Mosaic Stain synopsis

Raven investigates an emergency preparedness public safety "campus shooting" drill that went awry and left two people wounded; Spencer Morris and Brinkley Ryan. With the public closely watching for the outcome of the investigation, and it touching closer to home than Raven would like as an investigator she interviews the witnesses and Admissions department. She finds secrets, intrigue, betrayal, and the struggles for political power lie at the end of the trail of blood at the end of the investigation  

Twilight's crown

Luthlorien’s sacred ground

Trees’ twilight crowned  

Estel and Even star betroth

Hope clothed

The sword sheathed

Tolkien spoken:

“….A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be the blade that was Broken,

The crownless again shall be King.”[i]

Eldar and mortal wedding

After darkness vanquished

Love that cherished

Beyond the breaking

A winter dusting

Amidst the twilight’s crown

A shadow fades.

Photo by Julie Herrick

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[i] The Hobbit, Bilbo’s poem about Aragorn, JRR Tolkien

"Island of Misfit"

Blinded eyes dismiss

Cruelty’s words sting; ugly, homely, misfit

Society’s outcast languishes to be redeemed

The scarlet letter screams

That shatters never land’s dreams

“What is REAL?” [1]

Graffiti ridden Steele

Surrounds in the shadows

Bullets pierce, needles shake

Despair cries with each wake

The untouchables break

On the fringes

Hope inches

 Where words lynch 

Jesus calls

To love the least of these

By Shannon McKemie 08-01-2012

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[1] From Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams; a conversation between Rabbit and the Skin Horse

Phoenix Rises

Hell-fire smokes

Flame gropes

Darkness cloaks

Blood soaks

As an unearthly candle’s glow flickers

With a broad stroke triggers

Tears rain fears

Blind seers

A shadow emerges

To requiem’s dirge

As the bullet surges

Senseless violence

Innocence silenced

As the phoenix rises

By Shannon McKemie  07-25-2012

The Dance of Grace

Dance’s definition, “an art form that generally refers to movement of the body, usually rhythmic and to music, used as a form of expression, social interaction or presented in a spiritual or performance setting. (www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dance). There is a tension and surrender as they move as one body and the man leads the woman across the wood dance floor. During high school musical theatre try-outs I learned that I have two left feet and have admired from the sidelines since that experience. Things changed when I relocated to Dallas, Texas almost five years ago.  Mr. Edgar’s tutelage and patience in teaching me how to two step at Red River –is that something that I am humbly grateful for.

In learning how to two-step dance with a partner it brought to light awareness of issues that I have in trust and surrender. The man leads from asking the woman to dance and to the floor as they move together. When you step off a zip line platform into the nothingness of the air with only the harness to catch you is how it is to step onto the wooden floor under the flickering lights of the disco ball lead by the touch of the hand.  Hand-in-hand, the push and pull of the bodies; the man leads and I found myself pushing back attempting to take control and lead.  I see the parallel in my life in how I will try to wrestle with the Lord for control. I will count my pennies and calculations to provide for all expenses, food and gas to last one month’s time rather than trusting that Lord will provide the provision that I don’t see just like the lamb that he provided to Abraham.  Beyond trusting the Lord it plays out in my relationships not just in the physicality that the man will catch me before I fall; but that after sharing my innermost thoughts and failings you will not abandon me on the dance floor.  But our shattered souls do end up lying on the floor because in any relationship; one will do something or not do something to hurt another. After you’ve been broken by the words and actions of another; there comes a decision to be made. Whether you will you will grab the hand before you under the society’s lights and surrender that pain letting the Grace that you have been given by the Lord to wash over you. In the surrender that moves between the two partners as it gives a freedom where there was only bitterness before.  1 John 4.18 “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear…” There is security to be held in heavenly and earthly hands that demonstrates the grace towards me in all my imperfections.  The invisible twine between is grace and its ballet thunders in the soul.

2 Samuel 6.14 “And David danced before the Lord with all his might, and David was wearing a linen ephod.” Whether I’m dancing with a partner or alone before the Lord; I want to dance with complete abandon for whatever broken road that He has ordained for me to walk down. 

 By Shannon McKemie 

I am a writer

I am writer
The blank page is my canvas.


I am a writer
Language is my playground
The Rhythm, beat, and sounds.


Dear editor, if you choose my art
Why do you maim and mute
Erase and replace
Red stained
With your agenda and interpretation


I am a a writer
This is my mosaic
Imagery captured in tin-type pictograph
Words brought forth across the veil
That straddles eternity's realms.


