Biography of Scarlett Treat
Hi, Fellow poetry lovers! I officially retired from working recently, after a lifetime of hard labor, but then I found out that retirement wasn't enough to live on, so I am back at work, Part-time only! I still have enough time to do some of the things I love.
I am a member of the Mississippi Poetry Society, The National Poetry Society, The Northeast Mississippi Art Association, The Mississippi Writer's Guild, and a new group that is meeting, so new that we don't have an official name as yet, so we call ourselves Daddy's Lame Duck Poet's Society.
My main pleasure in life, however, is my three grown children and their five children. Those Grandchildren are what keep me young and looking forward!
Since coming on PH, I have learned so much and made a great group of friends worldwide! My poetry writing has seemed to improve, both from reading others work and help from others here on this site, so I love being here.
Scarlett Treat's Works:
I have one self-published book, REMEMBER SEPTEMBER. It was written during 9/11, because I had just had knee surgery and was stranded on my sofa. I published it because I wanted my children and grandchildren to always remember what that time felt like, to never forget. I have enough poems written to fill a dozen books, but don't know just how to get them published. I have several published works in Mississippi Poetry Society's anthologies, and I have won several second and third place ribbons in competitions there. I also am now published in Tangled Web's anthology of Internet Poets! Soooooo,
slowly but surely, I am getting there!
- A Tribute To Tough Old Broads
- AAARRRGGH! !
- Alone, By Choice
- An American Death, revised
- Cages, Prisons, And Other Forms Of Captu...
- Another Life
- Silent No More
- Running, Running, Running
- Catch Me - If You Can
- An American Death,2nd revision
- I Bleed
- Bits and Pieces, Or Falling Apart After ...
The Blind Man Can't See
My lonely heart reaches out,
And out, trying to touch
Like a blind man feeling
His way through a strange room,
Stumbling, groping, reaching out,
Trying not to fall over sharp objects,
And, like the blind man,
I often fall
And hurt my heart.