A Collection of Shorts - Recommendation



serendipitously this morning I fell over a website enjoyed it and wanted to recommend it. The sites name is Wigleaf, it’s a changing collection of short writings well worth checking out. I very much liked  author Mary Miller’s short Aesthete “I went to a wedding reception at the house of a man who painted with his ass.” finding it an amusing piece to wake up to.

Alabaster Sins 5/365



god I kneel before thee offering myself in transparent and humble shame, my sins are great taking up vast tracts in my scorched soul.

pride binds me to self, my putrid sight does miss what others see, greed gushes within my heart craving to take from others without returning.

god I supplicate my wretched foul body before thee seeking guidance and forgiveness for I have coveted things not mine lusted in dank alleys of the mind to possess the unpossessable

god I shed torrents of tears begging for absolution, a son hungering to be once again within your loving arms.

Blueberry Oatmeal 4/365



Jasmin was known as more then a little eccentric a few used kooky in their descriptions, yet the labels never stopped people from seeking her out.

Jasmin was a healer, an artist, a masseuse, a drummer but what people traveled hundreds of miles for was her mouth watering taste bud popping trade marked Blueberry Oatmeal.

Some people would eat it for its magical curative powers, others slathered it on aching muscles and creaky joints. In discrete adult company stories were told how it would supercharge you know what.

Jasmin only made two claims, it always tasted good and lowered cholesterol.

Tilt A Little 3/365



Karen knew it was an empty collection of wood, glass and nails yet in her mind it was sinister, her thoughts imagining lurid awful things going on at night.

One night, her family asleep she snuck out to see for herself.

Heart racing Karen silently peered through greasy filthy garage glass when the hand of a little girl embraced hers.

At first she flinched then became receptive to the girl’s touch, a trust and longing filled her.

Through the doll house door Karen went carrying no regrets and no past, she followed herself into a world of wonder and delight.

Tangy Friends 2/365



Maria banged her head on the cupboard, “why can’t I think of one more guest” she growled, reviewing her mental guest list.

Trudy a habanero always dangling her shoes daringly, Matt a bell pepper solid and reliable, Vivie a jalapeno she lingered subtlety yet hot.

Roxanne beautiful yet sweet as Holland red, Carlos of course was crushed red pepper a very nice topping. Juan a pepperoncini all Mediterranean, Simone a poblano dark smokey with a bite,

Maria struggled finding one more tangy friend for her very elegant party, “of course it’s Alonzo a cayenne pepper good with everyone,” she effused.

Clean Plate 1/365



We both tried, isn’t that what your supposed to say when a break up occurs?

Oh sure I know I bent myself into a saltless pretzel, rolled myself flat all flaky pie crusty hidden under the flour so the tears never showed.

She smashed dishes screaming how worthless I was, how I had robbed her of possibilities dragging me through a colander shredding my soul and remaining love into nothing.

We went from a plate full of color mixing and melding simmering and boiling with possibilities to an arid plain trying to eat lifes juice, lifes blood with a fork.

Slice Of Time

 

Through our window suns rays careen off the dust particles amplifying dreams till your breathing softly jolts me into some kaleidoscope awakening. My legs entwined with yours, our mouths sharing spit dripping to me from you and back again. Deeply I inhale your precious smells a mixing of perfume, sweat and sleep into one life giving scent imprinting itself forever deep inside my memories

Fingers awakening touching legs drawing pictures on still sleeping skin, eyes squinting bodies stretching coming together in morning’s first touch, sweet warmth of the moment no worlds exist just you being me being you.

Then First words flow like Elmer’s glue pouring forth reluctantly creating throaty mumbles, actively resisting with sticky pauses between out words , not wanting the day to start not wanting  to break the spell we have cast stopping time, over our bodies and minds.

Pulling covers over our heads shutting out the suns rays shutting out everything intruding on our tiny slice of time, on our tiny island our tiny castle built for two, where nothing exists except you being me being you.

Flickering Lights

 

Winter’s darkness caught me by surprise this year. I had few thoughts of the dimming light till a few days before Christmas when out of the corner of my eye I saw flickering lights.

The lights turned out to be a tug of war between Winter with all it meaning and the sputtering gasp of Fall letting go of its last colors. The Solstice risen up like a monks gray hood enveloping and erasing everything before it, leaving only barren dark cold plains for out memories to dwell upon.

Flickering lights signaling a brief pause before the emotional rolling in of  Winter and it’s bride, heralding the taking up a long extended residence not only outside out homes but inside our souls as well.

Flickering lights reminding us of the never ending turning of the wheel. The wheel turning season unto season breath unto breath creating everything while simultaneously destroying everything. The wheel that never stop unfolding moment unto moment vibrating energy into and then out of form out of reach out of memory. The wheel that is both fear and hope colliding and merging built with the impermanence that is change.

New Years Eve

 

In the morning Dad would drag out a humongous blue kettle usually reserved to cook lobsters in, he’d cover the bottom with oil and cook what seemed to us kids like mountains of popcorn. The popcorn would fill 5 or 6 brown paper shopping bags that he would line up on the dinning room table with a big satisfied smile.

Dad would spend his New Years Eve with his buddies at the Legion Hall getting smashed but he always cooked the popcorn, it was his contribution to parenting and the kids New Years Eve party.

Shortly after dinner our door bell would ring and the neighborhood kids would stream in carrying toys and sleeping bags. Everyone loved getting to sleep over and stay up to ring in the New Year with horns and hats, but the biggest thing was making popcorn balls with sticky sweet caramel or maple syrup.

Our party had both boys and girls sleeping over with the eagle eyed older sisters in the role of chaperone’s. Everyone knew the older girls had control and we stayed in line for fear of red pepper or worse being dumped in our mouths. I had to be extra good because I was the host but mostly because my sister was just waiting for me to step out of line so she could make her little brother the nights example.

Once the popcorn balls were made we would play games and listen to scary stories from my sister and her friends. Soda, lemonade, cookies, brownies and chips were brought out around 10:30 and we dove in knowing on this night we could eat all we wanted, some kids said it was better then Halloween. Just picture it 25 eleven and twelve year old kids eating all they wanted and you can bet the teenage chaperones joined right in.

Midnight came with sustained hoots and shoots shaking the house to the foundation, we ran and jumped over furniture played tag and wrestled and yes a couple of lucky kids got their first kiss before the teenage  harpies came swooping in with their red pepper shakers making sure it was only one kiss.

Happy New Years Everyone.

Big Gulp Blues



Big Gulp Blues

 

I was walking the other day when my head exploded releasing a cloud of emotional toxicity into the neighborhood atmosphere… my head exploded

Oh baby, oh baby, emotions brimming to the edge brewing dark and rich you know what I’m talking about.

Anxiety’s on sale down at the local seven eleven,  two big gulps for the price of one, rev up your internal motor excite the hyper, excite the hyper drive, excite the hyper vigilance.

Lets all get moving keep moving never slow down never rest always live on the edge, the edge of hardboiled lunches cascading us into creative anxiety.

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