Karen Stuth Writer, Publisher, Book Consultant

09/09/2026

Do you have a card deck project or concept in mind?

08/29/2026

Recently a close friend asked me if I had written a poem about deceit. I had, actually, written one back in 2021. But deceit is not all a bad thing, as we are bound to experience it in our lifetime. Experiencing deceit is one of life’s sharpest catalyst for personal growth, emotional maturation, and psychological resilience. While painful, navigating betrayal fundamentally reshapes how a person processes truth, relationships, and self-trust. It teaches the necessity of emotional boundaries, helping people learn how to protect their peace without completely closing themselves off from the world. That was true for me, the more distance I got from my own episode of being betrayedl.

Have you experienced anything like that for yourself?

08/12/2026

Sometimes people ask me which of my poems is my favorite. The answer is unquestionably Music. Music was the language and the world I inhabited since before I could read.

MUSIC

Even before I could read
I couldn’t pass by
without touching the keyboard
needing to hear the piano’s voice
a relentless demand I always obeyed
even though it so annoyed my parents

And so I played and practiced
and studied and rehearsed
and performed and taught
my fingers constantly working
playing arpeggios on the blankets
tapping out rhythms on the steering wheel
rehearsing cadenzas on the shower wall
never a time when a melody didn’t fill my head
and move my hands

My heart lived in a state of constant elevation
strained nearly to the breaking point
with joy and thrilling wonder
I slept with symphonic scores and sheet music
under my pillow
unwilling to be separated from them

My parents’ record collection
was an exotic and foreign county
an unending source of absolute amazement
my first experience of Rachmaninoff
when I forgot to breathe
until my lips nearly tinged with blue
and then Rimsky-Korsakov
and Smetana
Beethoven and Schubert
Palestrina
Gesualdo
Bartok
Ravel
…and Bach….

Color was simply sound
captured and held in stasis
texture mimicking the rise and fall
of a masterpiece
taste and aromas simply music
spoken in another language
I needed music’s complex banquet
merely to survive

An injury stopped my playing
like tracks in the snow
that suddenly just stopped
as if their maker was lifted
by an occult hand
I was a musician without an instrument
an artist without a canvas
a mother without her children
but the music inside lingered on
until the melodies slowly faded
drifting away
as if from twenty floors below
I was bereft
failing to comprehend
a loss of this magnitude

Even today the void remains
I’m unable to listen to music
without the phantom pain
of a lost limb
a deep restless emptiness
so permanent and enduring
that I often don’t really know
what is wrong
blaming other circumstances
for the cavern within

I sometimes dream I hear an orchestra
players tuning up their instruments
their music stands empty of scores
musicians exchanging glances
unsure of why they are there
the conductor lifting his baton
as a deafening silence
resounds through an empty hall

Music, from A Speckled Stone by Karen Stuth, Copyright 2021, publishing by Satiama Publishing.

08/08/2026

For astrology lovers out here, today is an auspicious day!

07/19/2026

If you are a Kindle Unlimited member, A Speckled Stone is free for a limited time -- a mid-summer gift to you.

07/16/2026

Satiama Publishing offers conversations about what it means to be human in a mysterious universe.

Who is Satiama Publishing? We are a publisher of mind body spirit titles and products, classes, and a provider of a guided meditation hall.

07/15/2026

Do you have a favorite poem? This one is still one of my most favorite of all time.