The Gonk

The following was a quickie written for the yahoo group Lucid Lit Lines

The prompt was: Take three songs titles and use them in one piece.


Friday night, they were all at The Gonk as they always were. Not because it was a particularly great place to be, but because it was the only place they had in town to go.

"So, what the hell is a Gonk anyway? It sounds dirty. Or stupid. Dirty and stupid, like boys. Boys are stupid."

Preston rolled his eyes, but otherwise ignored the jab.

"Cassie, I think you've had enough to drink. Here, here, hold on to this for me okay?"

Devin propped her friend up against the nearest stable object, which turned out to be a pinball machine. The machine blinked and whirred and gonged, and Cassie lay her head against the side of it, closing her eyes.

"That was a song, right?" Brittany asked. She blew a huge pink bubble, then popped it in a series of snaps and cracks that Devin had never manged to accomplish. "Like, you know, at the end of that one movie with the zombies. It was creepy fun-house music, like.
Carnival music you know?"

Preston reached over and yanked on Brittany's blond ponytail.

"No," he said. "We DON'T know. Nobody ever knows, LIKE, anything you're talking about."

"Guys," Cassie moaned from her spot against the pinball machine. I don't feel so good."

"RED LIGHT INDICATES THE DOORS ARE SECURED!" the machine proclaimed as
Preston dropped in his quarter and stared banging the paddles.

"You remember that thing that looked like a walking trash can in the Star Wars movie? THAT is a gonk. A gonk droid."

"So," Devin said, "They named this place after a walking trash can?"

"Eww...." Brittany offered, before rattling off another round of bubble pops.

"Preston," Cassie said from a little lower down the side of the pin-ball machine "I think you are a Gonk. No, Pres, really, you are THE gonk!"

Someone came up to them, stepping between Cassie, now on the floor, and Brittany, who had another huge bubble blown covering the lower half of her face. His hair was slicked back, and looked wet. His face was plastered with a huge grin more suited for a car salesman as
he approaced Brittany.

"I bet you look good on the dance floor," he said.

"Guys," Cassie said, before bending forward and letting out a stream pizza colored spew all over the pseudo salesman's shoes.

His smile melted quickly, Brittany's bubble popped in one loud bang instead of a million tiny ones. Devin squealed and leaped backwards, managing to avoid the splash zone.

"Scummy," Cassie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.


Song titles in this piece:

The Gonk (from old dawn of the dead soundtrack end title) no lyics
Red Light Indicates the doors are secured by the artic monkeys
I Bet You Look Good On the Dance Floor by the artic monkeys lyrics: [www_lyricstop_com]
Scummy by the Artic Monkeys lyrics:

I might be a NaNoWriMo dropout

So, my NaNoWriMo novel decided it didn't want to be a teen drama story but wanted to be more about betrayl and murder.

I'm cool with that.

But I've had NO time to write it. I've got a word count right now of 3022. Thats all.

All my free time has been filled up by the list of house painting related chores the hubby has been leaving me.

If I do still keep plugging on, I doubt I'm going to make it anywhere near the word count.

NaNo Day 1

I'm off to a slow start, thinking about skipping ahead and working on some future chapters, but the story as it stands right now is at 904 words.

Chapter One
Halloween and Swing sets

Fall. Autumn. Halloween. Pumpkins carved into jack o lanterns, and leaves raked up into big piles to be jumped. Later they would go trick or treating. After that they were going to build a bon-fire and roast hot dogs and make s’mores.

Halloween was her favorite holiday, because she got to be whoever she felt like being. Sometimes they would get to go home for her to change costumes.

Bryant did not like having to go home though, so they might not get to do it anymore. He said that having to go home for a costume change took away from candy getting time and that just was not acceptable.

All that was later though. Right then she was trying to get a kitten to quit wiggling so she could dress it up in her doll’s witch costume.

She was also watching the movers take things out of the big truck across the street.

Ms. Callabra used to live over there.

Ms. Callabra had a small white dog that barked a lot. The dogs name was Muffy, and Ms. Callabra boiled chicken to feed her. The house always smelled like boiled chicken, and Muffy was always barking.

Sari had not liked Muffy very much, but she had like Ms. Callabra. She was a little woman who always wore a blue dress and had a lot of big hats. Sometimes she would go over and play dress up with Ms. Callabra’s big hats. Her favorite one was blue, like Ms. Callabra’s favorite dress, and it had a big purple bird on the front of it, with big purple feathers on the back of it. It looked that the birds tail was poking out of the back of the hat, and it always made her smile when Ms. Callabra wore that one.

But one day the ambulance had come and taken Ms. Callabra away. Mommy had told her that Ms. Callabra had been taking Muffy outside, and had fallen down the steps.

Sari had fallen down the steps before, and it had just skinned her knees. Mommy had put a scooby doo band-aid on the scrapes and it had been all better. She offered to take Ms. Callabra one of her band-aids.

