Creature Comforts #poetry #photography #dogs

dusk clouds

Between strong legs

I look beyond the porch

waves of snow hemmed in with ice

once I would have savored cold

challenging the white waves

feeling exuberance of youth

I lay down at his feet

soaking in homey warmth

his knowing reflects in my eyes

together we dream by the fire

whit bw



Today I needed to be warmed from the inside out. As I share this poem with Poet’s Pantry , I take a look into a friend’s eyes whom I dearly miss.

poets united



What’s Your: Perspective #photography #poetry

Looking from your side

of reality

what do you see?

He sees


I see


Does it matter the angle

 require a dodge?

Is perspective the viewer?

the critic my dog?

At Word Press Daily Post an excellent and fun prompt  Perspective

Inspiration – where does it come from as you writer? #writing #poetry #photography

Where does inspiration for the work you write come from?

the child

When you see a smile on a child or on a kite do you craft a poem with butterflies and streamers as your subject matter?

There are probably those sorrowful/ tender moments that could be inspired by a broken winged bird. What words flow from your pen in a tear?

Did you have a day where someone left the cake out in the rain and  the London Broil on the grill has bird droppings? What fire burns deep in the ink well then?

What about a reflection of beauty that can’t be contained? What glories are painted with each word of your sunset?

Words are like dubloons. Each piece leads the way to more. Scatter the words and the reader goes on an excursion for meaning and at the end may have found  buried treasure.

bakersdozenThis week I have two pieces of short fiction/ prose out in the blogsphere. One piece that is being written as a serial (for Baker’s Dozen) is quite intriguing. So far there has been a cryptic message on a computer, two IT buildings have blown up, tanks are marching down the main road, two survivors are hiding out in a parking garage with no answers and no where to hide, an NSA agent just turned up out of the blue, and I just introduced a history to a pendant around one of the men’s necks…

I am still grappling with writing dark poetry/prose;  this week’s dark poem may reflect the day that I wrote the piece.

In my prose “Beast Below”, which can be found at Pen of the Damnedpen of the damned

I was inspired by a rainy day rumbling of our German Shepard who was bored of being indoors.

Savannah 2

It sounded like Savannah was pulling the walls down below me. We often call her “beast” because she is so strong ( she  still is a rambunctious puppy.)

the beast below

The floorboards began to push up from under me, my dear family upstairs began to whimper in despair and then the voice… A deep guttural question emerged from the lips of the beast. A cold, callous fiery eyed beast sat beside me. A deal with the beast was struck. In the end there were no winners…

Ahhh Inspiration where do you emerge from, where do you run???

Would love to know where your inspiration hangs out and how you get it to come out to play?

Maybe She Will… #magpietales #shortstory

Image – Zelko Nedic

…Stop haunting me with her scent

I turn and it’s you!

Go away!!!

Can’t you understand I must go into hiding?

veiling my heart from this pain

the choking reality of her

Take my shoe and go

She took everything else

Wagging your tale wont do

I have no room for humanity

what saith yoou?

Man’s best…

I am weary of this night

of this heart flailing to take flight

if I must have a friend

it will be you

for you too have lost the best friend you could know

her scent is still on my hand

yes I know






Thanks to Tess Kincaid for a very interesting Magpie Tales photo prompt. If anything can warm a heart,  its a Lab!

The Moonless Night (Friday Flash Fiction)

It was dark

“no moon out tonight,” she whispered

“what shall we do?”

No response from him.

“Hmmm I could feed you from my fingertips

we could drink sweet water

we could go for a walk under the moonless sky.”

He was eagerly panting.

his four paws scurried to the door

to grab his leash.

Always good fun at G-Man’s Friday Flash Fiction. Here’s the challenge write a story or the semblance of one in 55 words. Can you do it??? Join us.

Thank you for the photo: Horia Varlan

My Friend Whit (Theme Thursday pets)

Every day she wakes me up with a smile. The obligatory bath accompanies the wakeup call. If she were a person, we would text  for hours.

Our favorite past-time is swimming. While I swim laps, she practices her dog paddle and dives. When she was a teen, I decided to teach her lifesaving. She is strong enough to pull me to the water’s edge. She knows there is always a reward. She does sometimes get distracted; so every year we do a lifesaving refresher course. So far we have never needed her lifesaving skills but I know she would sacrifice her life for mine.

We almost lost her a year ago. They think it was her liver or spleen. Poor baby she had so much fluid (internally) she looked like  she was about to explode. We came back from a weekend and she looked less likely to explode. The vet thinks it will happen again with less favorable results. How can I protect my sweet friend who would sacrifice everything for me? I wrap my arms around her everyday with the hope for another season doing what we both love doing together.

Go to Theme Thursday for more pet stories

The Boy and The Stick (Saturday Story)

I have decided to try something new for this blog. I’ve been a storyteller since I was 8. Children loved sitting and hearing me tell a story before bedtime or a nap or just in-between something. I’ll try it with older kids and see what happens. Worst case I’ll create a story section for you to read to your children.

