Starlight twinkles, playing between the clouds, he stands and listens to the hiss of aurora, spreading fanlike overhead, and dreams of joining eternity. Arms spread palms flat, night wind strums his hair, he feels the power, of his fathers’ calling, tucks his knees and flys, heavenward to the light, restrained from the cosmos, by the […]
(Excerpt from ‘The Marcy Street Irregulars and Other Fables’, my upcoming collection of life and mishaps in a small town) June is Brain Injury Awareness Month, also known around our house as the month my wife proves to the world that yes, in fact I was dropped on my head as a baby. Two Junes […]
[This short story began as a challenge by Diane Schuett, producer extraordinaire of the South Bruce Christmas Show, to create an unique work for my ‘annual’ Christmas reading in the show. It will be including in the upcoming anthology of ‘short stories and snacks’ called ‘The Marcy Street Irregulars & Other Fables’ – ml] * […]
(It has been 20 years since I wrote this, and my back STILL hurts) An orchestra of birds outside my window this morning reminds me that yet another New England winter has come to an end. Time to unglue the venetian blinds and open up a window or two. I love the springtime; birds chattering […]
It has been more than 40 years, so the story may be more apochryphal than truthful, but certainly qualifies as Irregular. Aleida Wilhelmina Diderica Jager was a product of the war. Born in the early 20’s in Arnhem, she was a teenager when Hitler marched into Holland and lived through the years of skimpy vegetables […]
it hits you funny, sometimes, death, like a sledgehammer made out of putty wielded by a midget with spasticity as a surgeon would wield a knife I was at an auction rural type lots of welders and big implements for fixing combines or tractors mixed in with delicate china I love the smells of old […]
Salt taste, rippling across my tongue, rolling black pebbles bursting at the edge symbolic life to slake my thirsty palette long draughts of femininity at it’s source reduced to here and now encased in the soft tang slipped between my lips and then the cracker, bitten… hard! ©2000
running away from what I never knew the boogie man under the stairs or perhaps just another under cooked pizza no anchovies please or no I passed a mirror and… ran… away… again mwl’18
