All I Ever Wanted:
A Rock 'n' Roll Memoir
review by Roy Peak
I'd been playing bass for a few years when the Go-Go's first album came out, so after a steady diet of Dee Dee Ramone, Bill Wyman, John Entwistle, and various surf rockers, the bouncy pop energy that Valentine brought to the punky Go-Go tunes was fun and refreshing. Solid, tight with the drums, always in motion, fluid and powerful. Definitely something my young rock & roll brain latched onto. As far as I know, I was the only one in my high school who liked them, as everyone else was into bands like Journey, Styx, and REO Speedwagon. Sigh.
Digging In: Fairy Tale
Witches- Part Two
by Jarad Johnson
Witchcraft and witches are a motif across many literary and cultural themes, so it’s only fitting that they appear in fairy tales as reflections of the culture they come from. Although the fantasy genre has many different variations on the witch, when they pop up in fairy tales, they’re usually up to no good. Baking and eating small children and handing out poison apples. But witches have changed a little over time. Let’s look at some of these stories from long ago and their modern counterparts to see what it tells us about culture and women’s roles and exactly how witches got to be so wicked - at least in the eyes of those who told these stories. (Remember, this is a look into how western culture came to portray witches as evil! It does not reflect the feelings of any of us at sacred chickens about the long history of herb women, witches, or anyone who currently professes paganism or practices holistic medicine.)
Last time we explored how Fairy Tale Witches got to be wicked. The evil witch in the fairy tale reflected how the surrounding culture felt about women, especially women with power or childless women. These conflicted feelings created the monstrous image of the anti-mother, a twisted reflection of the only role women could be conceived of having. The witch motif, like fairy tales themselves, has changed with onset of fairy tale retellings. In understanding the entire perspective of the witch motif, retellings provide a new facet in that area. The retellings this paper will cover are, “When the Clock Strikes,” and, “Snow, Glass Apples.” Each of these stories contain a witch, but unlike the traditional tale, the witch has depth of character and is an overall more rounded out character than she would usually be.
The Special Magic of the Writer's Hotel
by Julie Carpenter
Here at Sacred Chickens, one of our main goals is encouraging emerging writers, helping you find a first home for your words, providing inspirations with book reviews and original writing and trying to point you toward things that might help you grow as a writer.
As such, we are more than happy to recommend The Writer’s Hotel. This year’s conference will be held online so there’s nothing holding you back from attending! If you want to see your writing grow by leaps and bounds…please click through this link and check out the benefits. The deadline is coming up fast on August 22, 2020.
Camping with Barbie and Ken
by Julie Carpenter
Childhood memories may not look the same from every perspective...perhaps it's time to look back and see who else was traumatized by your childhood.
Review of Father Brown
by Julie and Jarad
Introduction: Julie got hooked on this series when she had dental surgery last year and passed the obsession onto Jarad – even Morty, that cantankerous old soul, sneaks in a viewing now and then. You may be thinking…hmmm…recommendations from people who are loopy from anesthesia and pain meds. For the record, she went for local anesthesia and laughing gas and she can’t take opioids so she was in about as right a mind as she ever manages on an average day. But it is true that, as you might suspect, the show is along the lines of comfort food. Like your grandmother’s mashed potatoes and mac and cheese (or Mrs. McCarthy’s award winning strawberry scones…you haven’t met her yet, but you should.)
The Violent Life of the Garden
By Julie Carpenter
This is a picture taken from my front porch. My roses are in full bloom. I have a lot of them. Thirty-one rose bushes I think. I have a vegetable garden and chickens and two dogs and three cats. I have lilies and lemon balm and bee balm and catmint and lavender and rosemary and peach trees. There are birds in the trees and a groundhog that may be living under our storage shed. There are rabbits that run like mad men across our driveway every time we drive the car up or down it. (I don't know exactly why they have a rule about waiting to cross the road until they see a car. They should rethink it.) I have squirrels quarreling in the trees that hang off my deck. I like living things. I like to be surrounded by things that grow and run and make noise and bother me. (Thus the family. Just kidding family!).
by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
4 Hobby Horsemen of the Apocalypse
I find one of those old hobby horses
digging through storage.
A brown horse head on a stick
that I put between my legs and gallop
around just like the kiddies do.
But it is boring to ride indoors.
I look out to the street.
All that pavement.
I want the wind flowing through
what is left of my hair.
If only I could enlist three others
with their own hobby horses,
We could all ride in together.
4 Hobby Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
Like a biker gang, but with more purpose.
The neighbours would flee in fear.
Men and women screaming with terror.
Our horses neighing each time we took turns
making the noises.
by Ahmad Al-
From the foolishness of politicians
From the damages of civil war
From the combat in the south
your heart never started to break
Beirut, you have taught Baghdad and
Damascus not to panic so whatever
What happened with you yesterday
turned our eyes into a silent song played by your tears
To Beirut, we will cry and offer aids for
To Uighur, we will weep and support for
To all humanity, whom there’s not a day that
-goes by when tears are not in our eyes
It’s the time that we stop being sightless
It’s the perfect timing to stop being careless
We must stand above our unheard screams
We shall stop hearing the politician apologies.
and The Bee
by Jarad Johnson
When I was very young, I played soccer. I didn’t particularly enjoy it, but I did enjoy kicking up clods of dirt and chasing butterflies while the other players actually tried to win the game. If you can’t tell, sports are not my natural form of expression. Uniforms, arbitrary rules, and running? No thanks. Also, my aim is terrible.
So, instead of paying attention I was constantly being lured away by the delights of nature. On one of my excursions chasing after a butterfly, I got stung by a bee. I’m sure that this did nothing to further endear me to my teammates. I was five. I was and am not afraid to loudly proclaim my pain to the world, so there was lots of screaming and crying. And wailing. Well, I’ve always been a bit dramatic so imagine me with a bee sting.