Ms. Callabra had never come home. The dog pound had come and taken Muffy away, and the house selling people had come and put a big sign in front of the house.

FOR SALE, meant that Ms. Callabra was not going to be coming home again and that had made her sad for a little while.

Eventually the house selling people had come and taken away the sign, and now the big truck was there, moving different things into the house that used to be Ms. Callabra’s house.

Sari was very interested in the things coming out of the truck. Most of them were boxes of stuff, so she could not really tell what they were. There was some furniture too, some of it looked fun. Not like Ms. Callabra’s old brown sofa.

She was looking for things that might mean the family moving in had a kid. She hoped the new neighbors did have a kid. A little girl, her age.

She did not really see anything that would mean a kid though. Just brown boxes and furniture.

She finally got the witch dress buttoned up the kittens back, and the witch hat on its head, the elastic strap keeping it in place.

“There,” she said, sitting the kitten down. “Now you are a little witch. You have to go knock on all the cats doors tonight and say, ‘trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat.’ If you do that then all the kitty people will give you candy.”

Sari tilted her head to the side, her short brown hair falling over into her face and her forehead wrinkled in furious childhood concentration as she thought.

“No,” she told the kitten. “That is not right. Kittens do not get candy because it might make you sick. They will give you mouse tails. You like mouse tails right?”

“MEOW!” The kitten said, then it ran a few steps and shook its head. The witches had twisted sideways, pressing the kittens ear flat to the side and making it look very, very funny.

Sari laughed as the kitten ran away, its black tail waving in distress from the back of the dolly witches dress.

Then the most amazing thing that had happened all day happened right at that moment.

The men who were taking things out of the big truck took out something that meant one hundred percent that there was a kid moving in next door. They brought out a swing set!

Sari had learned a few things in her life, and she knew that grown ups just never did get on swing sets. Even Bryant almost never got on the swing set any more, and he was only just almost grown up.

She loved her swing set. Daddy had built it for her, and it was HUGE. It had a metal slide, and a tree house, and swings and monkey bars. It was the best swing set ever.

She used to have one like the one coming out of the truck next door though. It was all metal, and the side was plastic, and if you swung too high it would tip and tip and even fall over.

Just Around the Corner

In roughly 4 more hours I'll begin pounding out the first chapter of my NaNo novel.

I've decided to go with the dramatic/teen angsty novel.

I think I'm going with "Suddenly, That Summer" as my working title instead of "Anatomy of a Life"

I'm plot-deficient at this point, but I know its going to follow her from the time her best friend (Gabriel) moves into the neighborhood.

Yep....thats all I've got.

I will share here as it comes out.

Yes/No Questions about Your NaNo Novel

I stole this from Nichole's Writing Space

As of right now I think I'm going with the Teen Angst novel, so these answers are for Anatomy of Life

Romance? Yep
Adventure? not so much
A fight for power? Sort of
A war? No.
A king? No.
A queen? No
Jealousy? A whole slew of it
Backstabbing? That I’m trying to avoid.
Forbidden love? Yes (well, a lot of people consider it forbidden)
Hatred? a little.
A death? There will be at least one death. Maybe two.
More than 1 death? maybe 2
More than 2? no
More than 3? no
MORE?!?!?!? deffinately not

Paranoid character? Semi
Low self esteem? yes, in the MC
long hair? Yes.
no hair? yep
black hair? Maybe.
centaurs? No.
faeries? No.
dragons? No.
a world other than our world? Maybe (there may be ghosts, or maybe just flashbacks)
other creatures (unnamed)? No.
A mystery? no
More than 5 subplots? I don’t think I can managed more than 1 subplot
Yummy food? Food, but its not central
gross food? just bad cooking
Magic? No.
A plot point where the background music would give you chills down your spine? no.
omnipotent force? (gods, fate, etc.) No.
A really annoying character that it nearly killed you to NOT kill him/her? No.
A really annoying character that you killed :P? No.
A character that you killed or will kill in the future? No.
Really cool names? (not commonly used, i.e. Eragorn) Um...there will be a Gabriel, an Antony, a Summer. Don't think they are TOO unusual, but I really like Gabriel.
Really nice people? Yes.
Really cool people? Yes.
A plot point thats REALLY confusing but is understandable in the end? Not so much

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things about NaNoWriMo

1. NaNoWriMo means National Novel Writing Month
2. Since it takes place in November, before I started doing it, I used to think it meant National Novemeber Writing Month
3. NaNoWriMo challenges you to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.
4. To accomplish that you must write a minimum of 1667 words a day.
5. Writing 1667 words a day is harder than it sounds like it would be.
6. I've participated in NaNoWriMo for several years.
7. I've never reached the goal.
8. There is a forums section at the nanowrimo web page. I spend too much time lurking and reading the forums instead of writing.
9. One of the most popular forum is the Dares Thread.
10. I have 2 ideas for novels this year. The first one is about a winged cat and inspired by The Last Flight of Bastet.
11. The second one is called "Anatomy of a Life" and is a teen drama.
12. I don't know which one I'd rather write. HELP ME!
13. My name on NaNoWriMo is Nonersays if you wanna be writing buddies.

