Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Death Chamber


There are rooms of underground form …..

Chambers where people die,
stripped bare of their integrity:
sterile places in deathly colors
cold and dead walls,
crucifixes through windows of time,
life sucked dry,
taken from the lives of innocents,
poor victims of authorities accord,
put to death in various ways;
hung high or shocked in retribution,
drugged into oblivion,
into sleep that never ends
below the ground
where they find sweet serenity,
glad that life is done,
astute within their senses,
dried blood within their veins,
dark houses behind their eyes,
silver dollars taken to rest
within their graves,
free to search through eternity,
to glide on winds of time,
happy to be free
from the unfairness
of life’s travails …

the never ending desire finally


Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Without Love

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We make our way across
the frozen tundra of
our hopeful desires
unaware that beauty rests
just below the surface of
our painful hearts …

a streak of light unseen
nestled within each throb of hurt and pain
the light of hope/the knowledge

that Love exists
only were it not for the pain
that comes with it.

Verification of Love’s existence
its very presence
the other half needed
to complete the whole.

Darkness and light giving form
to our illusions
the clarity to continue unfettered
the price we pay for knowledge
and Truth

The dark pain we feel
the price we pay
to find life’s meaning.

We walk into the fuel can
of our hearts unknowing
the air stifling and flammable
with pock marked faces
the scars of infidelity
the permanance of death
the knowledge of wasted time
the loss of hope
the bitter taste of love .. lost.

The random scars of life
and love and beauty and pain

That gives meaning
to all consuming desire
beautiful with lust and anger

The call of bliss and freedom from
the prisons of our minds

The sight of everything good
given meaning

Yet steeped in painful search
along the way …

The choices that we make
the human condition …

are they real or illusion … ?

Without love/life has no meaning.
Without pain/there can be no love.

Posted in Poetry

They’ve Stolen My Serenity


I told you yesterday
that spring had sprung
and i knew because

i saw a fly and a bull ant
on the floor by the fireplace
and a tickling on my arm as i wrote this piece

not fifteen minutes ago
a tiny spider had invaded my space!

There are gnats and mosquitos
and other tiny things
i can’t imagine

sharing air that a week ago
floated crystals of lace like wings
each a drifting masterpiece

floating down or streaming sidewise
with crystal clarity;

between the flakes
air that was mine to breathe
while witnessing the beauty

of each and every living thing
stripped bare of all distractions that

Now …

I share with all the little things
that come alive each spring.

My life more complicated now
no longer distraction free

avoiding lines of intersection
between their search for

whatever it is they’re searching for
inside air i’ve been breathing


i’ve shared with no one.

The soil fecund now
i do not use that word lightly

stored snow or frost grown permanent
five or six ‘moon go ’rounds’ ago

where all these beings lived within
their clear winter amber

quick frozen in gathered humus
or crystalline within the muck,

the eggs of their existence
captured when sun’s light slowed

to dim orange
when trees released

their bed covers
to darker still intensity

captured by cold stillness
within their sleeping spaces

during gestation’s time
to lie in wait, for

warmer sun’s returns
to free the life within

those amber spaces.

Not sleeping
having never been alive (as such)

waiting to emerge
from broken water

Released by whiter light!

These creatures that

surround me now!

within my sight!

that feed upon my light!

that touch my flesh!

that share with me my breath!

my choice bereft!

the world no longer stripped bare
of all confusion!

black and white and
clean and fresh!


Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized




Hideous nature, life …

Ghastly in its death bed/its beseiging compass run/bewildering with its struggles/writhing in its pain/desire seeking fire/rifting terror’s delight/severed thinking/thoughts of creepy crawlies/struggling to survive/against the masses …

There’ll be no full moon tonight to guide
the single masted ship that’s sailing/saw tooth tigers biting wind/
forcers bringing winds prevailing
tossed about by slightest night time breezes blowing/
dreamer’s hearts
with sad


Dark clouds racing/every shade of gray/
buffetted inside by deepest

freeze …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Fragments of a Dream Reassembled



An old man remembers a dream he had as a boy.

One day he thought back through time and

A dream about a fine and beautiful place.

fragments of a beautiful stained glass

upon contemplating the memory, the man realizes,

window of untold beauty began to

that for fifty years he has

slowly reassemble itself

searched for the place of his dream.

piece by piece until the

he was never sure the place existed.

window became

Now he sees its golden glow on the

whole once again

near horizon and he is

and the structure and the

walking toward the glow and he

meaning captured within the

yearns to be there/But a forest with a beast/lies between the man

reassembled window became

and the golden place. He wonders if he should

clear and its meaning formed a

go through the forest

magnificent and

or postpone finding the place he has dreamed of

great, intricate, light filled

all his life.

complex thought.

Posted in Short Stories

Where I’ll Sleep

Next To The Living Lake

I want to be buried surrounded by the fields of my youth

next to other kindred souls

who decided to lie in similar peace

on that grassy knoll, sheltered by a giant oak

it’s limbs spread wide to shield us,

it’s roots embracing our boxed homes

cradling us in our sleep,

apart from the hub-bub of life,

too far away for casual visitors with plastic flowers

our serenity only slightly disturbed

by the occasional car rushing by

the sound of tires rolling fast

metal barreling through thick air

rising from summer heat

when corn silk and yellow seedlings trees and grass

all join in the dance of life

thrusting higher and higher toward the sun

the same as my neighbors when they produced seed

multiplied, then passed on

leaving tiny bits of themselves behind

to prove there’s life


In the stillness of winter’s coldest clear night

I’ll rise from within the Earth

to glide on moon’s rays

the wind my flesh,

the air my breath,

the stars my sight.

The oak tree above

my haven …

Posted in Flash Fiction, Humor, Short Stories, Uncategorized

Flip the Bird


Flip the Bird

I was driving south on U.S. 41 in the middle lane around five thirty, hungry as hell, anxious to get home but not looking forward to another microwave chicken pot pie (I hate to cook when i have to eat by myself) when I spotted my favorite Italian restaurant so I thought, why not have Italian tonight?

When I veered out of the middle lane a whole series of sights and sounds followed; the deafening blast of a diesel horn, the sight of rubber flapping behind four huge spinning tires, the blaring horn of a car growing louder as bright blue LED lights filled the passenger side window, followed by the sight of a boy riding a bicycle veering off the side of the road flashing me the bird while disappearing down a steep embankment.

As my tires dropped onto the gravel parking lot I glanced to the right just as the boy and his bicycle disappeared into the thick growth of cat tails at the bottom of the swale.

I looked up just in time to avoid side swiping a black Mustang. The owner, his body extended half way out of the car window his lip curled into a snear, his face not 18 inches from mine shouting, “Why don’t you learn how to drive you dumb fuck!” looked like he wanted to kick my ass.

I cut the wheel avoiding the back panel by about six inches, kept my eye on the rear view mirror to see if the guy would get out of his car while at the same time wondering if I had enough room to hang a U turn and get the hell out of there when I remembered a GT emblem on the front of his car and realized it would be impossible to outrun the guy.

When I heard the rumble of the GT’s 425 horses I looked back just in time to see a cloud of rocks, pebbles and stones shot like grapeshot from beneath the Mustang’s spinning tires against the passenger side and back window of the Aztec.

The guy fish tailed out of the parking lot, hit the concrete, squealed his tires for about 100 yards, his middle finger visible above the roof line before veering into the maze of traffic.

Safely inside the restaurant I was finally able to place my order but decided to ‘take out’ since i was pretty shook up.

Back home I flipped on Orphan Black, sat down to eat then got so freeking pissed off I completely lost my appetite!

Dammit!  This was the second time in a year they forgot to put extra pepperoni on my Domino’s Pizza!

Posted in Short Stories

The Day the Year the Month the Hour the Minute the Second: The Time When I Was Born …


That summer hot and sultry
mid month mid year mid way past midnight
bright lights shining blinding
hands grasping fingers smashing
through the air
i did not really care
it was not my problem

i was their’s for the taking …

i heard the pain that wasn’t mine
explode into my space,
the air, the rush of light that came before the crack of dawn
exposed the ship that i’d been riding on
between the worlds where i once lived
when i was born …

with great surprise i threw away my aqua lungs,
I sucked in air while water flooded,
breathing synapses firing new born pistons,
283 horses blowing streams of light
in all directions!!

… so this is what it’s like to live in  the land of milk and honey … !!!

Came time to leave for home
i looked into the sky i’d never seen,
acorns falling through the air,
cool harmonies on the breeze singing memories
from where it all began
wrapped around light
that fueled the seeds of future’s flight;

while tightly woven earthly patterns
leading everywhere in sight
gave great brilliance
and such

Delight .. !!

Each night I see the world inside my dreams

wrapped inside the morning dew;

Each morning my life begins anew,
never sure of all that i have seen
until i return

and do it all again and again and again and again and again and again … until i think …

i am …..

Posted in Uncategorized, Flash Fiction, Poetic Narrative

The Amphibian

The Amphibian

Occasionally the amphibian/rose out of the water/
climbed the dune
then clamored along the sandy lane
in front of the cabin.

If we were lucky we got to see it
lumbering past dripping water,
it’s propellers still spinning,
balanced on six huge tires
taller than me,
three on each side
in the middle/it’s two powerful diesel engines roaring,
the air vibrating with sound and power,
thick black smoke blown rearward
from curved exhaust pipes
six or eight feet high
on both sides of the raised cab
where we could see the top half
of the drivers face
his eyes peering through three narrow windows
and the individual faces of ten men
looking through five portholes
on each side/before it disappeared
around the curve two houses away
the only remnants of its presence
the decrescendo
of its twin diesels
moving toward the lime rock road
I rode to go fishing …

and a black haze of
smoke slowly moving west
pushed along by an on shore breeze
blown in from the lake/before only


filled the

Posted in Flash Fiction, Short Stories

The Last Time I Saw June

The last time I saw June was at a birthday party she threw for her nephew at their big old house one Saturday in late fall.

I’ll tell you what the inside of their house looked like because it plays a role in the tragedy.

Through the front door darkly colored stairs lead to a landing then right a few steps to the second floor.

Straight ahead on the first floor, half way to the kitchen, on the right was what we would call today, the living room where June threw the best birthday party ever; one continuous strand of low level activity, never boring, exactly like her summer yard parties except instead of booze and poker we drank Coke and played kid games.

June moved around the room cajoling, laughing at our antics, giving prizes.

With candles blazing, June brought the cake into our midst.  We gathered, around, the room quiet for the first time.

Knife poised over the cake June, master of the tease, poked and prodded each of us until we were practically drooling before giving each of us a good sized piece of her frosted cake.

It’s easy to see how she lured him into the temptation to eat a piece of her cake deliciously sweet as I’m sure he thought it would be.

Unable to resist, within seconds I was asking for more.

After cake,  we could play games inside or run around outside getting grass stains on our pants.

I explored the house.

Starting with the big yellow kitchen with its old fashioned faucets, windows looking down on the grassy area where Jim and June had their summer parties before the tragedy struck.

After looking into a scary space below the stairs so dank and dark I couldn’t see where it ended I decided to go outside but first, I had to pee.

June told me to use the bathroom upstairs.

I creaked up the stairs to the landing, turned right rising to where I found myself standing between the bathroom to my left (with its black and white tiles, green walls, pedestal sink and cast iron tub with curled feet) and a room at the end of the hall behind a closed door.

After peeing I tip toed toward the door at the other end the hall.

Half way, on the left, a well lit bedroom with high ceilings, a good sized six over six window looked down on the same sidewalk June and my dad walked on the night the tragedy began to unfold.

I opened the door and looked inside the room at the end of the hallway.

There was a ghastly darkness in the corners of the bedroom that seemed to suck light from the walls and floor creating a death like pall where later, I was to learn, June’s husband Jim had blown his head off with a shotgun.

Posted in Humor, Theater of the Absurd

Knowing That We Knew It All Along!

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it slowly started appearing for a long time

but I didn’t realize it until it appeared all the time

then I thought back and realized that it HAD been appearing …

and i knew it had been appearing

even when it slowly started appearing a long time ago

when I didn’t realize it!
way back when it first started happening

i didn’t realize it at all!

but i KNEW it all the time …

And now it’s here all the time!

