Too Many Words

By Jamie Shaw

"Too Many Words" attempts to create an artistic impression, whilst conveying its intellectual mission, putting to work in just the right number these elusive entities, so easily invoked, yet so often misused, words. It is said that a picture paints a thousand of them, and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sweetspire Literature Management LLC
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960861238

Jamie Shaw

A resident of South Central Pennsylvania, JAMIE SHAW’s two biggest dreams in life were to be a published author and to be a mom. Now, she’s living both of those dreams and loving every minute of it. When she’s not spending time with her husband and their young son, she’s writing novels with relatable heroines and swoon-worthy leading men. With her MS in Professional Writing and a passion for all things romance, her goal is always to make readers laugh, cry, squirm, curse, and swoon their pants off, all within the span of a single, unforgettable story. She loves interacting with readers, and she always aims to add new names to their book boyfriend lists.

Book preview

Lily Song

Yes! Slender, slim, though quite unthin—

As she thus ever was—

When how her black jeans hugged her pins

Would drop my jaws—because!

She knew I knew her forest-fleece

Pullover came along

To wake my senses, win my peace—

In combination strong!

When then, in list, I took a risk,

No matter what the cost—

(I urged to splurge, to purge my surge,

And count no second lost—)

As, mooching up, my trembling cup

Of silver in her spell,

Too weak to find resistance meek,

I puckered on a distant cheek—

A streaming, teaming, piquant, chic

Intention to belong—

As, fond her wand upon my frond,

In lily song I fell!

[Two]

Thou, Whom

I Call Champ

The boy in blue, who wanted to

Be naval from the start,

Art one to be so pinioned through

His holy, holy heart…

If I, O Chris, were thine to judge,

For that I wouldn’t thee,

My love for thee would not be poor,

The moor so slippery!

No better man doth tread the turf—

If time have tide to tell

That we are friends, to tread the surf,

So let me be as well!

So here am I, grey-green the sea

Deflecting Suns I stole

From thine, too bright, inherently

A better shot at goal…

A fleck of brown is left, I think,

Still should I speak again

With thee, I guess it might be pink—

Thine only to explain!

[Three]

Emma

Matchless beauty,