Hallways grand, roughly chiseled
Stone walls, tapestried, still allowed
Chill to seep into bones grown cold.
Flames sequestered in recessed
Walls burned day into night with no
Pause inside the draft-filled keep.

Lute played softly, backdrop for a
Feast served in trenchers. Crusty
Bread sopped in juices, shoveled
Indelicately, scraps left for serfs and
Canines to scrabble over long after
Feast’s end. Snarling dogs compete.

Lords, ladies, retreat to chambers
Above the hall, met by servants in
Rooms kept warm for master’s use.
Candles extinguished, madame
Feigns exhaustion sending her liege
To the dressing room, adjacent.

Silently, love’s scented mimic slides
‘Neath brocaded bedcovers worn
Soft as new-shorn sheep, seeking
Warmth as much as lust’s touch.
Whispers a welcome, shivers from
Pleasures greedily anticipated.

How’s that for an innocent poem about castles turning into a bit of lustful folly? When I started writing I had no intention of taking the poem to the bedroom. It wandered there all by itself. Naughty little thing.




Third Person Love and Laughter

A friend challenged me to take one of my more poetic posts and rewrite it in third person. Here’s the new version with the original at the end.

Love and Laughter

The market on love
Has been cornered
By those who know that
Sometimes the clouds threaten
And the sky goes sunless
Day upon day
And all that holds the storm at bay
Are the winds swept aloft
By shared laughter.

So what if lovers can’t live
On love alone?
Better that they never even try.
Some days they may
Forget to remember
The grace of being saved
By a smile, seeing
The world created
From no more than a pair
Of long ago I do’s.

And here’s the original:

“Laughter and Love”

The market on love
Has been cornered
By those of us
Who know that
Sometimes the clouds threaten
And the sky goes sunless
Day upon day
And all that holds the storm at bay
Are the winds swept aloft
By shared laughter.

So what if we can’t live
On love alone?
Honestly we never even tried.
Some days we might have
Forgotten to remember, though
The importance of just looking
Into a smile and seeing
The world we’ve created
From no more than a pair
Of long ago I do’s



Imagine, if you will, the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Suddenly, a storm of epic proportions descends on the cobble stone streets. Encased within, the makings of a mighty funnel cloud barreling along and scooping up everything in its path. Angry bulls, frightened runners, petrified spectators, toreadors, picadors, and matadors enveloped in a…Gorenado!

Several days later and thousands of miles away, in Great Bend, Kansas, a group of students enjoy their after lunch recess on the playground of a small elementary school. On duty staff notice a shift in the winds and begin calling the students to wrap up their play. Darkness rapidly descends and rain drops the size of mushrooms speed the children on their way to safety.

A lone librarian rushes to assist a kindergartener who has fallen in the rush when from the sky drops a raging bull, head lowered, ready to charge. The librarian places the child behind her and they begin backing away from the bovine. The bull snorts and paws the earth. There is no way for the librarian to get the child to safety in time. Death seems imminent. Until a mighty matador descends from the cloud, waving his cape and diverting attention from the woman and her charge.

With the bull’s focus on the brave matador, the librarian scoops the frightened child into a protective embrace and runs for safety. The students and staff have gathered at the cafeteria windows to watch wide-eyed as the matador sweeps the bull under his cape of crimson. The librarian especially cannot take her eyes from the skilled Spaniard. When the bull is calmed and subdued through a variety of humanitarian maneuvers, the matador secures the now docile animal to a basketball goal.

The librarian rushes out to thank her savior, her emerald green eyes glistening with unshed tears of gratitude.

“Thank you, sir. You surely saved my life and the life of the child.”


Realizing the handsome matador knew no English, the librarian said the only thing she could, “Gracias! Gracias, seƱor!”

He bowed and took her small, white hand into his large tan one, planting a gentle kiss on her dainty knuckles. In the background, the bull snorted contentedly.

Would love follow for our librarian and her matador? Would more bulls drop onto the Kansas plains wreaking havoc and spurring desire? Would gorenados supplant sharknados as the new scourge of the earth? Questions that can be answered only in “Gorenado 2; It Only Hurts When I Sneeze.”

Peace, People!

Conversations With Studly

Me: Did you hear that Mary and Ken are getting married next June.

Him: Hmmm

(One hour later)

Him: Hey, I heard that Mary and Ken are finally getting married.

Me: I know. I told you that earlier.

Him: Really?

Me: Yes. You never listen to me.

Him: Huh?

Me: I think I’ll make chicken enchiladas for dinner.

Him: Why would you do that?

Me: Because I’m hungry.

Him: Huh?

Me: I’m making chicken enchiladas for dinner because I’m hungry.

Him: Oh, I thought you said you were taking cha cha lessons this winter.

Me: Why would I do that?

Him: That’s what I asked you.

Me: You never listen to me!

Him: Huh?

Me: Let’s go to a movie this afternoon.

Him: Sure. What do you want to see?

Me: Either “Get on Up” or “Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Him: I thought you wanted to see the one about James Brown.

Me: I do. That’s what “Get On Up” is.

Him: Then why didn’t you say that?

Me: I did.

Him: Did what?

Me: Aargh.

Him: You forgot to say I don’t listen to you.

Me: It’s true; you never listen to me.

Him: What?


%d bloggers like this: