Miscellaneous Writings and Musings


A genie and her rock band

(Novel and Short Stories)

Steal Tomorrow

Steal Tomorrow
Murder, Mystery, First Love, and the End of the World

(Novel and Short Stories)

My Books and Stories

My Books and Stories
Where to Buy, Read, Download


You burn me like chipolte.
No water drowns this fire.
But a sweet gesture,
(spoonful of sugar)
quenches the heat.
And I am ready for more.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.

Lock and Key

She hears the key in the door.
It locks her in.

Or does it lock her out?

Maybe it's just an illusion,
this idea of transgression.
Where is it written
that there are places she cannot go?
Has she not climbed the peaks of joy
and waded the pits of madness?
She has seen love unfurl
like petals in June sun,
only to turn to dust.

But even when cast out,
(wandering in the desert)
she can strike her staff into the earth
and make the water flow.
bedecked in feathers and rags.
She examines her reflection,
powders her nose,
and wonders at her magic.

And now the closed door.

Lock and key
weigh like a stone in her heart.
Charms fail,
conjures betray.
Not even Houdini's tricks
are effective here. 

The moon rises; all is lost.
Now becomes the time after.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.

55 - Outwitting Squirrels

They were smarter than him;
that much was clear.
They scavenged his yard,
both the far side and near.
They took his Corvette
out for a spin!
Some days it felt
like he never would win.
He needed a resource,
that much was sure,
and he hoped that this book
would soon be the cure.

Have you written a story in fifty-five words? Let The G-Man know!


I walk these streets
and wonder where I am.
Places look unfamiliar:
parking garages,
office towers,
where once were
and ducks.

If I pause quietly
in what remains,
close my eyes,
stretch my mind,
I can see again
a warm summer night
when we walked together
(by moonlight)
admired the ducks,
lay in the grass,
and shared our dreams.

Why do men feel driven
to master living things
and overwrite with
what nature has created?

We can speak fine words
about the march of progress,
train ourselves to admire
glass and steel,
but late at night
faint memory calls.
What we once were
returns to mind,
and we realize
what we lost out there
will always be inside,
never to die.

This is a Sunday Scribblings and Sunday Whirl post.

55 - Be Mine

"Don't give your heart away carelessly," her mother said. "Lose your heart, lose your soul."

Did she listen? Of course not! Love was too intoxicating, promising new vistas where all was possible.

Everything, including heartbreak.

But to those who would say "I told you so," she raised her chin. "At least I took a chance."

It's a little late for Valentine's, but when I saw this lost pin, I couldn't resist. 

Have you written a story in fifty-five words? Let The G-Man know!


You gave me a new rule book,
  • read it carefully
  • live it
  • breathe it
  • treat it like your Bible.

Now should I abandon
(just like that)
all that came before?

Change the rules
Change my life

I hold on tightly
to my fear
of mistaking you once again.

and yet more words,
but action limps behind
at a distance,
edges not matching up
instead of hugging tightly
to each other,
as I once did to you.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

55 - Feeding Time

Every time I come, it's the same old thing: cold fish guts. When I agreed to this living arrangement, it was because I had heard great reviews about the food. Instead, the waitress offers the same uninspiring menu, day after day. What does a guy have to do to be taken seriously here? Do tricks?

About Friday Flash 55: The challenge is to write a complete story in fifty-five words. If you've written a 55-flash, let The G-Man know!

Brutal Heart

You are brutal in your kindness:
fine words,
fancy phrases,
castles in the air.
Pretty, pretty pictures,
each of them
like mountain rainwater
or the rip of a Far East shore.

Oh, beneficent one,
your good deeds are cited,
neatly ordered
and searchable.

Do not your alms before men.

Your heart cannot be feather-light
when weighted by hypocrisy.
Charity will not transfer your sins
onto your enemies.
And though you grope in darkness,
whisper to your beads,
beg mercy of the Lady,
when the time for weighing comes,
light words won't be enough
to buoy your heavy soul.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

Just for a Moment

Could I have you for a moment?
Just you,
without the sugar frosting,
candy coating,
fake confection outer layer,
so sweet
and so unlike what's inside:
sometimes wrong
and often hard to deal with,
but always

I would only need a minute,
plastic wrapping shredded
on the floor,
beside the masks and feathers,
colored spangles,
and all the other
little things
that make you
easy to like,
hard to know,
despicable caricature
of an honest man.

I only want to hear one word,
even if it's hateful,
full of pain.
Pain is real,
and if you feel life's sting
through foam padding
and phony smiles,
then maybe you can feel
this one thing, too:
my touch upon your hand,
that somewhere on the inside,
in this moment,
you're okay.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.