Once, a poetic woman
found the heartbeat of God
beneath a blade of grass.
She simply pulled the leaves apart
and felt the ancient pulse.
When she pressed her palm against the living earth,
and felt the power pounding,
she surely was compelled
To lay her body down.
Breast to breast,
heart to heart,
in communion,
throbbing.
Anita Stubbs
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My House of Many Rooms
I am a private person, but need a place to publish my writings, which have accumulated over the years. I am in the autumn of my life, and feel the need to preserve some of what I have written in forms of poetry, short stories, and articles. I have written one novel and now am working on my second one.
I live quietly with my husband of 57 years, as of this coming November, in Texas. My ancestors first came to Texas prior to the Civil War. Other than the five or so years when we moved out of state, I have lived my life here.
Anything more you may wish to know about me, you can hopefully gather from my writings, as far as my values, my character, and my impressions of humanity -- in as much and as far as I have experienced it, or imagined it.
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Anita Stubbs 