Monday, November 1, 2010

Ruth Wildes Schuler’s novel, THE TURBULENT TIDE: A Historical Novel Of The Russian Revolution is now available.
ISBN13 Hardcover 978-1-4535-8763-8 $29.99
ISBN13 Softcover; 978-1-4535-8762-1 $19.99
ISBN13 eBook: 978-1-4535-8764-5 $9.99

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The Turbulent Tide is the story of Katrina Kazakinova, an eight-year-old orphan whose parents are killed in the revolution of 1905. She is sent to live with her Uncle, Ivan Kozakov, the Count of Usadiba Na Holme and his family, whom she has never met. Finding she is unwanted by her aunt, she flees in the woods where she meets a peasant boy, Peter Sovinsky, who befriends her. However, upon learning that she is an aristocrat, he explains that they will not be allowed to be friends, but a bond has been formed.
Three men fall in love with Katrina and they all have an impact on her life. All the characters are swept up in the terror of the First World War, the Great Revolution and the famine of the 1920’s that follow. The horror of the events affects all the characters in the book, including the evil Rasputin and Czar Nicholas and his family. Their deaths and disposal of their remains are all portrayed. The war, and then both sides of the revolution are documented. Those that Katrina loves are on opposite sides and she is torn between those she cares for.
The elegant lifestyle of the aristocratic Kozakov family with their elaborate ball and picnics are contrasted with the humble hard working existence of the peasant Sovinsky family. All of the characters’ suffer upheaval with some losing their lives. Katrina is driven to travel the breath of the vast Soviet Union and is cast into the dungeon of the dreaded Cheka. She constantly fights to survive the wrath of the turbulent tide sweeping over Russia that leaves nothing the same.

Saturday, July 24, 2010


To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying;
Or one that is coming to birth.

Irish poet Arthur O’Shaughnessy (1844-1881)
From ODE

It was not the timid-hearted that moved civilization forward
during the ages. Rather it was the individualistic person
with the courage to think and be different. It was the individual
who refused to be ruled by king, czar or dictator,
who boarded leaky ships and sailed into the unknown,
into ferocious tempests while living on half-starving rations.
Longing for freedoms of all sorts, these freedom-seeking people
populated new worlds, dealt with harsh temperatures and hostile inhabitants.

In America it was men like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln,
and Ronald Reagan, who proclaimed to Mr. Gorbachev –
“Tear down this wall!”
In India it was individuals like Buddha, Tagore and Gandhi
that lighted the way.
Men cannot be free when a government makes all their decisions.
It takes many different kinds of free individuals – scientists, writers,
philosophers, explorers, politicians, generals, teachers and doctors
to advance us with new technology and ideas.

I plead for men everywhere to be free to follow their dreams.
May their eyes rise to the moon and the stars, and may they listen
to the mystery in the winds blowing their thunderous ever-eternal truths.

Ruth Wildes Schuler

Friday, June 4, 2010

Glenn Beck

Adored mentor for millions,
you are like an eternal lighthouse
beaming forth a constant flow
of knowledge and truth,
a modern knight without armor
riding forth to slay
the dragons of destruction.
Slings of verbal abuse assault you,
hurled by the jealous,
and those guilty of chipping
away at the very foundations
of our great nation.
Hopefully the aura of love,
and appreciation from those that you
have enlightened will shield you
from the barbs of hatred hurled
by the anti-American conspirators.
Courage is one of your names!

Saturday, March 27, 2010


After that damn bastard tumor
crushed your brain, Daddy,
I could only take Honest Abe of the homely face
off our wall and hang him on mine.

Courageous to your final hour,
I could never return all the love
that you gave me.
You were the richest poor man
I ever knew, and I have tried to live
with the vision of your pain-filled
blue eyes, but it hasn’t been easy –
Like the sword smelted out of shape in a forge,
I have been hammered and banged
into a new mold and pushed toward-
“…the great task remaining…”

Daddy, you taught me to love President Lincoln,
and I, born the day before him,
found his footsteps wide to follow—
But his stern face now on my study wall,
reminds me of your history lessons—
5,500 dead lie buried at Gettysburg, and we all have a limited time…
We cannot waste it crying about our losses and broken dreams.
Bullets and tumors lie waiting around the corner
and there are no promises for tomorrow…
There isn’t even a promise of a tomorrow.

Rather that we be—
“Dedicated to the great task remaining before us…”
And it isn’t easy to let the hammering forces
bend us into a stronger cast…
You, my backwoods Hero,
and you, my flesh and blood father
insist rather – That we remember—
“Those dead shall not have died in vain…”
And my pen quivers as I push it across this present day,
not daring to tell anyone, Daddy,
that Lincoln’s grim face has relaxed of late.
Sometimes, he even smiles at me.

Ruth Wildes Schuler

Monday, March 8, 2010


Still that nightingale
that dares sing
in my garden.
Does he not know
that my love died tonight?
My love lying
encased in woven lace,
covering the cranberry waves
pouring forth from
the slash within his skin,
and where do I even begin
to express my sorrow,
record the dimming
of the sun, and the crumbling
mountains on the moon?
War has wounded my warrior,
broken my heart like his.
I have no answers,
for I know not even
the questions that float
in the air against
a vague backdrop
of a vanished future.
The light diminishes, silver beams
fade, and I see a bronze coffin
in the distance. It floats nearer.
Is that reality shrieking like sirens,
or is it only my screams,
drowning out this obtrusive nightingale?

Ruth Wildes Schuler
Salopeot Spring 2010 (England)

Wednesday, March 3, 2010


I have traveled the earth trudging among
the broken statues of Easter Island,
listening to the children of Pitcairn Island
sing hymns, felt the icy blast of Dutch Harbor winds
and swam in the Black Sea.

On my poetic search I climbed the Great Wall of China,
rode a camel near the great pyramid of Giza,
walked within the walls of the Kremlin,
through the barb-wire horror of Dachau and observed
the blood stained walls, ovens and bins of suitcases,
shoes, and false arms and legs in Auschwitz.

I saw the ice floes of Greenland,
the Monkey Dancers of Bali, the Berlin Wall,
the ruins of Dresden, the Komodo Dragon,
the glaciers of Alaska and many churches and castles.
I saw Mongolian cowboys riding camels,
and ate the rare fish of Lake Baikal

Always searching. I saw joy, sorrow and fear
among this planet’s people. Russians were afraid
to speak to us, while the Chinese wanted to practice
their English now taught on TV instead of the previous Russian.
I ate a feast of all the world, and it all mixed to form
this persona, this person, this poet, and this poem.


Thoughts To Ponder

The economy is so bad,
So what can we really do?
It’s like waiting for the man
upstairs to drop the other shoe.

Ruth Wildes Schuler


First, I must put something in context. America is unique in the history of the world. In the history of the world, whenever there has been a war, the nation that is victorious has taken land from the nation that has been defeated – land has always been the basis of wealth on our planet.
Only one nation in history, and this during the last century, was willing to lay down hundreds of thousands of lives and take no land in its victory – no land from Germany, no land from Japan, America. America is unique in the history of the word for its willingness to sacrifice so many lives of its precious sons and daughters for liberty, not solely for itself but also for its friends.

Shimon Peres, Israel’s former Prime Minister and President to Mitt Romney, former Massachusetts Governor
and 2008 Presidential Candidate

The only land that America took after World War II was what was needed to bury our dead.

Former US Secretary of State Colin Powell


Where once the oriental warrior
exposed the back of his neck
to the sword as a gesture of peace;
he now merely bows from the waist.

Ruth Wildes Schuler