This poem was written circa 1975. I’d forgotten all about it until my mother called me and told me she wanted to read to me a poem written by a 9-year old girl. When she was done, she asked me if I remembered it. I said it sounded familiar … maybe I’d read it on…
On October 10, 2002, I overheard a woman telling a story that I thought would make interesting fiction. Apparently someone had called her at work to let her know someone was in her back yard swimming in her pool. No one was supposed to be there, so she called the police. It turned out to…
I just found this little story idea from a dream I had in February 1998. It’s a ghost story about a spirit who feeds off the fear and adrenaline given off by people who are risk takers. He, in life, was a risk taker and died in his early 30s from one of his risk…
Sometimes I’ll hear or read a phrase and think, “That would make a great title for something!” Here are a few I’ve collected so far: Potential Titles The Edge of Awareness Thank you, Helen Dunlop — Hills Like Green Elephants From “Atapuerca: The Face of an Ancestral Child” by Robert Kunzig, Discover, December 1997 —…
I was kicked out of my home by my stepmother during Christmas vacation 1984. I was told I was going to move in with my mother my New Year’s day. This vignette is my experience and my imagining of what was going on in my Dad’s mind at the time. His head was low, his…
Written on September 22, 2000, this vignette was inspired by the line from a Rick Springfield song: “waking up blind with the house on fire.” “I had that dream again,” he said. “I wake up, sitting bolt upright, but I cannot see. First, I hear the crackles, taunting me like a sadistic bowl of Rice…
This is a response to “The Red House” by Marc Chagall (right). It was an assignment in a creative writing class I took at Santa Rosa Junior College. She stands in the door sill wishing, wanting, but, alas, not having. Beneath the floating oxen, he watches her, wishing, wanting, but, alas, not having. Between them…
The crunching sound of someone walking along the path broke the silence of the refuge. Silence, of course, defined as a place where no human ear is receiving sound waves. The refuge is a place where nature thrives and the half-way-there souls await their payment. Today, after centuries of only birds singing, animals scurrying and…
Written June 17, 2004: My Dearest Family, I’m sorry I haven’t written you since I left home, but I’ve been quite busy. Tom and I had a lovely time on our honeymoon in the Asteroid Belt. The many places to see and to eat are fabulous. I was going to write you when we got…
I just found this while cleaning out some clutter: Falling, falling, gone The leaf breaks free from the tree My grief consumes me I don’t know when I wrote it, but wanted to make sure I documented it somewhere. Originally posted on 52 Haiku