Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Snapshot Country

I do miss those carefree country days...

The words are mine.
Stock photo found via a google search.  

Saturday, July 22, 2017

Twittering Tale #41


Mid-summer solstice spun her anger, in a whiplash of sky-tears and tree leaves,  across city highway buildings and windshields hot of road grit.  (144 characters)

Weekly Haiku

Image result for woman words unsaid

Something Left Unsaid

A sultry whisper is lodged
in the darkest edges between
all the words I can't speak.

Image result for woman writing by moonlight

I Write by Moon-tide

My body made a shell,
flesh-pink against velvet secrets,
a whim stitched of moonbeams.

I Won't Lie, It's Semi-Autobiographical...

Into the Forest of Myself 

I have painfully learned
the principles of exclusion.
By morn I entertain
an empty room, speak
to the soul inside myself:
'come, let's drink some tea
and fold a prayer
between the lotus pose.'

I am other-worldly, that
small dark house behind the hill
that none dare enter
for the fear of yellow light.
It's only the antique lamp I read by,
and all those gents weaved between
the pages of yesterdays New York Times;
they sell to me their lusty prose
and, for a while, I don an evening dress,
love fervently with my body,
each pale, glowing limb
a beacon for some distant sailor.

And, come night, I dine
with the ghosts of my former self.
Like little historians
dressed in pink-on-black,
each one has her own story.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Man's Best Friend

"Gal's Best Pal"

She would always remember that day at the pound.  The rows upon stacked, metal rows of dogs yipping, puppies howling.  And then, the cage at the end, left wedged against the wall, where the tiny puppy sat.  He was pudgy and eight weeks old at best.  How his sad eyes lifted and his tail wagged at her, "Hello."  How she couldn't resist taking him home.
Created for an art challenge at Digital Whisper.


"Rainbow Beach"

The sea awakened early that morning.  She longed only to escape into the deep folds of its serenity.  Her lover was gone again and summer had begun.  Soon the island would be full of tourists, it's ports quaking with the footsteps of strangers....and she would find someone new to share her coffee-smoke mornings, salt-dew mingling its Mediterranean taste between their kisses.

Created for an art challenge at Sunday Postcard Art.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Sea Creatures

"Twelve Fathoms Deep"

Each night on the eve of twilight, she follows a still-water path of moon beams to the edge of a coral reef where she watches boats tread the waves.  There, hidden by shadows of a receding wharf, she dreams of the tall, tanned legs of sailors.

Created for an art challenge at Take A Word.

Twittering Tale #40


It was well past midnight, but the champagne tickled her inhibitions.

"Go ahead, Harry," her breath against his neck.  "Play our song again."

Weekly Haiku Writing

Image result for reading under a tree

Summer Breeze and a Book

Each leaf is a green palm
that pushes the wind past the trunk
I sit beneath, reading.

Image result for stormy night sky

Before the Thunder

Amused by storm-clouds,
the moon spins his colossal tear-drop
between stars, irate of rain.

I try to use the 6/8/6 American-form Haiku as outlined by Natalie Goldberg.  

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Sometimes the Words Just Come Out...

Related image

Strangers at the Crosswalk

Love laced itself
around her ankles:
a face-fall.
She turned her cheek
from the call of his hands,
while inside her head
she misplaced the
ghost of herself
inside his pocket;
he walked her spirit
across the city.
Her fingers lingered
against his hand-grasp,
a lie her body told;
still she let go
when what she wanted
most was to smear
the breath of her flesh
across his skin,
a private kind of cologne.
The mind is a fool
to detest such pleasure,
deny the attraction
of mortal sin
when life is so short.
Maybe next time she'll relent.
Perhaps when they meet
at the center crosswalk
of the city on the eve
of some festivity,
she'll be giddy of champagne
and smelling of lust.
And, senses piqued,
he'll push his heart
into her mouth like
a spoonful of
confectionery sugar;
she'll slide her soul
down his throat,
via a string,
for safe-keeping.