End of the Middle

Deep inside the story, past the start of the beginning, but before the middle of the end

When the boy has met the girl, and kissed the girl, but not yet lost the girl, that’s my favorite part.

The waters are still calm and the wide open skies are blue. Conflict sits on a shelf by the door.

At the end of the middle, she is still his. There’s been no misunderstanding, no complicated,

Convoluted, comical slash and parry. Only long, hungry looks and a shared danish.

Outlander Angst

I started book seven of the Outlander series today. Those of you who urged me to read Diana Gabaldon’s epic tale of love, lust, war, and time travel should be thoroughly ashamed of yourselves. Before entering the universe occupied by Jamie (sigh!) and Claire, I was relatively normal. 

And, when pressed as to why I hadn’t read the books, being the avid reader that I am, I’d smirk, “I don’t read romance novels,” in a slightly condescending voice. 

Then one day I panicked, having found myself without a book queued up on my Amazon wish list, and so to pacify my earnest Outlander loving friends I placed an order for that first book on kindle. I’ve not been the same since.

From the outset it was clear that the first book, from whence the series takes its name, was more than a simple romance novel. There was complexity here, and, well, time travel. I read science fiction and fantasy, so this was right up my alley. 

In the middle of the third book of the series, Voyager, something shifted. I began dreaming about the characters, not just as they are in the books, but as if we were interacting in real time. We’d have full-blown conversations. In addition I began thinking in a Scottish accent. Please tell me I’m not nuts. 

Now, at the beginning of book seven, I’m on the verge of a breakdown. At present, there are eight books in the series. I’m on the next to the last one. 

The books are long, and I am not a fast reader. Jamie (sigh!) and Claire will be with me for at least another month. Even so, that special heartache of knowing I’m in the final stages of a great series has set in. I can’t put the book down, thus I soon will have nothing left of Jamie (sigh!) and Claire.

And if anyone suggests I watch the televised version of the series, I will slap them. After all, I don’t watch romance!

Peace, people.

My Husband is no Poet

Married young
my high school love
nearly forty years ago

Romantic novels
formed expectations
of how our lives should go:

Every day a poem
written in honor of
my beauty and my style,

Long conversations
about my attributes
all to make me smile.

Instead I got
this grounded man
no poetry in his soul

Who works so hard
to care for me, my
well-being is his goal

And if that isn’t
poetry of a sort, I reckon
it should be

The poetry of keeping
one’s hands on the wheel for
his woman’s sake

The verse of tending
to her every physical need in
sickness and in health

Maybe this man is the
poet I longed for in days
long past

Or perhaps he’s the muse
who fills my pages with tales
enough to last.

Happy anniversary Studly!


Thor and Embla

Thor and Embla slowly
Holding hands in the
Wrapped up in their
Forbidden love
They languished ‘neath

He bent his head
Cupping her face.
She clung
to his broad chest,
Embla cried to her god
Do not leave,
She sobbed.

Odin, help me!
Embla begged.
Do not tear
Us apart!
Mighty Thor
Has claimed my

With a nod of
Shaggy head
Sleipnir was
To carry them
Woman and God
Into Helheim’s 
Cold halls.


Ask and Embla were the first mortals created by the gods according to Norse mythology. While I’m sure Embla was faithful to Ask, surely she could’ve been forgiven a tryst with Thor….or maybe not. Hels was the destination of the dead.

Interesting, is it not, the similarities in Norse and Christian mythologies? Ask and Embla (Adam and Eve), Helheim (Hell).

With a Little Help from my Friends

Note: I had a great deal of help with this post. I left blanks in my story and asked friends on Facebook to come up with content. When I had more than one friend respond I drew names from a hat. The darned story went in a totally unforeseen direction. I like it. 

My helpful friends are listed at the bottom. Underlined phrases indicate where I received help. 

“Flirting with the Law”

Sitting astride her motorcycle in front of a small jewelry store in Panama City Beach, Beth smelled the stranger before she saw him. He smelled like sheets hanging on the line, dried by the summer sun, and she lifted her head to catch his scent on the breeze. 

The scent transported her back to her childhood when hanging laundry on the line out back was a chore, but the results well worth the work. There were few things in life better than sleeping on sun-dried sheets.

Lost in her reverie, Beth startled when she realized the police officer standing beside her motorcycle was attached to the nostalgic scent. He was tall, dark, and oh so handsome.

“Excuse me, miss,” This perfect vision of manhood began, “Did you know that your license plate is missing?”

“Huh?” Beth replied in her most articulate manner. “I mean of course it’s not missing. It was there when I left Tallahassee this morning.”

But even as she spoke Beth swung a leg over the back of her bike and walked back to check. Sure enough, the plate was missing.

“Well that’s just weird,” she said. “Now what?”

The nice smelling stranger said, “Could cost you a ticket, you know,” and without looking at her he ran his leather gloved hand along the curvy contour of her tank, stopping at the crest of her saddle seat.

Beth gulped audibly and felt a slow blush creep over her face. “Honest, Officer, ummm…”

“Greg. Just Greg,” he said. “And here’s your plate. I saw some kids messing around with your bike and caught them red handed with your tag.”

Beth exhaled. “Greg, you just saved me a huge headache.”

“Well, I’m not letting you off the hook just yet,” the officer said. “Did you realize that I just finished my shift and I’m starving?”

“I guess I should let you go then, though, I don’t suppose you have a screwdriver on you….” Beth said indicating her detached license plate.

Greg grinned from ear to ear. “Come, let me buy you some lunch, and I’ll find a screwdriver for you.”

For one brief moment Beth considered turning him down. After all, he was a cop, and she did have a bag of stolen diamonds in her saddlebag. 

“Why, I’ll take you up on that,”she smiled demurely, looping her arm through his. She was running well ahead of schedule.

Many thanks to

Steven Ramos
Bob Walsh
Flora Diehl
Janie Christie Heniford
along with everyone else who submitted suggestions.

Peace, people!

The Force Continues to Awaken

Studly Doright has yet to see Star Wars Episode VII. As I explained to friends it’s been a special kind of hell to be unable to discuss the film with him. I’ve come so close to accidentally providing spoilers just because I NEED to think about it out loud. The cats are, quite frankly, sick of hearing about the film, and their opinions are weak at best.
But this morning I received the following text from my Studly:

You can tell by my response that I’m stoked. My baby is taking off work early, on his busiest day of the week, to see this movie with me. I call that true love.

Peace, people!

Praying for Eyebrowz Copyright 2015 by Leslie Noyes.

Slow Boat to Anywhere


i’d like to have you,
on a slow boat tonight
down a lazy river or
any port feels right.

whisper through wee hours
give into rhythm’s waves,
rock each other gently
and stay afloat for days.

far from shore we’d sail
then shelter in the cove,
skyclad ‘neath the stars
clothed in naught, save love.

Now, lest anyone think I was feeling amorous when I wrote this nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve got some sort of stomach bug, and I am doing my best to keep from being sick. Poor Studly Doright. 

Peace, people.


He smiled
I ducked my head.
he spoke
i can’t remember
what he said.
it was probably
just hello or
maybe a simple hi.
whatever it was
opened up a whole
new world in the
blink of an eye.
love starts that way,
you know
when you least
expect it.
it’s real all the
same and sometimes
lasts forever.

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