NaNo Uh-Oh

Today, being the 1st of October, is the day that NaNoWriMo starts winding up. The challenge doesn't start until November, but the excitement starts long before that.

When I tried to log in today, NaNo told me my account didn't exist. When I tried to get them to re-send my password in case it was wrong they said my e-mail wasn't in their system. (I know it is cause I've been getting e-mail from them for all the years I've participated)

I tried to make a new account but it told me it would be "pending review."

Have I been kicked off NaNo? Maybe not.

I tried to go to the NaNoWriMo web page just gone, and got this nifty message:

In the wee hours of October 1, after running like a brave champion, one of our two database servers, Lekempti, had what looks to be a very grave hardware failure.

Lekempti is off-line now, and is getting new android guts installed.

In the meantime, we're working on installing back-ups and relaunching the site with a single, smaller server, the adorable Djimmah.

Until we get Lekempti back online, things will be pokey. We apologize for the inconvenience, and look forward to the resumption of awesomeness soon.

In the meantime, we invite you to browse the exciting NaNoWriMo donor goodies and ogle the devilishly good-looking models in the NaNoWriMo store.

Your friends,

The NaNoWriMo staff
Alas...we've had a NaNo Uh-oh.

Good thing they launch the site a month early, huh.

Apples and Apples

Picture from Just Creative Design

"When we lose the right to be different, we lose the privilege to be free. " --Charles Evans Hughes

"Its like apples and oranges."

"More like Apples and apples. Comparing apples to oranges is like comparing humans to apes. They're both fruits, we're both mammals, and that's where the similarity ends. But, when you compare, say, a green apple to a red one, that's more like comparing people to people."

"So, which one of us is the green apple and wich one of us is the red one."

"Oh, YOU are definitely the red one. You're all bright and fiery and everyone knows you. I'm like the green one. Some people don't even know there are green apples!"

"So, what is our baby going to be? A fuji?"

"Think of what would happen if you took one green apple and one red one and cut them down the middle. Then you took a staple gun and stapled one green half to one red half. That would be our child."

"Oh, great, I'm giving birth to Frankenapple!"

The Only 13 Writing Rules You’ll Ever Need

I found this list online and had to share:

1. If you write every day, you get better at writing every day.
2. If its boring to you, its boring to your reader.
3. Get a writing routine and stick with it.
4. Poetry does NOT have to rhyme. Poetry does NOT have to rhyme.
5. Resist stereotypes, in real live and in your writing.
6. Writer read. Writers read a lot. Writers read all the time.
7. Make lists of your favorite words and books and places and things.
8. Ther doesn’t always have to be a moral to the story.
9. Always bring your notebook. Always bring a spare pen.
10. Go for walks. Dance. Pull weeds. Do the dishes. Write about it.
11. Don’t settle on just one style. Try something new.
12. Learn to tell both sides of the story.
13. Stop reading this list. WRITE SOMETHING.

The Last Flight of Bastet

> Notes: From prompt "Egypt." from lucid_lit_lines group

"Bastet has wings."

The vet tried to stay calm, act like every third cat she'd seen that
day had wings, but she wasn't fooling me. Cats just don't have wings.
Never did. Never would.

"She didn't have them last week" I told the vet, tugging on the leash
attached to my cat's harness, trying to pull her back down to the
ground. She was intently stalking a housefly that had gotten in.
Stalking in mid-air. The birds didn't stand a chance.

"I'm sorry." She said. "I don't know if I can do a wing removal on a
cat. It might be inhumane. I could clip the feathers though, keep
her from being able to fly."

"That would be nice" I agreed.

Together we managed to pull her down from the ceiling. She pouted
through the process, and pouted more when she tried to lift off and
coudln't. Finally she gave up and set upon grooming herself. She
spread out one wing and began preening its feathers.

"How did this happen, exactly." The vet asked.

"Mummy curse."

"Oh," the vet said, as if mummy curses were as common in her office as
winged cats.

"I have a cousin, works in Egypt, digging in the pyramids and stuff.
He found a gold collar on a kitty statue, said the statue looked like
Bast. He's not supposed to give away stuff, but he hid it in a bunch
of trinkets he bought, nobody knew."

"And now Bast has wings." she finished for me.

"Exactly," I agreed. "Now Bast has wings."

"Sooooo...." she said. "I won't charge you today, but come back when
she needs it."

I agreed, and tucking my newly grounded cat under my arm, started the
walk back home.


Martha was sitting at the table when I woke up. The newspaper was scattered all around the dining room. The comic lay on the floor by her feet, Garfield grinning his kitty grin up at her as she bent over the crossword.

