REVERBERATION, THE NOVEL, has a new cover.

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Posted in historical, historical fiction, historical novel | 15 Comments

“The Red Rose of Rage”

The kettle-drum thrum of my heartbeat
Sends a plea for assault not retreat
My fingers splay then contract
My soul cries out to react
My brain cautions this might mean defeat.

The red rose of rage colors my skin
My lips tighten from full into thin
My pop eyes narrow to slits
My placid stomach has fits
I breathe deep, try to gin up a grin.

This time, no grin, no bowing my head
This time, the fireworks flash instead
Caution succumbs to folly
I blast off with my volley
And depart with my ego well fed.

(Written for dVerse Poets, Meeting the Bar, Emotion in Poetry. April 3, 2014.)


Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , , | 14 Comments

“Debut Performance”


Copyrigth Kent Bonham

(Photo copyright: Kent Bonham)

My first time on stage and I’m prepared to deliver my speech.

My lines have been memorized; my body language and facial expressions choreographed to express emotion as my hands are tied behind my back and my ankles bound together.

Sightless behind a blindfold, I hear the boots of men as they line up on the stage before me. I feel the heat of the spot which illuminates my body.

“Freedom!” I shout. “Liberty! Justice for all!”

Curses mix with the rifle shots which end my debut performance. I fall into a pool of my own blood in front of an enemy kangaroo court.

(Written for Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. april 4, 2014.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

“Enough with the Precipitation”

I stop at the red light at tenth and Vine.
Cars bunch together and pass in a line.
Torrents of rain obscure my view
Form swirling pools I can’t get through.
I’m stuck at the red light at tenth and Vine.

Folks gather behind me some people cross.
My eyes fill with tears I think of my loss.
If I brave the puddles I’ll lose
My treasured pair of Jimmy Choos.
Folks gather behind me but I don’t cross.

There goes my chance for the job interview.
My opportunity to start anew.
However, I know if I dare
To cross that’s the end of my pair
Of Choo’s shoes bought for the job interview.

(Written for dVerse Poets, Open Link Night, March 29, 2014.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

“The Power of White”

Foreground, middle ground, background
copper-penny brown with hints of loden green
brave shoots rising from an earth
laid bare by dingy drifts of talcum-powder white
still lurking
in burnt-timber shaded corners
still hugging ashen bush bases.

These ghostly-white remainders
deny nature’s rebirth
smother the brilliance
of sun-splashed daffodils
Persian blue hyacinths
splotch the purple cloak of crocus
spread wide across the terrain.

And you.
enveloped in fire-engine red
bright-cut emerald green
deep-sea cerulean blue
you fight the inevitable.
Ever crowned by the golden aureole
of optimism
you soldier on
your irridescent glow marking the way
until it fades
as fresh flakes dim your radiance
and you melt
into the reinstated whitescape.

(Written for dVerse Poets. March 25, 2014. Describing with color.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments


The green-scene
is top-coated
with split-seam sprays
topple-down trees
tempest-tossed twigs.

I slow-dance
my mod-bod
to the one-two-
of the wind-whistler
as I twinkle-toe my way
across the lawn-litter
with my clean-up crew
of cool-tools
and Spring-swing
the day away.

(Written for dVerse Poets, March 20, 2014, where Bjorn has us playing with compound words.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , | 15 Comments

“The Rage of Aeolus”

The wind is raging.
A cliché to be sure
but no other word
describes so well
the violent offensive
waged by an angry Aeolus.

Capricious in nature
at any moment
a surprise secession:
a sigh instead of a howl
a whoosh instead of a wham
and then
the assault is back.

I love the wind.
I love the torrent of sound
which beats against my eardrums
and drowns out the everyday noise
of a mundane life.

I love the feel of furious air
which provides me safe harbor
as it gyrates around my body
like the copy-cat vapor trail
of an unseen whirling dervish.

As I struggle to move forward
against the muscle of the blow
so, too, do my adversaries
and I know that
every time the wind wails
I will be cocoon-cosseted in my daily troll
along the road to nowhere.

(Written for dVersePoets, Meeting the Bar. March 13, 2014. Poetry written about the senses with the exception of sight.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , | 26 Comments

“Seeds of Dissolution”


(Photo: copyright by Adam Ickes)

Stan glanced at the tattered photo of a boardwalk leading to a red-roofed pavilion. He’d taken it the day he’d met his wife on a bird-watching expedition. They’d returned each fall to record new entries in their log books and celebrate their chance meeting.

For the first time, he noticed a stray weed snaking onto the once pristine boards of the now overgrown, irreparable walkway. Ironically, he realized the story of the boardwalk echoed that of his marriage: unnoticed, the seeds of dissolution had crept in, compromised the framework and eventually destroyed all but his memories of a better time.

(Written for Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. March 14, 2015.)

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Story | Tagged , , , , , | 17 Comments