Biography of Julyn Pride
Julyn S. Pride is a minor writer and photographer of Connecticut. She was born in Rockville, CT., the daughter of Naoma Harlow Sundgren and Richard Pride Sundgren. Her birth name was June Lynne Sundgren. She married Michael A. Mita in 1977 and has one daughter, Kathleen Linnea.
The name Julyn S. Pride is a pseudonym. The name is her own creation based on her family ancestry. The name Julyn is a combination of her first and middle name, June Lynne. Her middle initial is her birth surname, Sundgren. Her last name is the surname of her grandmother, Edna May Pride.
Julyn Pride's Works:
Chronicles of Wabaquasset
Facets; Homespun Poetry and Photography of New England,
Available at Amazon.com under Julyn S. Pride
Julyn Pride Poems
Inherently it will throw a curve Even as I stand At the apex of my cavalcade That is the frozen Bering shore.
An Afternoon Of Haiku
Fish In liquid wonder A sparkle of fire swim
Through the misted glass Of my silent heart I feel you quietly trespass, Though we must remain apart.
She came from up there Where glaciers blue and green Play with the lights. Warm hearts melt the icy crags
10 p.m. A child is weeping Known only to those creatures creeping Through the night, a trail of slime
An Empty Jar
She holds the world in glass. Her reflection, upside down, peers back. She sees a bell shaped jar And begins a thought, a deed
Gold toed boots from another carnival, The Hawker stares at gray rain, His black leather Down Under hat with bottle cap decor Shoved as low as it will go.
Beneath a sabertooth eave I began to grieve. Pine bough roofs brushed Snowdrift glitter, hushed
I saw a demon triangle face Gazing behind green eyes Pretending a compassionate reach Masking it as something called love.
To Longfellow, With Love - From My Book ...
They are an open mystery Inside a velvet night. The moon lights a path across an endless sea Without a shore in sight.
The rain flows down the window pane, A cold gray April rain. The crow continues to caw. Its detail less black sits on a branch
there are artists in the woods they see potential in every scene a painter without materials unless they can create them
Found Poem - Toxic People
Toxic people Don't wash their hands. Think their bigger than mason jars. Detained, a hidden privacy threat
Found Poem - The Motley Fool Of 10-15-20...
Unveiled, box of conventional wisdom A bombshell easy to fall For a generation now. Outflanked, the strongest hand
Through the misted glass
Of my silent heart
I feel you quietly trespass,
Though we must remain apart.
Our bond of words and rhyme
Shall placidly await future days,
When the spinnings of time
Join them in woven tapestries.