When an Editor Asks

A Time to Mourn
When a newspaper editor asked me if I’d be interested in writing a column for the paper, and went on to say I could publish stories I’d stock-piled, even my fiction, in the form of a series, that is when I became excited and answered, yes!
The excitement grew stronger when I actually saw the title to one of my favorite stories in the local paper. And it was really great when friends told me they read the first installment and couldn’t wait to read the conclusion.
My excitement went over the top when my grandson, who is a high school senior, told me his friends read it and then he proceeded to tell me through Facebook what a talented author I am. How awesome! Readers of all ages! Talk about a pleased grandma!
I’m so thankful the editor of the Van Buren County Democrat showed an interest in my writing because I certainly am interested in writing the column for my hometown weekly newspaper—the Van Buren County Democrat!


She changed from her wedding dress,
tossed her engagement ring,
slipped into a travel suit,
turned her Mustang toward Hot Springs.

She checked into the cabin
last night at nearly ten
close to the magnificent
Garden of the Pine Wind.

She had waited at the altar
for a groom who never showed.
Her tears barely slacked enough
for her to see the road.

Yet, she determined she would
make the best of this.
She swiped her hand across her lips
and wiped away his kiss.

In a room for honeymooners
occupied by only one,
she awoke to dazzling sunbeams
when the day had just begun.

She went down to the springs
where Native Americans ceased
many battles by the mystic waters
and reconciled in peace.

She wondered about De Soto
who once stopped here to drink
the warm and healing waters
filled to his canteen’s brink.

She bet betrothal money
on thoroughbreds at the track
and tried hard to forget
that handsome Bobby Jack.

Although her heart was breaking,
she would never let him know.
She lit her own peace pipe
down on Bathhouse Row.

She boarded a plane
as soon as it was night.
She cried herself to sleep
on an international flight.

And if Bobby tries to find her,
she knows he never can
in Hot Springs’ Sister City,
Hanamaki (Hot Springs) Japan.

© Freeda Baker Nichols



Pony of Mine

Pony, take me south to see
mountains, meadows. Lucky me!
Take me past the waterfall
trot by woods where trees are tall;
prance along the forest trail
by the stream where leaf-boats sail;
race the wild ones you’ve befriended,
play until the day has ended.
Tell all of your friends goodbye
as the sun drops from the sky.
Make your little feet take flight
homeward bound before the night.
In your stable may you sleep,
Little Pony, mine to keep.

© Freeda Baker Nichols

Turpentine Promises

Turpentine Promises

You squeezed my hand and promised to be true
that day we carved our names upon a pine,
but then you left. Now what am I to do?back road

In greening spring, I gave a ring to you;
from that day forward, you would be just mine.
You squeezed my hand and promised to be true.

I thought our skies would be a soothing blue,
and that our love would always be divine.
But then you left, now what am I to do?

Your first kiss turned my steady heart askew
the night the moon revealed its silver shine.
You squeezed my hand and promised to be true.

You soon began to treat me like a shrew,
or worse, a jellyfish without a spine.
But then you left, now what am I to do?

Our blissful days were destined to be few;
their sweetness soured like scent of turpentine.
You squeezed my hand and promised to be true,
but then you left, now what am I to do?

© Freeda Baker Nichols