Just a guy who enjoys life and good people. Writing has given me an outlet to express myself. Born in the deep south. That is where my roots are and I have a fondness for books. I own a small bookshop with a coffee shop. And I enjoy collaborations and discussing ideas. At times I tread the dark side.I spent twelve years in the USMC. Also at one time owned a chain of video shops. I sold them all before the roof caved in.
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Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppersA peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper pickedEff'n Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppersWhar’s th' peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?
I am always open
But! don't swallow the seeds.
We were truly blessed, When life was slower,Soon to be dust, In a silent butler.
Delightful and very sweet delicious.
Sweet - melody
Ask me not, any questions.
Would you rather connect the dots or draw a crooked line?
I don't need your rocking chair - George Jones
Yet forever hiding shadow on the wall a photograph of dustbringing back memories.
Pulling at the sinews of the cold's dark furnace, of death's little grey speckled rigmarole, with the smoke of Hell rising from the obituary pages, beneath, "Help Wanted. Enquire by calling," signed by the Mad Hatter....
Added 19 Jan 2021 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 89
As the chill of death came over me and me in my pj's of detox. In my gadabout as a social chameleon. Changing spots, and offering the pox. Honing my quill with a double edge samovar spewing my rot. Of ejaculations for madmen fools from my pen of a gothic persuasion. Dripping from my tongue to your lips in my loathsome hysteria. Feeling the flesh of night disassemble of digestible words for...
Added 17 Jan 2021 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 160 | 2 Comments
I remember the window of the sun. I remember the peeling paint on the picket fence. I remember when the sun never winked until noon. Then came the summer rains as a spark tore the blue and umbrellas dripping rainbows. I remember little Lord Jesus and the drummer boy. Most of all, I remember my granny's sewing box and gold ribbons of when she was a young girl. ...
Added 15 Jan 2021 | Category Musings | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 94 | 1 Comment
I have a make-believe teabag in my watch pocket. A crumpet off the griddle. Still warm with freshly churned butter. And I have seashells from the seashore, although there ain't no sand. But I carry my dreams in a bottle of Jack Daniels. Waiting here at the depot as the world passes me by. My ticket is punched. With a make-believe tea bag in my watch pocket. ...
Added 11 Jan 2021 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 4.75 | Views 132 | 3 Comments
This is how I come to love the dark in writing. Without a map. Now comprised of Trappists and interesting people. From my bookshop's Rolodex. It started with a fascination. Then withdrawing from my insomnia while stroking my black cat. Now I am living in the dark aware of my proclivities to steep my tea with a bit of truth. There is honesty in the dark when a shadow is my muse. It started...
Added 06 Jan 2021 | Category Musings | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 163 | 3 Comments
Of furrows forgotten in sleepytime rows listening to the silence tickling the ivories of my soul's pitter-patter playing the keys on my way to heaven feeling all my fears vanish ...
Added 04 Jan 2021 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 126 | 1 Comment
When the mist of death rises from the mind of my sirocco on a chariot of bell tones I will shower your memories with tears of orange mandarin and love's puree from the mind of my sirocco with footprints in the sand ...
Added 02 Jan 2021 | Category Poetry | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 142 | 3 Comments
In your Phantasia of dreams and hallucinations in death do I grow pale in Frankenfiction dripping sweet of red beets on my obsession enclined to dine where the twilight sings as your spine wiggles touching my ague with shadows of my poetic symphony of blue notes and harpsichord wings dancing on your bosom to be your Maître D ...
Added 30 Dec 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 141 | 1 Comment
Gross of my verbs like hump-back crows. Dark my philosophy of thundering words, through the soot of Rotterdam. Like the twilight with the mange. Regurgitating my sins with Ouija's omens. Listening to lords of my gothic Parchisi. Rolling the dice of my iniquity. In the hedgerows of my immortality over the paling dells of gobshites. Removing the hearts of stone. Swallowing death of defiled...
Added 28 Dec 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 132 | 1 Comment
I remember. "Get Wildroot Cream-Oil, Charlie." To slick back my hair, in a duck style. It was the rage, as cooties slipped in the grease. I remember my mom's bonnet hat pins. I remember Little Lulu in the comic strips. What happened to the ashtrays in cars? I remember fried chicken on Sundays after Church. I remember my little puppy dog. I remember playing Red Rover with my friends. Where...
Added 22 Dec 2020 | Category Musings | Votes 3 | Avg Score 5 | Views 136 | 3 Comments
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