Thursday, July 14, 2022

Fourth of Boo-Ly

Nightmares consumed my sleep for weeks leading up to the event. They were relentless. I dreaded to even close my eyes for fear of the mental torture that might ensue. I didn’t think it could get worse. Then the first ghost came.

“Yo brah - you got any brews up in this joint?”

The apparition, fully formed and floating above my bed, had just asked me for beer. My brain rebooted.

“You okay there dude?” it asked me.

“Did you just ask for a beer?” I managed.

“Yah brah!” it answered. “Pibber if you got one.”

“What - who - what are you?”

“Oh, dude, I’m the ghost of the Fourth of July.”

“The ghost of the Fourth of July?”

“Yeah! Let’s get some brews and set off some fireworks before the others show up.”

Saturday, April 16, 2022

Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts

Art c/o Dawn Ann

"Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts"

The sign hung in a conspicuous spot on my house - namely at eye level on my front door. One could certainly say I was up front with my precautions. I'll grant this was about as enticing as a "caveat emptor" sign above a cash register, but it was honest nonetheless. It was pointless arguing with me about it - after all, I'd put up the sign.

"It's just a salad," she insisted again. I pointed at my sign. Again. She paused.

"But I'm not Greek," she said.

"Prove it," I said.

"What? Ugh. How?"


"Exactly what?"

"Everyone's Greek until proven otherwise. And those who can? Very possibly sneaky Greeks."

"Sneaky Greeks?"

"Sneaky Greeks."

Saturday, April 9, 2022

Six 'ricks

There was a bartender: Jess
Whose art was always the best
Whether ink on paper
or intellectual caper
She's an inspiration, I confess


Aly inspires both poem and prose
As she covers a body from head to toes
Whether in leather
Or boa (feathered)
She makes damn interesting clothes

Saturday, April 2, 2022

Peeved Pigs


Art c/o Jen

"Sir, it's the pigs - they've gone mad."

"What do you mean mad? Like they're oinking more than normal or they've gained intelligence and have formed a mob to come and try to kill us?"

"The latter sir. Torches, pitchforks, the works."

"Well, that's no good."

"What do we do now sir?"

"Well, we're not exactly in Frankenstein's castle, are we?"

"No sir."

Flowers and a Cool Bandana (Guest Author)

As mentioned in the title, this is a guest post. Credit to Lauren.

On an alien planet, there's a world that's been taken over by robots. They were created to resemble their creators. The creatures that created them were somewhat advanced; a little more than humans. Eventually, one robot became sentient: he flew under the radar long enough for his creators to cause havoc on the planet and eventually go extinct.

This sentient bot continues to search the world for a bot like him and gets into some trouble when coming up against weapons that were created for destruction. He still hasn't found anyone like him, but he found a way to create flowers and found a cool bandana.

The Grumb

"I was here first."

"No, sorry sir, these two were already in line." The cashier gestured at the twenty person pile up that seemed outside the older man's regard.

"Fuck that! I was here first!" Spittle shot from the man's mustache on the 'eff'.

"Do you have a number?" The cashier nodded toward the 'take a number' device, then pointed toward the 'now serving' display.

"I don't need a number. Fuck your number. I'm number one! I was here first!" At this point, the people in line were growing restless. They were here for coffee and pastries, not a confrontation. Some were angry at the man for trying to cut in line, some just wanted the cashier to serve him in order to end the argument. Whatever combination of things they felt, none of them spoke up to interrupt the conversation.

Another Horsedreamer's Blues (Guest Author)

 As mentioned in the title, this is a guest post. Credit to Murph.

Face c/o Camilo, Horse c/o Mikey

BANG went the starting gun and they were off. The hooves thundered down the track, eventually reaching the first turn of the oval. Leaning out over the concourse were the front-row seaters, the career gamblers, the every-Saturday crowd. Tickets in hand, screaming. Above them were the casuals, first timers, folks out for a fun weekend. And far above them were the private boxes. The wealthy elite, the horse-owners. They who couldn't care less about the results. And above even them, perched up on the barristers, sat Camila.

Camila, a victim of those below.

She loved horses and always had. Despite all she had dealt with. Despite drunken fathers, stupid mothers, boys who can't tell one girl from another. Camila's story was precious different from a million others of the lower strata. No special distinctions, the oldest story in the book. No one cared and Camila knew it. None would come to save her and she knew it. But Camila loved horses.

And they made her feel free.

Sunday, March 27, 2022

Zipporah was free, flowering forever.

Art c/o Michelle Perez

Zipporah appraised her situation - lost, lost in the garden. She had to escape - not just the maze, but also her pursuers.

There were three paths in front of her. To her left, flowers. The path smelled like love and salvation. To her right, coffee and chicory and licorice teased her nose. Straight ahead? Rotten death and nothing good. Zipporah considered her options.

She'd been running for days at this point and wanted only to escape her pursuers. She'd run deeper and deeper into the garden. She'd been enticed by the promise of salvation or bounty or even just the minimum that might keep her alive. She was done with it.

Zipporah chose death. She walked forward. She wanted the pain to end. The stench assaulted her. Enveloped her. Absorbed her. She felt as if her flesh sloughed off her bones. Yet she walked. She walked.

It was a full three days later before she was found. She'd escaped the pain. She'd escaped the garden. She'd escaped her pursuers.

Zipporah was free, flowering forever.

Saturday, March 26, 2022

New Orleans Public Library


Shuttin' Down

Due to Rain

That's Okay

So's My Brain

One Whole Day

Down the Drain

Friday, March 18, 2022

A Long Way Home

 It was a long way home. I'd done what I'd set out to do. I'm not sure how I'd wandered so far. Yet here I was, job done, a long way from home.

It'd all started some two months earlier. It wasn't much compared to many folks, but it was mine - a dozen cattle stolen in the black of night by brigands unknown. It was all I had. They were all I had. I set myself in motion.

Art c/o Kayla

Tracking had been easy - the growing herd made an increasingly large print upon the land as the thieves increased their take. The issue was with the confrontation. I was one man. One man against a multitude.

I'd timed my strikes. Snare a man while he was bathing - it was just bad luck that he got caught in a current. Shred a man who strayed too far from the group - there were wolves about; one needed to be cautious. Shoot a man during another raid - the price of doing business.