webs of spun silk billow
in morning’s mild breeze
sparkling orbs
handiwork of moonlight’s toil
twinkle
plucked from
the cosmos of recollection
a cache of memories
cling
to spider’s haphazard roadmap
many muddled
fuzzy
out of reach
others beckon for
a closer look
Step up
peruse
the glimmering galaxy Continue reading
They say the day Aunt Frankie married Uncle Sally was a day that would live in infamy. I’d learned Franklin D. Roosevelt said that when Pearl Harbor was bombed, but no, most of the family, actually, only the uncles, would whistle, smack their wine stained lips, and speculate over the reasons as to why a raven-haired bombshell like Francine Odessa would be interested in a stunad* like Uncle Sally. As for the women in the house? They’d wink at one another.
Uncle Sally might not have been the brightest bulb in the Murano Glass chandelier my Nana had sent specially from Italy as a wedding gift for her caro Salvatore and his gabbagool bride (Nana’s words, not mine), but to Aunt Frankie, Continue reading
Because our minds are not confined to the constraints of our craniums, a ride down the rabbit hole can be endless with its twists and turns, zigs and zags, steep climbs, and plummeting tumbles into a time-sucking abyss. You’re familiar with it, I’m sure.
All you want to do is Continue reading
With a stinky stogie clamped between my teeth, I threw a crumpled trench coat over my shoulder, slapped my grandfather’s worn fedora on my head, stood on tip-toes and peeked through the window of the classroom door. Waiting for my cue, my heart raced, overtaking the steady beat of the hallway clock as it ticked the minutes to my entrance. Before I was able to swipe a sweaty palm across my rumpled shirt, it came…
“Oscar. Oscar. Oscar,” my friend Barbara lamented, nodding in my direction.
With one deep breath, I grabbed the door handle, pushed it down, and burst into the room. No longer the quiet, shy, mild-mannered Donna Lambo, Continue reading
An abundance of wisteria
if found flourishing
in Bulgaria
might migrate to Bavaria
causing Continue reading
She stands facing the pale, windswept bay, tall and erect as the ancient redwoods poking through the shroud of fog folding over the mountain range behind her. They loom in the distance like a pack of protective brothers, chanting in the blustering gale, You’re not alone. We’ve got your back.
Their mantra strokes the tips of the young woman’s button ears red while strands of raven locks swirl about her head, whipped free from the tight braid trailing down her slender back. The beauty swipes at the rebellious tendrils with the back of one hand, while clutching a tattered knit shawl to her heart with the other.
The weary maiden pulls the wrap tight, but the comfort and warmth it once afforded is now akin to her lover’s embrace. Non-existent. Cold. At least, Continue reading
Extreme weather boots.
Hat.
Insulated gloves.
Balaclava (baklava, optional)
Back, neck, hand and foot heat packs
Thermal socks…and…and…and.
The list was long.
About this time three years ago, I was packing for an arctic adventure.
Thirty-six months ago, I had no idea Continue reading
Alice Wetherby Pimms physically felt time pass in the coursing of her blood for as long as she could remember. Every second -tick, tick, tick- was like an invasion of needle-nosed imps nipping at the underside of her plump flesh.
Each and every moment they poked from inside sixty-thousand miles of cerulean veins, prodded the chambers of her brick-red heart, and pricked the crimson roadmap of arteries and capillaries fanning her petite frame.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Poking. Prodding. Pricking.
Each moment slipping into the past, only to Continue reading
As writers, we all have our favorite writing methods. For instance, some swear by Scrivener, while others write in Word or Google docs. Some prefer to draft longhand, using colorful gel pens and notebooks.
Most of us have a favorite writing book (or ten), too. These books have helped us understand storytelling better, demystifying certain aspects of writing. Well, today I’m taking part in welcoming a new writing guide into the world: The Emotion Thesaurus (Second Edition).
If I were a simple love poem
I’d, first of all, want to rhyme,
then, be flawless and impeccable
in meter and time,
but since life is not perfect,
nor is this holiday poem,
I’ll continue in free-verse (maybe)
to a chorus of stifled groans.
I.
If I were a silly love poem,
I’d toss the rhyme and serve you my heart*
on a bed of mixed greens.
Grain-free. Gluten-free. Nut-free (you be the judge of that). Continue reading
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