When You Watched Me Sleep – A Love Poem

i have been in hospital and skilled nursing facility since 2/7.  i’m going home with 24 hour care tuesday.  tripped on a small block while watching the church kids.  broke right tibia, knee, wrist.  some surgery already.  more to follow in a few months.  so it will be a long slow recovery.  more sometime next week…maybe even a fiction challenge.  meanwhile, a short poem:

When You Watched Me Sleep – A Love Poem

I asked you to go home
to rest
to dream
of other days
and smiles,
but you said
you wanted to watch me sleep.
we let ourselves
be sentimental
just for a moment or two.


The Truth About Absinthe Fields

Today is the first day, in a week, that I’ve not only been out of bed but also able to somewhat function.  A cold?  The flu?  My everyday trips – taking my best friend for her radiation – were turned over to the loving care of others.  I think I’ll be up and well by Monday.  Yay!

I came online and saw this week’s photograph for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.  It reminded me of a poem I wrote about three years ago.  The poem was originally titled The Places We Go For Comfort  and other parts of it have been reworked as well.  Since I’m still not up to feeling too creative, I’ll post this and hope I’ll be back to writing stories again next week.

So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.    Our photo is provided by Jade Wong.

Please follow little froggy for more stories.

The Truth About Absinthe Fields

I’d hardly advise
to take the first offer
into his bed.

How could I be
more honest
than that?

And yet,
if you must,
go on and take it
– during the cocktail hour –
before those naughty green fairies
come out to play.


Those Old Nomadic Ways – Flash Fiction

Time again for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers So grateful to PJ for hosting this weekly challenge.  Please follow little froggy for more stories.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate the day!

Oh my goodness!  I want to try this again.  So it’s a story born from a poem I wrote a while back.   What I’m attempting these days.   Story is first and poem follows.

Here is the picture and my submission for this week:

Those Old Nomadic Ways

The Story:

She spread a deck of tarot cards on the table.  Our eyes met.  I was but a traveler attending a week-end concert.  She was but a link to something unknown to me.  I met her gaze and watched her lay down the cards of my life.

Boats on the river passed by.  From one there sounded a calliope whispering the past to me.

I was a lost soul.  She drew me in.  She touched me.  The sun set golden.  Images of hope appeared.

End of story

The Poem:

A tiny camper
rushing by on the freeway
passed other cars
and realities

put me in that camper
on some sparse land
surrounded by silence
and blue skies

searching for anchors
and reasons
to come