The Inspired Writers, Author Showcase

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Guest Appearance on Fairy Tale Access


Recently, I had the great honor to be interviewed by Denise-Marie McIntosh as the guest on her marvelous, award-winning program Fairy Tale Access. Primarily, the interview concentrated on my book THE YELLOW BUS BOYS, but we also chatted about life in general and my other works as an author. Briefly, we discussed the follow-up book in this series, THE YELLOW BUS BOYS GO BLUE: CANADA BOUND.

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It was a marvelous experience. Denise is an incredible hostess. Her program, Fairy Tale Access, is top-notch, as well.

Denise also had a guest appearance on my Internet radio show at ArtistFirst Radio Network, The Ron Shaw Show on April 18, 2016. This is the link to her appearance.


Denise-Marie McIntosh can be contacted at Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, and her Fairy Tale Access Blog.

Fairy Tale Access Programming is released on PegMedia, Telvue, and YouTube.

Denise, I’d like to express my heartfelt appreciation for inviting me into Fairy Tale Access and for giving me the opportunity to come to know you. You are an amazing lady with great talent that seems to flow naturally through you, your words, and kind works. I wish you nothing but the best of luck and continued success in your stated mission with Fairy Tale Access. Thank you also to the people who support you behind the Fairy Tale Access camera. You, they, and your program are stellar!

My appearance on Fairy Tale Access with Denise-Marie McIntosh can be enjoyed (I hope) through this YouTube link.


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Shepherd ~ Written by Ron Shaw Video by The Carmen Online Theater Group on Youtube


Shepherd – Written by Ron Shaw performed by Liane Moon Raven, Video by The Carmen Online Theater Group on YouTube

Liane MoonRaven, thank you from deep within my heart and The Carmen Online Theater Group so much for this beautiful narration performance and video of my poem, Shepherd. You are an incredibly talented and giving lady with the voice of an angel. Your Online Radio series The Blurbs is brilliant!

Liane MoonRaven’s Twitter page



Liane MoonRaven’s Facebook page


Liane’s Facebook page 2 



take it
here’s my hand
I’ve been there
where you are
living the hurt
depressed, lonely
you’re not alone
I’m here for you
there’s a path out
the way is known
here are both hands
take them
no, the ascent is not
easy but you’re strong
more than you realize
I know you’re afraid
many were before us
you think the hole’s
too deep, vast & dark
stagnant & mildewed
you’ve grown familiar
to futility’s nothingness
trust in me and let go
of all that’s behind you
its grip grows weaker
with every step we take
there’s a light just ahead
its warm glow appears
keep walking forward
to never glance back
can you see it, the exit
has been at the tip of
your nose but you’re
eyes have been closed
welcome back to life
with eyes wide open
take it

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw


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Last Call

This next selection contained in WITHOUT FROM WITHIN: POEMS BY RON SHAW was written to be performed while listening to 56th Grammy Winner Laura Sullivan’s composition “Moonlight Passage.”

Some editorial changes have been made to the initial selection.






Internationally acclaimed, award-winning, and bestselling poet and author C. William “Justice” Clarke performs my poem, “Last Call” to the composition “Moonlight Passage” by 56th Grammy Winner, Laura Sullivan.



To Justice and Laura, my deepest appreciation!

Last Call

New York City and it’s 1942.

The rain is coming down harder,

the night swallows him.

It’s so damned hot.

He sits in his window sill, staring


into the wet city streets,

looking for a breeze, a girl to return,

glaring at nothing.

Even the roads are dead.

A few poor souls scamper soaked

towards cover, cover of the night.

He needs a place to hide right now.

In the little jazz bar across the street,

a haunting tune drifts

from the open door

into his black abyss.

He is as lonely as he’s ever been,

desperately in need of a drink,

a lot of them.

She left him again.


Who knows for certain.

He did something so wrong

but very familiar.

She won’t be back,

not this time.

He lights his last cigarette,

trying to understand

How can two people be far apart

and so in love?

He knows she still loves him.

He tried to apologize.

He always does but this night

she’s gone, truly over him.

He hopes she is safe and dry,

somewhere close. Suddenly,

he can’t feel her.

The panic inside him explodes.

Her perfume fades

on his neck.

The rain fights against him, too.

It also knows she is over him.

The rain is only trying to help.

But nothing

not even that hauntingly perfect music

from the piano, the horn, will aid.

Oh, God! He prays she is close, dry and safe.

The smoke from his final Camel drifts

lifeless into the night.

He better make it last.

Nothing lasts long in his life

not a cigarette,

a job,

his girl.

This one was special.

She’s the one. Now that’s over.

He can hear the piano,

pounding out the last sinew

of life in his heart.

How did they know

what tune to play

in that little jazz club

across the way?

Does everyone in New York City,

in the world, know he’s suffering?

The sweat rolls


down his brow and onto his guinea T.

Hope evaporates, taking his last draw.

The music fades away

onto the drenched streets.

The rain won’t stop. His heart has.

Yes, she is gone.

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw

The music dims to silence.

Laura Sullivan’s, “Moonlight Passage.”

