Monthly Archives: June 2012

Blue Bird


For those of you who follow this blog, you might have noticed a pattern. I usually offer rotating posts of poetry, flash fiction and short articles about writing. I’ve hesitated to offer my latest flash fiction piece because it’s a bit on the weird, morbid and tacky side. A while back  in a post called Bluebirds and Rock Gods, I admitted I had a story idea that I felt had to be written about a pestering bluebird. In the post I said I thought the story needed to be a bit creepy and dark. A fellow blogger, Joe Pineda, gave me a bit of advice. He said to try to keep a sense of humor in weaving a morbid tale. The story ended up going a place I never thought it would go. In fact, when I finished it, I had one of those “I didn’t know I had it in me” kind of moments. If you are easily offended or prefer not feel like you need a shower after reading a story, by all means pass this one up. I won’t be offended and we’ll both feel squeaky clean. Otherwise….

The doctor walked into the examination room, acknowledged his new patient with a nod, sat down and flipped through the chart of Neil Holcomb. He pushed his reading glasses up his bulbous nose, checked off a couple boxes on the chart and then looked at his patient, who seemed nervous, his armpits wet with sweat, even though the room was quite cool.

“Well, Neil, you weren’t very specific with your complaint today. You said you were having ‘guy’ problems. Could you tell me more?”

“Doctor, I was fine until two weeks ago. Ever since then, my mojo has been out of whack. My stick has been in park. I can’t get it up, and when I do, I can’t keep it up.”

“That’s not an unusual problem Neil.” The doctor glanced at the chart. “You’re 28 years old with a job in management?”


“Have you been under a lot of stress lately? Have you and your … let’s see here – you’re not married. Have you and your partner noticed any symptoms prior to last week?”

“I don’t exactly have a partner.” He looked down at his hands and shifted in his chair, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Oh. I see.”

No you don’t doctor. The problem isn’t just me. It’s that damn blue bird.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow and with hesitance asked, “What bluebird?”

“The one that showed up pecking at my window right as I was about to shoot my load. It scared the hell out of me and it wouldn’t leave and well… ever since then I can’t get hard and if do I can’t stay hard.”

“You’re telling me that a bluebird is causing your erectile dysfunction?”

“It sounds crazy when you say it out loud like that. But it’s true. And the thing stares at me. As soon as I even think about trying again – there it is. At my living room window. At my kitchen window. At my bedroom window… day, night, afternoon. Doesn’t matter. I can’t even think about unzipping my pants and that bird shows up with those beady little eyes, cocking its head from side to side and then starts pecking at the window.”

“Neil, have you tried closing your blinds?”

“Yes, I’ve closed the blinds but I can see its shadow, and not only that, how does it even know what I’m doing when my blinds are closed? Explain that.”

“I don’t think the bird really cares what you’re doing. I think the bird interrupted you at an inopportune moment and now you’ve gotten too focused on the bird, and it’s caused you some temporary performance anxiety. There are some things we can do, and if you’ll follow my advice you’ll be back in business in no time.”

Neil did just as the good doctor suggested. He mounted a birdfeeder away from his house so that the bird would be drawn to it instead of his windows. He took the pill sample the doctor gave him for ‘encouragement.’  He made sure all the blinds and curtains were closed. Then he turned some music up in the house so he wouldn’t even hear the pecking if the bird did show up. The doc also suggested turning the lights down in the house and  relaxing.

He didn’t see or hear the bird. Perfect. He turned on one of his favorite porn sites and began to feel a stir. He hesitated for a moment and then unzipped his jeans. No bird. The good doc was right. He watched the images in front of him and began to enjoy the moment. He closed his eyes, allowing the fullness of the experience to take over. His mojo was back and he loved every second of it. He opened his eyes to take another glance at the naked beauties on the screen. He froze in terror. Perched on the top of his laptop were two of those blue birds, looking at him in curious wonder. Was he seeing things? Had he lost his mind?  He tried to move but he was too scared to, and dammit his erection wouldn’t go away after taking that medicine.

The birds seemed to be in conference with each other. With dread, Neil realized they weren’t bluebirds.

They were woodpeckers.


Image by Microsoft ClipArt

Please also check out Joe Pineda The Bard of Steel


The Dung Pile


Do you ever get a great idea for a story, begin writing it only to discover it is total crap? I’ve done it. The idea is inspired, the bones of the story are there but the narration and dialogue are complete garbage. I refuse to throw it away though. Did I hear you ask why not?

