. My stories are filled with wonder, magic and other worldliness along with real issues. My characters are diverse but I haven’t and dont plan on making a character who is focused on their sexuality. I write about issues that are old yet always new.

So if you read this thinking I was the Lisa Williamson who wrote, The Art of Being Normal, I’m sorry. You can find her other places. If you are on the other hand a fan of things like elves, dragons, guardians, wizards, witches and more? Well I am the author you are looking for.

I took off time after my last novel, A Fragile Peace, at first because I was burned out, but then for technical and yes health reasons. Now I am back to putting out work and I have released six collections of short stories and flash fictions, some that have bee seen before and some that have not. I am back to writing things both as Lisa Williamson and as LA Mason.  Hopefully totally new work with spark a resurgence of people reading my work.


Yeah I know I haven’t updated in a while. Thankfully i can say I was working. I managed ten pages to coffee house blues and another seven to music is my mistress. Not a lot I know but I have been busy. I realized working on two different new tales in the Guardian series that I needed to go back and make a database to keep track of characters. There are a lot of characters from the seven tales so far. From the hero to the one scene characters, I wanted to make sure I kept the names straight. Good thing to when I realized I had changed Harry’s landlords name!


This is something we as writers need to think about. If you are writing stand alone a this isn’t so much an issue but if you do series, this is essential. And if you write series like me? Well let’s just say I have a lot of work to do.


I. Would love to give you folks a bit of my new stuff but that will have to wait till I figure out how to get my desktop/work computer to let me access it from the tablet.


Now as for the spreadsheets. If you are writing, just go and open up whatever spreadsheet program you have, set up your columns and make sure you read your work and putdown those names!

Long time no post

I have really been offline for quite a while. No I was not following the contest for seeing if you can last so many days offline, nor was I really working hard on a new book. In reality I was burnt out and after spending time in the hospital I decided to just stay off blogs and most social media and emails till I was feeling more creative again. Now I won’t say I am back to creative but I am feeling more up and willing to try working on things again.

Now due to the gremlins I have had issues with computers. This blog post was worked on via two different devices. The desktop my hubby built after the last one fried and the tablet.


I will be posting more as my devices allow me to.


Hope you all had a good set of holidays including Chinese new years and Marti bra.

A sad time

Over this weekend the indie writers community suffered a sad loss. James Anderson, a writer of newspaper thrillers and childrens tales passed away.. A long time newspaper man, he had developed an interesting world in his writing. Stories that dealt with the headlines but set in Canada. Most thrillers I have read have been set either in the US or the UK, so these were very interesting reads for a person new come to Canada.

When I first dipped my toes into the world of self publishing James was there with an encouraging word and even a review of one of my first published short stories. He had a sense of humor and a gentle heart that mentored me and many other writers through those tough and scary days of starting a writing career.

I first found him over on the Amazon discussion group The Wordsmyth. A great group of fantasy and science fiction readers and writers who take in every type of writer or reader. We all would talk about many things. James was usually right there with us talking about writing, about his grandkids and about life. He will be greatly missed.

Yesterday I wrote a poem, which I shared on my facebook page but I thought I would put it up here for those of you who don’t follow me on facebook.


A friend

A mentor

A Master storyteller

So much to so many

Learned you passed

Suddenly you were gone

And you left a hole behind

In the hearts of all you touched

You taught us courage

Taught us how to use words

Kindly shepparded the new

Till we found our feet

Now we sit stunned

So close you were

Yet now so far

You will be missed

I know my poetry doesn’t really follow rules but it is heartfelt and I hope gives comfort to those who read it. We will miss you James. May your words continue to inspire new readers and new writers.

Trying to work out my next project…first chapter of No Matter the Distance

Now I will probably work on more than one thing at a time, like always but I decided it was time to work on the second book of the Chaos Wars series. This is my attempt at end of the world horror. Didn’t do too well but then none of my books do that well right? But for those of you who like what I write, THANK YOU! I plan on continuing to write, even if I only have a handful of readers. Here is the first chapter (most of it) of this book.


