Posted in Books & Stories, Improv, Over Coffee

Predatorial, Territorial, Perfectly Frozen With Stars

Sounds like it should pack a wallop, no? Who’s to say? It came to me as I was beginning to wake and then when I sat and I thought Ok, let’s see what manifests… and don’t let me forget to fill the Pur water pitcher, it’s getting low, in fact; maybe right now, or should it be it’s getting low; in fact, maybe right now. I get those confused but there is google. Between the two this won’t take long, won’t even feel like a blink.

Semi first, comma second; there, that’s solved.

Once a friend laughed uncomfortably when she saw the socks I was wearing under my boots were wool hunting socks, men’s wool hunting socks. She said ‘they look like what my husband wears’ and I agreed they probably were, they’re men’s socks, women don’t have socks like this, they are so warm, I buy them very year. She laughed again in a mocking way not that it mattered to me. I thought it a shame she missed the value of it; nothing wrong with being warm but she doesn’t have to wear them if she doesn’t want, though it is one less thing for them to share: “Honey, where are my socks”, “I’m wearing your last pair, the others are in the wash, use a pair of those ones you wear with the suit”, “They won’t keep my feet warm”, “You’ll be fine”. It’s like bobby pins in the tackle box or wet stockings hanging where the bathroom towel should be. Why would you want to miss out?

It stayed in the teens last night and the high today could reach 20; our heat wave continues for a second day. The days are staying lighter longer, have been since December 22, spring is coming. Can’t you feel it? It’s going to happen.

Posted in birthdays, Books & Stories, business, Flashback And Memoir, Improv

Well, Well, Well… July 2017

Sun, quiet, changed the calendars to the new month while it was still dark, think I’ll make the rounds and see what the new picture is on each. From here I see a new recipe with what resembles biscuits on the kitchen wall, and a ship at sea in the living room … the other two should have a forest scene and an island beach.


Well, the biscuits are crab cakes, the ship is on the way to Galápagos, the scene is in a meadow this time with brilliant yellow birds alighting on wild flowers and the beach is Saint-Tropez… was it Coppertone that boasted the Saint-Tropez tan? Could’ve sworn the jingle rhymed with Saint-Tropez … yup, Bain de Soleil. Google is so damned convenient.


She looks a little pale to me. Do they make that stuff anymore… Wow, 1983… I’d graduated from high school 11 years ago already. How’s that for vernacular? I was 28.


My son was 5, my daughter not a thought yet. With what I know now, she was impatiently waiting…




Posted in Books & Stories, Comedy Of Errors, Fiction & Poetry

What Kind Of Origins Might They Be


Brothers I was watching


Not you being called brothers but poetically speaking with words rearranged

Thinking is this something that won’t inspire me

Although simply looking around anything could or should

I kept watching as differences flared

Began shaking my head

So this is where dysfunctional came from

And this side of a faction of my family

How distinct the generations are

Dignity here but not there

Easy enough to sell each other out

No doubt where they got the idea to throw people away as it were

When catalogued time began

When we started writing about it

It’s inconvenient having you as one of us

Just great

If Kronos, wait, that’s a watch

If Cronus tried to eat, well ate some of his offspring and who’s left had to trap him to escape with their lives

Why make a bargain now and believe he’ll give a gift once released

Millennia he’s had to stew about it


He’s the parent, the hierarchy

His attitude toward kids wouldn’t have changed

He’ll fix them once he gets out

“But I set you free I want to rule…”





I sit back, up straight and think further

So that’s were humanity got that one from

The general base

What the house is built on

Since the beginning of time would certainly make it a tough habit to break

I read it’s not about the music life plays

But how we dance to it

Yeah that makes sense

Nodding as I type

Not in agreement but sleep trying to take over knocking me out of the way

Selfish sleep wants the limelight

Reminds me of days of study

Falling asleep typing papers then waking with fingers still poised in place

Looking at words as the document comes into focus

Where was I

For right now change position stay awake


Walking from one room to another will I remember what’s running through my head

It won’t stop

But I’d better and get typing



Would it be, is this the original-original sin

Or did that happen later appear on the scene then

A comical attitude indeed

Zeus becomes mortal because no one prays anymore

Nothing else to do

Would this be the to-earth fall from grace or Olympus from light

Groundwork be laid

Maybe the idea of a superhero group

Extraordinary people learning how to live in a community

Egos united

Is that even possible

Marvel at the concept

Oh look, secret messages

Going from petty to mortal sin

The gods become mortal

The way they sin changes or not

The very thing wrong with the world today

Whoa, reel it back in


Back to basics, the origins of origins

One brother doesn’t like his job in the underworld

Fair enough

Not much sun maybe, no aesthetics

He sets the coup up

As a rule we should learn from our mistakes

Was it just too long ago to recall this one

The idealist brother shows, Zeus thunderbolt and light

The god of war is the angry one always looking for a fight

The god of the sea joins Zeus to see what’s going on

People living by the sea are happier and at peace for the most part

Yet something doesn’t feel right

The family is getting together

Brothers assemble

Then all hell breaks loose

Yeah happens a lot in families

That’s it

Someone blurts out I’ve been holding this in but not any more

After the fact feel bad about not thinking things through first

Later on when the damage is done

You know the adage about the mirror

Throw it in the tub

Look down at the pieces

Say you’re sorry

Now what

Can’t fix what’s happened but take it from there, here

Options anyone


How will we dance to this


First let’s get this guy out of office and back where he was

Better if we didn’t have to worry about him any more

You know someone down the road will think it’s a good idea to get him out


On and on over history over time

The mummy, the mummy’s hand, the mummy’s tomb, the mummy’s toenail

But that’s a different tale


Is there anything new under the sun

Probably not

Unless you’ve got one






Posted in Books & Stories, Family, Fiction & Poetry

Rationalize Backwards To That Safe Place And Don’t Move




It’s sad I guess, no one wanted to talk

All too busy

Lack of truths hurts the heart

Even expected, so familiar this way

Heaviness weighs, hope sinks for a moment

But it’s resurrection day


To commemorate what

Let’s think

Brutality, murder, abandonment

How could you leave me this way?