Despite the early hour she was perfect. Make up applied just so, her auburn hair piled and pinned and teased into an updo worthy of an evening gala. The only flaw was the cigarette she held between the first two fingers of her left hand, while the tapped the pencil against her lips with her right hand.

Seeing me out of the corner of her honey colored eyes she asked, “What is a five letter word for Rose’s beauty?”

I made my way to the pot of coffee she had made and poured myself a healthy dose of it in my favorite coffee mug, as old and chipped as it was it was large. Large was important.

“What’s it start with?”


I sat down across from her and pushed the sports section of the paper aside so I’d have a place to sit my mug. “Bloom” I told her, reaching across to take a chocolate covered doughnut out of the box she had set in the center of the table.

I ate in silence, staring at her as she worked her way though the word puzzle. She sipped her coffee, nearly white with cream and sugar, from a pink mug that sat on a bright blue saucer. They were not mine.

“Nice coffee set”

“You like?” she beamed. “I found them at a tag sale. From two different sets, the last of their families. They’re perfect together really. Perfect.”

Giving up on the crossword she looked up at me, grinning her most perfect supermodel grin. “So,” she said. “How have you been?”

I couldn’t take it anymore and nearly shouted at her, “What are you doing here, Martha? You can’t just come in here any time you want to. I’m married now. What if Susan had come out here before me?”

“What if?” Martha said, and laughed. I didn’t like the sparkle in those beautiful eyes, then they darkened. “She’s pregnant isn’t she, you fertile little bastard. Well, I’m pregnant too. Twins. Twins, a boy and a girl. Blue and pink and unwanted.”

She set her pink cup down on her blue saucer, and milky tan coffee sloshed out and onto the crossword. Down the hall I heard Susan brushing her teeth.

“Martha, you need to leave. Now.”

“They’re yours,” she said. “You know they are.”

“Leave. Now.”

She stood up calmly, brushed out the wrinkles in her slacks, tugged at the hem of her jacket. She started to say something, then decided against it.

While I stood by the remains of my newspaper she let herself out the side door. I made a mental note to move the hideaway key.

“Who was here,” Susan said as she slumped into the kitchen still wearing her pajamas. Her short brown hair stood up in a million different directions and she had a smear of toothpaste in the corner of her mouth.

“Just somebody from work,” I lied.

“This early,” she asked, eyeing the pink and blue coffee set with a glazed doughnut untouched on the side of the plate.

“Have a doughnut,” I said, changing the subject. She chose one covered in bright sprinkle and tore into it while I poured her a cup of coffee then cleaned up the now soggy newspaper.

Moon Time (working title)

A snippti from my JulNoWriMo novel.

This is a rough draft. Grammar and spelling have not been corrected. Names are subject to change.


Geh stood still in the hallway, trying to remember where everything had been when the light had gone out. In the blackness even the castles heavy furnishings became his enemy.

Something became solid in front of him. Something like a face, almost. Green eyes and purple lips floated, disembodied. Sharp teeth as well, dropping foam and saliva. He could not see the rest of the beast and was sure he did not want to.

Maybe he just had too much imagination. IN the dark the insubstantial fears could become manifest.

However, his night terrors had never before smelled like wild dog and spoiled meat. A nightmare had never before breathed on him or dripped its vicious fluids with soft but audible patters on the floor.

He wanted to run. He NEEDED to run, but where could he run to? He was lost in the dark of this giant castle, and the creature in front of him surely knew every passage and cooridor well. Maybe it could even seen in the dark, as if the candles had not suddenly gone dark.

There was the baby too. She was here, of if not here then the woman who had taken her was, and he would find out where the baby was kept. He had sworn to his grieving mother that he would not fail her as his cowardly father had. He would return the girl child to her waiting arms, or he would not return.

In front of him the greed eyes held steady, the purple lips still surrounding the wet white teeth. Where there were eyes and a mouth there was a head and a head made a suitable target to aim for.

Geh tightened both hands around the end of his sturdy wooden staff.

The staff had seemed like such a strong weapon on the Forrest road, but it seemed no more than a mere walking stick in front of this apparition. He wished for something stronger, sharper.

What he did not have would be of little use to him though. What he did have was his wooden staff and his failing courage. He would have to make them both count.

Slowly, hoping the creature could not see or sense what he was doing, he raised the staff above his head, behind his shoulder. The green eyes followed its upward arc. The beast could see in the Darkness. It would be expecting the attack.

Would it duck and dodge? Would it leap and attack?

He was afraid, possibly more afraid than he had been before in his life. He could feel his heart beating a rapid tattoo, like a rabbit caught in a snare, already aware it would soon die.

His whole world shrank until it was only the size of a face, and filled only with a set of green eyes, a pair of purple lips and those sharp and dripping teeth.