I thought back to
when I didn’t realize it

when it slowly started happening
and now, realizing it was happening …

knowing now it happens all the time
i now know i knew it all along!

how funny!

i knew it was appearing!

i knew it was happening!

but i didn’t know it at the time

i KNEW IT ALL ALONG!!!  Ha Ha Ha ……

after all that time!!

Posted in Flash Fiction, Poetic Narrative, Short Stories, Uncategorized


We bought two cardboard containers packed with 15 or 20 corn bores covered in loose black muck, at a farm five miles from where we turned off the black top, then another three miles along a gravel road, snow plowed high on both sides, past farmers fields barely visible stretched white to the gray horizon line, snow tornados rising and falling then rising and falling again and again.

We parked next to a mountain of snow plowed higher than the car. Hidden from sight a frozen desert of ice where, we fished on an inland lake the shoreline a hundred yards from where we parked.

Through knee deep snow the Arctic wind gusting 25-30 mph against our backs we dragged our plywood ‘fish boxes’ to the shoreline then another quarter mile across the slippery surface.

He chopped five holes through the two foot thick ice (careful to angle each larger at the bottom so as not to be funnel shaped, impossible to pull a fish through) using a heavy iron spud rounded at one end, a leather strap at the other wrapped around his wrist to keep it from slipping into the black water when punched through the the last few inches of ice.

We spent the rest of the day fishing for bluegills, watching for the slightest movement of our bobbers, scooping films of ice that formed over the exposed water every few minutes, moving from hole to hole, watching for the red flags of our ‘tip ups’, sitting on our ‘fish boxes’, staring downward, hunched aerodynamically against the icy cold wind flowing over our backs.

You could hear the ice thunder and moan menacingly like an angry bear, as it grew thicker, ripping sounds heard in the distance or nearby, crackling for seconds at a time, jagged points of iced lightening suddenly etched close to where we sat, sending shivers of fear through me that the ice would open its jaws and swallow us into the inky black depths where not even the slightest ray of light could possibly exist.

Toward the end of day, the sun a vague halo of yellowish white against a dreary gray sky, we packed the poles and tip ups into our fish boxes, 20 or 30 bluegills frozen stiff at the bottom.

Faced downward, pushing against the north wind my toes and the tips of my fingers frozen numb, my face burning we trekked toward the shoreline, through thigh deep powdered snow, over the mountain, returning to the warmth of the car.

We drove through the dimming light of late afternoon into the dark sky of mid winter’s early evening night, arriving home just in time for dinner.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight


Daylight Birds Take Morning Flight

I was up before seven
I made a pot of coffee
I swept the floor
I listened to the radio

I poured the coffee
I put sugar and cream in
I climbed back into bed and slept
until the dawn of night.

I watched the moon arch overhead
from orange to milky white; silver dollar sized
with full moon’s
full moon light.

I watched night birds take night time flight.

While breezes washed ashore beside
I walked the line where all three meet; the sky
within dark water, waves of moonlight,
sparkling grains of sand reflecting light below/above
between each others sight

within the kiss of  night … 

I looked into the grounds of sweet good byes/the thought of daylight in disguise/the sky that touches deep within …

The sound of inland seas.

I climbed back into bed and slept again.

With speckled stars above the nighttime breeze
with moonlight showing through the trees
I’ll sleep ‘till morning light
when day begins
and daylight birds
take morning
flight …

Posted in Short Stories

It All Started That Night



It all started that night when I wasn’t sure what she was asking me!

I thought it had something to do with skiing!?

I didn’t know WHAT she was thinking but I didn’t want to say anything.

I thought maybe we were supposed to be meeting Dick and Jeannie for a night out at the lodge!

Or maybe it had something to do with that scheduled court date?

When you get right down to it, it didn’t make any difference to me.  As far as I was concerned, it was six of one and one of those bakers dozen of the other. (I heard someone say that once. It put a smile on my face.)

So i said, “OK!”

You know, I had to be positive!

I KNOW how she is about that ‘being positive’ stuff. She’s always stressing it so much which well, most of the time I think I AM positive but, does a little more than 50% of the time mean most of the time?  I’m not sure.

So I kept my mouth shut.  I didn’t want to hurt her feelings!

Later that evening we drove out to the lodge.

– 2-

It was a cold night! I mean, it was cold as hell! It felt like there was ice between my jacket and my shirt!

She had that mink thing on but it only covered her neck!

We stood outside waiting for about a half hour!

Finally I said, ‘’Where in the hell are Dick and Jeannie?“

She got that quizzical look on her face!  “UH-OH,” I thought.  “Here comes another one of her zingers!”

 “I’m freezing my tukkus off!”  she said. “You told me it wouldn’t be that cold!”

 I knew I had done no such thing so I said, “I did no such thing!’’

 So she says, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

 She was so angry she spit the words right out out at me!

I didn’t want to be rude.  So I took the blame.

“I’m sorry,” I said.   “If I would have known … ”

Pause …

 “I thought Dick and Jeannie were going to meet us here anyway!”

“Dick and Jeannie?! Fer Christ’s sake, they’re the last people I want to see on a night like this!”

Pause … then,

“Why don’t we go inside where the  fireplace is and have a brandy?” she said.

I shrugged my shoulders.  “Why not? Maybe we could have a nice steak afterward?”

She said the food at the lodge was lousy.

Then I thought won’t she be surprised?! I didn’t think there was a fireplace over there! (It’s one of the worst lodges in town!  And it’s not that big of a town!” )

Then I remembered it was Sunday and I was pretty sure they weren’t serving liquor on Sunday!

Boy was she mad!!

(That was about the funniest thing that happened all day! You should have seen the look on her face! It was pure irony!)


We got home around nine thirty.

She was angry and wouldn’t speak to me.

“You knew all along didn’t you!” she said.

“Kind of.  But I was hoping that … well, you know how it is.”

Pause …

But she didn’t believe a word I said!

To make matters worse, the pilot light blew out and we didn’t have any god forsaken matches!  The ones we had were wet!

Then she got sick!

I thought at first she might be pregnant.

I asked her but as soon as the words spilled out of my mouth I realized we hadn’t had sex in over a year!


She cried after that.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said in between sobs and retching.  “I’m pregnant with Dick’s baby!”

“What a relief,” I thought.  I’d been wanting to break up with her for almost five years!

That son of a bitch Dick had actuality done me a favor!

Posted in Short Stories, Theater of the Absurd, Uncategorized



Two nights ago I woke suddenly from sleep and caught a glimpse of someone in a black and yellow flannel shirt running down the hallway outside the bedroom.

I was so startled that I woke Jodi telling her excitedly, what I saw.

She naturally told me I was dreaming but I was convinced someone was out there.  I thought maybe it could be Matt or even Jordan since Jordan was spending the night.

I got out of bed to make further inspection.

I turned on a living room light.

I heard Jodi telling me from the bedroom, that I was dreaming.

I looked around and having seen no one felt slightly foolish. I returned to bed telling Jodi how perplexed I was; how sure I was that I had seen someone.

Within minutes I fell back asleep.

The next evening we watched the Stephen King movie, “The Stand” until past 11:00 p.m. Then we read until past eleven thirty. When we finally turned the lights off, I lay on my right side with my eyes open looking out the bedroom door into the hallway.

The door was open exactly the way it had been the night before.

The dream I thought I had suddenly appeared within my mind and I recalled the whole sequence of events most realistically.

I replayed the dream several times in my mind each time looking at it critically.  Was it real?  Or, my imagination?

Suddenly I concluded that the figure running down the hall WAS real!

I realized this because upon inspection last night I had only looked in the living room from the limited perspective at the end of the hallway where I had turned on a living room light.

I reasoned that the evidence to support a phantom dream intruder was not strong enough.

Had I ventured into the dining room then inspected the kitchen and the laundry room and found nothing, I would have had every reason to conclude a non-existent intruder.

But I had done none of those things.

My further conclusion was that my body had perceived danger and had reasoned it best to leave further exploration alone.

Fear washed over me as this sequence of thoughts ticked off.  I became very agitated. My heart was beating and my head throbbed.  I continued to feel in imminent danger.

I got out of bed and crept into the living room. By now it was after midnight. I was wide awake.

I stood in the living room with the lights off trying to make myself invisible looking for movement outdoors. I moved to the sliding glass doors on the north end of the living room peering through the slats for perhaps ten minutes, waiting to see some spectral figure creep across the back yard.

Then I checked all the doors and windows and discovered that the latch on one of the sliding glass doors was faulty.

I went into Matt’s room and fetched a golf club which I laid in the aluminum track hoping this would keep the door from opening.

I was scared and I felt foolish for surely if there was an intruder he was by now perfectly aware of my clumsy attempts to secure my house. He was probably back in the weeds laughing at me.

After securing the door I retired to the couch where in an attempt to find some comfort I grabbed the first book I laid eyes on. I ended up reading several stories from the Apocrapha.

I finally drifted into sleep around 4:30 a.m.

My sleep was characterized by sharp, vivid dreams.

I was on some quest and was being faced with multitudes of challenges. The family was there for part of it.

At one point I had to go into a cave to fetch some round stone like object that was suspended inside of an indentation in the ceiling of the cave.

John was eager to help as he always is but I barked a command at him to stay away from the danger. There were holes inside the cave that he could have slipped into.

The round object was heavy but I prevailed.  Once the round object was retrieved we were able to pass over a small creek that earlier we could not cross.

We succeeded in meeting that challenge.

Continuing along I discovered I had a partner. There was just the two of us. A lithsome girl like figure with great energy and courage. There was a strong bond between us. She needed me and I felt a deep strong need and trust for “her” with a great deal of sexual attraction.

She was undressing and was turned sideways to me. I was transfixed by her girlish breasts as her arms were raised above her head in the most appealing way.

I awoke from sleep the next morning seeing a dark gray sky.

But I didn’t feel confused and muddled as I often do when sleep aludes me. I knew it was because I had ventured deep into my subconscious mind close to a place where energy and awarness emanate.  When this happens a very special clarity of thought results.  This doesn’t happen often.  I never know when it will occur.

I had great clarity of thought that day seeing things ‘below the surface’ with a sense of heightened awareness; brighter colors, making interesting connections.

While waiting to cross Gibralter Street two blocks from where I live a car unexpectedly swerved toward me, then passed directly in front of me coming quite close, as it turned onto Birchcrest Street and continued along, away from where I stood.

I was taken aback by the car’s sudden movement and close proximity.  I wondered if the driver was aware I was standing at the corner waiting to cross.

As the car curved across my field of vision I looked into the pale blue eyes of the driver; a blond haired man of perhaps 27 years.  His chin resting on the window slot gave the impression that his head did not have a body attached to it; a severed head floating inside the car!

It peered at me through the top of its pale gray eyes predatory like.  I felt threatened but refused to look away.

The pale blue eyes had the same pained, scared, guilty look of a criminal on the verge of getting caught. The eyes were frighteningly cold, and expressionless but for the slightest smirk; a look that filled me with a kind of dread I can only describe as sub human rage.

I made a mental note of the license plate; E77-1849 South Carolina and continued watching as the car drove away.

At the end of the first block the car slowed. I took notice and began walking toward the car.

I continued walking toward the car as it slowly drove along the second block.

Toward the end of the second block the left turn blinker began to flash.

“I knew it!” I exclaimed!

I began sprinting across the empty lot toward the street that separated me from the second empty lot that separated me from my house at the middle of the block completely focused on the car with the floating head as it slowly moved toward my house coming  to rest  at the end of the driveway.

Halfway across the second empty lot my heightened sense of awareness told me that … the car was empty.

Posted in Humor, Short Stories, The Absurd, Theater of the Absurd, Uncategorized

Oops! Sorry! We’ll Do The World Series After I Tell This Tale of Horror …


It was like a scene from a cheap horror movie except … it was real! I wasn’t dreaming!

At least I didn’t think I was … it was THAT REAL!

End: Prologue
continuing …

It all started around five thirty you know, at the ‘cuspy’ time of day.

(Now i know why they call it the ‘crack between the worlds’. But I didn’t know it at the TIME!)

By the time it ended I was gonna call but, after two hours I still couldn’t catch my breath!

At that point I wasn’t even sure I knew who I was!

The phone wasn’t charged anyway. So, I decided to wait.

In the meantime I wiped out that salad bowl.

