Monday, August 29, 2016

if you won’t be coming back this way


paint me a landscape
of Navajo blankets
string a necklace of seashells
with life still in them

sculpt a Manzanita bowl
to hold tears and small truths
capture the sigh of breezes 
in tall pines beyond the open window

replicate your smile
in the iridescence of mica
your eyes in starshowers
across the fat cheeks of the moon

engrave a happy ending
into my long white bones 
and touch my hair to the sun







#author #writer #writerslife #poem #poetry #parting

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Trophies (short story)



Lorien strained forward in the crowd at the concession stand. She could hear the engines revving and back-firing as the super-modifieds were started for the A-feature, and she didn't want to miss any of the race.  Squeezing ahead of a man who was still reading the menu on the back wall, she ordered the hot dogs and Cokes for her mother and her friends, then bought a Baby Ruth and a pack of Juicy Fruit with her own money.  She tucked the gum into her purse and hurried toward the grandstand.

Some of the cars were already in line by the time she got back to her seat.  Her mother passed around the food and change while Lorien studied the cars at the starting line.  She was looking for number twenty-six, but L. Ray wasn't on the track yet.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Last Rodeo















hot wind whipped my hair 
across my face
in Cheyenne, Wyoming
where a drunk truck driver
twirled my adolescence
on his sun-tanned arm
raising my skirt and pulse
in street dance frenzy
and I never forgot 
that beautiful bucking horse
that broke his neck 
on a fence he never saw coming



#writer #writerslife #author #rodeo #cheyennewyoming #poetry

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Puppy Love

DOGGIE PLAYDATE AS METAPHOR FOR ROMANCE
Featuring Carl J and Anne Bonan


ANTICIPATION
WILD ABANDONED PLAY
EVEN IN LOVE YA GOTTA EAT
THE QUIET MOMENT, OR
"WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?"



 #writer #writerslife #author #doggieplaydate #dogsrus #romance #puppylove


Saturday, August 6, 2016

What Do You Think YOU'RE Doing?


Anyone ever ask you, "What do you think you're doing?" Not "What are you doing?" That's pretty obvious. But "What do you think you're doing" is a poser. My stepdad asked it regularly. And not just of me.  Of an impatient driver pulling around on the shoulder back in the days when you could cross Kansas at 80 mph. Of some woman struggling to parallel park in a spot he'd been eyeing for half a block. Of my mother, when she'd gather up seemingly empty plates from chicken dinners before he or my Aunt Carolyn or my Aunt Juanita had sucked the marrow from the ends of their drumsticks and wings.

Here's the thing:

THOSE PESKY VOICES IN YOUR HEAD!

  IS THAT YOUR MOTHER CALLING? Advice that Echoes Down Through the Ages tracks words of wisdom as well as cautions through the generations--...