back when

Sweet and Innocent

before avocado shag
was a joke
and gasoline
was something spoken about
in the same sentences as words like
shortage and war and green
before the glass ceiling
that separated
the earning potential
of bra burning women
from their soon to be
metro sexual brow waxing
male counterparts
was even an issue

back before men
wore their hair long
and still wore
the pants in the family
and women
didn’t really wear pants
at all…
back when mothers
stayed home and
raised their own children
and the american dream
was something
that was worked for,
was attained,
not an entitlement
at birth…

back when
you threw a brick
with a note attached to it
through a window…
if you really wanted
to get someones attention
instead of shot up a campus
or blew up a car
or crashed low flying planes
into skyscrapers filled with
innocent people..
back when wars
were always fought
on distant shores
at least a hemisphere away

back when life was in technicolor
and make believe was black and white
and i was just a little girl
who had yet to even dream
of falling in love…..


Lucky bastard

Photo Credit: Anurag Bakhsh

With nothing but a fast car and a case of cold beer between us, no one objected when Li’l Juvie asked to tag along- after all he had a couple of bucks for gas.

The road flowed like a ribbon on a present just waiting to be opened as we left the burbs behind and headed for the coast. We knew a guy, who knew a guy. It was like money in the bank.

The guy took a special interest in Juvie. Seems he had a taste for fresh young boys- whom he would reward handsomely for indulging him.

“Lucky bastard.” We said under our breath, as the Lamborghini that whisked Juvie off to a life each of us could only wish had been ours, thundered out onto the strip.

Fast forward fifteen years.

A scruffy looking guy boarded the bus and immediately caught my eye. He walked up to me, and smiled, bearing the few teeth he still had.

He asked me my name.

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound would come. He was Juvie.

I knew.

He knew, I knew.

But neither of us said a word-  

Word Count: 193

Photo Prompt Courtesy of Sunday Photo Fiction

Word of the Day Challenge- wish

When I think legend, I think Janis.


“Janis Joplin perfectly expressed the feelings and yearnings of the girls of the electric generation  to be all woman, yet equal with men; to be free, yet a slave to real love; to [reject] every outdated convention, and yet get back to the basics of life.


she died at a mere twenty seven
needle still in her arm
all alone in some
lonely hotel room
not far from hollywood blvd…
they say her appetites put her asunder-
and mourn a future- that would never unfold…

she was the pearl
that come outta port arthur
the embodiment of
gritty texas soul
she was everything
i have ever dreamed i might be-
and she died – ’cause legends can’t never get old…

This is a reprint of something I wrote on my now defunct blog …why paisley??? back in 2008 paired down to meet the word count requirements.

Word Count: 120

Weekend Writing Prompt

little boys

Photo by MabelAmber at

Character Count: 278


“Move over. Lemme see.”


“OK. OK. What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Mom and Dad’s room. In the drawer.”

“The drawer?”

“Yeah. The drawer.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“How you gonna get it back in there?

“I don’t know.”

“You’re dead.”

“I know.”

“But what is it?”

For Kat’s Twittering Tales

Par(t)cel post

Word Count: 100

It had long since become common knowledge that her husband had boarded a flight to parts that remain unknown, taking with him the sum total of their accumulated wealth…

To anyone that might inquire, Emily would simply smile and say, “I’m picking up the pieces.”

And she was… Literally.

Piece by piece she had wrapped him in blue tape and bubble wrap, and mailed him off to that lovely man they had met on their last trip abroad- the one who had agreed to place a few collectibles in cold storage for them-  for a small sum of course.

Prompt courtesy of Friday Fictioneers

It was dark.

Photo: Jodi Mckinney


From the sleeper, she could hear the truck downshifting, and awoke with a start.

He was sitting on her chest. The fat, bald, truck driver- the one that had offered to take her as far as Memphis- was sitting on her chest. Straddling her. His thick legs holding her arms tight at her sides.

“Come on now. Take it..”

She did.

What else could she do? He was sitting on her chest.

When he was done- he was done.. He wanted her out of the truck…

She would have stayed… She had nowhere to go… It was dark..

Word Count: 98


Photo Prompt courtesy of FFFAW



Closing Arguments

Good Afternoon Your Honor, Distinguished Counsel, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury. Let me open by thanking the Special Prosecutors Office for their input in this case. I doubt the trial evidence would have been able to get past the effusiveness with which the Defense, like sacred carrion, attempted to prey on your empathy- to make the rippling impact it did- without a dominant effort on their part to regulate the almost magical stream of uninterrupted nuance the Defense Council slash chiromancer wrestled into testimony.

MLMM Wordle- trial wrestling regulate nuanced uninterrupted chiromancer* magical carrion effusive input impact dominant

RDP- Ripple

FOWC- Special

Daily Word Prompt- Sacred