I KNOW I know! I know how that pisses you off but, what the hell! It looks like real wood to me!

Besides that … what could I do? I was wide awake!

(To be honest with you I was a little afraid to sleep. “That’s funny!” I thought! “Maybe i WAS sleeping.” hahaha ….. )

End: Post Prologue

continuing …

My skin was still crawling!

Post Post Prologue

continuing …

I was reading that book about Mars. Our Mars it’s called. Out of this world stories about canals and spires and shit like that, when I decided to make a cup of latte.

I like my latte sweet. This time it was a little too sweet but I didn’t think anything of it.

Little did I know!  (Shit like that happens all the time to me.)

See, I didn’t really care.  I was in one of those moods. You know how I get … kind of antsy.

So, like I said, it was ‘cuspy’ out there on the patio.

End: Chapter I

continuing …

I sat down at the little sette’.  I took a couple sips of that sweet latte.

I set the latte on the glass coffee table.

I looked around.

At first I thought, “It’s pretty light out there for being ‘cuspy’,” but within seconds that passed.

I KNEW the sun had shifted because “BAMM!” Like I said, there I was in the cusp!  The “Crack between the worlds!”

Or, like I like to say, ‘The butt crack between the worlds.” hahaha …. Except, at the time I didn’t realize it.

continuing …
Googling Sucubus, Incubus and Vlad the Impaler …

Posted in Poetry, Stories From the Golden Age, Stories in poetic form, Uncategorized

For the Love of Coney


If you’re from Michigan you’ll understand
the thirst and lust we share
for coney island hotdogs
a part of our

They come in two varieties from
two geographies I like to call the
Motor City and the
Fisher Body variety but
you might know them as the
Flint or Detroit coney … OR

wet or dry …

I prefer the wet from Flint but

I can eat them either way …

There’s good natured rivalry between the two clans

defined by either:
Fisher Body, Buick; the Audubon or GMI

Ford, Cadillac, Gross Point or dare I mention
River Rouge

(where someone said that
Robo Cop was born? hmmm … )

The Rouge River !!

Filled with the blood of our forefathers
sliced from their veins by their great God
Henry …

Ours is the friendliness of rivalries;
each group tends to look down their noses at the other
but after all …

our fruit of kind
and our passion for them, both share the same


(upstate they’re pronounced “Coeneez”)

Besides, there’s WAY too much in common
for either ‘clan’ to really care …

our shared differences are just a good natured excuse to
banter about something we both agree on …

Like two Detroit Tiger fans arguing which was better
the ’68 World Series team with;

Kaline, Cash, Gates Brown,
Hank Aguirre, Denny McClain and the others ..

(every one of them bright, unique stars
in their own rights!)

that other bunch brought to fame by our dearly beloved


(Whose name will ALWAYS stand alone … )

A delightful sense of argument considering everything in common;
the total love for Sparky, our nostalgia simply for the names Briggs or
Tiger Stadium, (both names interchangeable like ‘crik or creek’)

Sweet feelings shared by both clans
from an age gone by we thought we’d live in forever

above, or below or surrounding it all we heard the voices of
George (Kell) and Ernie (Harrell)

giving us the spoken words of our

it was
through their eyes and minds
and voices … !

(… like a favorite song you could
listen to forever … played countless times all summer long
year after year after year …)

that we watched
our athletic Gods of strength and character play


Just the mention of their names
brings tears to my eyes …

If you’re a Michigander
I’ll bet it does to your eyes
too …

continued … The World Series

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Light Stained Against A Sea of Thought


From a place where time was small with brightest light

came purest boyhood dreams

within my mind that night


with sun and single pleasure sought …

I moved from place to place …

seeking other orbits … better places to see


move and turn about

and look upon her face with

wonder …



Light stained against the sky of thought

suspended in time …

hovered over each place …

waiting to be seen.

Perfect prizes captured to be lived in



rain returning to the sky


for future retrieval.


 never ending cycles return,

the light of time


the light of days remembered and forgotten

taken in like


to a newborn child.

Thoughts that flicker in and out

like waves along the



purest water replacing every

grain of sand

forever …

takes me back


where it all


Posted in Poetry

My Struggle


I struggle …

I search …

I see a  flash of flowing color that

quickly disappears …

the allure of


that never was …

 A stolen lover hardly seen


light beneath the bedroom door at

night …

The room of


I sometimes sleep in …

the other room I sometimes

laff and cry in …

the other place I sometimes

dwell in

the other space I think and

feel in

at other times gone by


other moonlit skies …


other darkest nights …


other lunar cycles

’round and ’round and ’round and ’round and ’round


bye … ?


Where are the words that

Spark the night (?) that

Clear the sky (?) that

Make it all so

Right (?)

words that

light the colors that

lie sleeping

under the ground,

beneath the soil of



Where are the words of


Posted in Poetry

Alabaster Sea


What’s it like to live on different planes between
light and darkness un-seen
no seasons in between?

Where …

Trump card mocks justice never seen
the vicar of all dis-belief
the blind of those deceived by wicked sights
convinced of reason from the sparking light of darkest days

Seen wandering through our streets on darkest


giving thoughts to those who cannot see
the dried bones of their destiny
once again believing
the hungry greedy voice singing
spectral noise from
deceitful inner visions given
convincing with false voice screaming …

Beware of evil everywhere! Be fearful for your lives !!

The half life sound of the high priest deceiving;

communion wafers given then taken then disappearing
beneath a sea of squandered
trust …

He calls with reasons yelling!

Whereupon those conniving fools he uses
tell us with convincing pallor
it’s only size that matters!

The biggest size, the biggest prize
think BIG (the true meaning behind their words) but .. think
naught … !

See their eyes brightly lit but,

indecipherable … ?

Hear the canon of their vain principles … ?

Watch them steal
the last gallon of light that’s given, the love of life
they say they’re giving
a lie they’ve told so many times
they think it truthful; a
distraction from the last infamy those
recent memories still living behind the fog of
not so long all but …

forgotten …

While …

Powerful forces once again
wage war within the senses
the army of feigned superiority
defending ugly truths he’s spoken
with cunning exploit of our differences
our lives of inner freedom sold
the same lies once again told
behind another fog of distant
memory once again …

forgotten …

There are no tomorrows
there’s only life between
the not so distant past and

another ending …

See the hamster and the snake, hear the cock’s call to arms;

Behold other nations deadly games, their confidential schemes
the thrill of every kill you’ll never see them feel
behind deceit that reasoning can’t defend  …

His loving hand of mercy given? An ugly play of words
should not be taken 
lightly … if

at all!

Do the followers  think they know what is?

With naive thought they give their answers blindly …


the weight;
the wait;
too late;
the knot;
the naught of thought;
the heavy burden likely;
their schemes and murderous plots;
the light and darkness of our dreams
the theft of light between;
our lives that can be sold and bought
still live behind the darkest fog of all …

another deadly day of infamy …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized




Imagine ….

It’s a frigid early winter

day …

no snow on the

ground trees bare of

leaves …

fingers and

limbs black against a dismal


sky …


you are on a bicycle

barreling down a black top

road pushed by a

powerful western

wind …

you are the only object

static ..

in your world of

movement …


the road a black


disappears beneath spinning

wheels …

boulders submerged among

giant elms separating fallow

fields of broken

corn stalks, plow lines

extending into the

distance …

approach …..

run parallel …..


disappear into the

void …


reality pure …

unencumbered by

thoughts and words


tiny …

distant …



larger and

larger … forming

funnels of


color, form, size and

movement …


You are experiencing


within a

river of

flowing awareness …

on a frigid early winter

day ….


Your world


against trees bare of

leaves …

fingers and limbs


reaching into a dismal


sky …

You are


wind … where

there IS no

wind …


IN wind

there is no

sound …

there is only




and SIGHT with

heart and breath

combined …

the sound of your




you are moving

faster through a world of

silent magic river flowing

sight …

while …

… IN the wind is only silence the

sound of your serenity pulling


further through

space …


The spinning road

beneath you

flies the tape that

measures growing


distance measures

time … the road


yet …

IN the wind is only silence the

sound of your serenity pulling you


further into

time …

the road that has an

end in time the

point of no



thread keeps growing


the fear within you

growing larger

yet …


… IN the wind there is only

silence the

sound of your



further pulling


into space


end …


point of no

return …


your comfort dream is


fear is taking

place …

the turning point upon


the dream within


river flowing



serenity drawing

closer …

the time is

right …


IN the wind there

is only …..




now …


the end is HERE …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

A Time For Sleeping


Saturday was a cold, gray day.

I lit the fireplace for a quick warm up …

Before leaving the warmth of the cottage

I wrote a little more,
donned my hoody and coat
turned off the gas
grabbed my camera and
entered the cold but
beautifully pure refreshing

air …

I walked …

… I walked up the hill
along 23 to the
alabaster pipeline then
backtracked toward
where I began my journey.

At the base of the hill
frozen water looked like a small stream
or a miniature river system or
what a large river basin would look like
from high above …

Two sets of raccoon tracks walked to
a fork along their frozen highway
where they went their separate

ways …

This world I was in had become
suspended in time …

Fully asleep within the ground of shadows
all things living framed in
shades of gray,
naked, dead or alive and

waiting …

For what?

For warmth to come once more
a time to grow

from liquid water sugar fed
the leaves and buds of trees absorbed

from sunlight stored
leaves giving back after

taking in …

From full sun’s invisible light
a hundred shades of differing green
sun’s light returning
life’s burning

ember …

Roots reaching deeper
seeking … seeking …

Seeking to remember …

But for now …
a time for

sleeping .,..

Posted in Short Stories


He hasn’t uttered a single word
of truth since I’ve
heard him start talking …

Not one word used in sentence that he has
shouted at us!

Yet ….

He has convinced a lot of people that he IS

speaking truth … BY THE TONE OF HIS VOICE …

Little people like the tone because it makes them feel

BIG … BIG … BIGGER ! while

Bigger people like it because it means there’s gonna be some
shit kickin’ going’ on …

(Fuckin’ A we’re great!)

His minions are coming from everywhere to worship their
commander in chief …

THEY are at his beckon command … they need what they need from him.  He gives them license …

At the same time
Mothers and Children are going to

Washington D.C. to march for the
continuing civilization of our culture … the world!

women who bear our children .. it’s the
WOMEN who are willing to stand up to be


these women KNOW .. as all women know …

what is good and what is bad.

 Maybe it’s time for the forces to meet after

all this time … centuries perhaps if
you look at it that way ..

Those women in Washington D.C.  They are

our warriors .

They have my highest respect …

They stand for Life … all of our lives …. !

THEY are standing up for US …

I wish those women well …

I wish us ALL well … !

Maybe this will help …

think of them all … even the daughters … as going up against

the forces of

Hell …

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized

Me and I and Myself


I hadn’t seen myself in a while.

We had a lot of catching up to do.

There was non stop talking!

I wished I’d shut up sometimes but …….

I understand …

Most of the time we’re ‘buds’ but
well … there WAS a lot of catching up to do and

sometimes it’s so

And here’s what else ….

I can ……. YELL … ! and it’s no problem because
I know we both know
what I’m
yelling about !


Oh … ! Sorry … !

I get carried away sometimes …

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized


images-1So … you and Coney made two … right?

Well I mean like, how can you resist Coney’s charms?

Ummmmm  …. have you had Coney and chardanodweez …!

The perfect red wine to go with Coney to …


Yeeeeeeeee … Haaaa … !    Boy howdy, I bet that Coney was good …….  wasn’t it?!

No ……… ?

You didn’t have a Coney?

I’m not speaking to you for a week!


Posted in Humor, Poetry, Uncategorized

Wasted Away … Again …

imagesSlush keeps ya’ from bein’ in a rush … if
‘ya don’t want to be crushed don’t
rush through slush in a rush …

Winds gusting 35 to 40 buffeting

This ain’t no Margaritaville … !!/I don’t care what Jimmy declares …

i’m wasted away …

I’m down to my last jigger … !



