As Sure as His Eyes Were Blue: A Poem #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Poetry

The warmth of his hand against hers warmed her far deeper than the coffee she held, and it was totally unexpected.

The blessed bliss, the memory of their first kiss, was instantly resurrected.

How touch and hold and glimpses from his eyes could turn the tide with truth, a truth so deep, of love so sweet, and as sure as his eyes were blue.

She dared not move, nor even breath, though the need pressed against her lungs.

The smile he gave was what she’d craved assuring her new things had begun.


*Creativity is a funny thing. This began as a short and wove its way into poetry. These are my results for Monday’s Muse June 19th, 2017

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The Right Time: Writing Prompt 1 Results

Writing Prompt: “3rds” Song: The Right Time, by Warren Barfield (Click the song title to read lyrics and hear the song.) Album:“Red Bird” 3rd line in 3rd verse of 3rd song: “We were barely getting by” Note: From my view, I have chosen to count the chorus as a verse. To view the original Prompt & Rules, click HERE.

The Right Time

“We were barely getting by. Carlos liked to believe that everything was just fine, but me, I knew better. Seven days straight drinking cold water and wearing underclothes that were so filthy they could stand up straight on their own was not fine.

“Life’s too short to be gripping all the time.” Carlos managed to throw that line at me every time I looked like I was going to wage a complaint. In all honesty, there wasn’t anything that Carlos could do that he wasn’t already doing to make things any better. We had a roof over our heads, really it was a tent he had managed to pinch from some local store a few months back. He hated stealing, but he hated being cold more than that.

More than just being dirty, finding our stomachs growling louder than any conversation we could seem to have, what seemed to bother me the most was his optimism. I suppose one of us had to be the optimist. One of us had a whole long life to live and the other…well the other of us was on precious borrowed time, time that should never be spent with complaints, no matter how much clay gets caught underneath your fingernails.

Apart from the stealing, we did other things that weren’t always on the shining side of the law. All of it was harmless. Just two kids out pocking a joke or two with no cares in the world besides seeking a good laugh and make believing we were a pair of lost boys on Neverland.

That was mostly true.

There wasn’t much to care about besides living in that moment. At least I let Carlos believe that I believed that. That is what friends are for, to laugh with, cry with, and run away with when it seems there is no hope.

Homes for the un-adoptables. What is it that makes a kid unwanted, unable to be placed? What does being unadoptable even mean? Did it mean that Carlos and I, and a slew of others, were broken, mistakes, unfit for love?

Carlos somehow managed to not think so. He said it meant we were born free. It meant we were created without confines and made to live in the dreams that others would never get to live.

I had always been the realist, not so much a pessimist, but a guy willing to look at the facts and call a spade a spade. We weren’t wanted because we were too old. Thirteen isn’t cute and cuddly. Carlos said if age had anything to do with it then what made us not cute when we were babies in the system?

I kept the hard truth to myself. One of us wasn’t wanted because of sickness and a quick expiration date on life. Parents didn’t want that. They wanted to be grandparents. That meant their kid had to grow up. If they wanted to watch the beginning and end of a life in less than twenty years they would get a puppy, not a thirteen-year-old old boy.

That is why we ran away. That is why I ran away and I am so glad that I did because if I hadn’t done so, ten years ago, I would have never gotten to see Carlos reach the height of his life. I would have never come out of my shell and anger. I would have never been able to tell his grandmother, seven months after he passed, what a great kid he was. I would have never been adopted by her and become the man I am today if it wasn’t for Carlos.


I really enjoyed writing this and seeing how the story unfolded around that first line, “We were barely getting by.” I felt like I was taking a risk, hitting on a subject that is so sensitive to many, being an “unwanted” child, lost in the system. I hope I was able to bring the short tale full circle and create a tale that is uniquely its own apart from the song that lent its inspiration.  Thanks for reading, and I will be posting my BONUS round next week!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Miss Madelyn Haze: Flash Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Suspense

She scribbled down the memory so quickly that her fingers began to cramp. It didn’t matter that the thought stretched across days of her day planner. It was the closest thing she could find.

Her recollection of years passed had become congealed and foggy the day of her accident. Flashes of herself, her true self, would come and go like strokes of lightning–there one minute and gone the next.

But this memory, these moments were clear, concise, solid. She could even remember the words of the conversation, no, argument, she was having with … a man? The timber of his voice modulated in and out of focus, the pitch twisting as if someone was messing with the sound system of her mind.

Still, she wrote down the memory and the conversation, word for word, until the cramps in her fingers spread into her forearm.

