Pre-COVID, we met, early Saturdays, in the Midtown Market. Few stirred: lady mall cop, staff from the attached hospital, lone coffee shop doing brisk business, shops from around the world setting up. We were inspired by Heaven’s scents. Continue reading “I Got Life”
Tag: writer
Faerie Tales from Near-Chaos
Outside my window, all is brightness
Brilliant sun in each dew drop, diamonds poised on overgrown grass
Robin’s egg blue, crumbled and powdered, smoothed across the sky
Fresh-whipped creamy clouds, heavy dollops spooned out overhead
It seems an abomination
Periodical Illiteracy (or How I Learned to Love My Public Library)
Cheryl stood outside the heavy glass doors of her local public library, stepping to one side and nodding as the Tween pushed through in a rush, tinny post-Disney pop leaking from a pair of bright pink ear buds. Her forceful exit left the door open wide enough for Cheryl to step through without touching anything.
She didn’t want to leave any fingerprints. Continue reading “Periodical Illiteracy (or How I Learned to Love My Public Library)”
Free Association Writers: Saturday Morning Edition
She hunches over the library table, and rubs planed fingers over an already-slick forehead. Canadian forests are burning in the northwest, and the haze is thick, humidity high from last night’s rains. Her other fingers wander back and forth across a college-ruled composition book, cheap pen jagging with arrhythmia. In search of inspiration, but there is none to be found. Continue reading “Free Association Writers: Saturday Morning Edition”
Cool Water or Writer’s Block?
The firefighter pulled off his helmet, face streaked with sweat and dust from a raging fire, now controlled.
He’d single-handedly saved an even dozen citizens that night. He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down into the wide eyes of a tiny tot.
“Thanks, Mister!” the child lisped. “Want a TMCoke and a smile?”
“Thanks, but I’d rather have some cool water.”
“Good choice!”
(No. Just…No. Highlight, then delete.)
Friends With Benefits (or The Monster Inside)
He looked like death warmed over. That is, if death warmed over was a once-in-a-lifetime, luscious lothario. Lean and broad-shouldered at 6’3’’, he towered over my compact 5’3”. His eyes gleamed intense as the full moon above, his collar-length hair swept back in lines of seafoam white over ocean dark. Still good, even though a little worn around some edges and drooping a little in others; well worth the awkwardness of one more date. Continue reading “Friends With Benefits (or The Monster Inside)”