Posted in Poetic Narrative, Poetry, Uncategorized

Lake and Stone


We pitched our tents behind the dunes within a gnarly stretch of evergreens/ that tempered onshore breezes/by the glacier lake/moving and alive/her ever present hypnosis/the sound of water lapping the


the gentle round stones she makes/flat like Decco candy/or tiny sculptures/move with circular motion/all along the shoreline/as far as you can


With sudden drop of miniature curls/the sound she makes when resting/a farewell kiss is planted/to rocks and boulders/scurged from land while melting/broken down over millennia …


Some fantastic journey through the ages/rocks and boulders bit by bit/surrendering sizes/to grains of flash, quartz,  prismatic color/tiny atoms born of the mass/ from which they’d been



With low toned emotion the great lake at rest now, from days of liquid passion …

The marriage of lake and stone …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Sweet Melancholy



Emotions ebb and flow
from time’s reflected light/the dreams of life we share;

The stories that we tell ourselves
of summer light collected;

the joy of love’s discovery (bright days of future past … )

or melancholy thoughts we sing (through dark storms affected … )

From darkest storms of Life gone by
From dreams of summer light we’ve shared

The seeds we sow along the way
the fruits of our

perception and despair …

Posted in Poetry, Short Stories, Theater of the Absurd, Uncategorized

Channeled Thought


I channel my work by
sublime hide and seek/black and white or color
images, sparking in the dark,
the deep, the green of a different reality,
below the surface of reason,
one of those parallel things,
another person who is the ‘’me’’
behind the veils, a shadow

evident/at times.

I wonder if I appear as such to him
with wonder and concern or perplexity
my wonder, my complexity perplexed
by wonder; my thoughts sublimely formed with
all the numbers clustered ‘bout
swarming and changing polarities
within and without/an intricate duality
linked to some
energy force that consumes us

eventually …

lucky we are
that life is but a mirage
all numbers adding up for everything we see/everything described with such

finality … !

With four dimensions, three that we can see .. one more,
that we seek, from worlds of dark

reality …

Posted in Humor, Poetry, Theater of the Absurd, Uncategorized

Life Is A Mirage


… But!  I have the words so why shouldn’t I use them while I still have the time?!..

That said.

You’d think I’d consider the sensibility of the subject totally incoincidental of its meaning don’t you?   But, I don’t.

I was after all, “laced up in the shoes of indistinct possibilities wading over a river on slippery rocks,” that day.  

The sea, the air and all above  had already risen into submission.  With farthest tense possible!

What could I do?  Stand and wait?

Those outraged and out sensed?   THEY were the bright beacons of suspense!

They … and the dark elements of their discoveries were well beyond even the broken strength of steel!!

Night by night they squallored their lives in the material world strengthening their forces making strong, their learning curves arching/in suspense/waiting.

When sun rose that first day came a crack between the cold gray sky.

Came the drama of first sight.

Came feathers etched by first  fire’s light

and their journey began!!

Posted in Short Stories, Stories From the Golden Age, Uncategorized

Christmas Story IV: Magical Moments


There were other Christmases and other memories I have from when I was a boy.

There was the time I rode around town with my dad on Christmas Eve leaving Christmas turkeys on the doorsteps of families not as fortunate as ours.

There’s the fragmented memory I have of walking down the aisle at church cradling my favorite gift … a white football … a gift I gave to some less fortunate boy or girl.

I have no memory of the chronology of the events leading up to that moment, how I managed to receive the gift and give it away all within the confines of Christmas Eve and Christmas day I don’t know.  But, does it matter?

Then there’s the year I got the second best gift ever (the first being a new bicycle) a new pair of black figure skates that, as my dad pointed out, were made of Sheffield Steel.

Too anxious to wait, I grabbed my skates, snuck out of the house before breakfast,  headed for the ice rink at the town park a block and a half from where I lived and while puff balls of snow fell straight down, the world silent and devoid of people, in my ecstasy I lost all track of time while making figure 8’s or skating really fast while using the teeth at the tips of my skates to turn and stop on a dime fragments of ice rising on either side; the whole experience was one, long magical moment.

But the year the lady from Canada came to our house … maybe because  all the rooms at the inn were taken … was the only Christmas I can clearly remember from beginning to end.

My Christmas wish?  May we put aside our troubles, have magical moments armed with  the knowledge that we are all sharing our own personal magical moments together!

Posted in Short Stories, Stories From the Golden Age, Uncategorized

A Christmas Story III


A Christmas Story III

The dining table was big enough to comfortably seat ten people: one aunt, one uncle, two girl cousins, a grandmother, a grandfather, a brother and mom and dad.

Dad carved the pig into chunks of meat that were so tender they fell apart when served. The combination of spices flavored the air. The smells made my mouth water. I finally understood the meaning of food that “melted in your mouth”.

The gravy that my grandmother made formed golden pools on top of the creamy smooth mounds of mashed potates.

We ate scalloped corn, scalloped oysters and fresh green beans with crumbled pieces of bacon fried in bacon fat then tossed with vinegar dressing with a touch of sugar.

My grandfather ate mint jelly with his meat.

My cousins, my brother and I drank tall glasses of milk, my grandparents drank black coffee while the parents drank red wine or water.

The adults did all the talking. We listened to their funny stories about growing up or daily life.

We relived Uncle Bill’s accident with the pogo stick. Each of us told what we saw from where we watched. Every bodies story was different but they were all the same.

My brother said it looked like Uncle Bill got shot from a gun when he flew off the pogo stick before knocking over the lamp.

Sitting around the table we laughed even harder after reliving the story for the second, third and fourth times!

continued …

Posted in Short Stories, Stories From the Golden Age, Uncategorized

The Pig In A Blanket


… Every two or three hours we drove to the bakery, parked out back and checked on the progress of our roasting pig.

The blue gas flame gave just enough light for us to see the pig slowly rolling past our eyes.

By four or five o’clock the pig had cooked to a dark, rich, golden color. It didn’t need to be roasted any longer.

When the roasting shelf was level with the door we turned the motor off.

The heat escaping through the open oven door felt like a warm fragrant wind bringing with it the combined smells of garlic and onion and basil and rosemary, cloves and beneath it all the subtle smell of apple cider.

My dad used a pair of iron tongs to pull the iron skillet to the edge of the roasting shelf. We wore thick insulated mittens to lift the pig and skillet from the oven.

The skin on the red apple in the pigs mouth was wrinkled but there weren’t any holes … so we knew hot apple juice had been steaming inside the pig.

We put the pig on top of blankets in the trunk of the car. We didn’t want to spill any of the rich delicious juice that my grandmother would make into ham gravy.

We put a tent of alumium foil over the pig to keep it warm.

While driving home we laughed about having a ‘pig in a blanket’ in the trunk of the car.

continued …

Posted in Short Stories, Stories From the Golden Age, Uncategorized

Christmas Dinner


One year my dad decided we’d have a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth for Christrmas dinner.

Our oven wasn’t big enough to slow cook a a whole pig all day.

So a baker downtown named Mr. Gregory let use the big gas flamed rotating oven he used to bake bread every day.

Early Christmas morning after gifts were opened we drove downtown to the bakery parked the car in the alley behind and let ourselves in with the key.

Mr. Gregory lived above the bakery. He baked bread every morning starting around five a.m. So he didn’t mind lighting the flame well before the sun came up even on Christmas Day, so that the oven was preheated when we arrived with the pig.

When we pulled down on the oven door the warm air rushed out at our faces. The morning air was cold and damp and the back door was still open so the warm air felt good.

An electric motor attached to a chain moving over a over a metal sprocket slowly turned the shelves around and around. The oven was heated by blue flames hissing through b b sized holes around a metal tube the width of the oven.

The pig rested on a square cast iron skillet with curled edges so that the juice wouldn’t leak out onto Mr. Gregory’s bread shelves AND so that my grandmother could make the best gravy in the world that we could spoon over the best mashed in the world.

After turning off the motor we lifted the pig and the iron skillet onto a shelf. We used a wooden bakers pole to slide the pig to the center of the shelf close, but not too close to the blue flame.

continued …

Posted in Short Stories, Stories From the Golden Age, Uncategorized

Christmas Story


Don’t you think those unexpected, unique events that sometimes occur during Christmas are presents more memorable than any single gift received?

Maybe the memories are more powerful because they’re shared by everyone at the same time.

Like that one Christmas Eve, the air crisp and cold, the sky crystal clear, snow falling the size of fat cotton balls, sparkling like diamonds on the ground each flake reflecting a different star (or so our ten year old minds thought), the entire family gathered at our house (aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents) when my grandfather who worked for the Grand Trunk Railroad brought a lady home from Canada who had been stranded at the depot, to join us for our Christmas Eve celebration.

The addition of a person we had never seen or met before added an element of excitement to the gathering. We treated her like an honored guest.

Knowing the rules would be more lax in her presence we gave little effort toward restraining our laughter and sense of mirth reveling in the sense of joy we created as our gift to her.

I can still see her sitting in the blue ‘Naugahyde’ chair her head thrown back, mouth wide open laughing along with all of us when uncle Bill lost his balance while bouncing around on a pogo stick in the middle of the living room, knocked over a lamp then rolled onto the shade after losing his balance and falling.

That was the same year we discovered several of my cousins gifts went up in smoke when her pajamas and other girly things were gathered together along with the gift wrappings, thrown into the fireplace and burned.

Everyone was so sympathetic while she cried. My brother and I thought it was hilarious.

continued …

Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized



We are at war. We just don’t know it.

As time goes on, the clash between both sides of what is being called ‘the great divide’ will deepen causing great turmoil.

Chaos will emerge after an event or series of horrifying events occur. The internet could crash. Schools may be attacked.

Lies will be told, false news stories will appear suggesting co-conspiracies.

Ethnic groups, illegals, the liberal press, intellectual elites, Democrats, people who voted for Hillary will be blamed. The divide will widen.

Ethnic groups will be the definitive scapegoat.  Forms of ethnic cleansing will result.

The president will declare a ‘national emergency’.

Since there are no checks and balances or limits to the power of a president during a ‘national emergency’ the president will assume dictatorial power and the overthrow of the government will be complete.

Congress will be powerless to act. The president is the commander and chief of armed forces.  His hand picked generals will occupy key positions of power.

Expect marshal law in low income areas of cities, a form of marshal law in towns and smaller cities where he has tremendous support.

Pathologically power driven people are NEVER satisfied as long as there is more power that can be taken.

After decades amassing power, building a worldwide network of finances, partnership with the richest most powerful people on the planet, ownership of huge assets in countries around the world, key personnel in positions of authority, the military and a nuclear arsenal at his command … what’s next?

We ARE at war. But, the battles have just begun.


Posted in Humor, Nick and Jessica, Short Stories

Nick and Jessica: TSA, Latinos, Playgrounds, Pocket Knives, Ricky Ricardo, Field Hockey and Blowing Water Out of Your Mouth Like They Do In Those Old Funny Movies

images-6…. so, the TSA guys were Cuban or whatever and we were having this bullshit conversation yukking it up about knives and shoe bombs. Everyone was Latino and they looked at me all askance probably surprised since white people are such tight asses.  Maybe they were surprised they found one who didn’t really give a shit about walking around keagling all day.

That’s quite a generalization about white people don’t you think?

Ok so, I told you about the knife right?   I didn’t even see this coming. One of the baggage agents at the check in counter … I swear he looked exactly like Ricky … what’s his name the singer …


Noooooo, you dumb shit.  Whatever ….. the guy volunteers to go out to the plane with my pocket knife,  find my bag and put the knife in my bag! Wow …

And you attribute this to …

I had just arrived at that particular playground. These guys were standing around looking bored. So, we played a game and we had a good time. The cool thing is, it was just another playground in town. I might not ever go back there again but … that’s beside the point.

Ok Nick. It’s a small town … what are you trying to say … life is a small town? It’s a playing field … does this have anything to do with field hockey?  I used to play field hockey, you know.

Field hockey! Field hockey! (Nick chuckles, his stomach bumps up and down), Jeeeeezus Jessica, he says shaking his head then keening .. You make me laugh …

Pause for composure.

Aren’t you lucky stupid is funny Jessica? Like, what if you were really smart? (Nick quietly explains. A serious look on his face.) You probably wouldn’t be HALF as funny.  ……….. if you were smart I mean.

Jessica’s mouth is pulled to the side.

Nick sips water from a glass he’s holding.
Jessica’s eyes are beaming.
Turning, she slowly walks away.
Nick holds the glass to his mouth barey drinking thinking, watching wondering …
Jessics turns the corner.  Gone from sight.
Nick continues to drink water.
Jessica’s face looks around the corner at Nick.

