Uvi Poznansky's Blog

Review (Home): A beautiful tribute with poetry and prose

 Terrie Meerschaert writes poetry and prose under her author pen name Teesa Mee. Born and raised in Southwest Detroit and lived there until I married Gary, in 1979. Unable to have children, we adopted our son Nate through Toledo, OH Catholic Social Services in 1984. In 1986, I won the “Missing Case of Miller Light” hidden in Detroit. The $10,000 prize gave us the means to adopt our daughter Suzanne from Seoul, South Korea in 1987. In addition to contributing to the anthologies This Beautiful Escape, Warrior Women Poetry, and Detours in Our Destinations, I have published a book of poetry, Looking Back: Poems from My Adolescent Self, Thesaurus Erotica, and soon publishing Word Stew. I am honored that she read and listened to my poetry book, Home, and posted this review:

T. Meerschaert5.0 out of 5 stars A beautiful tribute with poetry and proseReviewed in the United States on September 28, 2025Format: KindleVerified PurchaseI listened to the virtual voice version of Home. Ms Poznansky's father's poetry is beautiful and haunting. Her own prose is like stepping into word pictures. I really enjoyed the book. While the virtual voice for her father was a little distracting a with its Irish accent, but the voice for Ms Pozansky was perfect.

A crisp, compelling stand-alone novel

 

LISTENERDan Strawn
Dancing with AirWWII Love StoryBy: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Virtual Voice






 A crisp, compelling stand-alone novel Overall      5 out of 5 starsPerformance      4 out of 5 starsStory      5 out of 5 stars

Reviewed: 09-28-25

Dancing With Air is book 4 of Uvi Poznznzky's family saga series titled Life With Memories. It is also a crisp, compelling stand-alone novel. 
I've been following Uvi's work for over twenty years and have never been disappointed by her story telling expertise. Dancing With Air is no exception.
As always, or almost always, Uvi narrates this tale with her first-person pizzaz. Over the years, she's mastered this technique in ways that draw readers into her stories as if they were part of them—which after all, is every budding authors' goal and every reader's delight. 
Who but gifted writers like Uvi can get away with writing a prologue which details the beginning of the end of the story, not what happened before the story, and numbers it as page 1 of the story? By the end of the Prologue, I couldn't wait to turn the page to Chapter One on page 11. 
And the Epilogue? Is there one? Of course, and what a magnificent story arc Uvi has created. It starts on page one of the Prologue and ends on the last word of the Epilogue. I like the way the Epilogue's heading—WE'LL BE THERE— poetically links to the Prologue's — HOLDING ON TO HOLDING ON— heading on page one. 
Poetry, by the way, is another of Uvi's myriad attributes, and whether on purpose or by accident, it's a nice touch when you run into a poetic tidbit in the midst of her novels or short stories.
Here are a couple of samples I've gleaned from the text of Dancing With Air:
"I lean over, craving to be hugged—but she doesn't, and the only thing that wraps around me is loneliness."
"Dazed, I sat on my bed, staring mindlessly at the gap between two window curtains. I should have pulled them together, but at that moment I was fascinated by the view, even if it was narrow. The sky was bruised purple."
The story has its beginnings in World War II. Lenny, a Marine in love with Natasha back in the states, is caught up in an espionage scheme which has him writing love letters to another woman, an inspired attempt by the allies at convincing the Germans the invasion of Europe will be launched someplace other than Normandy. This invasion-somewhere-else idea actually worked to fool the Germans, and Uvi made good use of the historical details of the farce in her story.
As with all of Uvi's novels she does her research and makes the fictional part feel real by her placement of accurate events along with time period descriptions of minute details, the color of phone booths in WWII London, for example. 
Like all good novels, Dancing With Air boasts a bevy of interesting side characters who feed the main plot. 
Mrs. Horowitz, Natasha's mother, is at the top of that list. She's a busybody, middle aged mom who doesn't think much of Lenny. 
Ryan is Lenny's friend in London, an enlisted man from Detroit, who loves loving as many English women as he can, and can't understand Lenny's devotion to one woman in New York when crossing the channel to invade France is just around the corner. As it turns out, Ryan's girlfriend back in the states is Lana, the one Lenny is writing to in his secret espionage role.
Captain Smith is Lenny's commanding officer and his connection to the allied secret project.
These and other believable side-players contribute to the overall flow of the story's theme. They live their substories in unique ways that can't help being familiar and entertaining to readers.
It doesn't matter whether you have read Uvi's other writing or you are contemplating your first venture with Dancing With Air, your time will be well spent in reading it.
I give it five stars.
My Audible book of Dancing With Air was gifted to me by the author.

