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A Friend Request in The Focus


A Friend Request!

A Friend Request in The Focus

Check out the Author’s Corner, pages 12-13,

of the January 2015 Issue of The Focus magazine!

Here is an excerpt from the article:

Award winning poet, novelist and Iowa native, C.L. Gilmore lived most of her childhood in Muscatine, a small picturesque town nestled along the banks of the Mississippi River. Her beautiful poetry and detailed story lines reflect her Midwest roots.

“I weave the details of what I know best into my writing.  I remember hot summer nights along the Mississippi, and crisp autumn mornings waiting for the school bus; small-town football games; Homecoming dances, and the smell of mum corsages; former teachers and students; former friends and lovers; local bands, music, rock festivals, and drugs; campus riots, assassinations, and war protests. These day-to-day remembered details, breathe life into a character, and lend credibility to setting and storyline.”

 Click here to read more about Cheryl Gillmore and A Friend Request in The Focus magazine!

A Friend Request in The Focus

Excerpt from “A Friend Request,” a novel by C.L. Gillmore


The next slow song the band played was “Baby I Need Your Lovin’” by Johnny Rivers. Jake set the sound and the lights and led me out onto the dance floor for the first time. I was so nervous I was shaking.

I was a terrible slow dancer, I never felt comfortable. There had been no one to teach me. I didn’t know how to follow. I felt awkward

and invariably stepped on my partner’s foot or missed a beat and tripped. Slow dancing was stressful—and it was too close, too intimate for me. 

That was before Jake.

We stopped in the middle of the dance floor and Jake put his arm around me and took my hand in his.

“What’s wrong? You’re shaking, Rose.”

“Jake, I can’t slow dance—can’t follow anyone. I’ll step all over your feet and…”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. Jake pulled me closer, looked into my eyes and whispered in that low, steady voice, “Hush now. Take a breath and relax. I’m a strong lead. Close your eyes and move with me. Just move with me, Rose.”

I listened to his voice and did exactly what he said—took a deep breath, closed my eyes and moved with Jake.

Magic. That was the only word for what happened when Jake held me in his arms and we danced that night. It was magic.

All my fear—all my apprehension—faded away.

I heard the music. I felt Jake’s arms around me. I fit perfectly up against him, molding into his body as we danced. He pressed his lips against my neck, my ear—breathing, whispering—and left me breathless. That light caressing contact traveled to my core like lightning flashes.

He knew where to put each hand, how and when to apply just the right amount of pressure to lead me. I felt the slightest change of direction, every hesitation and turn as we moved around the dance floor. We moved as one—like we’d been dancing for years—and yet it was our first time. Our first dance together…as a couple.

Jake led—I followed.

Slow dancing with Jake was different. Very different than anything I’d experienced before. I felt safe in his arms. We connected so intimately as we danced. And with Jake, that was okay too. I loved how his body felt against mine, how his hands touched me—one securely on my shoulder, fingers trailing up the back of my neck and into my hair—the other sensuously pressed and softly kneading the small of my back. I clasped both hands over his shoulders and around his neck and rested my head against the side of his face. I felt him spread the fingers of each hand across my hips and pull me closer against him as we moved, brushing his lips across my cheek, my hair. Our bodies fit perfectly…the hardness of his against the softness of mine.

He continued to whisper softly into my ear and no matter what the words, when Jake spoke them—they became sensual, erotic. In between the words, he brushed his lips lightly over my cheek, my ear and I felt his breath against my skin. His chest moved against mine as he breathed in and out. Something ached deep inside me.

Jake took my breath away. He made me tremble. Made me long for him. And when I looked into his eyes, I saw that same longing for me. No one ever made me feel like this and I wondered if anyone affected him this way. I hoped not. I wanted to be the only one. I wanted him to always remember how he felt with me.

Jake was the most sensual young man I’d ever been with. There was something about him. I felt it from the moment we met—his manner, his touch, his sureness, the way he looked into my face. He knew what to do with a woman’s body when he danced with her—with me. It was lovely, more than lovely.

I never wanted the song to end. I never wanted the dance to end. I wanted to stay in Jake Richardson’s arms forever.

Common Bond


“There is a child inside each one of us, who comes out in front of the person we are most comfortable with…”

One Final Season

Lay me down and let your love wash gently over me.
Soothe me softly with that low, steady voice of reason.
Strip all the craziness away and let me just float free.
Heart to heart, soul to soul…if only for one final season.

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Its about your perspective…

Some mornings on my walk, I notice all the lovely things around me—puffy white clouds line dancing against an azure sky, green lawns and carefully manicured yards, colorful flowering plants and lacy leafed trees on the greenbelt. I hear birds singing and chirping, honeybees buzzing and the sound of rapidly beating wings from a passing hummingbird.

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Skipping Stones

“The smooth stone skipped and then was gone.
But hundreds of ripples circled on and on.
Flowing to the shores of a distant sea.
Then floating back again through time to me.”

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When Lightning Bugs Shimmered

Heart memory stirs on shafts of moonglow
Releasing recollections from twilights long ago.

When lightning bugs shimmered in blue Mason jars
And flickered ‘til daylight erased heaven’s stars.
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C.L. Gillmore Wins The National Indie Excellence Book Awards For Poetry!









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Violets in Clay Pots

My mom grew pink and purple violets
In clay pots on our windowsill.
Lovely, lacy single and double blossoms
With velvety leaves of forest green.
Graceful fingers pinched back dead flowers
With such practiced skill.
Coaxed the delicate plants to yield
The most beautiful blooms I‘d ever seen.
Daily she talked and sang to her violets
Touched and stroked them. Motherly.
That I could have been one of her violets
So she could have sung to me.

~ From Of Roots, Shoes and Rhymes by C L Gillmore