Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Breakfast with Will

      I took breakfast with Shakespeare the day after the spring carnival, I called him Will and he didn’t seem to mind much. He sprinkled a bit of sugar on his sausage and indicated in an as a matter of fact tone that the sugar brought out the meats natural flavor as long as you didn’t use too much. I asked if a good meal helped him write and he laughed.
     “Writing dear boy, is bolstered by appetite alone. Starvation is the key to penning gold, love or adoration, but not sex.”
     “What aids in the writing of sex,” I asked, not looking directly at him a blush on my cheeks.
     He pushed his plate to the center of the table, licked the sausage fat and sticky sugar from his fingers and sighed as he leaned back in his chair.
      “A breast in your mouth and two fingers as close to heaven as you dare….so keep your notebook ready my lad, it’s fleeting and can turn to tragedy in the time it takes the heart to consider beating.”

Monday, April 22, 2013

The Last Pier Dance

It was just a fucking dance and my shoes were perfect
The lights made the girls shiny and receptive
Even I felt like something worth having, buffed, polished
Her hair hung over the pier railing, watching the waves
In my mind she was already mine, boy heart filled perilously full

History and love often times not the best of bedfellows
The last pier dance, time ravaged wood, Mother ocean rolled
Sounding her come hither whistles and it was time to go
In a second she swallowed her progeny whole, no wailing
It was just a fucking dance and my shoes were perfect

Friday, April 12, 2013



    Acrylic-Chelsea Bednar
You told me once that icicles could fall and kill a man
I wasn’t prepared for the one you wielded so haphazardly
The vastness of your cavern of contempt illustrated sharply
A depiction of the many slaves you own on any given day
Digging deep to find the root of the cancer
With blistered psyche and aching heart valves
I finally came upon the treasure chest that concealed the answer
And so with this letter I wanted to let you know
I am fine and I need to stop by and pick up my record collection

For Margaret's Asbstract Prompt on IGWRT.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Porch

ARRGHHHH....I started a short piece for my own challenge and it started growing into a full blown short story....so I am posting only a couple of paragraphs to be fisnished soon....I dont have time to finish it today, but I don't want to not post on my own challenge day, that would be a mess...sorry.
     “You are a spring dick.”

     “What the hell is that,” William asked, emptying a second packet of Sweet-n-Low into his iced tea.

     “A spring dick my dear old friend, is someone who can find fault, regardless of the fact that there is a near perfect spring day upon him and he has nothing to do but spend time with his best friend, soak up the sunshine and revel in the miracle of being alive.”

     “Those day lilies smell like cat piss to me, I don’t know why you insist on bringing them indoors.  It smells like we live in the cat ladies house. And when is my best friend going to get here?”

     “A spring dick.”

     “Yes, I heard you the first time.”

     The back yard was resplendent in the springtime. The lilies, freesias, wisteria all blooming in a rhapsody of life and color.  William and Charles would sit on the porch every day for the next three months from nine until two, William drinking iced tea and smoking small cherry cigars and Charles sipping whatever sickening sweet cocktail of the day he could purge from the depths of his Cooking Light magazine collection.  His subscription had long run out, but he had the tattered remains of every issue form March of 2000 until April if 2010, the year he liked to refer to as his “untimely fall from grace.” He had borrowed five hundred dollars cash from the register at Hero’s Bar and Grill, his place of employment at the time.  He was short of cash and needed to buy heels and get waxed before the drag competition at Apollo’s the weekend before Pride. He didn’t think the cash would be missed.  He was wrong.  He always “intended to put it back out of my next paycheck,” but there was no next paycheck for Charles.

     The cacophony of fragrances in the back yard put to shame any perfume, of any old woman, on any elevator , in Savannah Georgia, on any given Sunday.  That was saying a lot. The hummingbirds would flock by the hundreds in the spring to sip from any one of twenty-five hand decorated bird feeders, Charles was certain that the decoration was what lent to the large number of birds. He was of course, largely overlooking the fact that there were no other hummingbird feeders for at least ten blocks, but then how would he know that was the case.

     The grass was as perfect as any grass could be, neatly trimmed and cut, so resilient that sometimes the afternoon sun would reflect harshly into the eyes of anyone on the porch who was not wearing sun glasses. Charles only had the best sunglasses, polarized and designer brands in every shape, color and style you could imagine.  The grass was no match for him.
To be continued....

Monday, April 8, 2013


Confounded by the last trip of her tongue and dart of her eyes
I stretched what I thought to be my rock solid beliefs
Folded them under and tucked them neatly into my back pocket
Eventually they would go through the wash and I would forget

"Could you stop by the store and grab me a pack of smokes?"
"Sure thing love."
"Move closer and I'll nibble your ear, turn off that damned TV."
"Sure thing love."

I have seen beauty in a thousand forms, swallowed my longing
But when comfort meets desire, they will cancel each other
Unless you continue to look into the eyes of love and believe
That the last layer, the one that was the first, is still the best