You can barely hear me—but here I am, singing along

 

So at night, when I feel sad, or tired, or just sleepy, I pull out the little string to wind the thing up, which makes the animals go fly—fly like a dream—so slowly around your head. 

And at the same time, it brings out a sweet lullaby, chiming, Twinkle, twinkle, little star... How I wonder what you are...

I stand here, by the window under the mobile. I touch the glass between one blind and another, and watch them animals, mirrored. They come in like ghosts, one after another, right up to the surface, swing around, and fly back out, into the dark. Then I gaze at them stars up there, so far beyond, and ask myself if they’re real—or am I, again, misreading some reflection. 

But after a while, all of that don’t matter no more. 

What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled, and where he kicks, ‘cause he has to. Like, he don’t feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music. 

It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it’s starting to sooth him. It’s so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it’s coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it’s floating inside, into his soft, tender ear. 

I close my eyes and hold myself, wrapping my arms real soft—around me around him—and I rock ever so gently, back and forth, back and forth, with every note of this silvery marvel. You can barely hear me—but here I am, singing along. I’m whispering words into myself, into him. 

And this is the moment when, like one, we’re happy. 

My Own Voice

Paperback ★ Hardcover 

Audiobook

Falling in love with Lenny should have been the end to all of Anita's troubles. But then, family secrets start unraveling. His ex-wife, Natasha, is succumbing to a mysterious disease. How can Anita compete with her shadow? How can she find a voice of her own?

★★★★★ "A creative, gripping and deeply moving tale of a young girl coming of age in unfathomable emotional circumstances."

She stares at me, terrified. As well she should be

 She sits at the edge of the crooked old couch, knees pressed tightly together, and I can sense a little tremor traveling up her spine. I try to calm her down, which is to say, I clear my throat, after which I proceed to explain to her—in my softest, most polite tone—that contrary to popular belief, feline creatures do not have nine lives. 

She stares at me, terrified.

As well she should be. Yes, both of us know, all too well: she is the stranger around here. She would be gone before the day is over. I am the one who never leaves. 

“Really,” I insist, over her silence. “There’s no such thing as nine lives.” 

She leans back, sinking deeper and deeper into the frayed cushion, not doing much of anything except breathing heavily. Naturally, it annoys me. Hell, it sucks the air out of my lungs. The danger of oxygen deprivation does not occur to me at first. But if there is one thing I have come to hate more than her breathing heavily, it is me, having to hold my breath. 

So many months have passed since I smelled fresh air. Come to think of it, it must have been years since I crossed the threshold, since I stepped outside, into the sunlight, which—as I remember—is so warm, so gloriously magnificent. Yes, it must have been decades since I sunk my paws into the moist ground outside, or lifted my eyes to the blue sky, or chased birds. I remember how, having caught them, I would ruffle their feathers, and lick their throats ever so playfully. 

Being locked here I have managed to squash these memories. I have grown quite resigned, somehow, to the stale perfume rising here, from these blankets, which she now gathers around her. 

Trust me, I don’t miss the fresh air anymore. Out of boredom I have lost the urge to prowl around this place, from one room to another. All I do is groom my tail, which is a sorry sight, because the limp thing has lost most of its hair by now. There is only one small clump of fuzz, clinging by a thread to its very end. I brush around it ever so gently, then lick my fangs, which have become somewhat dull lately. I find the hairline cracks in them, polish them with my tongue, ponder the perils of old age, and try to stay calm, keeping my eye on her. 

Twisted 

Paperback ★ Hardcover 

Audiobook

From USA Today Bestselling Author, Uvi Poznansky, comes an anthology of dark fantasy stories:

Come into a strange world, where everything is firmly rooted in the familiar—except for some quirky detail that twists the yarn and takes it for a spin in an unexpected direction. So prepare yourself: keep the lights on.

If you like to read Edgar Allan Poe, you’ll love this horror anthology, where a woman—or rather, her ghost—finds a way to outwit the devil.

★★★★★ "To say her stories are one of a kind would be a disservice as they are really one of no other kind: Twisted is unique.”

Review (A Peek at Bathsheba): The stream of consciousness gave it a more realistic feel.