In the dark he barred his own teeth at the beast. Ahead of him the eyes and fangs lowered as the beast prepared to strike. Geh took a deep breath, filled his mind with a memory of his mother and tensed his body to swing. In front of him the eyes and fangs lowered as the beast crouched for its own attack.


The powerful voice filled the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere. The room filled with a weak yellow light as a woman carrying a lamp decended a set of stairs that Geh did not remember seeing there before.

The beast swung its head to look at the newcomer. In the dim light it was horrid to see. Massive and shaggy it was like a wolf, a bear, a human all in one animal. They eyes and leps set in a humanesque face, separated by a broad wet nose. Its arms and legs were thinck and strong, each hand and foot ending in fire digits. Each finger and toe tipped with thick black claws.

The wole animal was covered in a brown red fur that looked as if it might be soft to hold, silky to touch. He had no urge to reach out for or to hold it.

“Good girl,” the woman on the stairs crooned. “You did well. Go now, find your sisters.”

The beast ducked its head and made a mewling sound, wagging a shaggy tail behind it, then it dropped to four legs and ran into a darkened corridor elsewhere.

“You’ll have to exuce Mandala. We never get company up here and she’s forgotten her manners.”

The woman was tall and slender, her long black hair was streaked with silver and fell in a wild disarray around her shoulders. She wore a simple cotton dress, much like the women in the town below wore. She did not look like someone who lived in a castle and lorded over people with fear.

She must be a servant then, or more likely a slave. Surely no person would work of their own free will in a castle occupied by beasts.

“Of course, she continued, “You can’t be too harsh on HER manners considering your own. It is not exactly polite to come into someone’s home uninvited and brandishing a weapon.”

She turned her eyes, which seemed to glow amber in the candel light, toward his staff, which he still had raised over his shoulder, ready to strike.

He realized and ache had set into his arms and shoulders and his fingers had turned white in their grip.

The woman smiled as he lowered the staff, but as somethign snarled in the shadows nearby he still held it tight in his hand.

The woman frowned.

“Please Miss,” Geh begged as he stepped toward the woman. “You must help me. Your mistres has stolen a child. My sister. You must help me find her. My mother....”

“Hush!” The woman snapped. She holed up her hand and Geh noticed her fingers all seemed to be too long. Her word had been harsh but he thought he could see amusement in her eyes.

He stood silent, hoping that he had not made a mistake and judged this woman wrong. If this woman were not a slave, but was loyal to the lady Aramanth, then all was surely lost to him.

In the silence he thought ht heard a footstep, a sound of claws on stone. Very nearby somethign growled and barked a low coughing bark.

“Him again,” the lady muttered, as if talking to herself and not her visitor. Then she moved quickly. She grabbed Geh by the arm and snatched him foward so quickly he lost his grip on the staff.

It clunked down on the stone floor and he tried to go back for it, but the woman’s grip was strong and unrelenting.

“No time,” she said. “Its so very late and Castle Aramanth isn’t so friendly at night. It gets hungry in the dark. Not all the sisters listen to me as well as Mandala. Not when they are so hungry.

“He’s come out tonight too, and we certainly can’t have you meeting him. No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

They moved quickly as she talked. She drug him up the stairs she had come down. Left up one hall, right down a second hall. More stairs. More and more hallways. He was quickly lost and left wondering how he would find his way out again. How would he find the lady Aramanth and return his sister to their mothers arms?

Finally htey stopped. The woman threw open a door and shoved him into a room. She thrust the lantern into his hands and said, “You’ll stay here tonight. It is a safe room to sleep. IN the mornign we’ll see what to do about your trespass.”

She swept out, swinging the door closed behind her. He heard a latch fall into place and then there was silence.

Sorrow has Wisdom

I took the journal prompts from todays Inspired to Journal newsletter ( and created this. Its rough, but at least I acutally DID write soemthing today. (go me!)


Sorrow has wisdom, recorded inside tears
so that memories don’t lie languid.

Eyes are the windows that let in illumination
so the wisdom can grow where planted.

Oh, they swim, how they sang, now they pant in the void
While they implant themselves on tears

Memories can mesmerize, also metamorphosis
one day you find the stagnant jewel has changed.

Sorry has wisdom, thoughtfulness majestic
but sorrow turns memories to joy.

This Week’s Theme: Conspinkey. Don't look that word up, because it doesn't exist. But you're going to use it in your entry.

"He's adorable!" the girl squealed. It took me a little off guard. When I was walking my pet I was used to people squealing, but adorable usually wasn't what they squealed.

"What's his name?"

"Uh...well..." I coudln't beleive that the one time someone had asked about him instead of ewwing away from him I coudln't remember his name.

"Does he have a name yet? Or did you just get him? I had one time. I named her Squiffy. Actually, Messiah Squiffy, but that seems to insult some people."

She just kept talking, and I still coudln't remember his name. It wasn't helped by the fact that the girl talking to me had the biggest, brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen before. They would have struck me speachless even if she hadn't been asking me such hard questions as what my pets name was.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her forehead crinkling. She was starting to get the look that most people got with they first saw....

