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Sunday, May 8, 2016

Not an Ode but To Mother

She was an educator and a painter; a singer and believed deeply in God. She had a wide soul and a heart that spattered my mind with true kindness and love. My mother had lost dreams that life stole over its short length. Her children spent her beauty like coins in a gumball machine. She didn't mind because she was a mother and mother's willingly give their dreams so their children can rise like feathers floating in a beach wind.

Saturday, March 12, 2016


"My daffodils are coming up, and my trees have buds"
He smiled as she stared at their little yard. It was as if it were the Villa d'Este according to her eyes. And he could watch her glow at it for hours. It was all he needed.

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Cookies and Counter Tops

"I Just ordered a jumbo sized pack of Oreos from Amazon Prime....what a time to be alive!"
He sat on their custom made turquoise glacier counter top puzzled, confused, upset.
"I thought we weren't going to get Amazon Prime until we considered all of other options? I also thought we were switching our loyalty towards Pecan Sandies for the New Year," he said. 
She hopped up on the counter next time him and sat yoga style.
"Breathe boo, relax, think. They had a one day sale on Prime, and you love to read your options are unlimited now. And as for Oreos they Rock the Casbah, rock the Casbah."
He blinked a soft cat-like kiss and they held hands.

Saturday, January 2, 2016

Pretty Masks

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" she asked.
She was gorgeous; as pretty as fresh rain on an island flower. 
"I'm not attractive. I don't quite understand why someone like you, tall, soft skinned, perfect smile and magical eyes would buy me a cup of coffee," he said.
She sat right next to him; she smelled like pink soap and cool lotion.
"I think many of us wear masks and because of that we don't see what is inside. The Pope said the only thing we spend more money on than cosmetics is our pets, he considers both to be idolatrous. I just want to know someones inside," she said.
He looked at her and took a deep breath, breathing in the smells of Caf au Lait, Mochachino, and Macchaitos.
"My mask won't distract you that is for sure, but my inside is bleeding from being ugly."
She held his hand it was nervous and shaking.

Friday, January 1, 2016

Fish Sandwich

He stood in front of the store for 20 minutes waiting for his father to exit. The old crossing guard approached him at about the halfway point she was cloaked in an orange raincoat and wore squeaky leather shoes. She had a silver badge and her dyed hair shot out from under her hat, which was black and stringy.
"Whatcha waiting on Josh?" She asked.
"My dad's in there taking care of business; he hit the numbers and he's buying us all fish sandwiches and fries with vinegar," Josh said.
So the crossing guard stood next to Josh and pulled his hood strings tighter since the rain was blowing sideways.
"Why don't you go inside?" She asked.
"Mom says I can't, cause they gamble like banshees, curse on God, and cheat on their wives," Josh said.
"Yeah but she lets your daddy go in there though?" She asked.
Joshua looked at the old crossing guard through her wet hair that covered her old brown eyes.
"Yeah well she says sometimes in life you got to look past things if you want a good fish sandwich."
The crossing guard nodded, lit up a cigarette and went back to the corner traffic. Josh waited for the fish.

Friday, December 11, 2015

Inexpensive Wine with Pizza

On the Saturday before he was arrested, he had met the greatest woman, a feminist, a professor, and a devout Civil War buff. Her work on 'Gender and The Civil War' had really turned heads in academic circles.
They bumped into one another when they both reached for the same wine bottle, Fontanafredda Briccotondo Piemonte Barbera. 
"It pairs perfect with Pizza," he said.
"I had given up on finding an interesting man, most often when they talk. But to know a good under 20 dollar wine is appealing," she smiled.
They would eat pizza, share wine, and kiss the dusk into dawn. She asked him to sleep.
"I have work," he said.
Driving home he felt alive and excited. He texted her, Despite your obsession with war you were so...
He killed a jogger when he veered off the road, before finishing the sentence.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Rebirth of a Harlot

I know that the Lord hath given you the land, and that your terror is fallen upon us.... The Lord, your God he is God in heaven above, and in earth beneath (Joshua 2:9-11).
She was a Harlot; a term that defined her, and after each man she felt less human. But the three men she met that night, at the seedy truck stop, were different; they had no desire to use her. They were clean and steadfast in honesty. No matter how dismal one behaves, she could still sense true good. She heard it with her ears and smelled it with her nose, and her youthful smile reappeared through all her pain. They asked her for a favor, not lust, but instead faith in change. She never had cut a deal in her life that wasn't instantly profitable. The harlot didn't hesitate; risking everything the street had taught her, she turned towards hope. The reward; a legacy of love. She lowered the scarlet blinds in her trailer and never sold her body again. She faced the worst hatred in the world, the hatred from choosing good. She inspired many to believe; she became a hero.