 

LISTENERAvid Reader
A Peek at BathshebaBy: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Virtual Voice







 The stream of consciousness gave it a more realistic feel. Overall      5 out of 5 starsPerformance      5 out of 5 starsStory      5 out of 5 stars

Reviewed: 05-17-25

Nothing. The book was enjoyable and let me see a new side of King David.

What’s a little joke between friends, and I shouldn’t ask him any questions for now

I could not recall how I had made my way back to the hospital, nor did I have chance to say goodbye to Aaron, but the day after his departure for Honolulu I got a note, a mischievously cryptic note from him, telling me he had played a little prank on someone and used my name, but hoped I would forgive him for it, because what’s a little joke between friends, and I shouldn’t ask him any questions for now, because he wasn’t prepared to answer, not yet, but I would soon find out, and not to be angry with him, because he had done it on a whim, and because he knew what I really wanted even if I didn’t know it myself, and even if I did, I was too slow to admit it even to myself and too shy to act on it. 

A week after my onstage stunt I was discharged from the hospital. My shoulder was still hurting, which made me unable to resume military training. Instead I was assigned to mess duty. It offered no glory, only heat, which turned my life into a sweaty existence. There I was, a lowly servant of his majesty, the cook, a man with chubby, greasy hands, whose pots kept spilling over, which provided an ever-present opportunity to order me about.

“Get up early in the morning, before the rest of the company,” he instructed me. “Bring in the wood, start the fire, place food on the sideboard, replenish as needed, and when everyone is done, mop the floors, scrub the tables and then—”

“Then, can I eat?”

“Prepare the next meal.”

The mess call had long died out by the time he allowed me to fill my mess-can and tin cup. Still, there were enough leftovers to showcase his dubious culinary skills:

Soupy, soupy, soupy, without a single bean

Coffee, coffee, coffee, without a speck of cream

Porky, porky, porky, without a streak of lean

By now most of my pals were gone. Some had gone onto guard duty or shipped to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, where they would be put into infantry training. Others had been sent onto battleships. I imagined them in hostile terrains or in stormy seas, deployed to prove their courage in battle. They left families back home, and I envied them for bonds made, for love tested. 

Meanwhile here I was, sweating to do nothing meaningful. There was no one with whom I could talk, except for the cook who expected me to listen.

Aaron was gone, too. I was curious as to the nature of his little prank, but how bad could that be? There was no choice but to wait and see. 

I thought about him often, because before his departure he had given me a parting gift: his battery-powered Philco radio. I set it next to my bed and passed my hand over it with great awe. A Single piece of wood formed the top and sides, creating an arched shape that was not only practical for manufacturing but also delightfully beautiful. It looked like a cathedral. At night, when I returned to the nearly empty barracks, it helped my loneliness recede into the dark corners. 

Apart from War

Paperback ★ Hardcover

Audiobook

This trilogy includes three novels, where one begins where the previous one ends, so you keep yourself immersed in the times and in the saga that begins when Lenny and Natasha first meet. Follow them from the US to England to France during WWII.

★★★★★ “Reading Poznansky is like entering a dream, a very real dream – colorful, imaginative and flowing. Highly recommended.”

Everyone says you’re a loyal man, but they’re mistaken

 

Dr. Patel puts his hand under my elbow and guides me to a table set for two, next to the tiled patio that overlooks the dramatic coastline. I sit down opposite him. A peach-colored candle flickers between us. I hope it can dispel the gloom.

A grin flits across his square jaw. He must enjoy my astonished gaze around this place. It is large enough to accommodate scores of guests, but right now it is still empty—except for us.

I should have bit my lips before saying, “Oh, this must cost you an arm and a leg!”

“I can afford it,” he says, with a chuckle that sounds a bit bitter. “But don’t envy me for the misfortune of marrying into money.”

Oh, please. Is he going to complain about the woes of being misunderstood, being controlled by a rich wife? 

“I thought she would be the perfect companion to help me fulfill my dream,” he says. “I was wrong.”

“Your dream?” I echo. “Which is what?”

“To become the one about whom everyone says, ‘He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.’”

Far from being humble, this man must think himself God. And his thin smile tells me that he excels at faking his feelings. 

I must learn how to hide mine. 

Instead, I blurt out, “Everyone says you’re a loyal man, but they’re mistaken. A discrete one, that’s what you are.”