"Conspinkey. His name is Conspinkey. He's not my first though. I've had rats for years. I couldn't imagine not having one."

The wrinkles of fright disappeared from her face and she said, "I haven't had one since Squiffy. I miss her sometimes."

"Would you like to hold Conspinkey?"

"Could I?"

And thus a relationship was born from a rat named Conspinkey.

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Macabre Parade

I’m not resisting my disgrace anymore,
falling down and crying on the floor
release this poison, let go of this pain
broken and hopeless, when will I feel whole again?

My body is broken, my mind not far behind
I wonder sometimes if I will make it out this time
The phone is ringing, a sound that I barely hear
Whoever is so far away, I need someone more near

I feel like I’m not human, just a puppet on a string
just moving to the motions of someone else’s dream.
I’ve lost my inner drummer, lost my special muse
I lost myself somewhere back when I came unglued.

Eventually I’ll stand up again, dusting myself off
I’ll drink a cup of coffee, maybe go out for a walk
Get ready for another day, another glass charade
marching to my missing drummer in my own macabre parade.

National Poetry Month Day 5

From a prompt today I wrote:

When life hands you lemons, consider
the taste of hot chocolate in winter
and in the summer how mother made
the cold cranberry lemonade.

Then for fun I started playing with:

and created:

Shiny sound I might hear
whisper yellow basking lust
madly fall happy in love

Poem for April 4th

Bad haiku for you:

Small child screaming.
“You shut up right now,” says mom.
Silence is golden.

Its World Rat Day

World Rat Day

On top of it being National Poetry Month, today was also WORLD RAT DAY!


And, because I’m the Crazy Rat Lady, only I would know that...right?

Due to the fact that I was lazy and have not edited the poem I wrote today, I will share with you instead a poem I DID NOT WRITE, but its about rats, and this is WORLD RAT DAY so......there.

Ode to a Rat
By: -JcsJanie (found online)

Always poking, always peeking,
Climbing, jumping, sometimes squeaking,
Twitching whiskers, cunning faces,
Hiding in the strangest places!
Nibbling here and napping there,
Always finds the time to spare
A fuzzy "kiss" upon my cheek.
Sometimes I wish that you could speak!
Bright eyes shining full of love,
A furry gift from up above.
Always glad to have me near.
Such a treasure! What a dear!
Folks can have their cats and dogs,
Horses, snakes, and even frogs.
For me you stand out from the rest.
No doubt about it- a RAT'S the best!

And if you like it here is a WHOLE PAGE OF RAT POETRY.

End Times

I had company most of yesterday evening, so the poetry writing didn’t happen till later, and then it got all thunderatious around here so I had to log off the computer.

So here is yesterdays poem:

End Times

It is how they have always said would be done,
signs are now showing that end times have come.

Perhaps, in fact, the truths have always lied,
the end times have already passed on by

The world was found wanting in every land
so even the faithful were left in the sand.

There is waiting and wanting and prayer for the end,
but perhaps its not coming, not ever again.


There is a strange and empty hollow
no spot.
Left of full is left unfilled
on you.
Until I spill apart unglued.
No trick.
My mystery has come up quick
and short.

April is National Poetry Month

So says

National Poetry Month FAQ

and the all mighty Wikipedia

I’ve decided to try a NaPoWriMo (because the world needs more WriMo’s in it.) And write a poem a day, every day, for April.

Granted, my poetic skills are weak, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Plus I’ll be getting practice.

Todays offering is:

April 1st

First April day,
day of All Fool’s
no fools here only
manic, manic morning
rushing hard ahead
another day.

Stormy Weather

Prompt: Write about stormy weather


The wind was howling outside, thrashing the limbs of the pecan trees. Plenty of nuts on the ground tomorrow, Laura thought.

She stood at the front window, holding her curtain to the side so that should would watch the storm rage around her.

The wind forced fat drops against the window, giving even the harshest parts of the storm a soft and dreamy look. Lightning flashed with a brilliant blue, and as she watched a limb exploded off one of her trees in a shower of sparks.

Laura let the curtain drop back into place and stood looking at its simple floral pattern, hardly backlit by the dark storm outside.

She never had cared much for lightning. She didn’t mind the wind or the rain. She didn’t even mind the thunder, even when it rattled the windowpanes. Because thunder couldn’t hurt you.

Lightning could hurt you. Lightning could even kill you.

Things that hurt and killed were bad. Even the Bible said so.

“Bad to hurt.” She said. “Bad to kill.”

She turned away from the window and looked across her living room. It was dark in the room, but not pitch. The Storm had knocked the power out. Probably a tree branch broke off and took a line with it. It happened pretty often.

After storms Laura often had to clean branches out of her yard that had broken from her own pecan trees. Some of them were large enough to be trees themselves.