Monday, December 7, 2015

Faith in Glory

His mom didn't care if he was a known felon that couldn't get it straight. She didn't care that people constantly said they too were poor but made it. Why was he ganged up and banged up and a dangerous dark threat they demanded to know?
Every Christmas she grabbed her son and put her forehead to his and prayed out loud:
LORD let him find you-- LET him turn away from the chaos, coveting, idolization, devastation, abomination, the whores, the sweat of thieves the drugs, the hustles and instead praise this life for its simple sunlight and Glory. Find him, change him help him.
Every year he lived for that prayer and thought maybe this time. Then with shaky hands and tearful eyes he'd eat his mom's special dinner and hand her a card with a biblical verse but stare out the window at that damn world.

Friday, December 4, 2015

How to Live?

When my mom was dying my dad taught me alot about living. He fed her and dressed her as if she were a child. He worked terrible jobs that allowed him to be with her, and he made sure someone was always there. When she died he sat with her until they came to take her. He then went to us, his four children and did the same process for his kids. He taught me alot about living.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Renewing Scarves

She was as old as a worn curtain in a parlor. Mam sat daily and knitted scarves for people; a Striped Scarf for Claude whose bakery burnt down, a Cable Knit Scarf for Susan who lost her child last year, an Alpaca Scarf for John who often took a drink. a Chevron Scarf for Nicci who traded in her poems for a corporate gig in New York. When the wind would stir and the snow smiled; if rain became ice or people fell down they would often wrap mams scarves tighter and begin to glide forward. Her work was renewing just warm scarves for cold hopeful people.

Monday, November 30, 2015

The Spilled Apple Cart

He had been beaten by the school bullies five times, because he was sweet and kind but homely and chubby. Yet there he stood in the small courtyard as if he were as tall as a Timber; offering apples to other children from his father's simple orchard. Yesterday, they chased him home and he was lost, left in a city block few seldom ventured towards, including the bullies themselves. 
The child felt fine though even safe; he gave away apples to the worst criminals and poorest junkies that lined the block like soldiers. He gave an old woman on a bus bench a kiss on her pale fallen cheek; a gang leader was handed his best pencil box, he hugged a drunkard that wept on a sidewalk. Eventually, his Father would find him and take him home in their old truck.The lad worried about that neighborhood and those in it, and he couldn't wait to be kind to other people no matter how many beatings he would take. So he stood in the courtyard homely and chubby handing out apples.

Sunday, November 29, 2015


"I cry during Christmas love stories is that wishy washy?" He asked.
"A little," she smiled. "I cry more since I became a mom."
"Sissy," he said.
"I tried to be tough before that," she added.
They held hands, two friends that had a brief past.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Hobos in Pardise

They were hobos, but married and in love. She and he had met in college and had decided to live off the land for the rest of their days; toting only a bible, a whistle, the clothes on their back, some hygiene, and each others love. One night by a soft fire when a blue sky had just began to turn dark an old dreary bearded man swept into their path. They studied him some and never hesitated to share their supper, which was fish and berries. They spoke the word with him explaining that God's gift was to save those brave enough to have faith. It isn't measured in works. When they all finally slept the bearded man rose, a thief, a killer, he looked at the two generous hobos whom lay in comfort without worry. That moment he chose a new path to follow.

