All Rodeos need a parade, just as the Carrot Ranch yearly rodeo has done. The Rodeo Classic parade will be a parade like no other – and we don’t need to wait until the end of the contest or announcement of winners to do so. It’s time to celebrate with gusto and march down the main street of Carrot Ranch central.
As mentioned above, Sue Vincent is a poet who has acted as glue for the community for over a decade now. She has honed her poetry and prose to a beautiful finish, and her adventures through ruins and the English countryside have inspired many of us throughout our blogging journeys. Recently, Sue has run into a spot of trouble with a bit of small cell lung cancer. With Covid complicating all medical procedures and the ability to speak with others (especially for those with respiratory illnesses), some of the best comfort can come from online interactions. You can read more about Sue’s situation on the series of posts beginning here.
The Parade, however, will march on through many different avenues. Sue’s literary art will be on full display throughout the month of February. Here’s some ways you can help participate in the parade and make the Rodeo Classic even better!
Advertise the Rodeo. Advertise this rodeo on your own blog, tweet it, forward on Instagram, post on Facebook, wherever you can! The graphic at the top of this page can be used freely as part of the campaign. The more participants, the merrier. We’d like to advertise the contest to people who may not already be familiar with our or Sue’s literary community, so put up the posters far and wide!
Reblog a post from Sue’s blogs. Go to The Daily Echo and/or France & Vincent and take a gander at some of the things there. Choose a post, or two, or seven, and reblog it with a comment on why you did so. Feel free to advertise the contest when you do.
Purchase one of her books. You can find a link to Sue’s books here and choose the Amazon page appropriate for your region.
Review that purchased book! Read the book and post a review. There’s many places to put it, but we suggest Amazon, Goodreads, and your blog as a start.
Comment or like her posts. Comments brighten anyone’s day, and Sue’s blog is filled with posts ripe for commenting. The Rodeo Organization Team will be reblogging some of her posts, so keep an eye out for those if you want some suggestions!
We look forward to seeing you in the stands, on the back of a bull, or maybe even clowning about.
The Rodeo Organization Team
Take me somewhere I have never been. Open my eyes, lift me high on wings of steel, Across the white topped mountains to Shangri la Lay me gently on snow white feathers. Let me sleep in your eyrie above the world, where I dream of touching infinity See angels dancing on the head of a pin. Where freedom calls with many voices Where rainbows illuminate each raindrop with colour magic, blessing those that walk beneath. A wish made true, their future written with a golden pen. How good would life be if we could fly on wings of steel…
( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a person wearing a paper-bag over their head. Words ” Photo shop” are written by hand on the bag)
I don’t need Photoshop to stick my head in sand. With todays problems, face masks, Oh excuse me… coverings! Wash your hands, run if you see a human walking towards you! There are days when its best to become an ostrich. Head in the sand, arse in the air I’m sorry folks, I’m having a s – – t day. Where I cannot feel or think the way I should My son says, pull yourself together, mother. You’re made of better stuff. Take the bag from your head, look at the world with different eyes. You cannot hide forever. In my head, I am saying, shut up, I can hide until the world is put to right Or take myself off to Photoshop for a revamp…
For visually challenged writers, theimage shows a solitary figure on a rocky ledge, holding a staff and silhouetted against a pale sky.
I stand still under dusky twilight sky That in-between moment The breeze is soft, slow There is magic in the air. I feel the rocks beneath my boots I cannot remember how long I have been walking. I have lost track of the part or me that made me tick. This walk, I hope, will help me find the part that we call life, hope. This will not be my last journey. As I wander, I talk to myself. It helps to smooth the sharp edges of my mind. It prevents me from disappearing. I wonder where she is now, my better half. She has left footprints across each heart she touched. A badge of friendship that time cannot erase. When death comes softly, hold up your hand against the moisture it leaves on the air Let it not touch your lips to speak of ill begotten fate. Life is a giant puzzle, some pieces slip away Yet the beauty of time spent together remains…
( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows an envelope hanging by a white tread. In the background there is a house entrance)
I pick up my skirt and run the half mile across the field To the other side of the village forbidden to me by my father Where I know Phillipe has hung out his letter to me His handmade seal, a golden heart with a kiss The red envelope is for my eyes only The small brown one for my father, begging for an audience He will again tell my father how much he loves me How one day, he will make me his wife He will be worthy to ask for my hand I hide my letters where father cannot find them In our church, the one place he will never set foot in I give him the small brown envelope to hear another refusal Over my dead body, he would say I cry myself to sleep, waiting for the day we can do more Than steal a few moments alone in our church Where he will tell me his fortune is almost made He will stand in from of his King, my father and ask for my hand, no longer a pauper…
( For the visually challenged reader, the image shows the sun setting over the horizon, and in the foreground, you can see rail tracks)
I sit beneath the red light of a dying day Waiting for the next train to take me away from the tears shed in this town The gentle sound of water Soothing my broken heart He said he loved me while loving another I cannot be an extra string to his bow One more notch on his bed post I need to be someone’s one and only…