My journal of big words and pretty pictures
I sit at my great-grandmother’s knee on the porch of her old farmhouse. A tangle of wool sheared from her Cheviots sheep, dyed a bright yellow from sedge grass I gathered last fall, is wound loosely around my hands. She lifts the wool from my outstretched arms, twisting the yarn into a small ball of … Continue reading Spinning yarns
There wasn’t enough space in the garage for the old waiting room chairs, so Eugene left them out front, the bucket seats filling up with dirty rainwater that poured off the tarpaper roof. He remembered always sitting in a yellow chair while he waited at Dr. Wilford's for one of his therapy sessions. After Dr. … Continue reading Every other Thursday
Caged behind doors of steel, Treacherous fools reside, A merciless monster they conceal. Abandon all hope prophesied If e’er the beast’s bonds are broken. That door cannot be fortified. Withered, wisdom forsaken; Atrophied, weakened beyond a cure Surrenders to loathsome aberration. Deity divine, a false savior Rising out of foul darkness, Corrupt agent provocateur. Demon hordes … Continue reading Behind doors of steel
Held snug against the earth by brawny roots, the discarded spare stayed lost among the underbrush, forever abandoned to time and harsh elements. A rustling in the trees gave him hope that he would be rescued from his exile. Two young humans! One tried to pull him out of his trap. “Hey, lookit, food,” the skinny … Continue reading Spare tire
She always wore cherry lipstick. A fixture at the Blue Orchid’s karaoke night, Val always sang the same three songs, screeching classical garbage off-key at a volume that made a mic redundant. She'd clutch the microphone in her hands, white knuckled, and plant her lips on the mesh windscreen, leaving behind red smears of greasy wax embedded … Continue reading Cherry lipstick
In his vainglorious hubris, he believed he could suspend the rising of the sun, draw rein on the ebbing tides, and command tempestuous weather like a ringmaster. Merely a man, lost in his own charade, he came to believe his own hyperbole. When at last his fall came, the descent was bloody and cruel. Those … Continue reading Ringmaster
Thin spiral notebook 