I can, I said. You can’t, he whispered
His name was Doubt,
A strange little bird
who never left my shoulder
I imagined him and me
to be like an old pirate
and his faithful parrot,
forever angry at a world
they could never understand
Doubt and I were inseparable
He was my closest friend…
and most hated enemy
I can…
Nothing else to do in the rain but dance
Rain moving in hard
from the west
through the gaps
between the mountain peaks
Me hiding by the fireplace,
head back in my old chair,
glass of wine near,
watching the rain line
moving closer to my window,
driven rapidly
by the coming storm
I close my eyes
and she is…
She is long dead, but I can’t let her die in my old head
My mother has been dead for over ten years, yet as I was scrolling through my favorites list on my phone her number is still there. …
I never knew what I was looking for, but I found it
The line stretched miles through the clouds
The ugly, the nasty, the beautiful and the lost
We all shuffled forward,
heads down, just waiting
I might have been standing there for months,
years, or even decades
but time has no meaning to me now
And it is hard to find a toilet in this place…
I am just not willing to hurt, demean, threaten or hate anyone
Bleak, frigid mountain morning. Low clouds obscure the road ahead. Just me and bundled up dogs walking slowly through the roiling mist. Two little Boston Terrier females, Pumpkin and Rosie, wearing warm pajamas and sweaters. …
Maybe if I get rid of every old me I can then find the real me
The me I need
is never around when I need me
Talking to a beautiful woman
at a cocktail party
then the fifteen year old,
insecure me arrives,
mumbling, embarrassed,
sneaking glances where I shouldn’t be looking
How can this me still find me
And my God, he is even…
Daily writing forced me to be a better writer
There is a rhythm to writing you only discover through daily discipline, and this lack of structure is where most novice writers fail. The magical number to me has always been five pages a day, for at least six weeks without a break. …
I sat alone, writing in my journal, seeking a wine fueled epiphany
Rainy day in the mountains,
Pisgah’s peak peeking out of the mist
Mt. Mitchell nothing
but a dull gray shadow on the horizon
Sitting in my old blue chair
Wrapped in my worn, patchwork quilt,
a friend that has comforted me for years
Puppy asleep in my lap under the blanket,
button black nose…
She spent her life saving him from himself
The job of old hero doesn’t pay
much these days
He would have died broke,
forgotten, alone,
as all super heroes do
when their powers fade
and youth escapes,
yet she saved him,
she, the quiet one few knew,
carried him past
the early days of sunlit glory
on the beach
into the unforgiving years
of “didn’t you use to be someone”…
