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J. Delaney-Howe
Bio
Bipolar poet. Father. Grandfather. Husband. Gay man. I write poetry, prose, some fiction and a good bit about family. Thank you for stopping by.
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Stories (101/0)
Just Get There
This is a continuation of the "Just Get There" series. Here you can find part 1 and part 2. Jessa was fighting back the panic she was feeling. Tears of fear and shock about what just happened rolled down her cheek. She felt like she had been waiting in the quickly fading dusk for an eternity before she heard him call out again.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Fiction
The First Time I Blew Up a Poacher's Boat
I suppose to tell my story, I should give you some background information on me. I grew up in Florida on the gulf coast. The town we lived in was a fishing town. Life was far from the resorts and beaches across the state. I fished in my daddy's boat for many seasons growing up. Until Hurricane Katrina hit. Fishing was never the same after that, and fishermen had to go twice as far to catch half as much. The matter was only worsened by the BP oils spill just a few years later. I decided I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to understand how marine life is affected by the fishing industry, by natural disasters, so I decided to become a marine biologist. My dad has long since retired and sold the boat. He and my mom live a quiet life now, still on the water. And he is still buddies with all the guys down on the docks. Now and then, I go with him down to watch them unload the catch of the day, and I can see his eyes beam, wishing that was still him. What I saw that day would only be the start of some of the most horrific, inhumane poaching practices I would come to see.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Fiction
Encounter
The bright morning sun lit up the new snow as if it was illuminated deep within each snowflake, all combining their light. The sky was clear and brilliant in blue. The air stings my face, but at the same time, fills my lungs with crisp, pure air, settling into the deepest part of my core. I look to the top of the hills on each side of me, feeling protected and safe within the valley's confines. The gleaming snow seems to light the woods that surround me from within. As I make my way up the snow-covered path, the blue sky breaks above. The bare, dark tree limbs seem to come together against the topaz blue sky, and the stained glass cathedral before me opens up. The snow crunches underneath my feet as I walk deeper into the hidden inner sanctum that seems to call for me. The air still stings my face, but as I walk into a clearing, I pass through a warm, bright spot that makes me look up and acknowledge the sun, appreciating it for the warmth and light it brings.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Earth
Instructions Upon My Death
My Trusted Friend- If you are reading this letter, then I assume you got the brown paper package. It contains information and proof that needs to be in the public's hands, not the government's. They would suppress it. To understand the instructions at the end, you have to understand the beginning. I never wanted any of what happened. Our lives were very ordinary. We were a husband and wife with four children, living on our farm. We had a good life, and I loved my life. Until the green lights started.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Fiction
Living Through Bipolar Disorder
***Disclaimer: This article, in no way, should be taken as medical advice. This is just MY experience with bipolar disorder. Persons with this diagnosis must remain in treatment and remain on the medication regimen that their doctors prescribe. Always consult your practitioner.***
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Psyche
The Front Steps
The darkness of nighttime settled in, and the heat of the day is faded. It's warm, but there is a cool breeze. The leaves in the trees rustle above us. Not much noise- crickets, the donkey on the farm, and the goats in the pen. No words are spoken, but there are thoughts. I put my joint to my lips and draw. He takes a drag from his cigar at the same time. The number of stars in the sky seems to increase each time I look up. The fireflies flash and float about. This time in the quiet, sitting on the front steps, words are spoken.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Poets
The Living Belongs With The Living
I have this hat. Its life has long passed, and it isn't even wearable anymore. This hat is threadbare and ripping apart at the seams. I have another hat similar to it that is still wearable. It's the hat that I wear on my head all the time. There is nothing exceptional about either cap. Just a couple of camouflage hats, like any other one. It has a couple of stains on it, and it smells funky on warm days. (I do wash it when it gets like that). The value of this hat for me is the memories associated with it.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Families
The Last Summer
It was an abnormally cool last day of summer. The sky was overcast, and showers and thunderstorms had been coming and going all day. The rain provided soothing background noise for Ed and gave him something to listen to, other than the ticking of the clock on the wall. The gray overcast weather matched his mood. Ed was born on this farm, lived his whole life on this farm. He met the love of his life on this farm. And now, Ed is dying on this farm. At eighty-two years old, he hasn't farmed the land in years. His wife, Beatrice (Betty to him and only him), passed away some twenty-five years ago. Madly in love since they were teenagers, they had taken over the farm from Ed's father. Heartbreakingly, Beatrice and Ed were unable to have children of their own, so there would be no one to pass the farm on to. Just as his life was coming to an end, the farm's life was as well.
By J. Delaney-Howe3 years ago in Fiction
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