Waits in a darkened doorway, hand on a cocked hip. Long practiced words roll off her lips. 

“Want some company, handsome?” she huskily purrs. He shakes his head, another demurs. 

She drags on her cigarette, poufs out her hair. Straightens her posture, drapes a bruised leg on a chair.

A noisy crowd leaves the theatre two blocks down. Exuberant young people out on the town.

Arms linked, hands clasped, giggling innocents still. She seeps into shadows, ashamed, a nil.

Imagines the life that might have been hers. Friendships and outings, instead of this curse.

An accident of birth, one careless stork’s drop. There, she smirks, go I, but for the grace of God.


the favor of her friendship,
forged in youth,
had strings attached.
acknowledge her privilege
accept her status
unwrap her gifts
or succumb to the vacuum.

it pains me to admit that
I once felt adrift
without her approval
the old habit of relishing
her other-directed
sarcasm, snideness,
an affliction of belonging.

heaven knows I cried some
in anger and loss;
who could I be without her?
my soul answered in a flourish:
you are nourished now
deep within, all your own
healthier, wiser, independent.


Our Christmas Letter To You

Tips? We don’t need no stinkin’ tips.

Dear family and friends
It’s time once again
To regale you with tales of our year
So without further ado
Here’s our card to you
The little folks we hold so dear:

My husband climbed Mount Everest
Armed with only a flashlight and pen
There’s a parade planned in his honor
If he ever climbs down again.

Our children are both quite successful
As one might expect they would be
Just one notch ahead on the ladder
Of whatever your kids have achieved.

The grandkids, of course, are the smartest,
Most beautiful, bravest, and best,
Whatever they do they earn straight A’s
And live life with unquenchable zest.

As for me, well I’ve remained humble
Through all of the accolades and praise,
With my good looks and sweet disposition
I’m still approachable on odd numbered days.

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!
And as always, Peace, people!


Our illustrious family at Christmas in Nashville last year.
Most of our family. Our daughter-in-law Liz isn’t pictured.

Here’s our son and beautiful daughter-in-law, lest you think we don’t allow any photos of her.

Praying for Eyebrowz Copyright 2015 by Leslie Noyes.

Ancient Aliens

Studly Doright has permanent dibs on the tv remote. Usually, I’m okay with that, but when his search for programming stops on the series, Ancient Aliens, I go into full blown sarcasm mode.

Giorgio Tsoukalos, ancient alien conspiracy theorist

If you haven’t had the pleasure (gag) of watching the History Channel’s Ancient Aliens you have no idea what you’ve been missing. Along with venereal disease and a bad case of poison sumac.

The premise of each episode is the same–to prove retroactively that groups of extraterrestrials were responsible for helping get the human race off the ground. The pyramids? Check. Stonehenge? Check. Mayan temples? Check. Epcot Center? Check.

If ancient edifices weren’t built by aliens as astronavigational facilities, they were erected as gigantic abodes primarily used for conjugal visits for whenever E.T. came to gift humanity with his otherworldly seed. 

Yes, according to Ancient Aliens, we are most likely all descended from little green men. That explains a lot: Donald Trump, David Spade, Abe Vigoda.

On some episodes aliens are credited with being the gods of ancient mythology, and we know what a horny bunch they were. 


Zeus (in bull form) seduces Europa.

Zeus in swan form seduces Leda.
Zeus in Nicholas Cage form seduces Farrah Fawcett.

I’m beginning to understand Studly Doright’s fascination with Ancient Aliens. It’s basically soft core space porn. 

Peace, people!

Coulda Been

Studly and I were chilling out at Doright Manor on Saturday evening, binge watching the comedy series Last Man Standing, and the same commercial played at every break. 

In this commercial an actress delivered the line, “My name is Cookie ask about me.” No pause, no comma. I took exception to her delivery.

After the fourth time I said, “It sounds like she’s saying her name is Cookie Askaboutme. The line should be, ‘My name is Cookie. Ask about me'” And I said it in a drop dead perfectly sexy voice.

“Isn’t my delivery better?” I asked Studly. Wise man that he is, Studly nodded his head in agreement.

“I coulda been an actress,” I said. “All I needed were good looks and talent.”

Building on that theme I continued, “I coulda been a boxer if I’d had muscles and strength!”

“I coulda been a singer if I’d had a good voice and rhythm.”

“I coulda been a model if I didn’t weigh so damned much.”

Studly just kept nodding his head sagely at each declaration. Finally I prompted him to contribute.

“I coulda been a loser,” he said, “if I weren’t so damned talented.” 

What a negative Nellie. I coulda been a rich woman, if I’d married someone with a positive outlook….

Peace, people!