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Books by Ron Shaw

Books by Ron Shaw – (Amazon Author’s Page Link)


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perchance you know

the pain you cause

torment never-ending

putrid seeds you sew

become pain’s harvest

if only you could feel

that which you inflict

the darkness from you

extinguishes all light,

robbing others of their

dignity, before the glow

of kindness & generosity

largesse’s root to rising

you who are so vacuous

see not, know not, feel not

the gravity of your own

imperfections, festering

within creation’s greatest

gift which remains as

mysterious and foreign

to you as that which my

words clearly bespeak

sorrow, pity, and regret

are but a very few of the

words that aptly describe

that which the caring feel

towards a heartless and

even worse, soulless you


Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw



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For several years, I’ve had a number of my fellow authors and #amwriting friends suggest that I enter one or more of my books into the yearly Readers’ Favorite Book Review and Awards Contest. Initially, I resisted due to a number of personal factors. I’ve come to appreciate the gravity of their suggestions, especially with the knowledge of the excellence of Readers’ Favorite. In short, this stellar organization’s reviews and awards are highly coveted by serious writers.

This year the decision was made to enter two of my books, WITHOUT FROM WITHIN: POEMS BY RON SHAW and THE YELLOW BUS BOYS GO BLUE: CANADA BOUND, into their contest and reviews. I also requested a review of a third book, TraVerses: Poems by Ron Shaw without entering it into their awards contest.






During the first week of May 2016, I was thrilled to receive an excellent 4-star review of WITHOUT FROM WITHIN: POEMS BY RON SHAW by Readers’ Favorite Reviewer, Mamta Madhavan. Thank you very much, Mamta Madhavan for your excellent review of my book.

I published a post on this review over at LinkedIn.

I hope you will give my poetry a chance and read and enjoy this review. Many have expressed their appreciation of my book of poems and #photography provide by my brother-in-law, Photography by J. Robert Sosby.

Author Biography

Ron Shaw is an Atlanta, Georgia, native who currently resides in Gwinnett County, Georgia, with his wife and daughter. He attended Roosevelt High School in Atlanta and continued his education at Mercer University in Macon, Georgia for two years. Ron met his future wife in Atlanta after his second year at Mercer and transferred his junior year to Georgia State University.
In 1973, with new responsibilities, he became an Atlanta Police Officer while attending college full time. Ron attained a BA degree in English Literature from Georgia State University in 1974. He retired from the Atlanta Police Department in 1996 after a very fulfilling and personally satisfying career.


Book Review

Reviewed by Mamta Madhavan for Readers’ Favorite

Without From Within: Poems by Ron Shaw is a collection of 43 poems that gives readers a peek into the heart and soul of the poet. The entire collection reveals a wide range of emotions, from pain to pleasure to loneliness to his observations on life and his surroundings. The sensitive journey of the poet and the visual ideas that he conveys through his poems leave the deepest of impressions upon readers, making them ponder upon life and the emotions surrounding them. The poetic value in his writings stands out; so do the sentiments and the intriguing images, making it an engaging collection.

All the photographs at the beginnings of the poems give an aesthetic effect to the book. There are poems for everyone in this collection. Ron Shaw’s style of writing and expressions are stark, sublime, and all the poems are thought provoking. These are heartfelt renditions of the poet’s inner self and readers can connect well with his thoughts and feelings. Many poems are of a cryptic nature, for example, ‘Invisible,’ and will make readers want to read it many times because it can be interpreted in different ways.

It’s difficult to choose a favorite poem as they all deal with different feelings and emotions, and are wonderful and vibrant both in content and form. All the poems evoke sensations, sights, and sounds, and readers will experience an immense feeling of satisfaction trying to interpret each piece. The blending of a realistic and an imaginative approach in the poems works well and gives the collection a real and surreal feel. An engaging collection that will make readers reflect upon life.


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Edgar Allan Poe…don’t you know?

Way back when quite a handful of writers had a profound influence on me. During the fleeting and flickering years of college, several writers loomed larger. Edgar Allan Poe was and is one of these leading authors.



It wasn’t until #amwriting became a pleasant distraction and words met screen that I realized just how much of an impact they had made on me.


From a dingy and damp corner came the “Poe” in me.


The following “Poetrilogy” of poems were written in honor of Edgar Allan Poe. Their subtitles are He, She, and You.


From the womb, He felt no pain,
while others prepared his feast.
He made no mistakes,
thinking not of gain,
floating, playing, growing.
Suspended in warmth and space
A rude awakening awaits
just beneath his feet
to shepherd his thrust into light,
radiating want and need with pain.
Bursting forth, in agonizing screams,
aliens pawing at the new He.
For decades to come, life remained free.
Thanks to loving mom and busy daddy.
Neither fret nor worry visited He.
At ease in wombs of luxury, comfort, glee.
On a gentle breeze, manhood explodes
whilst playing a fool’s game of free.
Parents seeing to his every need.
Death oft claims more than deceased,
stranding for life some, just like He
tutored by none at a trough of free.
No nuts gathered, a fiddler he be.
To want is to knead, a lesson untaught.
Winter comes early, wolves in need.
It’s true in life, naught is free,
not only to those fiddling…like He.

