As many of you know, I love our son completely. Having the ability to ‘will things’ into place, or happenings into reality, exists.
It’s real. Faith, is real.
Thank you, Terveen Gill (Editor of Masticadores India and wonderfully talented author). I consider you a friend. I’m thankful to have you in my life.
A Trick on Life
I played a trick on life and trusted it. Along with what my mind delivered; the opening of a door, the murmur of a child, the running feet from a few rooms away until finally they were no longer away, but here. As if when having thought about life with him, long before conception,
Please visit the publication to read the entire poem:
It’s dark, with little wind, and we are alone watching only the flames and listening to the crackling, and smelling the aroma of the burning pine and oak. Each flame is unique with movements and degrees of color created by the moment of energy released. Each differing angle, while flickering clues, is
I received a touching review on ‘Don’t Be A Sally’ a short story based on true events.
“Wonderful short story about Adam and Goldie, lyrical, honest, masterfully written (with a sad touch), plus a lot of suspense along the way and a great character building. A remarkable treat for short story-readers!” –Victoria Ohlsson
His heart pounded in his chest and his ears rang. He was in hell. He was sure of it. This moment; with this feeling of sickness, and pure hatred for what he felt, was hell. Welcome to hell.
No vomit came from his stomach. No vomit came from his throat and no vomit came from his mouth. His mid-section wretched up and down looking like an October cat in a filthy dance. Up and down his body rose and nothing came out. Yet he smelled his own vomit lingering all about him. Again, he rose up, and again he produced nothing. Beads of sweat were on his forehead and it wasn’t long before they fell onto the surface of the tub. He lurched heavily downward with a massive cough and something came up. Something vile and red landed onto the tub’s floor. Black. He saw nothing but black as he slowly faded and fainted again.
I think about my cousin, Adam, often. I haven’t spoken to him in months. He has chosen a path that most wouldn’t and I can only hope he is as happy as possible. The photo on the cover is the valley where the story takes place. I took the photo. This is a self published, raw and honest story.
Most of the people who walked by him looked happy.
He was curious about why and about how they were
so effortlessly happy without knowing they were.
One woman even laughed, her head raised slightly,
and her eyes shined as her fingers slid her
red hair behind her ear. She and her friend seemed to be
floating as they passed by while he studied their well-being.
The bench he was sitting on felt empty. He wanted to feel full and alive
and to feel and be like the two happy women without having to
study how to be anything at all, but he didn’t know how. Even the sun
shinning down seemed to brighten everyone’s hue, but he felt none of this;
he could only see it and he knew it wasn’t for him. He wondered if anyone
noticed him; his emptiness he was trying to cure while living. He closed
his eyes and hoped when he opened them again he would feel differently.
He decided he would count to his favorite number.
The structure of one line can change mood and attitude. Much like receiving incredible news that you can’t share with your peers, but wish to so badly that you need to write about it using the iceberg theory made famous by Hemingway. I’m having an incredible day, and I hope you all are having the same. Years ago I hoped and prayed and now the steps are concrete. Hope lives in the wind and no matter where you are, you can find at least a little amount of wind.