Nick is caught totally by surprise.  His mouth full of water, unable to control himself,  he sprays water into the air:  a combination of mist and large drops and some residual dripping down his chin.

Nick and Jessica are both laughing.

“That’ll teach you to make fun of me.”

Did you see that?! I thought they only did that in movies … hahahah ….

Nick moves closer.. stops two feet away then, closer …

Nick and Jessica are nose to nose all but touching their eyes fixated, smiles on their faces

Nick whispers under his breath ….

Posted in Humor, Poetry, Uncategorized

Boughebaise Soup


There was that time in New York

when I had Boughebaise soup.

I spent way too much time opening

all those shells.

And the broth wasn’t that great!

I like to eat my food.

I don’t want to play with it first.

I was reminded of the time

when the dispenser machine was broken

and I had to open a dozen packets of ketchup

before I could eat my

whopper ….

Posted in Flash Fiction, Humor, Photographs, Uncategorized

Nick and Jessica Ask: Why Was the Telephone Invented? Was I Because Of the G Spot?

Here’s a funny one that happened at the office the other day,  Jessica..

Lay it on me Nick.  Oops!  Did that come out wrong?

I think you said, ”Lay on me?”

He he he … !  Shut up Nick .  Maybe I did but … tell the frickin’ story will you?  (Nick and Jessica smile at each other.)

Wull, one day last week there was a work assignment so they called but, I missed the call.  A little while later I showed up at the office. This is what happened.

Pause …

Ok so, the three of them were talking.  I was doing my paper work when Carol, she’s real aggressive says, ‘’Why do you think phones were invented?’’

For some reason I stared over at Suzanne’s office, behind the wall on the other side of Carol’s desk, into the space between the edge of the open door and the window on the far wall.

Don’t ask me why I looked at that particular spot. I just raised my head and fixated on that spot for a split second.

I was thinking about Linda’s question, wondering why telephones WERE invented. My first conclusion was , I knew damn well telephones weren’t invented so that people could be called for work assignments.

Well you know I was being completely over analytic …

As usual …

… coming up with all kinds of conflicting thoughts. For a split second I even saw Alexander Graham Bell calling his assistant, what was his name ? ….. was it Watson…? to come upstairs because he had spilled some chemical on his hand.

All of this thinking and wondering happened within a split second but, I guess the timing was just right … you know, one beat, two beat.

Pause ..

Are you waiting for me to start playing the drums on the table Nick?   Hey I never realized you’re a door peeper!

You learn something every day don’t you Jessica?

Silence …

Anyway, I guess they were waiting to hear what I was going to say so, there was some suspense in the air when suddenly I realized I didn’t know why in the hell the telephone was invented.

I felt this kind of confused or maybe it was a concerned look, come over my face. I said, ‘’Wull .. to tell you the truth I don’t know WHY the telephone was invented.’’

I guess I hit three funny bones at the same time since a wall of sound washed over me … you know, that high pitched cackling sound women make when they all start laughing at the same time? It practically threw my head back. I thought I may have aggravated an old football injury.  Don’t they call that the G note, or something like that?

I think you got it all wrong there Nick.  But it would be my pleasure to enlighten you on the difference when the time is right.  

Oh yeah … right!  Jeeze Jess, I’m pretty excited about that.  Isn’t the time at hand always right time, Jess?

Nick looks at Jessica … a sly look on his face.

Don’t get sidetracked Nick.  Gimme the punch line o.k.?

O.K. So, what’s funny is, I wasn’t even trying to be funny. I think it was one of those moments when you find yourself being honest in an almost unconscious way.

The words just popped out of me.  It seemed like I was having one of those out of body experiences.

The thought of total and complete honesty is so far from people’s minds … maybe because it’s so rare… it catches people totally unaware; it’s totally unexpected and… then it makes them laugh.

Gosh Nick, you’re so funny.  Even when you’re not trying to be funny ‘yer funny aren’t you?   

Pause …

Goshdarnit Nick!  You showed ’em whose boss didn’t you?  Real power comes in response to that G spot … I mean note … 

Wull, you’re damn right Jessica.  They won’t do that again! (Nick looks at Jessica, a ridiculously serious look on his face. Jessica’s eyebrows are arched in mock seriousness.)

Nick and Jessica dissolve into laughter.  Pause …

Now, what about that G thing Jess?

He he he …. 

Posted in Flash Fiction, Poetic Narrative, Short Stories

Journey Home




At the end of the road I turned and faced the wind.

Flying dirt or bits of snow piled about in patches stung my face.  Small sticks, newspapers tumbled past. What few leaves left over from Fall were being plucked and sent flying over empty farmers’ fields like dark butterflys speeding along at breakneck speed in circular patterns.

I stared back at the road where moments before I had sailed through life, the wind at my back speeding past life’s beauty, aware only of the burden of unforeseen consequence and pain, the beauty of the world having passed by passed by unnoticed.  My only concern … TIME.

I tossed the heavy knapsack I carried for longer than I can remember into the tall grass where it disappeared.

Golden memories flowed into my mind.

“I must journey forward now,  against the bitter cold.” My destination?  A world where I once lived within the light.

Arms around my chest to keep warm the beating heart within,  I stepped forward and  began the journey home.

Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized

Life In the Fast Lane


… When school started in the fall, I started riding down to Toledo Ohio a couple of times a week with a carload of guys to get drunk at a bar called the FA-BA.

The camaraderie of being part of a drinking gang was a lot better than what I felt on the football team so I didn’t feel so bad about getting thrown off the team for punching the coach after he told me that, I’d be a better blocker if I ran into telephone poles.

Little did I know that nightmares about telephone poles would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Anyway, me and my drinking buddies, we laughed at our antics; failed attempts at picking up girls, puking or peeing in the parking lot or making nasty comments to girls who wouldn’t dance with us because of our lewd behavior on the dance floor.

One time the band let me sit in on the drums. Whenever I “sat in” I always asked if we could play the song “Money” because there’s a neat little drum solo that begins the song.

The guys were pretty impressed but I heard the lead guitar say that I was, “Strictly amateur.”

One night, one of the guys named ‘Moose’ spent the night in jail after getting into a fight in the parking lot. We didn’t know he was in jail since he rode down in another car.

Next morning Moose called the guy who drove us, asking if he’d come down and pick him up at the jail.

I didn’t hesitate to say yes when asked if I wanted to ride along.

Since it was early morning and we had arrived back at school the night before around 3:00 a.m., there was still plenty of alcohol in our systems.   In fact, we were STILL drunk,  determined to BE drunk and wanted to STAY drunk for as long as possible. (Plus, I figured drinking beer would be lot more fun than the Western Civilization class I’d miss.)

The five of us piled into the Chevy Impala, powered down the convertible top and headed toward Toledo 35 miles south,  just across the Ohio state line.  We immediately started drinking the left over Pabst Blue Ribbon beer we hadn’t consumed the night before.

After picking up Moose at the jail, we headed north toward Michigan.

A mile or so before the Michigan line we stopped at a bar for a few beers and to listen to Moose’s stories about being in jail.

At the time we didn’t know that a short time later we would come within inches of violent, bloody death our broken and bloodied bodies scattered in all directions after a short flights through the air with violent landings.

A couple of us would probably have to be scraped off the surface of the earth like flattened squirrels you see on the highway.

Luckily I was riding shotgun so I would have been killed instantly,  spared of the horror of flying 15 or 20 feet in the air before watching powerlessly as the black top road rose up to grab and absorb me into a grisly death.

Thinking back, I realize how strange life can be. There we were laughing our asses off at some story Moose was telling. Seconds later we could have been dead after the car in front of us turned left while we passed forcing us onto the shoulder, missing a telephone pole by inches then down a steep embankment where we came to rest 20’ below the roadway at the bottom of the swale.

We were all pretty shaken. I can still see the telephone pole speeding past my face not two feet away.  I would have been the guy whose remains were wrapped around that pole, my gray matter having either dripped down the south side of the pole toward Ohio or 3 or 4 feet north of the pole toward Michigan after my exploding head allowed my brains to escape between the broken fragments of my skull.

I can still see the grain of wood speeding by in the nightmares that have frequented me ever since.

After our ‘near death experience’ we wandered around the car reliving the experience while telling each other how lucky we were to be alive.

We pushed the car backward to the road where the other driver had turned forcing us off the road.

Soon were back on the road silent; each of us thinking about fate or luck or fear. But mostly about death and our tenuous hold on life.

Posted in Poetry

Astounding Beauty

Astounding Beauty


I watch within my sight held brightly
the light inside my mind where i

Move within other worlds, 
that live and breathe inside, 

to other times and places,
the wind against my face.

No need to scatter far and wide
to discover worlds within my sight.

No thought of time or other spaces do i need to fill.

My world belongs to me inside.

I take it for the asking.
I use it gleefully.

I drink it as a thirsty sponge
while wondering about the stars at night

or if a man on the moon can see
my tiny light

brightly …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Fall: Trees of Life Remembered: AND Don’t Fix It If It Ain’t Broke! A Lesson From A Know It All …

Hello every body; Friends. Likers.  (OK, bikers too) First and Last time readers and all good people who read my poems and stories especially the people I see all the time who I feel I have a unique kinship with.  It seems that they like my work almost as much as I do and I love my work.  It’s nice to get the reassurance I get from you and I sincerely appreciate you.

When I read my stories and poems I’m almost always amazed that these words and these thoughts came out of me!  WHERE DO THEY COME FROM, I constantly ask myself.

Enough!  What I want to tell you all and everybody about is a rule I learned that served me well.  A voice that tells me …….. “Leave it alone! Don’t fix it if it’s NOT BROKEN”

Wull, I just learned it again today but because I remembered too late I’ve reduced what I wrote to a shitty ‘over tweaked’ poem.  Now I’m stuck.  Embarrassed, fer crying out loud! … Jeeeze … I told Jodi it was like walking around with my fly open and part of a white shirt sticking out .  Just enough to make it stupidly embarrassing, which iI feel.

So, here’s how it happened.

I was dozing, I had just started seeing the dark that comes before …. going under  … not ‘sleep’ rather ‘going under’.

Ok so, I had just started to go under … to see the darkness encroach, when my phone whistles at me.  Do you have a phone that whistles? Sounds like a bird? I don’t mind the sound but sometimes it’s pretty annoying.

My eyes flew open like somebody had just shot me between the eyes with a 22 calibre pistol.

Since I was lying on the couch by the sliding glass door, I turned my head and looked up at the trees.

They were swaying in the breeze, side to side, mostly green (but, turning color quickly), a gentle hiss, their hands  moving to and fro touching as they passed by.  The sky pale blue.

The reds and yellows were already being nudged off by the daily winds.  Mostly reds and oranges.  Leaves were falling through the air like giant colorful flakes of snow different colors mixing.  Absolutely beautiful, of course.

Quick as a …. I can’t think of a metaphor or … are those things analogies??  “Quick as a … ,” So I guess I’ll say, “Quick as a motherfucker,” I grabbed my phone and wrote the poem below and it was beautiful … I really liked it.  It’s not EXACTY the poem below. You’ll see.

The words flowed out of me.  It was interesting to watch my finger tick on letters of words that I was thinking as the thoughts assembled themselves.  I was outside of myself watching myself ‘hunt and peck’.

I liked the piece so, I transcribed it into the computer and posted it.

Within a short time I had 6 or 7 ‘Likes’ and that was cool.  A couple of new people that I doubt will come back but so what?  It’s still nice to see someone stop by, like what you’ve written, tell you they liked it then move on. It’s wonderful, in fact …

So since it was pretty good I thought I’d make it better so, I started tweaking it, making it more ‘logical’ … action proceeding in a straight line;  idea, reason or reason idea blah blah … I began trying to fucking explain everything.  Fuck that!

Pretty soon I had the damn thing so “F worded” up I almost cried and since I didn’t want to touch it because I kind of hated it, I left it here but …   it’s SO EMBARRASSING that this innocent, beautiful poem became twisted, stupid and  embarrassing.

So … apologize to those who read it, thought ‘Ewwww … ‘ and left never to be seen again.