But wait, that was past Friday

Why hear it today?


So I’m sitting here now

Heavy-hearted anyway

How soon before I’m told

Don’t bother anymore

Life with you is just too old

Don’t come around


New relationships enter in

Who invited them but


There’re others now

No history they hold

Easier to deny, easier to unfold

You never happened here

No memory to hold dear

It’s all your fault that life you shared


With us


I was surprised too


I did my best and didn’t burden you

I carried it in myself


You found out later after the fact had gone


No turning back from this

A forward path anew

New life forever clear except to you

Never liked you anyway

Makes it easier to do

Though pain won’t go away


That’s mine

It finds a spot and stays

Dwell on me not or what they say


Find a place

A culture steeped in sin

The deadliest and true

Look away turn around back straight

Remove the stars, the bars

Not worthy of our ranks


Matriarch of the ranks these days

Kids have no respect



Social class rules

Financial class too

We’re finished now with you

Neatly placed right in the trash

Be free to be all that you are

It will not touch us this your scar


But you had a hand in this too

I came to you

I tried though I knew

Heavy heart even then though respect you I must


Advice you gave now you deny

I’ve come to see, to realize respect is respect has no bearing

Love is forever no matter

It’s ok to use my own brain, my common sense

Laugh head thrown back, safe from afar

Stay close now life

Here I go and see us through

Step forward motion

Will have to do



“Whoa… that’s depressing. I don’t like the way this came out at all.” She who was named after a saint looked at the screen shaking her head. “Named after a saint or was it just a lottery I didn’t get named Barbara Ann because my cousin was born first.” Each side of the family had a different story, a different take on how it all happened. Having a husband was the norm. If you weren’t part of the norm it was whispered about but love ruled! No one was left out. In those days everyone was pregnant at once. It all was contingent on who went into labor first. The family was tight. Picture three to five pregnant women, Italian pregnant women getting together over cake and coffee discussing names, and at the same time standing as long as they could at the stove making sauce and meatballs. Was there ever a day with no spaghetti? Margaret Mary read everything over. “I’m digressing. What did I want to write? What brought this to mind? Let me start again. Hmmm, Margaret Mary… I’ll have to google her and find out if she was anything significant. Naming a kid after a saint invites a world of trouble before s/he even gets started, well, in my case she. I prefer the lottery theory. But I didn’t really want to write a dirge. Seemed like a good idea at the time…”


Good morning Sunday though indeed you rain

You’ll be warm enough that’s a plus

Need to go shopping

So wanted to walk

Wonder how it’ll turn out

With writing this morning a bust

She was reminded of something she’d heard on a radio station from long ago, “the officer stuck his gun in her chest and said ‘this is a bust’…” She’d busted out laughing, “yeah, no kidding” – gotta love 60’s humor.


“No, that’s not it either. Think. Well, I love doing this so no stressure… I like that, stressure… oh, so what. It’s fine the way it is. The heart wants what the heart wants.” She sat back and thought. “No one wants to admit they didn’t see something coming, or the advice they gave wasn’t helpful, or better yet a back was turned instead of help given. Guilt is a waste of time. Face it and pick up from now. Yeah. Love’s the best thing we’ve got. Think I’m ready for coffee.”


She grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the table and went into the kitchen.



Posted in Fiction & Poetry




The espresso lid creaks

A crypt keeper’s lair

A tarnished 6-cup

Broken handle from unnatural strength


Or someone had the flame too high

It burned off


My kept secret what I bear

Cold water I pour

To one single bolt

Grandma said iced makes the best


Then the basket where it’s captive

Is filled to the rim with tamper tap-tap


Boiling bubbles will rise

After it’s dropped in

Drowning it will survive

Turn the top that it’s tight


A coffin creaks as opening begins

Disturbs sleep

Specifically mine

But it’s done, finally


Not the coffee yet

But preliminary process


As the fire kindles below

Reddened blaze it will grow

Unbearable to touch snap it low

Where’d the potholders go?


That’s what I get

Being organized overrated yet


I must feed to survive

Fresh ground grinds infuse the room

The blood is the life

Mine feeling better soon



Posted in Fiction & Poetry

Bread Ends



I used to believe in love


And all it had to hold


I used to believe in passion


And all that could unfold


I used to believe in chances


If the first time wasn’t right


I used to believe a special friend


Could take you through the night


I used to believe in integrity


It could improve with age


I thought it was possible


That there could be a sage


That man gains wisdom each stage


But you’ve beaten me to death


Worry not there’s no sin


The result is a win


I am whole and no longer fall


It has all ended well after all







100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week#177


The Prompt: “It has all ended well after all”

Posted in Flashes, Music



They weren’t red but brand new for the past five years and she’d never worn them. Once in a while she’d pull them off the shelf and try them on. “Wish I had somewhere to wear them, somewhere to go, something.” She thought of years gone by when family lived closer together, when there were occasions, birthdays, anniversaries, events with evening dresses and high heels, dinners and dancing. “They never collected dust.” She remembered how women kicked them off when the tempo changed from slow to jitterbug as if sailing them to the corner of the room were a step.


100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups- Week #167

The Prompt:

Picture1-Prompt challenge For GrownUps