Friday, November 27, 2015

She stretched in front of the window, a dark silhouette, sexy and long. 
"I never made love to a stranger before," she said not turning away from the open air.
"Stranger? I happen to be your insurance man. We consider ourselves part of your family," he said.
"Well that is kind of disgusting," she laughed.
They begin to wrestle right there in the Motel Hotel Zenith, Room 231. She swung at him with all of her might and he ducked like a prize fighter. He threw the six pack of complimentary beer at her and she kicked at him utilizing all of her gym lessons.
They begin to curse and a crowd gathered in the parking lot outside. She had him in a headlock when the desk clerk arrived.
"We make sure your family is covered, your car is covered if you have an accident. Stranger you dare to call me a..."
She watched as he was removed from the room and then gathered herself and then reached for her cellphone to call her husband another stranger.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Last Word

"Prioritize," he said before he died. 
I grabbed for his hand and all I could think of in such a moment was, "I will dad."
And then I sat there in the dark room with all the machines beeping. I drank the ginger-ale he never sipped. Eventually they came and left, he was gone as were the machines. His eyes finally closed to the world. His heart no longer racing. I spent the next two years thinking about that one word. Prioritize. That word didn't even exist when he was born, Prioritize was a brainchild of a marketing/business-type person which was the opposite of him. It came about in 1972, the presidential election. I mean I knew what he meant, God, family etc., but that word came from jargon to sell cheap ideas fast. And I didn't like it on his tongue. Because he was to kind for corporate words, to clean for cheap jargon. I wanted him back so we could come up with a better ending.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Unheard Songs

She sat on an old couch in a dusty apartment and wrote a song about a mansion, and turned the pen as if it were an instrument a surgeon held. Her hair was pulled back and her jeans were from days past , younger days. The paper was yellow with lines and the tablet was filled with songs written by her soft unheard voice. Her daughter asleep in another room and her husband off fishing in the ocean. Soon she would go to bed and then work, hard all day as a cleaner. But at night she wrote songs about mansions.

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Dickering for Copper Pots and What nots

There she was, and to Bob Mackey it was as pretty as a pageant winner.
"My oh my an Antique Turkish copper pot w/ forged iron handles and just looky at that gorgeous natural patina"
Miss Peggy blushed as she mentioned her people always had a fine eye for collectibles. 
"I used it as a planter and I tell you this, aint never had a substitute mail carrier that didn't give it the once over when they set foot on my porch. It is 140 dollars. 
Bob rubbed the pot a bit with his coarse left hand and commenced to dickering.
"75," he said.
"125," Miss Peggy tugged a bit on her necklace.
"90," he said.
"100, final number now Bobby." Miss Peggy demanded turning her head as fast as a swarm of Geese.
And that was that Bob nodded, they shook hands, and as the world went about its madness two old country souls dickered a deal on an old copper pot.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Greeting Cards

She had worked the register at the small local drugstore for 35 years. We used to buy our greeting cards there for every occasion. Mrs. Pat knew all of us kids and she even got to know those special days. 
"Isn't your sisters birthday coming? Maybe your paper route money would go better on a card for her than a comic book?" She would smile. 
"I hate my sister," I'd say, but somehow Mrs. Pat had a way with her eyes, and back to the shelf went The Amazing Spiderman and I'd soon be studying a selection of cards.
"I love our cards, she'd smile. You will always remember your special times and think of our little store, for years to come." She was an important person to us all, she mattered, and those cards meant more because of her. One night a group of teens killed her and the pharmacist. They ripped apart the store even the cards. No more neighborhood stores no more neighborhoods.

Thursday, November 19, 2015


"Well, new hairdo, red lining in your jacket, peach ice cream, I declare this is going to be quite the evening,"he smiled at his aunt. She was entertaining an old beau from the old days, it had been 20 years, she wrote him and invited him for Friday supper. 
"It's just pot luck, another place at the table on a Friday night," she said. But it was more, it was sweet, and she was smiling, she was young again and her eyes had a twinkle. A kind twinkle.

Monday, November 16, 2015

The Workman

He spent the morning preparing; a careful shower, thoughtful shave followed by a light application of aftershave to prevent bruising, powder applied gently, softly. His clothes laid out meticulous, the thick woolen multicolored heavy shirt and even brighter the jacket, his jeans those of a laborer, long bright red woolen socks still smelling of fabric softener,
His routine in his mind; the falling trees and rolling logs can kill a lumberjack. His bright colors would enable others to see him in the underbrush of the worlds dangers, proud to stand out approved, his every move rehearsed and thoughtful.