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.
No favourite stories listed.
Found a new friend at the bookshop this morning. A little green frog had slipped in between the cracks. Needless to say, I helped him find his way back to the marshes.
I am inspired by truth and friendship. I came to the shores of SS to write and share my style. Often my dark side wanders on paths that have no end. I take myself seriously and I don't play games. There are some really "good hearts" on SS and kind people.
Forever the light of evermore.
A keyhole to the dark.
Old fashion shrimp gumbo with okra and cornbread.
Lot of rain in the Georgia marsh.
CCR
Remembering, 9-11.
I was inspired to see the turnout on the comp.
Blue Velvet
Sentinels of the flickering night in a cold corner of my cozy mind scratching the sulfurous match from my mind's dark humidor listening to vespers screaming fleshless with Rosary of bones scratching the sulfurous match with a shadow of the Marlboro man and long finger reaching from the nave. ...
Added 23 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 65 | 1 Comment
Deep be her verdant green eyes. Wanderlust of dark withers. With a hymn of the silent night. In my dreams, dripping lust from the collarbone of the gothic moon. Beneath the willows crossing paths, like shadows of daffodils, blooming silence. Deep be her verdant green eyes of thimbles and stones. In rows of granite mahogany. As my dreams run backward. Listening to the crying. ...
Added 20 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 91
With little poems to help me rise, a new day Bohemian butterflies smiling my way crossing paths in the moonlight's glow so that I won't wander off again beneath dark clouds of loneliness and my mind's portmanteau with little poems to help me rise, a new day Bohemian butterflies smiling my way. ...
Added 18 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 104
Do we ever stop dreaming, will the sun melt, where does night go when the moon sleeps, are there rainbows, when the clouds cry, do we ever stop dreaming, if the felt-tip dries? ...
Added 15 Nov 2020 | Category Musings | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 111 | 1 Comment
When darkness is a deck of Bicycle Playing Cards and the powers I assume reflecting my style and I the Ace of Space, fit for any widow fading to black in Gothic slippery through my fingers of lasting memories when darkness is a deck of Bicycle Playing Cards. ...
Added 13 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 112
Self-inflicted dark splatter with a handle of mahogany. Straight from the quill of my Gothic literature, of memories and laughter when we were but razors. Now withering with rage on a shadow's stage of bones. A gruesome couple filtering the harmony of life. Bleeding the veins beneath the cloistered moonlight. Now the crimson clot thickens bringing with it the pain of memories and laughter....
Added 10 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 124 | 1 Comment
With all my fears of death now a litmus test in silence no more pain of loneliness in a world of the bee's nose with butterfly wings of gold and God's everlasting potpourri in the valley of heaven's dawn comforting me in prayer. ...
Added 09 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 112
In dark, I ask for no forgiveness for the wrought of my iniquity as the twilight faints low and then came the screaming over my withering sanity of the chameleon's shadow a trick of the light as the twilight faints low. ...
Added 06 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 113
Near the pond, a Granny Smith with little green apples the color of frogs who choir at the watering hole spring-fed from cinnamon cider beneath the tree of life and freshly mown grass the color of frogs with little green apples. ...
Added 05 Nov 2020 | Category Poetry | Votes 0 | Avg Score 0 | Views 120
Now but memories covered in dust. The little red wagon of bygone years. That traveled many miles over concrete cracks. Now but memories covered in rust. But the hurt lingers, of shadows and broken wheels. As my baby sister smiles with her decay and empty eye sockets. Beyond the grave of stone and earth tones where angels fast until spring. Now but memories covered in dust. Just a moment away...
Added 02 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 142 | 1 Comment
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