Sitting on a bench in the middle of a deserted park, her long hair floating on the gusting winds, Jessica sighed. Once this place had brought her pleasant memories. Days walking through the trees, hand in hand with her lover or sitting out on the grass, a child by her side. Now she saw simply the ghosts that flitted about, lost in the darkness.

She looked down at her watch and stood. It was an hour past the time for the Meet. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones. It was not like either of them to be late, never mind be this late. She closed her eyes and sent her senses outward.

Blocking out the world about her, she searched for the two she was intimately connected to. Her range, not as strong as theirs, but more accurate, limited her search to a few blocks; she could just feel something at the edge of her awareness, like a flash of rage. That had to be him and she opened her eyes. The darker than night eyes narrowed as she heard furtive movement coming toward her, something thinking she was an easy snack.

The feel of the being sneaking toward her was that of one of the new breed of predators. She knew if she turned and looked, she would see what should be just a young man, a junkie or some type of small time hood, but her senses were tuned higher than that. There was no way the creature had any idea just what it was attacking, it was just looking for easy prey. A woman with white hair had to be old, or so it thought, and in this world old meant easy prey.

Standing relaxed under her long coat, her hair snapping out in the wind that was building before the false dawn, Jessica waited. When the creature reached out hands that ended in long claws, she spun bringing her foot up and around. Her hands moved up from her waist and stabbed toward the eyes as her foot slammed with more force than it looked possible for her to deliver into its side. The creature crumpled with a moan and she flicked white stuff off the long, silver painted nails that extended past the cut fingers of her gloves.

She stood over the moaning creature and debated. She should kill it, but it was against her basic nature. She had done things in the past to survive, but she never attacked once the foe was down. She turned on her heel and strode away, the tails of her faded black leather trench coat flapping in the wind. “Let the dawn take it,” she said to the ghosts about her. It was far from likely that the night dweller would make it back to its lair before the sun rose. The loss of its eyes would hamper it and the liquid she had painted on her nails would insure those eyes did not regenerate. She might not be a stone cold killer, but she was not stupid either.


At the other side of the park things were a bit more active. This side led out toward the last of the colleges whose doors were still open. And like students from all time, the students at this college did dumb things. They held parties just near the gate of the haunted park. They would dare each other to spend the night at the gates or even in the park.

The few who took up that offer were never the same and the one or two who entered the park never returned. The college administrators had come to think of it as a weeding out of those who had not the ability to survive in the harsh new world that had dawned with the new millennium.

It was not the end of the world like the religious thought, the planet going down in fire and brimstone. Nor was it the crash of technology, as the companies had feared when the Y2K bug was discovered. It was both simpler and more horrifying.

One night, years before, a gate had been opened. Unintentionally the door had been opened letting into the calm, normal world of the first days of the 21st century creatures from the collective unconscious. Ghosts, goblins, werewolves and vampires; every dark being out of nightmare had sprung up out of a single man’s pain and loss.

The first wave of creatures overwhelmed the simple men and women of the world. Those who could not believe died quickly, food for the hungry new owners of the cities. Humanity’s overcrowded cities became tombs almost over night. The more advanced the society and its toys, the faster it all collapsed. It was hard to fight something that did not show in all the fancy high tech devises. They did not believe in science and science did not believe in them. It took the old ways to kill them. Hands and knives and poisons were the tools that stopped the darkness from taking over the pockets of humanity left in the one time most powerful nation on the planet.

The latest group of college kids who decided to party at the gates of the city were a bit rougher than the kids of the previous century, but they were easily identified as college kids. The jackets most wore would have been team jackets for some football team in the ’90s, but now they were a mark that this group could be left out during the night.

They had their bottles of cheap liquor and a roaring fire. Most of the kids lounged about, in relative relaxed poses. Drinking and grappling with the opposite sex as college kids have for centuries, they still had one or two who were on guard, watching for anything that could be construed as danger.

It was with a gleam of white teeth that the tenor of the party changed. One student looked up, freezing as a large figure loomed in the darkness. The strangled sounding gasp brought up the heads of the partying kids and then all hell broke loose.

Blades whipped free of sleeves and coats and others took up protective stances over their less ready friends. It was too little and too late for the two guards. The first came crashing into the firelight, his throat torn out. There was but one short scream to pierce the night air before the killing really began.