Monthly Archives: October 2012

Candle Snuffing


This week’s post is in response to Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday. It also goes along with my October-Darktober theme. After all, what’s darker than a romance gone wrong?

candles,households,photographs,pillar candles,pillars,smokes,smoking,wicks

Her feet hooked into the backs of his legs as he pressed into her,

A satisfied chuckle escaped his lips after the release.

Their bodies entwined, believed themselves attached,

Allowed their hearts to wander, deceived by their own good intentions;

The false blue sky above opened to reveal looming clouds swollen

With regret and hopelessness.

Disapproval, a sinburst of consequences and repercussions

Threatened at a magnitude neither could withstand, but the addiction to one another begged to be fed, mouths and hands opened to an absolute need to

Touch and be touched – his work, her car; nearby park, his car; rundown motel barely beyond the horizon of prying eyes;

Last time, oh promise this is the last time…until finally, it was.

He lived in a state of paranoia – so fearful they would be discovered, yet wanting, wanting.

He wondered if she still felt his skin under her fingertips, if she remembered the small

Violet birthmark on his back she used to kiss, how she played with the ringlets of his wet hair that fell to his neck and the scent of his skin.

He wondered if she still felt his hands glide up her calves and the way his eyes glazed into a state of blissful wonder at her naked body.

Yes…she remembered.

The memories scorched her blood they grew so hot inside her. The light within dimmed.

Then, like the remains of a candle, its glow barely visible at the tip of a wick floating in a shallow basin of liquid wax,

She blew out her insignificant flame. One lingering puff of smoke dissipated into the ether and all was gone.


(Image courtesy of



iCLIPART, abstract, grunge look, heart, overflowing

What was that old song about rain and wishes in a well and finding where that one love in the world is? He used it to his advantage more than once, making sure she knew it captured his feelings for her. She wasn’t the only woman who fell for that particular play.

She was bitter and sad and angry, until she was numb, sometimes wishing the whole cascade of rotten emotions would course through her all at once with laser like precision, aim the full force of their power into her heart and cause one massive explosion, one final act of pain to finish her off. She’d welcome the pain if only to know she really did live once upon a time, before he came into her life.

Every part of them was always about him, what he wanted. Blushing remarks, tender affections, the secret nest he craved so he could enjoy his new-found love. His confessions about the unhappy life he had before he met her and what he desired followed her around, sneaking up to remind her that he once loved her, those three little words seared into an exhausting, unwelcome whisper in her mind. The memories were two-edged, giving a false pleasure to her heart and mind, then instantly squeezing and choking the happiness away so that she was left to remember that he gave her up for money (fearful the woman wearing his ring would take it all), greed and other excuses he found convenient to use.

In the end, he said life couldn’t be about what he wanted. Then again, he said a lot of things. He made it clear there was little to nothing left for him at home; his tone, aggravation and outright disdain expressed this often. She wondered if he used the same meaningless lines on his wife that he’d used on her to keep the peace when feathers ruffled. Looking back, she was certain they were both played for fools.

She decided she’d never sing to his tune again. She’d had enough of remembering his empty promises, whether he realized he made them or not. Sometimes the promises came in the form of a touch or a kiss or in sharing grandiose dreams of what could be. Sometimes they came in those intimate professions and lingering caresses.

He’d failed her at every turn. She evaluated her options – the bloody mess of a gun or a razor to quiet her frenzied mind, a forever slumber accomplished by pills, strangulation by rope (a bit old-fashioned in her estimate), driving her vehicle off a cliff but then she might live and suffer a while before succumbing and who wants to go through that?

There was another option, insane as it seemed and she took it – she discovered a new strength within herself built from a sudden influx of anger (at least she knew fire still burned within her), made whole by the discovery and set new expectations to blossom into something he’d never have, as she would always be beyond his reach. Metaphorical pruning shears cut off old growth to allow for new shoots, and it hurt; no more than the pain he’d already caused, though. She bled a little but she didn’t die. Scars formed to serve as reminders the damage one thorny vine can inflict, if allowed to infiltrate a garden and take hold.  As for him? He stayed in the self-made prison of his choice, in the lie that was his life.


Not sure if this really fits in October-Darktober, but it definitely has its dark/sad moments…






























Spider Ego


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Creeping, crawling, quickly scurrying

I’m an eight-legged beast, furry in the strangest places; and eyes,

My eyes that search nooks and crannies for a

Place to spin webbing for a hunt, seeking to capture

Juicy delights


Oh, failed to mention, only the size of a small pea,

Making fools of human bipeds,

Squealing, running, and trying to fitfully squish

little ole me…



Okay, dear reader, tell the truth if you can – Have you ever had an accident, near accident or nearly gone comatosed from spider fright? Please share your freakiest spider interaction…


(Image courtesy of Microsoft ClipArt)

Second Look



Mired in the ways of this lethal world

Temptations and traps at every turn, watch your step to avoid a snare

All who can float away, grabbing a balloon full of lighter air

Furious flames lick a silent horizon; no more will music play

Trust no one and nothing; death is whispering to the sails in the bay

Conjured up from some ancient game,

A beast sets to place his foot upon the earth

While the innocent ones lose their battle in birth

And the wealthy seek to prove their worth

No more will things be the same

No more will things be the same…


 (Image courtesy of Microsoft ClipArt)


Word Thief




Yes, it’s Darktober for me right now, sharing works that are especially spooky, gruesome and dark.  This post isn’t about the things that go bump in the night but it’s certainly about fear – the kind of fear that grabs a writer and throws them into a deep abyss of terror – the fear of someone stealing your work!