It a limb HAD come down on the lines somewhere it could be hours before the power came back on.

It didn’t matter to her. She knew her house well enough, and wasn’t bothered by the dark. Later, if she wanted some light she could light some of the candles that sat around her house in several spots.

“The dark doesn’t hurt,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Are you?”

Lightning flashed again, not a single flicker but a stuttering strobe of light that kept the room lit for several seconds. She could clearly see her guest in his chair across the room. His eyes were wide and bright and very afraid.

Thunder pealed, and the lightning faded away, leaving Laura alone with her guest.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “The dark doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t kill. Just stay there, I’ll come over to you. I’ll light a candle, you’ll like it better.”

She went to the candlestick closest to where her guest’s chair was and pulled a box of matches, lighting each of the white sticks it held.

“Better,” she said to her guest, turning to face him.

The candles light was tiny in the face of the storms darkness, but it was light enough to see that he was still tied tightly to the chair. His eyes were still wide with fear, and his face was streaked with tear trails that disappeared behind the tape she had wrapped over his mouth and around his head.

She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped the tears off his face.

“Now, now,” she said. “Its not that bad. Just a little stormy weather is all.”

Untitled Part 3

Read Part 1
Read Part 2

People, on the whole as a species, knew the world was going to come to an end.

Nobody ever thought it would happen in THEIR lifetime, but everyone though it would probably happen before their grandchildren died.

Some thought it would be a super bug. Some virus cooked up by the army to make warfare safer for us and nastier for whichever "them" was being fought at that time.

Others thought it would be nuclear war.

There were other theories as well, as many theories as there were people, and most of them led back to the government.

The government part was true, but that could hardly be avoided because by the time the world ended, the government had their fingers in more pies than even THEY could keep track of any longer.

It was the how of the whole things that everyone had been wrong about.

When you thought of the end of the world you never thought of sweet little girls clutching well loved stuffed animals to her chest, looking terrified in front of the dozens of cameras on the podium she was standing behind.

She was one of the spectacular wonders of the world, but no one ever noticed her.

At least not until Godzilla, the REAL Godzilla attacked Tokyo.

Then people were ready to listen.

From the Prompt "Write about black hearts and pirate lovers."

The sea was a swollen, sick looking thing
roiling and boiling with grey slag and death.
The ship was a pearl, but a bad one
rotten heart as black as the sky
She saw neither ship nor sea
just the silhouette aboard deck,
not looking toward shore for she,
just back toward the endless boil.

She never looked landward again,
just watched the unwell waters
waiting for her lover, like lovers do
Though others loves may come to them
and sweep them off their feet
she held no such daydreams
just wanted one more glimpse of him
as he headed back out to sea.

Untitled - Part 2

Read Part One


Snoot made it to the house before any of them, and was sniffing his way through the think dust on the buildings porch. As the three of them caught up he gave a woof as if to say, “What took you so long?”

“We’ll have none of that now,” Rod said. “Showing off just because you got here first. I could have too, if I had three legs like you do.”

Snoot just panted and wagged his stump.

The house was small. A bathroom, a kitchen and living room together in one spot. The sofa was the kind that pulled out into a bed. It was in sofa form and covered with almost as much dust as the front porch, but Desmond didn’t mind. He curled himself into a corner and was soon asleep.

Bunny wanted to join him, but things had to be done first. She turned to the kitchen part of the room.

There was a small window over the sink, covered in limp grey curtains. She pulled them open but the dirty glass on the window didn’t let in much light. She ran a finger across the counter and it came up black.

“Housekeeping leaves a lot to be desired.”

She turned the tap on in the sink, not expecting water to come out and not being disappointed.

“Rod,” she said, “Go see if they have a hand pump outside.”

He gave her a jaunty two finger salute and went out, Snoot at his heels.

A drawer under the sink produced some rags, cleaning supplies underneath. There were two cabinets overhead, one full of dishes.

Rod came back in, a grin on his face and something behind his back.

“Good news is not only was there a hand pump, but there was a jug full to prime it with.”

“Good stuff,” Bunny replied. “This kitchen could use a lot of water based TLC.”

“Found this too,” he showed her hand hands, each one holding two small tomatoes.” There’s a garden out there. Tomatoes, okra, some squash. Everything weedy and small, but its fresh. How’d you come out? Is the cubbard bare?”

“Not quite. We’ve got canned peas, a few other canned goods. A bag of corn meal. Also found ab ag of honest to god coffee right here. Best of all, we have a wood stove.”

“What’s in the fridge?”

“I wasn’t brave enough to look. Things you keep in the refrigerator tend to smell when they go bad.”

“So, you want to cook or clean first?”

“I want to sleep.”

“I know that feeling, Bunny. I know it to my bones. Is there a bedroom here or do we have to get Desmond up long enough to pull that one out?”

“Maybe its behind door number two. I haven’t opened that one yet.”