Well, I’ve got stories of total crap that go back to when I was 8 or 9 years old. At the time I was sure they were brilliant. I’m glad I kept them now. Although they weren’t intended to be humorous, they’re downright hilarious. Hey, I was 8 attempting to write a literary masterpiece about a family struggling to survive in a cottage in the Irish countryside. Sounds promising. However, I had no concept of time or geography. I picked some random year in the 1800s and somehow the family managed to have a bathroom inside, and their cottage was surrounded by ‘massive cornfields,’ because we all know how prolific corn fields are in Ireland. Hmmm, maybe I should have considered the potato.

I’ve learned a lot from looking back at stories I wrote that didn’t quite work out. I can look at them with a more objective eye now and say, “Hey, there’s where you went wrong.” I have thrown some things away but not much. These less-than-successful stories serve as a gauge for progress.

When I truly feel an idea is inspired and the bones are good, but the rest of it is lousy, I’ll put it aside for another time. After all, maybe I’m having a bad day or one too many distractions – I have a lot of those. Sometimes I write real stinkers, but I’ve decided not to give up on those piles of crap until I see dung beetles hauling them off.

How about you? When you write something you know is pretty awful, do you throw it away without a second thought or keep it for comic relief?

The Con


Wit and Wisdom –

Two very different things

One is your mistress

The other wears your ring

One makes you smile

The other gives you grief

One nags your ass

The other gives relief

To have your cake and eat it, too –

Both desires of your heart

You pick Wisdom in the end

Wit plays your foolish mark



Image provided by Open ClipArt Library

Global Rednecks


I despise reality television. Many of you may be having a ‘come apart’ right now because of my strong sentiment over the subject, and for all of you fans of this kind of programming, I’m happy for you, really, but I hate it. And now I have an even bigger reason to hate it. It’s called, “My Big Redneck Vacation.”

Travel destination


This is a program devoted to showing a redneck American family (from the South, no less) visiting different areas of the country and providing ample amounts of insult and ignorance to those they come in contact with. For my lovely blogging friends across the world who may be wondering what a redneck is, I refer you to the definition offered by which defines redneck as:  “a disparaging term for a member of the white rural laboring class, especially in the southern United States.

I wouldn’t mind so much if they kept these attributes here in our own country (where they can be contained), but now they’re heading into new territory – they’re going global. And no, I have no bias against the South or Southerners, because I am one, born and bred. That’s exactly why I can say we have some characteristics down here that the world isn’t quite ready for.    

I did a blog post not too long ago called Assmerican: that would be me. Feel free to take a look at that post at your leisure. I admit to accidentally insulting those from other countries on a regular basis – accidentally I said. Let me say now with a good deal of confidence I’ve got nothing on the folks in this show. Is it necessary for our country to ship self-proclaimed rednecks across the world and force Europeans to suffer the consequences for the sake of a network’s TV ratings?

I’ve finally gotten around to reading Stephen King’s “On Writing” and one of the recommendations he makes is to turn the television off and stick your nose in a good book. With programming like the above mentioned, it isn’t hard to do. I’m not sure why ‘reality’ television is so popular to begin with. Any lovers of reality TV out there? Please, tell me what you love about it. Would shows like “My Big Redneck Vacation” appeal to you?




It cannot be said, all there is that is missed;

You know though – you know because you miss it, too.


The touch, taste; little sighs uttered between labored breath;

Your scent left on my pillow, mocking me, daring me to give chase


How I remember those moments, when our eyes took in all that we could not with the entirety of our flesh;


The dinner bell rings

Hurry off now,

Don’t be late

Letters in My Head, Now Available for Viewing: #3




You-uns need to be sure to come on over for the meetin next month. Folks are gonna have church dinner on the grounds and after that some of us and the preacher are gonna be a-meetin about the problem you told me bout. We got a plan to clean out the unwanteds round your way. They gettin a little close for comfort preacher says. Pleny’s wife has done gone and made us some covers and the preacher says he’s makin our group official with a cer’mony.

We ain’t got none of there kind in our county and we don’t plan to let it start now. Granny’s makin chicken and dumplins and chess pie. You-uns be sure to bring your kids – them boys about gettin grown by now I guess. Give Patsy my regards. Don’t go tellin nobody bout the meeting just yet.

Your cuzin Bill

A Plea for Love


When I find myself in a low-lit room of dusty memories without a broom, and I fade away into that place where all lies hide from shadowed grace, let me rest in your kind arms a while, with a gentle gaze and your warmest smile.

Let not the wintry winds that blow carry me away to lands unknown, and seek my hand that you may see I am real and not make believe; crush my lips with your warmest kiss to allow passion rise in times we miss.

Dance to the beat of an African drum and hide our hearts in a lover’s hum, that we might ne’er know love that’s lost or love procured at our souls’ cost; hush undesired Fate with a lullaby, and listen for God’s expectant sigh.

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Image courtesy of Microsoft ClipArt