When we met she told me I’m her first American friend
Historic for both of us on a March day 2010


Personable she is with such promise
An Engineering student competing
Building robots with her team
She was so much younger than I but no matter
Ageless we enjoyed the town


She’d been here before
A favorite student place to go I was told
Proudly she showed me
All the best places to be and enjoy during my stay
A star representing her home country


Everyone around the world should be this way
Differences between us would dissipate
Later she left for her connecting train
But we keep in touch even till this very day


I’m sitting at a bistro now like other Europeans
(A real part of them I am, through nationalities comprising me)
Next to flower boxes, yes flower boxes, looking across the street
Oops, I don’t mean flower boxes looking but me; I’m doing the looking
At the sea

Hmm, time out



There’s a better way to put that I don’t doubt. Maybe later I’ll figure it all out and edit this piece with my audience unawares except I told you.
What fun I’m having with blogging to share.

Where was I?



On this street cars fly by
Lending a contradiction to peace I can’t help but feel
Just beyond assorted boats dot the surface, making specs
Like the border of the sky
Is that a battleship there, right there, look, straight ahead?

You see it?


Interesting thought occurs that this place knows
So much more than me in fact
Everywhere but my country is prepared for anything
From venerable experience rooted it would be

We are the youngest you see

Spoiled from those gifts the oldest bestow
Parents know but so should we

Ah, what I wanted to say

Back to the landscape over this way


A few days later back at my favorite café
It’s my turn to spend the moments before I board the train
To marvel one last time
At the unique scenery I will leave behind


Macedonian churches in the middle of buildings
Seeming out of place, but they were there first
Built long before these apartments existed
Before there were a trace, and now
New buildings look dilapidated some seem too tall


Together they make an eccentric horizon
As if the streets were tops of an elongated desk
As if the churches were massive paperweights
Anchoring the buildings down, unmovable, strong
Keeping leafs from flying, held in place, tethered against any storm


Such a vision historic and for future time
Throughout my life will never leave my mind


In The Spirit Of Maleficent: Everyone Hates Telemarketers


10 March 2010
Dear Diary,

The first time I was given a “verbal” warning I was told by the M.O.D. “I know I’m just being anal about this” – I don’t remember what – “but I’m writing you up as giving you a verbal warning. I’m having an anal day.”

That’s the gist of it. The impact is I’m off the phone at minimal wage and losing ground in the paypool. On more than one occasion I’m taken out of a campaign that I’m very successful with to be put on a campaign that’s got so many pledges already there’s no way to make headway. WTF?



11 March 2010
Dear Diary,

A woman claimed the telemarketer (not me) was arguing with her so she said she had to go. I promised to call her the next day. (12 March 2010) She accepted my apology for the incident and contributed one last time although I was instructed by her to remove her name from the list.

More 12 March 2010
Dear Diary,

While calling for DSCC a man said, “I’m not interested.” The request was simply made. I cannot say if he’d hung up on me or not but with this incident in mind I politely conceded the call although I considered “should I say something?” Normally a response that final we don’t refute. I was written up on two forms, one verbal warning and one write-up sheet that I’d bailed on a call, which I did not, not interested is not interested, and also written up for not asking for credit cards even though the 3 men I spoke to were opposed to using their cards – 2 wouldn’t give unless I mailed a pledge card and one was driving his car. I seized the opportunity to secure the contribution as opposed to losing the pledge. In telemarketing, and we can add the DSCC to the list, this is bad business. Badgering is the way.

On the supposed “positive” side I was written up as “one who is right on for listening to the donor and knowing exactly how to respond as well as speaking clearly and concisely.” How is it I bail on calls if I’m so intuitive?

A potential donor I contacted through New Acq hissed at me that the Democratic Party consisted of fascists.

It comes across as true. Or at least the DSCC is.

To A Child’s Mind


Margaret-Anne spotted a bullet on the ground next to her grandfather’s shed. Her brother Geoff saw and asked. “Can we hit the back?” “It’ll make a big cra-bang! Dad might hear.” She held it eye level. “Do you have to make that noise?” “It shouldn’t if we hit it with a rock” he pleaded. “ Ok. Find a rock.” Dad’d overheard everything.