“Bedroom or closet, I’m gonna curl up in it and sleep.”

It was a bedroom, as dark and dust covered as everything else, and full of mirrors.

“Funny,” Bunny said. “All these mirrors and not a single photo of themselves. That must mean something.”

“Something,” Rod agreed, then they both slept.

She dreamed, and heard Rod cry out once so she knew he dreamed too. Once she thought she was awake. She was sure she could hear Desmond talking to her, but wasn’t able to answer him.

She finally opened her eyes to a dimly lit room and Rod standing over her with a steaming cup.

“Well now. You had the three of us awful worried. Even Snoot thought you were gone for good this time.”

She sat up and rubbed her face, cringing at the feel of the dust on it. These sheets would have to be washed before night. Hopefully the heat from the wood stove would dry them while she cooked supper.

“Worried? I’ve only been asleep for a few hours. The sun’s still up.”

“Not still up. Up again. You’ve slept all through one day, one night, and half of another day.”

“No. No! You don’t think? I can’t be, right? The pills! I’ve been taking them.”

“Relax. You were just tired. Desmond slept nearly as long. Here...”

He handed her the cup he was holding.

“Coffee. Desmond found a jar of pasta sauce out there, and some noodles. He’s made some spaghetti, and I’ve made some fried bread. There’s still a tomato too if you want something fresh.”

“I want to pee.”

“I put an old bucket in the bathroom, and there’s plenty of bushes out back.”

She looked toward the ceiling.

“Have there been any fly overs?”

“Not today. Not yesterday. Not here.”

“I’ll go outside then. Can you get Desmond to heat me some water on that stove? I would kill for a warm wash.”

“We’re ahead of you. The tub is full already. Lukewarm cause you slept so long, but we can re-heat it if you want.”

“No, warms okay. I don’t have to boil.”

As she squatted outside to relieve herself she couldn’t take her eyes off the sky. Snoot stalked a lizard in the garden.

Inside again, she sank with relish into the tub of lukewarm water. There was only a curtain to separate it from the kitchen, but that was okay. Rod and Desmond’s soft conversation didn’t bother her.

Down past her shoulders, her ears, only her nose above water. Some of it slipped past her lips. It tasted warm and metallic. Organic and alive.”

She recalled a time when she would be in a similar position, burring her head under water. During those times it was her husband on the other side of the door. She would rock gently in the water so that it lapped. The lapping would drown out her husband as he ranted and raved.

A peaceful, perfect world.

Except sooner or later she would have to come up for air.

No matter how bad things became she was never able to bring herself to breath in a lung-full of water and be done with it all.

When she surfaced now, some of the water on her face were her tears, and Desmond stood over her.

“Desmond,” she said, “It’s not polite to walk in on a lady in the tub.”

“I was afraid.”

“Rod’s out there, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I’m not afraid now. When you were asleep you were dreaming and I was afraid.”

“Would you believe that once there were billions of people in this world, and that every night they dreamed? Would you believe that dreams were nothing to be afraid of?”

Desmond shook his head.

“Well, its true. Now get out of here and let a lady bathe in peace.

Untitled- From Prompt: Write about the sun rising behind you.

The sun was rising behind them, causing shadows to grow outward from their feet.

Their shadow selves stretched out and raced forward with far more enthusiasm than their travel weary human companions.

Bunny hunched her shoulders and watched the dust puff up and around her feet. Her shoes were the color of the road now. SO were the cuffs of her jeans. She thought her lungs would be too, she’d breathed so much of the road dust in.

To her right Desmond coughed. She glanced over to see he was almost asleep on his feet. She couldn’t even see a sliver of his blue eyes under his heavy lids.

Rodney was ahead of them, Snoot limping along beside him. The sun behind them reflected off the scar on the back of Rod’s head, making it glow bright pink.

He turned around to look back at them, walking backwards he never missed a step.

“Sun’s coming up,” he announced as his shadow raced ahead behind him.

Snoot sniffed at something in the road, stopping his limping for a moment, then he sneezed once before running ahead, racing the daybreak shadows.

He had once been a white mongrel, but now he was also the color of road dirt. Bunny was beginning to wonder if there had ever been another color.

Snoot’s stub of a tail disappeared down a hill she couldn’t see from where she was.

“House down there,” Rod said. “Nap time.”

Desmond stumbled, his dragging feet catching a rock in the road. Bunny caught him and lifted him over her shoulder. It wasn’t a graceful way to carry him, but the only way she could manage. He was almost too heavy for her to lift anymore.

She sincerely hoped they could get the long rest they all badly needed.


PS. You may notice my comment section no longer allows anonymous comments. I'm sorry if that causes any problems for my regular readers, but I can't stand people who leave negative comments and are to afraid to show themselves.

I don't mind negative comments. I've gotten plenty of them in the past, and not just insulting my writing. I remember someone once called me an ass.

So, negative comments I can deal with, I just can't abide cowards.