Winter Faeries

Whirl, twirl
Spin and dance
Sprinkled frost drops
Land by chance

On petal, on twig
On blade, on leaf
Kissing each surface
With crackled motif

Moonlight glints
On lithe little shapes
Flitting about
The cold nightscape

Dawn creeps in
A glow in the East
Wings tire
Festivities cease

Weak light reveals
Lines icy pale
From frolic under
The inky veil

Chairman of the Abhorred

     Mick was pleased with himself. Citizen of the year. Exploiting sick children opened most doors.
     He'd sit at the head table and all the local social climbers would flirt and fawn. He'd mention his Mother, God rest her gin-sodden soul.
     He chuckled. It was all falling neatly into place.
     He looked around the room, making certain he had everything. He paused to appraise himself in the mirror, unconsciously sucking in his gut. The lighting in the motel room was bad - surely he wasn't that flushed and florid. No, he was ruddy. Hearty. The years of wind and sun still concealed the years of Scotch. Of course they did.
     He glanced at the hooker sleeping on the bed. She might have been ugly, but she was smart enough to get the most out of the room he'd paid for. Had to respect that.
     His phone beeped as he hurried out he door. He glanced at the display. His lawyer. Damn. Another billable hour. The SOB had quite the scam going on, but it was a necessary evil when one made one's money fleecing people.
     Which is what Mick did. Every day. And he'd gotten rich doing it. Every so often a naive but outraged victim thought they would expose him. Not gonna happen. Mick owned this goddamned town. He'd simply donate some coin to another local non-profit and while his lawyer fended them off he'd be asked to sit on another board. He'd humbly accept. If the lawyer got his jollies antagonizing the schmucks and ran up larger bills, so be it. Everyone was a winner. Well, almost everyone.
     He started humming the Stones tune "Tiiiiiimmmme is my side - yes it is" and climbed into his pick-up. He threw a cup of cold coffee out the window and started the truck, revving the engine because it was fun and made him feel like a big shot.
     He never spared a glance at the homeless man leaning against the motel wall as he wheeled out of the parking lot. If he had he might have noticed the camera.


Chairman of the Abhorred II
Chairman of the Abhorred III
Chairman of the Abhorred IV

Tragic Magic

The bunny gave her a baleful look and twitched his nose, annoyed.

Darn it. Money, not bunny.

Harriet let out a big sigh, in frustration, and to blow the smelly fumes away from her head. Her hair hung in her eyes and the fire made the old kitchen hot. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve, which was charred and tattered, and left a streak of soot on her face. Turning back to the stand holding the book, she re-read the spell. Two eyelashes from a Pekin duck and the snout of a dead trout. Bring to bubbling boil, remove immediately from heat, stirring in a - damn. A gold feather - not an old feather.

Well, this wasn't going to work - that was the last of the eyelashes. Now what? She needed some cash - not the least of which was to get some more eyelashes. She should have stayed in bed.

She looked at the bunny, thinking. He looked right back at her, not liking what she was thinking...

to be continued

Tragic Magic II
Tragic Magic III

A Sign of Things to Come...

...or perhaps my writing hasn't evolved as much as I would like to think it has. This was my submission in a writing contest for the Providence Journal when I was 10 (?) - my submission was chosen as a winner. 30 years have come and gone, but I am seeing similarities, and it's funny.


While bobbing their furry little heads in the grass they give you a look of total amusement and placidity. While squawking and waddling around they tell you they are Darby and Joan and we are their people. They rule our yard with firm webbed feet and give us enough amusement to hope they will be here for a long time. They are geese.