charm school drop out

it’s very late and the crickets are bedding down in the banana trees for the night and behind the brick walls yes the ones tagged with nonsense the drunkard kings are pissing i’ve been kicked out of many a slummy joint you wouldn’t be the first bouncer to pop that cherry although i give you the fact that i was a little loud when the barkeep wouldn’t take my buck for a bottle of vodka but you understand i’m petite and not of swift feet when i’ve had a few tom collins’ down my gullet ok i get it don’t call my parent’s and that is not my id card but i do resent it when you won’t admit it that i’m the best duker in the bunch and while i have rosy knuckles to prove it let’s not point out last week’s black eye but don’t worry about me by the time i’m in my forties i might have been through a few programs for exceptional drinkers but psychoanalysis has nothing to do with a girl having fun on a Saturday night and by the way can you hold my hair back i feel a wave of chili coming up



to light

the passage

of long lost time

resurfaced in my

Coptic mind wrapped by the

ancient ones who now travel

through the layers of abandon

our Queens have risen to guide again

sun rays of Ra sail through the gates of gold

silenced we wade the paths of the faithful

three portals inviting to our souls

even in death there is danger

of us making the wrong choice

before we exit to

our homeland beyond

the binding ties

of judgment

swift feet


Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

for old times sake

place my cheek upon

your palms and draw me into

your love one last time

Picture courtesy of Kristiana


shame nestled in my throat

as night’s soft charcoal gray skin

was wrapped with a lofty nimbostratus shroud

upon her moonlit shoulders

emitting sweet earthy odor

not sure of what i did

uncertainty about my heart

were my deeds the cause of it

like bullets from an ancient time

to kill the peace upon the paths

her tears fell down from heaven

now through the teachings of that lady night

and her dusky priestesses along with a few hard knocks

i’ve come to understand that it wasn’t me who made her cry

but that Nocturna was the mirror of my sorrows

Picture courtesy of The Poet By Day site

Pay It Forward Thursday- May 23, 2019

Go Dog Go Café

The baristas at Go Dog Go Cafe are big fans of Pay It Forward Thursdays. We think it is a great opportunity to give a shout-out to another writer who has wowed us or creatively inspired us. It a great way to share the love and pass it on to the readers. It also becomes a great pool for excellent reading stuff by your fellow readers of the WordPress community.

You are invited to post one link to one specific post of poetry, short story, or flash fiction, 300 words or less please, from someone else’s blog in the comments below.

Happy reading!

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the book of me is in my eyes, read with courageous love

mashed potatoes

mornings are hard when you know you’ll have to be with people with lots of soul pain. the typical refrigerated store air nipped at my nose as i trudged to the coffee line. Larry  read the hospital paperwork poking out of his coat pocket with the torn leather elbows.

Larry had probably seen Halley’s Comet twice. he wore a blue plaid shirt with faux mother of pearl snaps, black dickies and steel toes. he had a decently robust head of hair, silvery with a darker shade of gray streaking towards the back. per chance when his brain cells had a more cordial relationship amongst themselves, he might have been only assigned to crafts requiring brawn and handy work. his face was anglo. blue eyed, long and thin, perhaps an Irish boy.

     he had steady hands. a little calloused, but one could tell that he’d done his fair share of manual labor and partook in bare knuckle bar brawling, often. his dull downward stare declared days fleeted away full of insults, dukers’ blows and abysmal marks where many tears had corroded away at the spirit. all, of course, to the voice of Patsy Cline in the background. broken spirits usually have the ability to sit graciously across from a chair full of spilled coffee or possibly the Devil as well. no one paid attention so the old man introduced himself to the arabica soaked nothingness sitting at his table.

     ‘i know how to make mashed potatoes. you can’t leave the skin on, otherwise they don’t taste good.’ Larry abruptly spat out his directions to the emptiness in front of him. he had a good tone, not raspy or squeaky, kinda’ like if John Wayne and Bogey had a baby. ‘you put the butter in after you mashed them sons-of-bitches up real good! but the butter has to be soft, otherwise the potatoes taste fake.’ i relished in his pronunciation and perfect punctuation.

     distracted by the buzzy voice overhead blazing the $5 specials the old man then looked at me. turning slighty pink Larry smiled and quickly began to wipe the table down as he stuttered and apologized. i smiled and offered my extra napkins. together two bruised souls sopped up a mutual figurative mess.


my eyes reflect time

my body hides the holy

secrets not known yet


rise and fall below my feet

i am anointed

by the sky goddess

her crown she relinquishes

to me the new One

“View” from the Daily Doodle


beloved little j

a few words that i want

to say

you are the bravest in the world

my world and that of God’s

you don’t even really know who i am

you like all the stuff others like and you eat

just like them too

you like mathematics which i don’t

but we sound alike when we speak

you count and you obsess with time

and allocation

i count and obsess with dispensation

j when you go Home

can you put in any word for me

i don’t know how to help you

or to be of service

i feel you on my face

when the tears roll down my cheeks

i don’t know if you feel me on your palms

you are my little old man

so wise beyond all time

i am angry at your circumstance

but your aura is all love


the wind is beautiful soft blue

tonight the moon is quiet just a giggle in a hush

i wait and i call in my thoughts they are impetuous children

while my soul walks on sunset’s shores alone

the sewers carry my logic atop the roads i see the cliffs

down to the ocean gravity tolls a bell

where i wait in the dark for Venus to glow

where i feel your salty cold hands in a fast fading memory

in my imagination cherry tree in symphony

deep down in the last hope hands no longer clasped

of my heart i know not where or what to say

the trance broken by an old girl

starry are her purple eyes

she asks for a smoke

smiling i shrug my shoulders

she comforts me for not having the vice

little does she know

the habit of you  in my soul

inhibits my mind