Featured Author
Evelyn Bell
Evelyn Bell began writing poetry and prose during her school years in Somerville, New Jersey. Her
earliest work appeared in school newspapers, church bulletins, and organization newsletters. By the
1970s, she had entered, placed, and won creative writing competitions and had sold greeting cards to Hallmark, freelance.
Soon Bell was contributing movie reviews, short rhymes, columns and articles to small periodicals, entertainment news, and personality profiles. Her art and photography
became increasingly welcomed by publishers. By the 1980s, she was writing skits and teaching classes for community
fund-raisers, assisting with public relations for various organizations, and speaking publicly on paranormal
subjects.
In 2003, she retired from a career in office administration and published her book, The Shadow of Rainbows: 100
Life Poems. Continuing her interest in creative freelance, Bell contributed to numerous anthologies, as well as
magazines. Her photography graced the cover of the Two Friends Publishing anthology, Footprints in 2005, and had
nine of her works published in five of their publications, three of which won honors, adding to awards she has earned from a variety of publishers.
Bell has been a member of the National League of American Pen Women, Orange Park Writers, and
North Florida Writers.
An original work solely owned by Evelyn Bell.
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The following are some of the works of Evelyn Bell's works that have been published by Two Friends Publishing:
Earthshare
Saharan dust, Floridian skies
Deep rusty orange, warm sunrise
A wind whipped out of an Egyptian night
Sending sands into frenzied flight;
Over the miles it moved over the sea.
Over the days ‘til all we could see
African acres imported for free –
Gift from the Sun God
Rah!
Quiet Places
How can a library be thought silent?
Books shout!
Choruses compete upon each shelf.
How can a library be brought to silence?
Stay away.
Ignore the sounds, the songs, the crashing themes.
We walking books stroll
Amongst those standing, those reclined, those leaning,
Whose words we may press to our hearts
And whose spirit we wish we could find
Standing in line somewhere
Within a body that does not repel us –
Just as willing to communicate vocally
As to be read.
The Call
The moon called me out for a drive, last night. At first, I didn’t recognize the beckoning voice, though heaven knows, I’ve heard that voice often enough to have
recognized it, instinctively.
I got in the car after a brief moment of staring into the sky above. Full moon – far away – the sense of its innocent invitation explained my mounting malaise. It is
my soul’s faint answer to come forth. It was my soul trusting the enveloping shadow of dark night that moved me.
The moon was exceptionally pretty. That round face – sweet and clean – surprised me. I looked upon a Woman in the Moon. A pleasant hausfrau – her
expression unastonished. Nothing like the often horrified expression so common to the Man she had replaced. His face, fat-chinned and clown-like, frozen in an exaggerated
recoil, was one I’d grown accustomed to over the years.
Her countenance was cheerful and friendly – welcoming and offering. I followed my heart down the road to the local Starbucks. There I ordered and altered a cup
of only half-decaffeinated brew. It was still too strong, but I was too lonely to care. The youngsters serving behind the counter were not happy to be there.
I walked past several vacant outdoor table-and-chair sets and longed for someone human to talk to. I took my coffee with me in the car and took the long way
home. In the public spaces at the ocean-edge pavilion, I parked briefly as the shadow of earth veiled the moon’s face. With silent submission, her transformation proceeded.
Some great fuzzy, rotten peach, murkily hung in space like a tarnished, molded ornament in the late autumnal sky, with no sense of humiliation!
Blackouts present no problem for my sky-friend. She has no false pride, no vanity. She modestly abides. The wise moon knows eclipses promise to pass, and pass
they do. The sun, the moon, the planets may appear to change relationship to one another, but heaven knows constancy far better than we humans.
Constancy? A male countenance replaced by the feminine? The sweet fresh smile, replaced by an appearance of aged decay? Constant? Yes. In the eternal sense
of things, constant. Male or female – after the hormones have dried, who discerns? The mature mind welcomes a companion who'll hang around, a friend who'll call you up
and prompt you at the drop of an unspoken word, to fly into the night – to share a mix of things familiar and things unknown – a cup of comfort, a moment's wonder at the
mysteries of earth and heaven. Alla same-same. What's in an image? What's in a frame? A pal is priceless.
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