Happy Birthday


Happy Birthday

Funny, recalling your special day
When I haven’t thought of you in decades

We collided
Still recovering
From deep wounds bestowed by others

Two unloved souls
Searching for someone to love us
A toxic brew

You shocked me
Rocked me to the core
Took me to the brink
The abyss of psychic disintegration
A terrifying, out-of-control freefall

Oh, how I suffered
The pain you inflicted

But you were “the one”
Who forced me to save myself

I recall the pivotal moment
I hit bottom
My suppressed self-preservation instinct
Kicked up a holy ruckus


Choosing the slow slog toward mental health
I began the search for self-love
And abandoned the quest for yours

Permitting myself to set boundaries
Rules of Engagement

Never again
To cede power
To someone bent on my deconstruction

Today, on your special day,
I thank you
For the greatest gift I could receive

You gave me



Space Exploration

Another poem today!


Space Exploration

Inner space
Beckons, lures


There is no THING there
Yet, there is
Not seen, nor touched
But tangibly felt

A formidable Presence
Calming. Comforting. Reassuring.
All is well, is well, is well

Dive in
Float around
Poke the boundaries
The slightest prod dissolves them

Peer within
Choose your lens

Colors will brighten
Tastes will sweeten
Sounds will heighten
The breeze will caress

All is well, is well, is well…


Gone Fishing


Today’s offering is a poem. I wrote this in five minutes this morning in response to the disappointing news I received yesterday. I didn’t expect my book proposal to win, but I had hoped for some recognition, or feedback. There were five publishing winners and about 15 honorable mentions (20 recognized out of 245 submissions), and I was not among them. No sour grapes, but I definitely need a time-out to regroup.

Anyway, this poem expresses my feelings exactly. (The image of a floppy dead fish came in a dream last night, thus the theme)


Flinging a line into the sea
I wait for a good catch
The day is fine
I feel lucky

A nibble
Then a tug
Reeling it in, I’m gob smacked
By the stench of rotting flesh

Flopping on the beach
It gasps its final breath

Sometimes we go fishing
For something we think we want
Only to discover
Our prized catch dead on the vine

Unhook swiftly
Toss it away

Cast a new line




Genre: Romance
Action: Driving down the highway
Word: Radio
Word Count: 98


Cruising Arizona’s Interstate 40, not a soul in sight, I surfed the radio in search of company. “Nights in White Satin” caught the airwave.

Forty-five years disappeared. Poof. My heart throbbed anew with first love’s roaring thunder. Moody Blues was our favorite band. This song, our prom theme.

Tears travelled down well-worn tracks recalling the bittersweet end to a beautiful beginning. Cupid’s arrow pierced me to the core, remembering.

Teen love, hearts open, undefended, a unique force of nature. Never to be replicated. Only to be held in memory’s crevasse, retasted when the radio tunes into its frequency.


No Escape


Genre: Suspense
Action: Hailing a taxi
Word: Bubblegum
Word Count: 100

No Escape

Instinctively, his nerves fired a five-alarm siren. His cover was blown.

Protocol required proof. The predetermined signal: bubblegum affixed beneath a Central Park bench.

Irrefutable, his fingers groped the hardened plastic clump.

Before escaping to Montauk where a boat would transport him to an island safehouse somewhere in the Atlantic, he had to say goodbye.

The taxi dropped him off at her brownstone on the Upper West Side. Upon entering, he cringed seeing her gagged and bound. Before he could fight, a burlap sack stifled his cries, his limbs immobilized by zip ties.

The boat would have to wait.


Spycraft Dilemma


Genre: Spy
Action: Meditation
Word: Pen
Word Count: 99

Spycraft Dilemma

Undercover operations and camera-pen gadgets were old school. Today’s intelligence gathering is done by intuitive visionaries: aka psychics.

Sandy’s first assignment: determine if there is a plot afoot to attack American troops. Dropping into meditation, a scene emerged depicting two men arguing about the bomb’s location. The suitcase wedged between them, presumably their payment.

Confident in her intel, Sandy transmitted the details to Afghanistan’s CIA Station Chief. He dispatched the bomb squad to defuse the explosive and field agents to apprehend the perps.

Not aware she still watched; agents pocketed some cash from the confiscated suitcase.

Should she tell?


House of Mirrors


Genre: Open
Action: Self-reflection
Word: Mirror
Word Count: 99

House of Mirrors

Zen koan: To attain Enlightenment, look in the mirror.

Egad…which one?

Tinfoil-laminated glass reflects physical form. Eyes return a gaze; their secrets impossible to comprehend.

The material world, a movie projected by collective imagination – its beauty, its horror, a juxtaposition of light and dark. Is God the eternal dance?

Our interior realm, individual imagination’s domain. Its flashlight focused on what can be felt, intuited, educed from Infinity’s formless void. Perhaps a cauldron. Maybe the Holy Grail. Who decides?

There is no exit from this House of Mirrors, only rooms in which to live. Which mirror will be your home?




Back from Va-Kay and fully recovered from round 2 of covid vaccine:

Genre: Sci-Fi
Action: Travel
Word: Bell
Word Count: 99


A clarion call emerged from within. Clear as a bell: Come. Did she just want company, or was this dire need? Where was she, anyway?

The television screen between my eyes projected Mykonos Island: warm blue-green sea, pristine white sand, a tawny body lounging in a pink bathing suit, fruit drink clutched in one hand.

Concentrating on that vision, my gazillion cells rumbled, preparing for flight, like jet engines gathering force for liftoff.

Attaining transport’s required threshold, my body dematerialized instantly, then reconvened as it tumbled onto the beach.

She handed me a towel and we resumed our chat.




I experienced “writer’s block” for the first time since I started this daily practice of short-story writing in April. I couldn’t write anything for 4 days, which coincided with recovery from my second COVID shot! Coincidence? 🙂

So, after 4 days of silence, here is my next ditty. The genre is supposed to be “thriller,” but I don’t think this meets that bar. Still, it evokes something mysterious, I think.

Genre: Thriller
Action: Getting a hair cut
Word: Wind
Word Count: 98


The steamy air was still. Bright sunshine lightened my dark mood. Getting a haircut will cool my head.

Freshly cropped, I scurried to the car. Black clouds tumbled in the distance. Chaotic winds tousled my new do.

A storm was brewing.

The blinding deluge pinged hailstones, pedal note to the roaring freight train gaining on me.

An illuminating flash thrust me into the heart of the cyclone. Its thrashing infused me with inexplicable calm.

Finally thrown out to pasture, shaken but unharmed, I surveyed the vast destruction all around.

With awe, I wondered, how did I survive this?


Cats v. Dogs

I almost didn’t do a story today, but I hate to break my daily streak (34 days in a row, I think). For what it’s worth….


Genre: Romantic Comedy
Action: Walking down the street
Word: Tiger
Word Count: 100

Cats v. Dogs

Lucky leapt off the couch, wagging his way to the leash by the door. Walk Time.

Strolling our usual route, we froze at the park’s entrance. Not 100 yards away a man approached with a tiger by his tail.

Don’t be alarmed! Lady is tame, I promise.

Lucky and Lady sniffed each other. Boy and girl did the same. Conversation flowed. Beasts behaved. Talked dinner. Exchanged numbers. Love match?

His parting words: It’ll never work, you know. We’ll start fighting like cats and dogs. Dog people and cat people…there’s no middle ground.

Lucky started barking. Lady let out a roar.