By Shannon McKemie 07-23-2012

The Definition of Art

Art captivates the soul and raptures it into an unseen realm.  Reality’s rules vanish in fragile moments of beauty that overwhelm the senses.   The Lord breathed life into the darkness similar to the artist breaths on the blank page, music sheet, and canvas.  The definition of art is, “the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional  power.”(oxforddictionaires.com/definition/English/art) 
My first introduction came in a visit to the Huntington Library and gardens in San Marino, California when I saw Thomas Lawrence’s painting “Pinkie” and Thomas Gainsborough’s painting “The Blue Boy”.  It was followed up by a visit to the Getty villa and a play with my late Great Uncle Buck.  
My kaleidoscope unto the world is through a writer’s lens which have always felt is the stepchild to the musician or the artist that creates through drawing, painting, or photography. Artwork is beauty and a reflection of our creator as Ephesians 2.10 states, “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.” (NASB)  I have struggled with seeing the beauty within myself that the Lord has created and learning to walk in the stewardship of the gifts that he has given me.  It’s always been easier for me to see the art in others; whether its two people dancing as the two bodies push and pull from one another in coordinated movements or a conductor directing the symphony of sounds of an orchestra.  Since, I have greatly esteemed artists but never placed myself amongst them until my eyes were opened to a new perspective this past November.  I completed the NaNoWriMo challenge; it’s for writers to write a novel or 50,000 words in one month.  I completed my first draft of my Admissions thriller novel and to my surprise a good friend stated that I was an artist.  
It’s been learning to accept that in all my imperfections; I am the Lord’s workmanship and an artist. My art is as the storyteller, and my pottery is the words that I craft to create the unseen world that I see for my reader.  I have always loved the beauty of words and they have a power to create or destroy depending on their usage.   I hope through my words molded through Christ’s workmanship that my readers will be able to see the art in the ordinary and mundane of their lives.  The art can be found in a conversation with a friend or co-worker that goes beyond the “how do you dos” and into what makes them who they are; or the sunset upon the horizon, kindness and grace showed.  We are the expression of the Lord and can share that beauty and love in the ordinary. It’s His artwork that will captivate and we are merely the vessels.   I don’t want to be the servant that hid the talents away but instead, someday, I want the Lord to say, “…’well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’ “(Matthew 25.23).  


By Shannon McKemie

Bittersweet pyre

Raindrops on the window pane

My world wanes

Time’s sands shift

A lifetime’s single goodbye

The soul sighs

Irrevocably altered

I am the stranger in the crowd

Society’s eyes shroud  

The curtain rises

Voices in unison

Theatre’s fire berthing

Dew kissed sunrises of a youthful spring

Twilight’s waltz upon an empty stage

The thunder rolls

Chinese lanterns sparkle in the ashen gray

Scripted characters on papyrus

Etched in the soul

The timbre’s requiem

In a November 5^th pyre 

Kindred spirits lips touch.

By Shannon McKemie  

Silhouette

A silhouette in time

Shadows within

History’s pieces

From inside wails

Survival’s call

To overcome

A silhouette in shadows

A love never to be

Rose’s bloom  

Shadows cry

The rejected loner sits

A silhouette

By Shannon McKemie 08-20-1990

The Real Simple Essay (September 2010)

Finish this sentence: “I never thought I’d. . .”

It was a cool September evening, the last goodbyes were said and open road stretched out before me. My black Jeep Liberty was packed with boxes of my precious mementos. I pulled away from the curb; the finality of the decision and my homelessness state rested in my soul. The decision to leave was the easiest part for my gypsy heart. An ocean of red brake lights glared into my eyes fittingly as the sun set in the West.

The mile markers slowly crept past until darkness enveloped the highway ahead. My thoughts drifted to the astonishment which had painted the faces of my college friends and co-workers when I broke the secret about the move. They did not see a caged bird that longingly desired to live beyond the confines of the Orange curtain. I expected that reaction as I had finally found a niche in the business world. People were dumbfounded that I’d leave a good job with health benefits, and Southern California to relocate to the Lone Star state. The stars hung like Chinese lanterns bore a silent witness to my trek.

 I crossed the bridge over the Colorado River and California was just a glimpse in my rearview mirror. The cactuses lined the interstate with their tangled arms reaching to grasp the unseen. The Sonoran desert was air brushed in oranges, reds, and pinks stood in a silent beauty. I knew this route like my backhand; its familiar sites and lampposts guided family vacations as a child. I pondered how these prepared me for Africa; and how the impossibility of the African adventure had conquered fears to make this dream a reality. The lessons learned from making a home in another country brought a courage and independence that when the decision came to relocate; there was not any doubt of the step that I would take.

Now, with each breath and body ache from two days of travel; I was retracing my grandparents’ route and into a person that I had not met yet. The endless expanse of the New Mexico plain lay dotted with telephone poles that marked the Continental Divide. The Continental Divide was a living black-white photograph of my grandma sitting on a Ford with the map in the window and her writing on the back. The geographic divide of whether the water flows east or west—now; I would no longer be so far “out West” but residing on the “East” side. As the speedometer chased the yellow line into the sun set; a city sat straddled between mountains and two countries. Poverty met wealth divided by a river, a language, and a government.  Time was moved forward as the world’s collision gave way to oil wells springing forth like the Texas wildflowers upon the open fields. An excitement, nervousness built inside as passed rest stops, truckers, and abandoned wood homes that lay in between the nothingness and the civilization’s city lights.

Indian smells and musk filled the senses as the third day started before sunrise. My brain was on an endless loop calling for the trip to end alongside my body aches that shouted to no longer sit or drive a vehicle. As the sun rose in East, I travelled on a two lane highway towards coffee with an unwritten future in a strange new land. This land courted tourism by proudly proclaiming   to visit was “go to a completely different country” –greeted my weariness with rain. Rain was a foreign phenomenon after not experiencing for over a year. Friday night rush hour traffic glared and combat ensued as the Dallas skyline rose on the eastern horizon. It was like a lighthouse’s beacon shining with undiscovered treasures. I stood in front of the door with the metal numbers, 1335 and my homelessness state ended with a turn of the key. I stepped across the threshold into the answered prayer of a long ago dream. 

By Shannon McKemie  09-2010