“I try to be, Ash, for your sake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Didn’t I hear you have a boyfriend?”

“Didn’t I hear you have a wife?”

Overdose

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Months after recovering from coma, Ash discovers that the man who performed her brain surgery has a questionable medical experience and a dark past. Should she expose him, at the risk of becoming vulnerable to his revenge?

Review: Apart from Love

 

LISTENERcharlene
Apart from LoveBy: Uvi PoznanskyNarrated by: Virtual Voice







 apart from love Overall      5 out of 5 starsPerformance      5 out of 5 starsStory      5 out of 5 stars

Reviewed: 09-04-25

A beautifully narrated story. This is a dark love story with complex interesting characters, twisty turns of events and secrets. The topic of dementia and how it affects others. The author weaves a complicated poignant story that will capture you to the very end.

I passed out. I came to

The M1 Granad, with which our company was practicing shooting skills, is a semi-automatic, shoulder-fired rifle loaded by inserting a metal clip that contains eight rounds into the receiver. Once the eighth round has been shot, the empty clip automatically ejects with a notable noise, a ping that would cost the lives of many soldiers, as it would provide the enemy with a clue as to their whereabouts, especially in close-combat fighting. 

That morning in training camp it was not the sound of loading, nor was it that distinct ping that alerted me to danger, but the whisper of blades of grass tearing asunder, falling with a whoosh left and right as the bullet came flying straight at me. Like a thunderbolt, it hit my shoulder. There is nothing friendly about so-called friendly fire. Searing pain started spreading to my arm, my entire quivering body. I staggered into a spin and fell onto the soft soil of the earth.

My mind drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point I felt a stretcher bouncing under me, and realized I was being carried somewhere, perhaps to the army hospital. I heard someone ask, “Is he still breathing?” 

Wincing in pain I tried to answer, but my tongue would not move. 

I recall hands, many hands touching me, grasping my arms and legs, lifting my body onto some hard surface. Then they started to apply direct pressure and elevate my limbs, perhaps to control the bleeding. 

I passed out. I came to. 

With the bullet isolated from the flesh and pulled out, splints and dressings were applied to immobilize the injured area, which was then wrapped with a dressing. I glanced at my left side. It was beginning to look like a mound of white gauze. 

I got a glimpse of the sterile table next to me. It was littered with empty syringes, clamps, and a heap of cotton swabs, most of which were drenched in blood. And there, in their shadow, lay surgical Mosquito forceps. Normally they would be used for halting flow in small blood vessels, but right now they were holding something between their delicate, serrated tips. A bullet.

I passed out. I came to. 

Apart from War

Paperback ★ Hardcover

Audiobook

This trilogy includes three novels, where one begins where the previous one ends, so you keep yourself immersed in the times and in the saga that begins when Lenny and Natasha first meet. Follow them from the US to England to France during WWII.

★★★★★ “Reading Poznansky is like entering a dream, a very real dream – colorful, imaginative and flowing. Highly recommended.”

I never tell him about myself at his age, because it may open his eyes to see me, see who I am becoming.

I never tell him about myself at his age, because it may open his eyes to see me, see who I am becoming. To him I must remain a mother. To my husband I must remain a woman. I keep the truth from both of them. No one in my family should guess that having lost my way, I am becoming a child.

This is the memory I withhold from them: at the end of my first day in school, I stood outside by the gate. I waited. I waited there a long time. No one came to pick me up. So I told myself that perhaps I could find the way by myself. I stepped out onto the street. It looked unfamiliar. By high noon, gone were the long tree shadows that used to point the direction back home. Hours later, after a frantic search, my father found me at the other end of town, wandering aimlessly along the Santa Monica beach. 
Perhaps he expected to see an odd, bewildered look on my face. But no, I fixed my eyes at the sea melding into the sky. The only way to tell them apart was to note that it was creased, as if someone pulled a cloth across it. I took my shoes off, felt the wet sand, and listened to the yawn of the waves. I was happy.

★ Love reading? Treat yourself to a gift ★

The Music of Us

Paperback ★ Hardcover

Audiobook

From USA Today Bestselling Author, Uvi Poznansky, comes a passionate wartime love story:

Lenny goes as far back as the moment he met Natasha during WWII, when he was a wounded warrior and she—a star, brilliant yet illusive. Natasha was a riddle to him then, and to this day, with all the changes she has gone through, she still is.