So, the reason for all this bullshit is,  I wanted to give you the rule for writing poetry I use all the time  …. sometimes!!! … not always … this rule doesn’t work always  …  Nothing is right 100% of the time, right?

So as I mentioned already, here’s the rule again … listen the little voice that says, “Leave it alone, stupid.  Don’t fix it if it isn’t broke!”(Not always!  But, often enough).

The proof of the pudding is the following poem.  God knows, you might like it but, originally I think it had an innocence and sense of power.  Now all it is is some pretty words.   Awwwww ….. Awwwww …


So, I hope you get some use out of my “know it all” advice.

For those who think I’m REALLY being stupid instead of just acting stupid, all I can say is ”Why don’t you go masturbate yourself!!?”  Oops! … oh! jeeze! I’m sorry … !!! I’m really sorry!  That happens all the time!  I get so enthused.  I can’t help it!

So, anyway, read on if you want to.  ks … Ewwww ….

Thank you for your time and … I sell on ebay also so …. whoops!  Did it again.  Take care good people.  With sweet love for you who I see often, you make my heart feel warm.  Kurt



Wind’s a blowin’
leaves a fallin’
Fall’s a gettin’ ready
to rest its trees
underground to dream
vast earth dreams.

Our trees returning to


Leaves, their days in the sun
near done
celebrate with
prisms of color
once absorbed during the days of
earthly delight
the time of sun’s brief flight.

First red then orange
the first and second prismatic light
we see … the attraction of
majesty only partly seen
like the tail end of
a lovely sunset.

Comes next
yellow … of all the places on
the wheel of light’s fractal colors

the one that glows mid way
between lines with  definition;

Yellow glows as the refection of sun’s whole light
it sought from above.

They are the lucky ones who get to walk in
Sol’s great footsteps.


You’re familiar with, of course after
five months with limbs
the greatest parts/reaching out through

space and time with
loving fingers
running through existence
one last burst of color.

the gatherers of sunlight/their colors seen separately through life’s  spectrum  contained within.

Their colors seen separately/they are

the gatherers of sunlight

Green leaf gathering life so beautifully with sound that hushes and whistles low;
makes sweet sap from sun’s light

with great  great mystery.

Their work of summer’s past given
with delight to brew and wait ‘till
the nap of time

is over.

Their’s is the
nourishment taken from above
stored below then given back
to prove we’re all a part of cycles.

ALL of life within the bounds of living
the draught of sweet delivery
sustenance for next years progeny
next year’s offspring, given.

The sweet flood of
innocence and caring
passing on sweet memories of
summers past.

The blood of renewal
a welcome mat rolled out, the
pablum of hope, the splendor of
new growth!

Comes blue and violet that
unseen world of light remaining  hidden
except for maples and a few others
both ends of the world from
beginning to end; red and purple
emerging one from the other
home at last to rest,
to feel earth dreams before
rebirth again and again and again the
lessons of ‘being’ if only seen and


The majesty of trees!

spectacle, the
cycle born anew,  the same
lessons taught with each
November, the movement of
all that matters

they carry us through
time ..


Comes a time to rest the ‘eyes’ of their
community one great world of their
awareness connected

soon to go below to see
and HEAR and to remember
Mother’s most precious gift:

Life’s splendor ..

Wind and leaves the breath of our well being

within the bounds of
what they are we lie captured in between

Wind and leaves and trees the
great Mother who gives us
what we need, the
breath of

forever …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Outdoors Always Works For Me


Outdoors always works for me.

Lake gazing
lost in time
thoughts grow still
cease to ‘gzist.

Spellbound movement
roiling calm
trees and wind at play
taking weight away
from heavy snow.  

Blowing fallen colors
taking broken limbs
willing partners
grateful lovers
always playing.  

Northern breezes bring winter winds and storms/snow that swarms and lives in crystalline form/black and white vistas/endless vistas of black and white.  

Warmth brings
southern breezes.

Leaves whispering
wind’s return
forming perfect union
rising falling
sex collusion
seminal fluid
carrying seeds
blown everywhere
growing life
exploding … !

Watching wind and trees
their spellbinding movement,
their night time sighs form
perfect union.

Watching wind and trees
I see giving, always giving.

Giving trees with the
breeze giving with
the breeze …

Outdoors always works for me.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized



I wish that I could live
forever …

in this
north country


giant pines and oak trees
give their

leaves and
needles …

for the pleasure of my
rake …

where …

the never ending blend of
sand, sky and
great lake
water …

sooth the gray tides of my
mind …

where …

surrounded by
echoes from
time long
past …

wrapped in light
beneath a full

moon …

I sit apart
from the lure of a
world …


waits for me





home …

Posted in Short Stories, Uncategorized

The Bean Soup Chronicles: For LMG. (You Know Who You Are …)


12:18 p.m. Wednesday

Hey!  I did something I’ve never done before.  I bought a package of those navy beans with the little packet of seasoning.  I’m going to make bean soup!  I’m soaking the beans overnight as we speak.

Wull … But I had a helluva time finding a ham hock at Wal Mart so I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off.  But, never afraid to ask … even directions … I found them.  Bought 4 for $4.50.  Can you slice meat off those things?  I’m excited!

9:30 a.m Thursday

Hey!  The beans are on the cusp of boiling!  I added lots of onions plus garlic salt some flaked onions, salt and pepper (sea salt!  are you impressed!) and paprika … to add some color and of course one of those ham hocks.

Gosh, they don’t have much meat on them.  Do you use them just for fat?

I was a little grossed out at the thought of a hock being awfully close to a pigs mouth.  You know what pigs eat don’t you?  But, who am I?  I’m going to add some sugar.  My grandma’s secret ingredient.

3:00 p.m. Thursday Afternoon

I’ve been simmering the beans for 6 hours now.  I figured that was enough time for them to soak up all that fat from the ‘hock’.  So, I had two bowls with a couple slices of good bread.  A great afternoon snack but the skins were a little too ‘al dante’ (did I spell that right?)  So I simmered them for a little while longer.

8:21 p.m. Thursday Night

Damn!  That’s some great soup!

I think I must have eaten at least five bowls while I watched some war movie; lots of canon fire, big canon balls landing.  Big explosions!  I wouldn’t want one of those canon balls to hit me.  I ran the sound through my Bose stereo.  A few of those cannon explosions scared the shit out of me!

7:00 a.m. Friday morning

I thought I might have eaten too many beans last night.  We’ll have to see.

8:30 a.m. Friday morning

Jeeze!  Those beans!  Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the moral equivalent of an entire acres worth! Looking back it seems like I was one of those harvesting machines the kind that would … oh, never mind.

10:18 Friday morning

Hey!  I was outside working.  I let a big one rip.  I laughed at the length. I thought, if Little Monster Girl (aka LMG) were here she’d be in stitches all day!

11:30 Friday morning

I was still working outside putting new gutters on the cottage letting them rip when a flock of geese passéd by overhead.  I happened to let a big one  rip (like I’ve got a choice, right?).  I watched the whole flock  branch off like I’ve seen the Blue Angels do at one of those air shows.

At first I thought they were dive bombing me.

Instead, they circled around the tops of the trees looking  down.  I connected the dots.  Maybe they thought there was a rookery down here.

I stared at them.  You know how I am when I make contact with animals.  With all their honking I thought they might be replying to me.  Too bad.  My timing was off. My body wouldn’t let me say a word. Either that or they saw my human form so they shrugged me off.

I could sense they were disappointed!  Still, I think I made quite an impression.  I bet  they’ll be honking about it all season.  ha ha ha ….

12:30 p.m. Friday

I’ve been pretty depressed.  You know how I feel about animals.  I thought we were speaking the same language I really did!  I know I already said that once but … it bears repeating.

To think that they thought I was an imposter; it IS depressing!  But what the hell … I can’t fly so what’s the difference?

So anyway, to console myself I was thinking about renting myself out for duck season!  To make extra money!  This is a good idea isn’t it?

1:00 p.m.

Why don’t you stop over for my famous bean soup sometime?  We’ll eat massive amounts and have a great time jamming!  You’ll do fine if you just let yourself go!  Too bad Little Monster Girl isn’t in the states.  I’d make an extra big batch and we could form a trio!

Of course we’d have to get one of those big floor fans.  Big deal!

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

On: The Death/Liberation

… there are rooms of underground form ….. chambers where people die, stripped bare of their integrity: sterile places in deathly colors cold and dead walls, crucifixes through windows of time, life sucked dry, taken from the lives of innocents, poor victims of authorities accord, put to death in various ways; hung high or shocked in retribution, drugged into oblivion, into sleep that never ends below the ground where they find sweet serenity,  glad that life is done, astute within their senses, dried blood within their veins, dark houses behind their eyes, silver dollars taken to rest within their graves, free to search through eternity, to glide on winds of time, happy to be free from  the unfairness of life’s travails, the never ending desire finally fulfilled.

Posted in Poetry, Short Stories, Uncategorized

Steel Wedges/Smoke and Distant Thunder

After a lifetime a grown man realizes that his creativity and problem solving abilities were in large part because of the challenges his father put before him when he was a boy.  

Past winds of change, through smoke and distant thunder a man returns home, to a  light of time when, as a boy he was made to work, despite tears of pain and resentment on Sunday afternoons during the coldest days of winter splitting elm logs to be sold as firewood.

His days of youth gone forever much of the pain and resentment he felt toward his father, still remains.


Through his inner eye the man watches his father temper a boy’s life by teaching him how to split fire wood from elmwood stumps using steel wedges and a heavy maul.  The elmwood stumps not quite dry, the wood stringy and difficult to separate took two, three or even four wedges strategically placed to split each piece of firewood from the stump.

Each stroke of the heavy maul driving the wedges into the elmwood stumps brought with it a constant flow of creative challenges; reasoning to be explored, better ways to do the work.

The man realizes that the creative thought he has used throughout his life stemmed from the challenges his father gave him on those cold, gray Sunday afternoons splitting wood next to a fire fueled by logs the boy split apart from the elmwood stumps.


The split logs neatly stacked as cords of firewood; each piece, imbued with separate lines of thought, different patterns of creative thinking he realized, had become the standard for ingenuity he carried with himself for the rest of his life.  The result he realized, of his father’s efforts to give him the gift of highest distinction,

the power of thought.

A way of thinking the man realized, that sparked the fires of his creativity.

Lessons the boy took with him into adulthood learned while working with his father next to bonfires fueled by the stringy elmwood he split from tree stumps using steel wedges and a heavy maul on those cold, gray Sunday afternoons during the dead of winter.

Posted in Humor, Short Stories, Uncategorized

Nick and Jessica Discuss College Level Sex Education

Another look at Nick and Jessica sparring about their favorite subject.  Sex!  Sex and laughing!  “Wull, they’re almost the same aren’t they,” says Nick.  Must be so.  It looked like they both were having orgasms a while ago even though they were laughing.  You be the judge ..

O.K. so, let me get this straight.  You are going to tell me some important definitive facts about male sexuality that you learned in some bogus college level sex-ed class you took, that I would have known about since, we both went to the SAME SCHOOL!

Nick stares into his coffee cup, a smile on his face.

What I really think is, you’re going tell me some bullshit story you thought of after we relived the time I fell off my chair laughing in geometry class when you told me that stupid  ‘two dogs fucking’ joke.

Nick and Jessica both chuckle.  Jessica looks at Nick.

Why don’t you share with me some of the high points you learned in this class Nick like,  maybe you learned the finer points of putting a freeking condom on or, the chemical composition of latex vs sheepskin?

In case you’re wondering Jessica, this was a real class that was held over next to the field house.  The class had mostly jocks in it.  I guess it was a pretty well kept secret so that only jocks could take it for an easy A.

That makes sense.  They could major in Fly Tying with a minor in Sex Ed. right Nick?

Pause … Nick in repose.

Nick, I don’t believe a word you’re going to tell me but … you might make me laugh so what the hell.  Let me have it.  

Wull, like I said, those jock classes were a well kept secret.  I took another class over there with all jocks called ‘Principles of Safety’.  Both classes were easy A’s for those guys.  Wull … for me too!

Principles of Safety!  Oh my God!  They should have combined the two classes into one Nick.  A lot of girls were getting knocked up back when girls got married when they got pregnant.  I pity those girls who had to marry those asshole jocks just because they didn’t know the finer points of how to put a condom on … I think they could have used a couple of those principles of safety don’t you?