I have a blogger buddy who has experienced this in recent days. He did a search on the Internet and discovered an essay he wrote was being offered on a website that sells essays and other works. He has attempted to contact them but his work is still appearing on the site. My question is, “What can writers do to protect themselves?”

My understanding of copyright is that once you put the work in written form it IS copyright protected. I’ve gotten my information from

But, even if we all know this to be true, there are unscrupulous people out there who will steal your work, so then what? Has this happened to you and what did you do? Does it really matter if we place “Copyright” on the work?

Be sure to check out Writing-World’s article called, “Someone Stole My Article! What To Do When It Happens To You.”


(Image courtesy of Microsoft ClipArt)


Don’t Close Your Eyes



Icy crystals suspended in the air around me,

The dream-wake state confused my clarity of thought.

Had I not been numbed by the cold that seeped into my bones,

I would have reached for one of the frozen jewels of moisture –

Something was wrong; it was then I caught a glimpse of an emaciated figure,

The sight grotesque, the terror immediate.

With one quick flash of lightning from my uncovered window

The creature scurried across the room,

Scaled the wall and found a dark corner to blend into.

I feared any movement on my part; wishing my bed could absorb me,

Knowing it wouldn’t;

I feared even to breathe, to blink my eyes

I feared to be alive in that moment, and though I tried to impress upon myself

To stay completely hushed, my heartbeat drummed through the silence of the room.

A deep clash of thunder caused me to startle, and another flash of the skies

Revealed a gray sunken face with hollow eyes, reflecting complete despair,

Compassionless depravity echoing a continuum of evil.

Another rumble, this time a low growl from the corner.

I understood the threat, I understood the ever-pressing finite moments of time

Passing in utter disbelief that monsters were real, and one was coming after me…



Photo provided by

photo credit: <a href=””>kevin dooley</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

A Fragile Pirate, Revisited and Published


Hi all! Just a little note of appreciation to Morgen Bailey for publishing my poem A Fragile Pirate to her blog in her poetry feature section called Post-Weekend Poetry. It’s one of my favorite poems and it seemed to find favor with her, as well. I hope you will take time to check out Morgen’s blog. She is a wonderful advocate for writers, and her blog is an amazing place of resources for writers.


Neighborhood Watch


Creeping, weaving through the undisturbed night, he seeks darkness to shelter in a while, at home in places without light, comforted by the absence of burning oil. He wanders about with hungry feet, anxious to reap once more.

Still and silent he watches her sleep, up and down her breath does fall, until a burgeoning mound is felt, awakening his loins below. She looks to be his prize tonight, her lovely skin so fair, spotted with freckles he needs to touch, moonlight reveals a cascade of crimson hair.

His mind becomes a frenzied place of crashing thoughts and erotic rage, all seizing his frame until he fears he cannot hold back his lustful waves. He knows too well how this will end, and though he tries to pretend, an explosive fire burns on the wind, his fair find unable to defend.

She’ll shed tears as he makes his leave, and he’ll make himself her savior believe, crushing her innocence without reprieve, proving himself amongst worthless thieves. Stony is his countenance, the rush before now long gone and into the night he makes his escape, away from approaching dawn.

(Image provided by

Ignoble Knight


It’s that time of year when darkness haunts every corner and I feel I must do my duty during this month of goblins and ghouls by writing some dark poetry and prose. My last poem was “Cold Reality” and hopefully sent a bit of a chill up your spine. The one I’m offering today is more cautionary, yet dark and a bit on the dramatic side.

Ignoble Knight

You dug my heart out with a spoon,

Fed it to the hounds at my door;

Fearful, you’d have them all believe

It was only me who wanted more

You played me as a favorite instrument

Strummed my being with expert hands

Until you were forced to make a choice

Sweet lover, ‘tis far too inconvenient


How your chivalry would let me fall

On a rusty, barb-lined sword

I’ve learned from you, to never trust

A silver tongue with a loving word

Keep hiding, as you do it so well

But a note of caution my old friend

Take care of self-preserving accusations

Or my tongue will have plenty to tell


What is your favorite time of the year?  And since we’re on the subject, do the different seasons inspire different writing styles for you?


(Image courtesy of

Cold Reality


deciduous trees,forests,nature,Photographs,pictures,plants,seasons,snowfalls,weather,winter

Slip into a winter’s dream

My pillow is a mound of snow

My blanket, snowflakes, soft and clean

The ground is firm, icy greens above

Warm are the worms below


Tear-filled eyes slowly freeze

Black lashes open to the sky

My body, its secrets, seek reprieve

Painful is the grip that holds the heart,

Those memories of you and I


Spring comes, long is the wait

The snows melt, water trickles downhill

My body exposed, found too late

Feeding from me, the creatures underground

At least now, you never will


(Image courtesy of Microsoft Clipart)