The Boy and The Stick

This story takes us back to a time that was simpler. Noises outside weren’t drowned out by motors and the air was still clean to breathe. Children played outside and made up games with a ball and a stick. We enter our story in the middle of a field with the boy, the stick, and a dog.

All boys will tell you that their imagination can get the better of them when they have a stick and a ball. Jessie’s imagination was no different on that warm, sunny afternoon in Upstate New York.

“The bases are loaded and there are two outs at Yankee stadium. It’s the bottom of the ninth  – the Yanks are down by one. Jesse Miller is up to bat. He hasn’t been able to come through in the clutch so far this season. Too bad that this isn’t Maris’ spot in the line-up.  He’s been having one heck of a year.”

Jessie throws the ball in the air and makes contact with the baseball. The ball goes farther than he has ever hit it before. “Run Jessie run” his dog seems to pant. So run he does. All the way around the bases as he slides into home the ball comes whirling over  home plate – Too late! Jessie looks up with a grin as his friend Owen runs in to join the game.

“Nice hit Jessie – you parked that one. Wonder what you could have done with a real bat?”

“ Awww it was just an accident – Owen.”

When Jessie got home that night, his mother looked more drained than usual. That meant dad had been home at lunch and had taken what he wanted. Dad wasn’t home, fortunately, so he quickly cleaned up and loaded firewood in the stove; the only source of heat for the shack that they called home.

“How was your day Jessie”, his curly-haired sister asked.

“It was fine Barbie.” He flashed a smile toward the little sister he adored.

Just them he heard the door slam.

“You left a baseball and mitt outside. We paid good money for those things; they’ll be ruined,” his dad said as he smacked Jessie’s head with the back of his hand.

Jessie never made excuses to his dad. So he didn’t tell him that he had oiled his mitt and wanted it to dry before bringing it inside. He ran to get the mitt and ball and placed them in a brown box under the army cot that served as his bed.

Growing Up

Jessie worked hard at school so that he could play sports after school. When his father left during his freshman year of high school, Jessie’s mom tried to pull him out of school so that he could work full-time to support the family. The School Board intervened. Jessie was allowed to go to school but there wasn’t much time for sports. The School Board didn’t consider baseball a necessary part of Jessie’s education and mother made him get an after school job. Coach Bryant was kind and saw promise in Jessie. Whenever  Jessie could slip away or get a day off, he was allowed to practice with the team. Jessie continued to practice in the field by his house every evening until he couldn’t see his hands.

Then the summer of his junior year came, it was time to consider his options.

“I can run away and get a job somewhere. I can get a full-time summer job so mom can take every last penny I earn.  I can hang out with Danny and the guys. They make good money selling dope.  I can go to camp and play baseball most of the summer.”

Jessie dreamed of baseball from sun up until he passed out at night. The possibility of going to camp to play baseball was a dream- an impossible dream.

Mother waved mail in Jessie’s face one day, “This is for you.”

Jessie never got mail. He opened the envelope. He held a clean, white, type written letter in his hand. As he read it, his face glowed with a hope that had long been extinguished.

“Mother, I’ve been invited to attend a baseball camp down state for the summer. It doesn’t cost anything and there is a part-time job available for me to make money for you and sis.”

He wasn’t going to beg; he just clasped his hands together in hope.

“Well if you are gone, we will save money on food and I won’t have to worry about you causing no trouble with those boys you ben seein.”

Trying to hold back his excitement -he flatly said, “that means I can go?”

“Yeh- I guess.”

Realizing Dreams

Jessie went down the street to his field and let out a huge whoop and holler. The next day he shared the news with Coach who smiled a knowing grin. He knew this summer would decide Jessie’s future. He hoped, as two other families who had pitched in for baseball camp, that Jessie would succeed.

“It’s the bottom of the ninth the Yanks are down by one. Jesse Miller is up to bat. He hasn’t been able  to come through in the clutch so far this season. Too bad that this isn’t … “Strike One. Ball Two… That kid needs to get focus… uh it’s a high-flying ball curved to left field… It’s gone!!!!”

The fans were standing, yelling, and clapping as Jessie slid into home (because he always did). Owen and Barbie were waving Yankee pennants as Jessie smiled his thanks. The boy with the stick was living his dream.

Check out  Glynn‘s  site for the Saturday Good Reads

Thanks to Bukutgirl for the baseball photo.

Thanks for the Yankee Jersey photo: NyCla

The Glass

Many of you should be able to relate to this poem as you go by the window at the pet store.

Some of us have soft hearts and would love to adopt every animal in the glass.

The Glass

Its between

you and me

please set me free

I like

your face

want to be in your place

I don’t

want to be on display

rather come out to play


take me home

where I can roam