Random posts and exercise products from a pursuit of the writing life.
Cry, but do not quake. In the end, we are droplets dripping into the same sea. Spirit to spirit, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Light takes flight, and dark sloughs off until the next spark, the next miraculous burn, the next colorful comet. But we, our incandescence done, commune with the Maker, our...
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Send me outside to a solitary tree Where I’ll sit and my mind will be free From the shock jocks that wail And advertisers that sell Life necessities for a nominal fee. Send me outside to a mumbling stream Where the water will run and I’ll dream In that place without sound Where wonders...
Read more →When Mortimer arrived at the coffee house, he looked a the tinted panes spanning the front of it, and noticed the wind had lifted all the hair on the right side of his head into a sort-of hands-up position. His hair was like that, surrendering to the elements at the drop of a raindrop...
Read more →When he got off of the transport- an interstellar 10-speed that was an exact replica of the one he had loved to ride all around Indianapolis before it happened- an attendant in a white suit with a green tie met him visually, nodded, reached out for the bike, and pointed at the 20 pairs...
Read more →It wasn’t surprising it ended like that. Arlen had always been intrigued by the unusual and the immense. Instead of pushing cars across the living room floor, as a child he would constantly practice leaping from the top of furniture. As a five-year old, he once came home basted in grease after he found...
Read more →Sing, little sparrow, morning’s come on. The branches are blowing, here comes the dawn. The hounds will soon find me, my run will be done. I will float down the river in the afternoon sun. I was never a killer, my hands loved to work. I stole nothing wrongly, I learned from the Word....
Read more →Sarah Cantata sang a sonata before she was caught by the flu. Hans Amanaster, a Cyprian Pastor, well, it found its way to him too. Mel Putnam Bailey took vitamins daily hoping to escape that great blight. He oft saw the doctor and gargled salt water and still, the flu found him one night....
Read more →Come join the community of the beloved Do you know the liturgy? You mouth the words so eloquently Certainly you must be elevated I will let you socialize with me We say the Words and sing the songs And we are wise and righteous You are free to join us Now here, may I...
Read more →Said the tree to the busy monkey, “I was wondering- why do you always come and hang out with me? I don’t go anywhere- or run, or leap, or fly- I only sway sometimes in the wind that comes by.” The monkey responded, “You don’t think at all about it, but… you feed me...
Read more →When 6PM rolled around, Arthur stretched and then took off his stained white apron as he walked out of the kitchen, and then out from behind the busy counter, and walked down the counter to the little hallway beyond it to his left. He brushed by a customer leaving the bathroom behind him and...
Read more →I wrote a short story this evening that wasn’t very good, and it was also kind of dark and potentially disturbing. It wasn’t anything too graphically crazy or filled with bad words. And I was going to post it here. But it ended dark enough, and after I read it, I wondered if anyone...
Read more →I see a few passionate words appear over my hand sometimes but still I am alone The wind taps on the windows but there are no knocks upon the door No glow or buzz leaping from the phone No pop up box to chat or ding to say it- “You’ve got mail” Which explains...
Read more →When the light began to fade and the night birds began to chatter and the whine of bugs filled the valley, the small old man shuffled out of the hut and began to walk his trail down to the water. The trail was clean sand and little round rocks, forgiving on his bare feet,...
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It was the end of the afternoon when the scouting party was seen entering the dale to the north of the presidio. The horses ambled in tight rank, and the column of soldiers was compressed and controlled. The slow company was surrounding one long, tapered red horse in particular with an officer laying slumped...
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“What are you doing there, kid?” He is about nine and chunky, with a squarish head and sparse black curly hair. His brown-striped t-shirt has a quarter-sized ketchup spot near the center of his belly. He stiffens up quickly, as if the voice was from God. “Nothing. I’m doing nothing.” “You go on home....
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He had grown up in the area and spent his childhood hiking the hills and running the ridges that jut out above the beaches. He knew the bushes and the berries, the migration paths of the deer and the rock holds that sheltered the turkey and pheasant hiding amongst the trees. His step-father Ansel...
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