June, July, August, all of the days nearly eaten away by this specific moment. Besides the date and year on the calendar she was remembering, April, 2014, most of what she jotted down was useless. She might as well have been writing down a recipe for chicken soup it was so mundane.

She would have cried for the time she’d spent in that moment of recollection, chocked it up as a simple exercise, another stone of hope to throw at the glass tower of amnesia, had it not been for the last thing the person she argued with said.

They had called her Madelyn, Miss. Madelyn Haze.

She let out a shout of triumph and even did the cliche fist pump in the air. Her fingers squeezing so tightly against her pen she nearly snapped it in two.

This was a victory, but it only caused a greater level of fear, one that overshadowed the doubts and worry of not knowing who she was.

The person in the memory had not only called her by a name that was different than the one she’d been convinced was her own, but they had also called her ‘Miss,’ which meant she was not married, which left no explanation for the man in the other room who’d sworn that he’d been her husband for the last seven years.


*Oh, I love when a writing prompt goes down a road like this. For me, this is like a delightful bread crumb, a trail that could lead to a great full-length novel. Only time and the completion of other projects will tell. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 12th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Web of Flowers: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Drama

She rode her bike as far into the pasture as the tall plants would allow. Taking a breath, and putting up the kickstand, she let out a scream, praying that she’d gone far enough.

She’d gone far enough in other ways, said too much, allowed her heart to get entangled in webs that no spider would dare dance upon let alone spin. Now she was stuck, just as stuck as the tangle of wildflowers that clogged the spokes of her bicycle wheels.

Panting from the tension that stretched her chest, she knelt down and tore away plug after plug of busted flowers. The scent of their sap saturated her fingers promising to leave a faint reminder of where she’d been and what she’d done.

It would be no different than with the rest of her life; the scent of her actions, the evidence of her trying to pull herself free would always trace her existence.


*I know, you are probably wondering what is that she has done. The feelers of my mental muse are still seeking answers to that and may have actually found them. But on the other hand, I am not even sure the answer matters. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt June 5th, 2017. Follow the link to give it a try yourself!

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Like Licorice: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Romance

He kissed her. Her mouth tasted like licorice, the cherry kind. It was far more tolerable than the black. The kiss was beyond tolerable.

That was the part that scared him the most.

Trying to pause the moment, he held on to her fingers and refused to let them go. It wasn’t as if she were trying to free herself. That would have made an already delicious and yet seemingly awkward moment far worse.

She was like a sister to him! They hadn’t quite grown up together being separated by a mere four years. But they had spent a lot of time together since he was friends with her older sister.

He blew out a breath and thanked the Lord he’d never dated either of them. Jules was still in the sister-friend zone, but Laney . . .

He loosened his grip on her fingers but still kept her in lingering touch. He studied her face, watched as her dark lashes fanned across the curves of her upper cheeks.

He wondered what she was thinking. He wished he could read her mind.

He wanted to kiss her again. He smiled when she looked him in the eye and kissed him the second time.


*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt May 29th, 2017. 

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Costly Crown: A Short Story #AmWriting #Monday’sMuse #Writing

He sat at the ready, bow string drawn tight, pressing against the weight of his fingers. He had them in his sights, all three of them, still he couldn’t bring himself to release the arrows.

They had fled, left the country, abandoned their kingdom in guises worse than poppers. They had transformed themselves into scavengers.

It was the worst of shame.

There was still the evidence of pride among them. The queen wore her antlers as high as she wore her crown, regal, majestic, invoking awe. It seemed she had not changed much even though she had shifted her form.

Merris watched them from his hiding place, his fingers growing numb, even as dread crept up the walls of his belly. He only had one mission, one task. Hunt the vile Queen, remove her from the land of the living and send her children with her.

But they were innocent. They had not done the wicked deeds their mother had done. They did not deserve her fate. Merris remembered her daughter’s pleas, the way the eldest especially begged her mother before the court of peers for mercy for a man and his family.

The Queen had struck the young woman, drawing blood that stained her honey skin. Her heart was not like her mother’s, nor was her sister’s. They were her prisoners in the palace even as they were now her prisoners in flight.

And how little the woman thought of them, even now, even though Merris knew they had been the ones to save her life. And how had she repaid them for their treason? She’d turned them into wild pigs. She hadn’t even given them the dignity to be her caves.

One of the boar heads turned his direction, stopping in her tracks. Her obsidian eyes landed upon him even in the lengthening darkness. Merris lowered his bow.

Because of his gift, he could see the sorrow in her gaze. Misery and hell lay ahead of her and her sister, its current form that of a reindeer. There was no telling what it would become once they found a hole to hide in. The Queen’s wrath would truly take on many forms and the retribution owed it would be paid in her daughter’s tears.

