Disdainful looks from you are welcome guests Like sunshined rays once storminess has passed So it were criminal to praise you less In deigning upon me your glares to cast The key to opening a heart so locked Remains an unsolved mystery to me But I’ll awaiting of your timing find If you’ll resolve imprisoned…

Okay, it’s time to play. We are going up again this month, and still looking for hearty souls who want to shoot the moon : ) So, you can write a haiku or a piece that is exactly 100 words or a piece that is exactly 2000 words Here are this month’s triggers: Father’s Day…

Every Muddah’s Day, my fahdah, tell, we going out fo dinner. Only ting, he only like eat Chinese food. Instead of going one regular chop suey house, he tell we going Waikiki Lau Yee Chai. My bruddah tell, “We going Waikiki Lousy Chai again.” We gotta wear shoes and nice aloha shirt. When we get…

I wonder often why Shakespeare did write Those hundred fifty-four love sonnets dear For whom he meant each one inspired delight For whom each one was meant remains unclear Enamoring all those poems instinctive dreamed Of golden youth’s renown he would ensure Of women dark, fair, pretty, or less deemed Of age’s contrasts and swift…

Carter spoke as if he were witnessing yesterday’s event from a distance; another critical phone call received from his fifth grade teacher, his father’s failed containment of anger, the baseball bat… Pulling up the sleeve of a light jacket, he bared the bump and purple bruise blooming on a thin bronze arm. He knew the…

In the folded envelope that bounced, along the stones of the WWII Memorial at National Mall, stopped by toe of my last pair of USMC issued boots. Written in the hand of a boy just learning to write cursive, was a letter. Dear Granddaddy, I haven’t forgotten you. I hope I was a good grandson…

Last night I Googled “Buy My Happy Horse Shit,” something realtor Willis J. Everist once said, giving the straight scoop on what makes the world go around. Google offered Hunter S. Thompson and Charles Bukowski, so I opened an article on Bukowski, who once wrote, “Grate art is horse shit. Buy tacos.” For what it’s…

Okay, it’s time for the May Contest edition. I’m in England right now, so the cues might also have something to do with England : ) And yes, we’re going up again this month. So you can write: a haiku or a piece that is exactly 100 words or a piece that is exactly 1888…

He slowly shuffles into the office, his left leg a step behind him. At the previous visit, wrinkled hands rolled up the leg of his pants to show me the long ravine scars. “One remindah, even tho I no like remembah,” he said. “Vietnam wen fuck me up real good.” We both sit down, and…

A first marathon Add big-feet, small-shoes conceit– Yield bunion baptism.