A Boy Named Fiction

He was stranger than fiction,
a sorry excuse for a dereliction,
loath to do even his own bidden.
A siren song screeching caution
with all the makings of a succulent
addiction, hardened, heart broken
and down on his fortune.
A ripe old affliction fevered with perspiration.
Under the harsh neon he appeared golden,
the beguiling smile of passion, and the
cigarette stench of poison.
A shiny fruit sweet looking, worm riddled,
and rotten, but you wouldn’t listen.


Treasures that hide exist forwards in time,
at the top of inclines is where the stars align.
Along the straight line is the
freedom to escape the confine
of looping around on rewind.
Leave off the things behind,
where rust and ruin reside.
From your course don’t turn aside,
from the past there is nothing to find.


The taste for life on your tongue so rich and bright,
until the day you chewed off more than you should bite.
Now your mouth is full of bitter spite,
your belly churning in sour plight.
You should have sipped where you devoured whole,
taken only a little instead of more,
you feasted during youth, only to starve while old,
now look where you are, alone.

Between the Lines

I stumbled across your words the way one stumbles over furnishings in the dark. How they hit me in all my tender spots, bruising me deeply for the pain they had caused. Sharp and edgy each word gave me pause, slowed my pace, made me step back, so that I could see, really see what it was you were trying to say. It was the spaces in between that spoke the loudest. The parts you left out that spoke volumes. it was what you didn’t say that made me ache for you the hardest.


Beads of rain hurled through grey,
like a runaway train, wind swept
and driven insane, explode against the pane.

*Cough, Cough*

I, am sick, not full blown curl into a ball and cry for your mommy sick, but the head stuffed with cotton, I feel like dirt, this sucks, kinda sick. The husband, who’s job consists of driving around in a confined space with small runny nosed germ breeders has been systematically contaminating every door knob, handle, lever, faucet, and button in my house for over a week. Add to that, that everyone and their uncle has been coughing in my general direction recently, thank you very much, and I was bound to get it eventually. I pride myself on having an immunity that can put the Roman army to shame, but even I must admit defeat from time to time, and except that I too, am human. Yes, I know the fact that I am not invincible comes as a shock to me too. Whilst I don’t miss being a child, I do miss the perks that came with being sick. My grandmother would keep me home, prop me up in front of the tv with blankets, tissues and a steady supply of jello, soup, and 7up until what ever was allying me raised the white flag. Let me just say, warm 7up is by far the most sickening thing you can do to a sick person. That, and Lipton tea. If you’ve never heard of Lipton tea count your blessings. It’s indescribably horrible, and yet unforgettable at the same time. It’s the reason I was convinced that all tea was created equal and had to be shunned at all cost. I have since revised that notion, and now consume tea like it was made out of water. Sadly the world doesn’t stop like that any more, and the luxury of staying home has all but disappears now that I’m an adult. Unless you’re very rich, which the last time I checked, we are not, its off to work I go regardless how crappy I feel. Our health care plan is not to plan on getting sick. I could write a whole essay on the plight of health care reform in merica, but it’s not worth the tissue paper to blow my nose with, besides I think I’ve beat that dead horse enough. At least the timing of this little skirmish worked to my advantage seeing how I have the day off to rest. Bring on the copious cups of tea!Tomorrow hopefully the war will have ended and I can go back to doing what I do best, happy dance! *Cha, Cha, Cha*

Spring Free

Gentle breeze kissing the tips of barren trees,
shake loose her chilly sleeves and unfurl her tender leaves.
For winter blues, song bird don’t you grieve,
open wide your wings and soar free.
Beauteous stalks clad in green, to soft petals kindly cleave.

Reign Supreme


Upon shimmering beam, light
and beauty awash with spring,

from the depths of winter
rouse the earth from dreams.

Carpets painted in the latest green
adorn the feet of still sleepy saplings.

On gilded wing, and soft wind from
distant skies feathered musicians stream.

The last of winters harsh sting
evaporate under the suns warm gleam,

and once again the joy of color reigns supreme.

Day Awakening

In warmth of sun and golden glow,
slumbering gems rise from below.
Awakened with a kiss and
encouraged to grow,
beams of joy shoot forth its rich arrow.
With melodious song the expanse
heralds the morn, belting out a happy hello.
A promised end to winters dark shadow
upon barren bones shimmering rays bestow
tender compassion for yesterdays woe.


She was the trendy girl, dressing with painstaking skill, matching her accessories to the latest pill, jumping from fad to fad without a care in the world. He was the smooth guy, sensitive but never shy, willing to cry if it got a girl to unzip his fly, a quasi nerd for sporting a bow tie, always looking for a Wall to occupy. A couple of stereotype’s, living hand to mouth off of gossip and hype, doling out personal gripes as wise advice, obnoxiously oblivious to any real plight.


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