Good God Jessica.  You’re ridiculous.  (Nick has a half smile on his face.)

Suddenly Nick’s eyes light up.

So, are you telling me you know a lot about about the sex life of jocks and condoms and that sort of thing?  Are you telling me you’ve had a lot of experiences with ….

You know me better than that!  NOT EXPERIENCES WITH NICK you dork ass!  It’s what I HEARD!  You forget, I’ve had a lot of female roomates who constantly astounded me with their stories about men.

Pause …

Like, did you know that men completely lose their sense of time when they have sex? They think that 3 or 4 minutes is like, a half hour.  And they think that this, (Jessica holds up her thumb and forefinger about 3 inches apart) is six inches! And they say men are better at math?

That’s not math Jessica it’s geometry.

Shut up!

That’s a pretty funny statement especially when  you’re always saying, ”Not that size matters.”

Jessica glares at Nick, her lips compressed in mock defiance.

Jessica!  Jeeze, think of all the first hand knowledge you could have brought into that class.  It’s too bad you didn’t know about it.

I was just thinking of some of the teaching aids that prof probably used.  Way too strange to even think about.  There’s this one vision I have,  it’s a large display comparing a sheep’s vag …..

It was nothing like that Jessica! It was more serious in nature than that ….

Serious in nature!  Ha ha HA .. Oh my fricking Herbie Hancock Nick!  I can just imagine a roomful of dumb ass jocks learning about condoms and sheep and space and time.

Nick looks at Jessica with a serious look on his face.

So,  now you’re telling me college level sex-ed is serious business!  Highly intellectual right?

Pause.  Nick looks down.

Or maybe you’re confused.  Maybe the learning experiences you had actually took place at your apartment that one semester you got lucky a couple of times.

Pause …

For crying out loud Nick!  Going to school for 4 years was a fucking sex ed workshop in itself wasn’t it?  Mhmmm, that’s a special way of putting it.

(Jessica’s forehead is furrowed.  she appers to be deep in thought).

Jessica turns her head to the right.  She mutters under her breath,  ”Christ almighty … the only people qualified to teach sex ed are women.  Most men don’t know shit about sex even after they find out they don’t know shit!”  Jessica shakes her head.   She moves her elbow further to her left so she can get a better view of Nick’s  face.  

Nick looks into his coffee cup.  If you look closely at the subtle expression on his face you can see he is enjoying everything Jessica says.

Look closer and it’s obvious that Nick is trying hard to suppress his laughter.

Jessica places her right elbow on the breakfast bar.  The back of her head rests on the palm of her hand so she can see Nick’s face better.

Nick!  Look a me!  You know you’re full of shit don’t you?

Does it matter Jessica? (Nick bites his lower lip to conceal his amusement.)

Jessica can tell that soon they will both start laughing.

Nick and Jessica call fits of laughter ‘laugh orgasms’.  At this point, Jessica realizes she is in the throes of experiencing a laugh orgasm.

Nick tells Jessica he seduces her into laugh orgasms.  ‘It’s the foreplay of my words that control you completely, Jessica.”  He calls her a ‘nympho-laugh-a-maniac’  which is funny to them no matter how many times he says it.

“I can always tell when you’re gonna lose control Jess.  You look like you’re going to pee your pants.  Then your face gets really red and you have this pleading look.  When you can’t talk anymore I see tears forming along the bottom of your eye lids.  That’s when know I’ve gotten into (what Nick calls) your laugh crack.”

Nick and Jessica usually cackle about the term ‘nympho-laugh-o-maniac”.   Nick shortened the term.  He calls her a ”nympho”.  Jessica usually says,

‘’ I don’t care!  I don’t give a shit if I’m a laugh nympho Nick!  Give it to me baby!  I can’t get enough! ”  

Jessica does an imitation of James Brown, “I’m proud, I’m white and i’m a nympho!  I’m white and I’m a nympho.”   

Jessica continues her diatribe.  Nick listens patiently, a smirk on his face.

 Jessica’s face is getting  red.  Her voice is starting to come from her throat but with a hysterical tone.

I know a couple of girls who had enough life experiences that they would have had their masters degree in sex-ed by the time they graduated in four years.  Don’t they call that klepping?  You know, when you get credit for a class when you’ve have enough life experience in that area?

I don’t ….

Jessica looks pensive.

Actually, these girls could have had their fucking Phd’s in Sex Ed. within 4 years.  Hey!  That’s a great name for a degree in that area, don’t you think? 

What?  Dr. of Sex Education?

No Nick, you dork ass!  A Fucking Phd!

Nick and Jessica dissolve into laughter.  Nick’s elbows rest on the breakfast bar. His head rests against the fingers and thumb of his hands on either side of his face.  His eyes are squinted shut.

Jessica’s head is thrown all the way back against the top of her spine.  Her eyes are closed while her mouth is open with laughter.  (Nick says the true measure of any orgasm,  physical or from laughter,  is when your head is thrown back and your mouth is open)

After 30 seconds or so,  Nick and Jessica embrace and sway side to side while laughing.

When their laughter subsides  they pull back and look at each other.  Jessica’s cheeks are tear stained.

“Gosh Nick.  That was really good.  That was the best I’ve had in a long time. ….. Uumm …  Let’s do it again.’’

Nick and Jessica break down while continuing to laugh.

Posted in Poetry

The Light Within

I fixate on time constantly
when i hear or see the wail of a diesels horn
or smell fresh mown grass
or look out at the lake i hear the sound
and i’m transported to the stored light of another time
each magnifying the other more deeply every time.

We build our lives on the memories
of the life we live and the lives we live
are built on the the moments we have lived.

We live within the
memories of all there is … and all that came
before … we are the instant and the infinite past and
everything between the vast
vista of ever returning light.


My thought incentive is to
stretch time, to live within the moment
or as someone said of Love one time;

‘’Within the within within.’’

The world revolving then revolving within the
revolving … deeper into movement into the
allusion of stasis between where
more awareness lies waiting for me to see
into the worls and sworls of the wood within the wood
i’m working with, between the spaces of the
fingers on my hand the swirls of my finger pads and
deeper still between the tiny beads of
salty brine into the plasma of the deep
inside, the sea within the
space between the blades of grass
where the fluoride and chlorophyl lies not so hidden
where tiny moisture droplets flood the subtle link between.

It’s all memory based from the
DNA twisting its way into our being
the mechanics of our lungs, the molecules of our
wakening selves … how could we breathe without
the breath that came before and before that?

Each breath
remembers the heart beat remembers the air within.

It’s all memory.

The planets revolving and
what’s beneath remembering what it
knows each experience
resting upon the next.

A kaleidoscope of colors turning
patterns and forms of light
creating new patterns and forms
from what came before connected
bleeding outward curling back to know
each moment of light filled memory.

The homes we live in
filled with memory of angles and
fittings and support from the dawn of creation
cave man’s fire the furnace and the stove memories from the dawn of time.

Look at it! look at your
stove! it’s a memory of the first
fire given to and to and to and
round and around blocks building no different than
walls or bridges or the spiral helix passed
memories linking us all.

We are immersed in memory, our lives emit memory from
light that surrounds us.


Pulls the memory from all things.


Is the road that memory drives on spilling outward
like a ripe orange.


Without light
existence loses its memory and
without memory
all is
all ..

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Once And For All

2016-06-18 17.19.03
Final View Morning Sunrise the Last Day

We give our lives a value, each individual core, we need to know our value.  Are we rich or poor?

The numbers always lie we think/they always add up wrong/unknowns we never see/the tools we use to navigate/the golden path/a figure eight flowing endlessly.

But time is of the essence!

We only live so long.

The more less time we spend thinking about more time, the less more time there is to live within it … the less there is to see.

We convince ourselves with halos worn/great truths will come our way.

Our calculations true.  “There’s no other way” the voices say, “find peace, tell others be conversant, know that love will come your way, you’ll lose the pain, with the universe act with reverence, show respect  feign knowledge, and IT will find YOU.

Tears of gratitude and kindness keep us from our lies,

 In our  perfect blindness with nothing else to do … we do nothing/our only thought ….. what to do …

Posted in Poetry, Short Stories

Life Laid Fallow: The Fruit of Time Discovered

Songs of life gone by

emerge to present form from

fallow fields of time.

Forgotten fragments born of
rolling marble colors brightly seen;

Once familiar faces, stored emotions
wash over with unexpected

Perplexed we ask;

How could dreams of such remembered splendor
pass by unseen?

Love’s first kiss with warm compelling force,
passion born anew,
the scent of lover’s neck recalled,
the lust we felt from first kiss taken.

Thoughts that come to mind
with sad regret … when playful eye’s appeal
was given then
stolen from sight
when random sound came
crashing by.

The seed that
had it been planted,
could have yielded life’s sweetest

Precious moments remembered
with sad regret are like
specks of golden pollen
drifting clear against a blue sky or
points of light seen wandering
among stars in the
darkest hours of the

Posted in Poetic Narrative, Uncategorized

Elephant Shit


The States:

It’s where the elephant in the room took a huge crap which meant all the other elephants could rush in and take huge craps too!

There was so much elephant crap in the room they began to worship their own shit, that way when everything they touch turns to shit they can say they wanted it that way!

These elephants! They worked hard to make that rancid, stinking pile of shit they called their work!  Strange how they look so proud when all they did was take a dump!  What does that accompolish but, more shit!?

(I’ve heard it said that, their’s isn’t a political movement.  It’s a bowell movement!)

I’ve also heard it said that, if that pile of shit’s their work then it proves they’re nothing but a bunch of assholes!

Works for me.

Some of the animal trainers, those brown shirted guys with the emblems on their chests, (who do their bidding) will soom be seeking cages to tame what they call, ”The wilder beasts who don’t deserve what little they’ve been given.”

They’ll be out there beating the bush.  Oh my!  The fun they’ll have!  I’ve even heard they might try tar and feathering!

Is it possible these elephant forms are not even elephants?  Could they be giant tape worms or aliens or sub human forms of feces in disguise?

I ask myself, how can they call themselves ”humanity”?



In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in deep shit already!  Don’t you think it’s about time to do something about it?

So, hey good people!  Let’s get off our asses and make the deicision to clean up this fucking mess.  Oh … !  Sorry … !  Wull, let’s get off our butts!




Posted in Poetry

Birds of Nightime Flight

I was up before seven/I made a pot of coffee/I swept the floor/I listened to the radio/I poured the coffee/I put sugar and cream in/I climbed back into bed and slept/until the dawn of night.

I watched the moon arch overhead/from orange to milky white/silver dollar sized/with full moon’s/full moon light/I watched night birds/take night time flight.


While breezes washed ashore/I walked the line where all three meet/sky within dark water/waves of moonlight/speckled starlight/below and above/within each other.

Within each kiss/between.


I looked into the grounds of sweet good byes/the thought of daylight in disguise/ my thoughts on morning light/the sky that touches deep within the sound/of inland seas.

I climbed back into my bed and slept again.


With speckled stars/above the nightime breeze/moonlight showing through the leaves/I sleep until morning light/when day begins

and daylight birds

take morning

flight …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Arcane Thinking

Unable to bring final thoughts to fruition/unable to finish the thoughts that I had started/the words lack something I can’t find/that is lost inside my mind.

Two rivers of thought at the place I am/at the same time the world I’m seeing/none of them arcane to where I am going or

from where I

came …

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Fragmented Moon

It’s hard to look at the moon these days.

On darkest nights it appears as a haze.

I turn away when it’s over my shoulder/first quarter full/afraid to look back/fearful of what I’ll see.

I missed the half moon completely this month.

No reason to celebrate atomic moon either!/I think it was shrouded.

The last new moon/I saw saw it briefly/but only at a glance.

This time I’m under its pale yellow sliver of light/seeing it fragmented/through a canopy of leaves/hard to define/the distance between pieces/too great to know what it is: or isn’t supposed to be.

Unlike when it was beautiful and whole/running on the clock of the universe/night sky above plunged into the game of endless


Posted in Short Stories

You’re Crazy, She Said …

I thought I’d been making some headway patching things up with M. and JC.  But upon arrival they seemed stand offish.  I thought maybe things had taken a turn for the worse.