An odd egg She was since aged three,
immersing herself in words of fantasy,
with dreams of becoming another who
wrote, what She called, poe-a-tree.
E. A. Poe became her muse, at ten.
Her poems growing darker due to him.
She changed her looks, as Goth as can be.
In mental crypts, her sleep did come
beside the worms, dampness, and glum.
Carrying murder, revenge, and mayhem
to school, She played, burying a classmate
alive beneath teach’s desk. The interred
played along, fancying her look, but not
Miss Lee, Annabel was not she.
Off to the office the cast did go,
thanks to a muse, named Edgar Allan Poe.

Everything’s a test, and it’s all queued for You.
Either pass or fail the path remains true.
A tough lesson to face is simple indeed.
Is the glass half full or fifty percent empty?
You may not grasp, but this one’s tricky.
For You see, truth of the query lies within ye.
It’s what You say it is, and that’s no lie. But
a deeper meaning broods, escaping most.
There are those, unlike You, who have no glass.
In thirst, they see no hope, no promise, parched
lips existing at odds with a bleak tomorrow.
Half empty would be perfect response for those
like them. Maybe not You but surely me.

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw

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Evolution of a Story

Please pardon the use of a weary and worn cliche, but in fact, variety is the spice of life. This is also true for those of us who spend endless, mostly joyful, hours of #amwriting stories and publishing #books.


At times, the tales that draw us in are as unfamiliar as the tardy-rabbit’s hole that Alice tumbles into. As #writers and #authors, we may well know the hole is there, but sometimes, the stories possess a life and clock of their own. Their entrance honors no particular genre, time, or date. Such were the genesis and evolution of my latest book, a novelette, entitled CHRISTMAS PAST: AN ANGEL’S STORY.


It was a difficult task to listen to this Christmas muse, so out of season, but apparently, an angel flooded my thoughts with memories of my family’s past. Once again, like during SEVEN FISH TREE, I was compelled to write a story that came from beyond or above me. I chose the adamant source to be the narrator of this tale. In essence, the angel pushed me down this abyss without me knowing it was one step ahead.

The overwhelming majority of what is presented in this novelette is true. Wrestling with the idea of changing everyone’s name within it became a solitary process. The muse was silent on this one, as she was initially for this work’s cover concept.

To some people, or possibly most, out there, this may sound a tad insane or as mad as the Hatter, but to those who write, it’ll make perfect sense. If my statements ring sane to you, you’ll also agree that our muses rarely appreciate the troubles they have caused.


A year or so ago I had toyed around wth the idea of using a marvelous image from the Hubble Telescope for a book cover. The necessary contacts were made with the folks who control such greatness. That’s right, they wrote me back, and they, STScl, are amazingly friendly and accommodating.

My angel muse stepped into the decision process and what better place to find a heavenly influence than through the wide, powerful eye of Hubble. Once again, I bugged the Hubble gang, and with their blessings, they approved my book’s cover concept.


Angels and God do move in mysterious ways.


Despite the timing, the evolution of a story, cover, book, or muse can be fascinating tales within themselves.

It’s never too early or late for a heart-rending, yet tender and inspirational, Christmas story shown by an angel named Percy.


I hope you will visit and enjoy my Christmas story that gushed forth in May, arriving like a forgotten present from a CHRISTMAS PAST: AN ANGEL’S STORY.

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King Toad



King Toad

Down near the swamp

a bit to the left of a big

cypress tree, a favored

fishing hole, well hid,

overflowing with life

to be hooked or seen.

Many hours day, night

I spent there in peace.

Twas birthday thirteen

when king toad came,

nothing biting, save me.

What say ye young man?

regal, fat frog did croak.

To my great surprise, the

green, slimy critter spoke.

How’s the fishing, catching

anything but that tiny bream?

“I’m sorry frog but are

you really talking to me?”

Well of course lad, I can

speak, and chatting with

you seems prudent to me.

Answer all my questions,

and I’ll give you three free?

“Sir toad, this is strange

to be talking with a frog

while sitting here fishing.”

Answer my questions, my

questions you must answer,

he recast, croaking testily.

“What free three do I win,

if your conditions are met?”

Forgive me for being unclear.

You’ll be granted three wishes.

I’ve already asked you two and

one more will equal my three.

Without hesitation I said,

“What I say frog is, nice

to make your acquaintance.

How are thee this fine day?”

Smart lad, you may well win.

Happy to know you, I’m fine.

“The fishing is awfully slow

this little bream’s all that I’ve

caught for the table tonight.”

Excellent responses from you,

but know question three is a

tad more tricky, for wishes are

hard to come by even from me.

Which is more important

the doughnut or the hole?

Baiting hook, provided

pause while thinking of

a clever return to this.

“I believe I know what the

correct rebuttal should be.

As you jump pond to pond,

whatever may be your goal

keep your big eyes upon the

donut and not upon the hole.

Now, for my first wish, I’d

like to see those chunky legs

fried and on our table tonight.”

King frog was speechless and

with a loud, harsh croak he leapt

into the pond, diving from sight.

You can’t trust those dang toads,

much less royal well-spoken ones.

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw


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