Without another thought his bow regained its position, his fingers loosed a single arrow. The reindeer Queen let out a shriek that was the sound of a woman before bucking into a short-lived run.

The boar did not move.

Merris work was done. His arrow had surely ruined her heart. He’d find the Queen’s body near the stream she’d ran toward. He’d take her crown from upon her then.

Loosening his purse, doing so loudly enough that he knew the sisters could hear, he hung it just in reach of their snouts. The charm their mother had put upon them would fade by dawn. They would be young women again. They would need money. What he was leaving them would hold them over for at least three months if they spent the purse shrewdly.

Three months would be enough for him to make things right in the kingdom, take his place upon his uncle’s throne.

Then, and only then, would he find the young women. Three months would bless him with the wisdom to know what to do with them once he did.


*I enjoyed writing this. I do hope you enjoyed reading it. These were my results for Monday’s Muse May 22nd, 2017. To see the original prompt, follow the link.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Golden Confession: A Short Story #ShortStory #AmWriting #Fiction

He sat his cup down and pressed his lips together in a hard line. She didn’t know if his expression was due to the bitterness of the brew or what she’d just said.

“I’m sorry!” she spat out. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she tried to press the burn of embarrassment from her cheeks with her trembling hands that had grown surprisingly cold despite the heat of the cup she’d been gripping as if it were a lifeline.

She’d clearly not gripped tight enough. She felt as if she were on the verge of death, dying of utter humiliation. Worse, it was her own doing. Why had she never learned to keep her mouth shut? At least she had already put in her resignation.

Hazel eyes, that normally shown with flecks of gold, green, and brown simmered like deep emeralds. He stared at her, seeming to not blink, his lips slowly drawing from stiffness to softness, but his eyes continued to blaze.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she apologized again. “You see? This is why … this is why in need to quit,”

She clumsily began to rise only to be startled by the strength of his hand drawing her back down to her seat. He held her fingers between his, this time, his eyes pressing closed.

Sick. Her confession had obviously made him sick.

“I’m not sick, Jericka,” an unfamiliar chuckle danced around his words. In truth, it wasn’t so unfamiliar, he’d just never laughed with her. It would have been the most pleasant thing, sitting there, holding her boss’s hand, him chuckling with mirth had his laughter not been induced by a statement she thought she’d said in her mind but had unfortunately voiced.

She was going to be sick.

“Oh, goodness,”

“I’m stunned, more so relieved, actually.” He rushed to finish his statement, positioning his hand around hers in a way that was more an embrace and less capture by force.

Jericka stared down at their union and then back up at Mr. Gold, Preston, she always referred to him as Preston in her thoughts.

Clearing his throat brought her eyes back to his face. His eyes still simmered that vibrant emerald but his lips were smiling.

Closing his other hand around hers, he said, “I am glad you said something, even if I am a bit ashamed that you were the one to go first.”

“You-you were going to say something to me?”

He nodded and suddenly looked very boyish.

“I thought,”

“I was going to fire you? No,”

She wanted to sink that wasn’t what she was thinking at all.

“I certainly wasn’t going to ask you to resign.” He pulled his hands away from hers and looked as if he regretted the break in connection. Jericka knew she did.

“To be honest,” he continued, “I didn’t know what was going to happen once I said something. I still don’t. I do know I don’t want you to quit. I’ve tried to distance myself as much as possible to keep things from being awkward. I tried. Failed. But I’m not complaining.”

“Especially now that I have accepted a different job, it won’t be awkward anymore.” She couldn’t keep staring at him. He’d known how she felt all along, tried not to encourage her, and had even invited her to coffee to address it.

“Especially now.”

She flinched as if struck.

“I mean, it would be inappropriate to ask you to come to dinner with me otherwise. I mean, no, I hate that you’ve already decided to leave the company, but at least we are here … now, having coffee and I think that is a good start.” He gave her a smile that almost made her melt.

It was only then that his words registered. Clearly, they had been coming at her like a jumbled text message sent out of order. First message, ‘I was going to say something before you.’ Second text, ‘I agree with you.’ Third text, and definitely her favorite, ‘I like you. Would you like to have dinner with me?’

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she managed to say, her demeanor shifting from cloudy to blue skies.

Preston smiled so widely that crinkle lines spread from the corners of his eyes. “Excellent,” he took a sip of his coffee before leaning forward. “And how about just calling me Preston.”


*A little light-hearted romance is always a pleasant surprise. These are my results for Monday’s Muse May 15th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!