So, I kept my distance out of respect for their feelings.

Maybe the change in attitude had something to do with a conversation I had with JC while standing on the driveway in front of their house one late one afternoon a few days after the operation, when I told her that around midnight that first night in the hospital, crazy with pain, anesthesia and oxycontin I pulled the I.V. tubes out of my arm and used the food tray as a walker,  determined to escape from the hospital until the Charge Nurse a former Air Force pilot, convinced me to go back to my room.

JC listened with fascination, her mouth slightly open.

I heard myself saying words that made me look like a fool but it seemed some force kept pushing the words out.

Before I even finished I knew that, combined with all the other shit that had happened her attitude toward me would be totally changed.  Things would never be the same.

“You’re crazy!” she said.

I started to give some lame excuse when, “You’re crazy!”  She said it again.  A little louder, perhaps a touch of humor in her voice for, the beauty of JC lies in her ability to keep her sweet demeanor while seeing the world objectively at the same time.

We bonded quickly back when it all started.  I sensed her shyness so I gave her special attention.  I listened and asked asked questions because I was interested in the person she was.

I catered to her with Coke or tea or coffee or chips and salsa if she wanted.  I let her know that I was there to serve her.  It became a joke between us.

We had some enjoyable talks. She thought I was funny.  She had a great laugh; one of those “hair trigger” laughs.  We had some good laughs. I was flattered.

An easy going friendship evolved.  Being basically shy myself we were on occasion, each others excuse to get away from all the craziness inside.

One day there were a lot of people.  Things were hectic.  I went back to the gardens to be alone for awhile.  She must have needed to get away from the confusion of the crowd and seeing me gave her an excuse to escape.

And so she and Beck joined me in the shade of  an orange tree out back and we talked.

I showed them the empty nautilus snail shells I find along the canal that the raccoons suck dry, that I put on the concrete bench to bleach white in the sun.  I told them about the fractal nature that underlies every shape in the universe.  It keeps repeating itself over and over with every object in nature, the world, even the universe.  I don’t think they knew or cared about this crazy idea but that’s o.k.  It was ungodly hot outside.  They soon left.  But, I was touched that they were there in the first place.

I enjoy those memories.  I feel proud and a little special that JC, who is beautiful and admired by everyone,  was comfortable enough to separate herself from the crowd occasionally to pay me a visit ..  to talk and laugh.

For years the mutual warmth was a constant factor.   I smile now, thinking about it.  We shared some good laughter.  There were warm feelings too. I was always very proud of that fact.  I still am.

Things have changed.  Or not?  Only time will tell.  In the meantime, I miss them both.


Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Two F’er

  • – Two –

I was flying sideways in my car

along streets full of passers by

looking for tomorrow

and a day that will never come.

Past fields of wheat and flax I drove

past lines and furrows

along roads well traveled where

spiral masses lie in wait

for early spring

past the mystery of silence

so near, but yet

so far …

– F’er –

Within the rural sun

mornings arrive

and day is nearly done.

Sun and moon and in between

miles along the roads of time.

Too much distance

too little time to make

the world my own.

Too much time to never see

everything in between

growing in the sun of



Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

My Single Desire To See

My single desire, to see more deeply!

Deeper sounds and color! Especially blue, purple, black night navy, the grays of afternoon light, atomic orange moon rising into night, raw gems discovered walking, sand beneath my feet each grain part of the whole extending outward into the depths.

Hidden visions within wind, unseen patterns beyond sight, woven threads  of gold, vibrations glimpsed, above one dimensional ripples on water’s surface.

To feel more deeply!

Desire creating hunger, need, passions pulling headlong gathering speed, a world behind closed eyes, spinning pleasures, sparking more light; perpetual motion feeding on itself/ourselves/themselves.

More light to see with!  Giving “more feelings” to KNOW what Love is!


To see!

Deeper sounds and colors behind the veil; soil between the blades, sand flecks, pinpoints of light mirroring stars at night, reflecting food for thought, draughts of sweet nectar to quench the thirst for knowledge.

Intoxicating ideas … creativity, sparking even more seen, than before.

More light to see?  More feelings have we!


Merged with light you’re here,

you’re there,

you’re everywhere,

free floating, flying free,

drawn into a world that

wants you as much as

you want


Posted in Poetic Narrative, Uncategorized

Sparking Lives

Miserable the only word to describe /sparking and unsparking/whiplash/negative charges thrown into the kiln/changing polarities/just enough to be dra

wn into/swords and suits of armor/wild assertions/positive forces negative sparks/static/crackling/lines of lightening flashes/downpours of anguished regret/the cruel heat of friction/despair/the will to punish and to forgive with confusing regularity/at odds for many reasons/in love to … or with .. what it used to be when living in light was magnified x 2.

Posted in Flash Fiction, Poetic Narrative, Uncategorized

Elizabethan Songs

In the village of the offspring/they kept true what they believed/they kept their secrets to themselves.  

Each stem and root among them grew/the tallest oaks and elms/and there were many! living there as well/foxes/and hens/deer and rabbit/ pheasants, starlings, doves.  

The dove! Beautiful light of angelic heart.  

It’s the dove’s first song/that leads the way/with gentle wonder/from the dark of winter/through endless days of summer.   

In the Place of Hearts/there were those lives/joined more not less together/than all the others/equal genius their greatest gift/equal visions their common trait/their natures known before even seen.  

In the Village Of the Hearts/before meaning and time came together/the offspring went different ways/each achieving wisdom along their separate journey’s/the best that they could be/both worlds /a part of destiny/but apart …… 

Posted in Humor, Short Stories, Uncategorized


One day, after the swelling in my knee had lessened/I found myself looking through one of those six foot wide sliders/at the hundred degree world outside/wondering what to do with my time. 

 I remembered a phrase I’d heard long ago/on the hottest days of summer/when I worked outdoors/for the railroad. 

“Looks hotter than a two peckered billy goat out their today, doesn’t it kid?”  

But, it didn’t stop us from working.


So I took the plunge into the hot zone/deciding to redirect two water jets along the side walls of the pool/ (a foot and a half below the surface of the water) to a sharper downward angle/algae on the bottom pushed toward the drainage pipe/at the far end of the pool.  

What could be easier work/for a man two and a half weeks after total knee replacement surgery?


After returning from the tool box with a short, regular head screwdriver/I knelt on one knee, my bad knee thrust straight back.  

Leaning over the edge of the pool/I guided the screwdriver into the eye of the nozzle/wedged it against the insides wall/and gently turned.  

When the jet’s ‘eye’ cracked loose/I cranked it downward to the left.


When the surface turbulence above the jet disappeared/a shadow world of spinning galaxies/black holes appeared from nothingness/their forms wandering aimlessly/hastening destruction or reforming forms torn apart/circles growing tails inside revolving shadows/subtle shadings of waves WITHIN the water clearly seen/patterns changing always changing/light absorbed from the sun cast down/onto the bottom of the pool/a photographic negative revealing details; moving shadows clear as night/the interplay of sunlit water, air, blue sky earth and liquid space had emerged.


Wow!  An invisible world becoming visible for me to see/all because I moved a water jet!

 How wonderful the world can be! 

Then I wondered.  Am I taking too much percoset?  

It didn’t matter.  One more jet to adjust.  We’ll see how it works!

 continued … 


Posted in Flash Fiction, Short Stories, Uncategorized

Pleasure and Pain In the World of the Mechanical Man

Titanium, high grade plastic and epoxy are part of the foundation helping me to stand straight on the right side of my body where those worn out, bone on bone surfaces, taking constant friction have been replaced by shiny new ones. Yippee !!

How long has it been now? Two weeks and four days since they slashed me open and poured molten titanium inside my knee?  For all of that, I’m not doing too bad. That spot welding they do is amazing! 

I’m still stiff and it hurts like hell. I sleep poorly at night but that’s getting better since John from Seattle sent me some herbal mixture that relaxes your body. It comes in tincture form.  Drops you right off into darkness.  

The incision looks better now that the 25 staples holding my skin together have been removed. Those scabs!  Wow!  You should have seen them basking in the sunlight and air, eager to dry up and fall off!

Wull, being a dumb ass like most men, I had the false perception that I could perform most of the the duties I ever performed before this ‘surgical invasion of my senses’ befell me.  

I figured, as long as I work more slowly, don’t push so hard  and pay attention to how I move my body – without twisting – I won’t get hurt. So, I ventured forth.  

One day I swept the pool.   Child’s play, but I felt pretty good about it.  

Another time I was on a safari stalking two little female people screaming with hysterical delight, hiding under a vinyl raft where they THOUGHT they could escape the torrents of water I threw at them from my new hose nozzle!  

 “Now THAT was fun!” the one girl said.  Another example of child’s play but, no pain no strain on that one too.  

At the end of the day on Sunday, after walking across the parking lot to get into the mall, then all over looking for the bathroom, then waiting around at the Apple Store THEN, the whole thing in reverse; my knee was the size of a large cantaloupe!

I had to ride home in the back seat, my leg extended, a pillow over my face to silence my whimpering.


Monday Tina the Physical Therapist With Her Bone Jarring Expectations

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

The Blue Light

Life is not the same/when absent/the Life that gives life Life.

The absence is the bad …

Daily works gets done/decisions are made/sometimes disharmony/fear/lack of truth/some laughter/big plans/this is what we call …

The absence …

The sharp knife goes dull without/the blue light that follows everywhere/the light of double vision/more light to see/more than only one can see …

More than enough light that two can see as one …

See the colors following like an aura or the Aurora Borealis/surges of magnetism/wrapped around charges/constantly changing/within separate forces/building color/with only one 

answer … 2 + 2 equals 1


Posted in Humor, Uncategorized

Until the Next Time: The Kathy and Derek Chronological … The End

images copy 40

I turned and walked toward the open door of the Mustang while re-running a little video inside my brain of what happened during the last 10 or 15 minutes.

I saw Scooter Guy dazed and confused,  tangled up in the wreckage of his scooter wondering how in the world he went from jamming a yard sale sign into the ground to looking at the sky with a human face staring down at him.  

But most of the scenes in my video were of Kathy and Derek.

There’s Kathy half way out of the car window chiding me about the spelling of ‘Yeard’, making me aware of the penis, knowing that I’d take the bait, wondering what crazy shit would ensue. Her teeth her smile her eyes reflecting sunlight; the light of good humor, her body a metronome inside of some internal clock, bouncing up and down in time with the music that is always there but not always felt or heard or seen. Music that the world brings to us when somehow,  the rigors of every day life fall away and true life is exposed.

I saw Derek coming at me like a soft human tank growing larger his lips stretched back his white teeth gleaming in the sun, ”getting’ the joke,  happy to be part of it, unafraid to show his affection. The last thing I remember, sight of him laughing, double visions of his face bouncing to the music of HIS internal laugh clock.

I pulled the car door shut, put the Mustang into first gear, looked both ways and slowly let out on the clutch.  A split second before moving through the intersection  I glanced into the rear view mirror.

Kathy’s head was still outside of her window. She still had that shit eating grin on her face her head bobbing up and down and up and down and up and down just like the bobble headed hula girl that my grandparents displayed on the open shelving unit that separated their tiny little living room from their tiny little kitchen.

The End …..

Posted in Humor, Uncategorized

Kathy and Derek: The Possibility of Road Rage


Suddenly I realized I was alone standing in the middle of the left lane, the Mustang running with the door open.

I knew that the drivers behind Kathy and Derek were oblivious of the circumstances anxious to move past the Stop sign to continue along their well worn paths.  

Like …  even if they had seen Scooter Man trapped under his scooter they couldn’t have known about the penis on the yard sign which wouldn’t have made any difference, since the real reason traffic was being held up was, I was totally debilitated by the ridiculous absurdity of a penis on a yard sign, while Kathy and Derek were overwhelmed with laughter at the sight of me acting like an ass totally convinced that there was a penis on a yard sale sign. We were indulging ourselves with laughter. We knew that any one of us could have been playing the role I was currently playing.  

As the line of incoming traffic grew I felt their resentment  heating up.  I figured I’d have to either get the hell out of there or face the consequences of collective road rage.

I glanced at Kathy and Derek two cars behind the Mustang.

Their body language spoke volumes.

Continued … The Exciting Conclusion (once again) of The Kathy and Derek Chronicle