“If you succeed you could blow up your finger” he explained and then continued with how bullets are made. Satisfied with his lesson he turned trusting them with the bullet.


Excitedly Margaret-Anne turned finding Geoff smiling at her. “Find a rock.”


Flabbergasted dad spun around.

NOISE – WK 142

The prompt this week is:

…Do you have to make that noise?


Breathe It In


Italian men sit wine in hand
At a table next to me in the café
Makes me wish I spoke Italian better
As they converse they look my way
What can I say?
A quiet smile I avert my eyes
Together we watch football
European style
A gentler sport I’ve not seen
It will forever amaze me as they play
Both sides of the fence teams of great gams
It can keep my attention all day


The waiter brings my Prosecco
I sip and enjoy the platter complimentary
Cheeses and meats
No matter how late I leave
It’s safe to walk the streets
Until the game ends I’ll stay
A darkness so peaceful
Many stars shine so bright
Nowhere in the world have I seen them
But here casting off such a light
I link my arm in night’s
Together we stroll away


The next day cappuccio
My favorite place above the Funicular
A balcony overlooks all beneath
Then a walk to a Saint’s place
Balanced on a pinnacle
A sundial names all the mountains so high
They surround me, air so crisp
I’m held steady in their arms
The roads wind back
I descend as clouds happen by
Filling the streets like eerie mist
Such scenery
I’d never want to miss
I can get used to this


Maybe down to the market
For food so fresh
My crustaceans crawl from the crate
A bottle of wine, maybe two
Prosecco of my own
Or pizza at the pub with a Belgian
More football to see
What’s the time, I don’t know
Not a care to me
Monday rolls around, there’ll be work to do
Cappuccio served with brioche just baked
Could start off the day
Life is important
And just for you


At day’s end back to the mountains
Up from the lower city
Back to the café
Or maybe the pub this time
Is it closed, is this the day?
Taken off from the week
Doesn’t matter
Pour my whiskey drink
Tonight I’ll write
Lively, noisy little place
People walk by, some come in
Nighttime active as day, I sit back
Tomorrow more work
My head on night’s shoulder
Linked arm in arm
“I’ll see you home”
We stroll, together again


An Introduction


The stick of incense sat burning in the opened window. In, out, in, out smoke swirled lending a lavender aura to the street and her room. The Sunday paper was scattered in pieces on the bed and the two books she was reading were next to the lamp on the electric fireplace now an end table throughout the summer months. Although it had been over 80 and muggy the past two weeks, the series of thunderstorms that’d taken place had finally broken through driving the temperature down to 60. The breeze felt great.



I remembered when I wrote that and it wasn’t that I drew a blank afterward. A flood of negative thoughts flowed so much so when I read them over a few days later, a few months later, a year later, I finally said “yuk… I don’t want to write this crap anymore. It’s such a nice introduction. Don’t tell me I can’t come up with anything to follow it.” But there it sat. It’s another year later and there it sits.


Well, hell.

Facing The Sea



“Wouldn’t I love to be the one standing there taking that shot”, thought Janelle as she studied the portrait. “Look at that sunset! How well it was captured. Those posts look like people frozen in time facing the sea. Are they? Did she know she was being photographed? What’s that?” Her thoughts trailed off as she focused. “It couldn’t be a speck.” She stepped closer instinctively to brush it away. Yellow dust smeared. Janelle looked at the side of her hand. “Isn’t this is supposed to be a photography exhibit?”

She jumped as a voice shattered the silence. “Step back!”





PROMPT: … “a picture taken by Chris of Janette taking a picture!”

Spicy Tuna, Deviled Eggs, And New Orleans Kettle-Style Voodoo Chips

I honestly don’t know what more I can take, or how much for that matter. I want to be happy but my heart is heavy. I’m unsure…

Not really.

Complaints about nothing everyday as I write. I’ll be ok. What else today?

Sabrina sat back and pushed the typewriter across the desk. Yes, typewriter. She looked at it lovingly. “You’ll be my first, you’ll be my last, which is probably true. Do they make them anymore?”

She walked to her Davenport across the room and powered up the laptop. “Typewriters”, she keyed into the Google search.