Wednesday, September 3, 2014

A Fun Little Story

Mrs. York and Miss Pop Tart
A Story by T. Raceine York
     Mrs. York bravely and courageously sacrificed herself as she saved the innocent and essential life of Miss Pop Tart today. While trying to help Miss Pop Tart out of the toaster, Miss Pop Tart accidentally, and oh so inadvertently, clung to Mrs. York's middle finger as Mrs. York was bravely trying to save Miss Pop tart's innocent twin brother, Mr. Pop Tart from the hellacious burning of the very same, Mr. Toaster.
     Once Mrs. York had saved Miss Pop Tart and her twin brother Mr. Pop Tart, she blew and blew on her injured appendage trying to ease the painful burn left unwittingly by Miss Pop Tart herself. There was no medication to help the injured Mrs. York and soon a humongous blister arose from her injury, and while causing some distress, the injury was not so bad that she needed to go to the Emergency Room.
     Mrs. York helped Miss Pop Tart and Mr. Pop Tart cool down to a much more comfortable temperature. She then inhaled and gave the miscreant Miss Pop Tart and her twin brother a considering glance. She inhaled again and with an all-consuming and undeniable desire proceeded to eat Miss Pop Tart and her twin brother for breakfast.
     There was no malice or anger as Mrs. York boldly ate Miss Pop Tart and her twin brother, Mister Pop Tart. All she said in response to why she ate them, "They smelled so delicious, I simply couldn't help myself. They were delightfully scrumptious!"
     There will be no charges filed against Mrs. York as there are no witnesses or evidence as to the actual occurrence of this event. She was allowed to go on her way after her selfless act of courage. Her finger will heal shortly and Mrs. York will continue living HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Until Next time my Friends, follow your dreams.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014


  Here is a new poem which will be included in my upcoming book "I Am Woman".
Photo by T. Raceine York
by ~T. Raceine York

I am not beautiful.
I am not ugly.
I hope I’m just plain.
I’m definitely snuggly.
I have a good heart
and a nice personality.
I’m a wonderful woman
with depth and vitality.
You judge the cover
without reading the book.
You care less who I am
and more how I look.
I am an everyday woman
with big hopes and dreams.
Your vain, blind stupidity
makes me want to scream.
But --- the joke is on you,
because I’m quite a catch.
Now that I think on it YOU
'don’t come up to scratch.'

Until Next time my Friends, follow your dreams.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014



By T. Raceine Hobbs-York

Here is a question
for me tonight.
Can this curious dreamer
really write?

Can I do more
than compose a rhyme?
Can I write a story
riveting, sublime?

Can I captivate,
enchant and allure?
Can I transcend
the imagination pure?

Am I a writer
or just a dreamer?
Can I be a sleuth,
a rotten schemer?

Can I develop craft,
construct and create
a tantalizing story
of intertwined fate?

Can I tease, entice
and stimulate until
they’re caught off guard
with a scandalous thrill.

With breaths held
and bathroom breaks ceased,
can I captivate my audience
to travel with me.

Until! Unable to wait
to traverse the next scene,
they can’t go to sleep
until all has been gleaned.

Just one more chapter
before going to bed.
But in the end,
the whole book has been read.

Am I merely a poet?
Or can I feasibly be more?
Am I a provocative writer?
Or a  chatterbox bore?

While my mind grapples
with this mystifying quest
I will keep writing stories
and creating my best.

Until next time, my Friends, keep on dreaming!

Thursday, February 13, 2014


Our oldest, Robert, and Me (He was always laughing.)

               I don’t really remember much about that night.  As a matter of fact, I have learned that the things I thought I remembered, I have remembered wrong.  The one thing I remember from the moment I found my husband’s lifeless body on the floor at the foot of our king-sized , four-poster bed, until weeks, if not months later, is my mind racing, like NASCAR on speed (the drugs).  I don’t know if my mind refused to accept what I was seeing or, as my oldest daughter, Heather, said over a year later, we were all in shock and couldn’t accept that we had lost our beloved husband and father.
 From the moment I called 911 until after Robert’s funeral, I can’t remember much; except the need to be strong and to be in control of my emotions.  I thought I was in control of my emotions.  I thought I was strong and stoic like I was supposed to be.  I do remember my mind spinning like a top, never stopping, never slowing.  I thought my mind was alert, focused serene.  I thought my head was going to explode from the thoughts and emotions and confusion racing through it.  I was walking.  I was talking.  I was functioning.  Now I realize I was none of those things.  I was a living, breathing zombie.  Inside my head I was screaming at the top of my lungs.  Begging God not to take Bob.  Begging God to help me.  Days like today, I feel those screams, which I never let out lest I fall completely apart, and hold tighter to God to help me through them.
I was breathing.  But I wasn’t alive.  I was functioning.  I wasn’t cognizant of what I was doing but when I did nothing I had time to think, to feel, to hurt, to want to die. 
From the moment I found my husband and later learned that he had passed away; that his heart had just quit, stopped, given out, seized to function, I felt the first true loss of my life and I lost the one human being that made life bearable.  God gave me the love of my life, as my middle daughter, Rachel told everyone after her father died (and I denied because we fought like cats and dogs) and I didn’t even realize it until months and months after I lost him.  God had given me a precious gift and I was so busy feeling guilty because I didn’t think I had God’s blessing because we were unequally yoked (in Christian terms that means I was a practicing Christian.  He was not.) and I had told God I wasn't going to ask for His blessing because I knew He would say "no."  Yet He told me over and over that Bob and I were meant to be together.  Childish me, hanging on to guilt and shame at dishonoring God, instead of going to Him and healing in His love and forgiveness.  God showed me daily Bob and I were meant to be, I just didn't believe Him, until it was too late to live in the joy and peace He had for us.
When I got home that night, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.  But Bob and I had three children who I needed to continue living for.  Because of a promise I had made to God years ago, and because of my children, whom I love dearly, I knew I couldn’t take my own life.  I still feel lost without Robert.  God is helping me every day to cope and continue on living without him.  He wasn’t perfect.  But he was mine.  I am lost without my Valentine. 
Until next time, my Friends, follow your dreams