Well-Seasoned

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.
Innocent.
Inviolable.
Insouciant,
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!

Progress

I walk these streets

and wonder where I am.

Places look unfamiliar:

condos,

parking garages,

office towers,

where once were

trees,

ponds,

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

steel

brick

concrete

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!

Game-Changer

You gave me a new rule book,

saying:

• read it carefully
• live it
• breathe it
• treat it like your Bible.

Now should I abandon

(quickly)

(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.

Words,

and yet more words,

but action limps behind

at a distance,

disconnected,

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

cold

like mountain rainwater

or the rip of a Far East shore.

Oh, beneficent one,

your good deeds are cited,

cataloged,

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?

Alone.

Just you,

without the sugar frosting,

candy coating,

fake confection outer layer,

so sweet

and so unlike what's inside:

messy,

prickly,

complicated,

sometimes wrong

and often hard to deal with,

but always

real.

I would only need a minute,

plastic wrapping shredded

on the floor,

beside the masks and feathers,

colored spangles,

cellophane,

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,

genuine,

unscripted,

even if it's hateful,

hurtful,

angry,

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,

reassurance

that somewhere on the inside,
in this moment,

you're okay.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.