Category: short story

A Fantasy Sans Swords!

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Book in red velvet,

Words, gold silken thread,

Embroidered

Pages,

Soft,

Soundless. Tale of pilfered pearls, purloined

Peridots, deceptive diamonds.

Emeralds emboldened with

Powers, magical.

A fantasy tale without swords

A fairytale without princes

Charming.

                     Weapons are confections,

                  A poisoner’s

Paradise.

Cocktails mixed by

Felines,

Ferocious.

Fabulously clad in velvet,

Blue, cummerbunds cobalt and

Claret.

Monocles gold and seed pearls,

Fangs, hidden, smiles,

Jovial.

Potions with hemlock, hellebore, hibiscus,

Leaf of

Rhubarb.

*

Hounds to the rescue!

Basset, Blood, and Grey!

Cats herded to the dungeons by

Corgis, Border Collies, Aussies, and Malinois!

Inspector Salvo Saturday is on the case.

Fallen into this fairytale from a mystery

In space.

Looking for clues in delicious and deadly

Desserts

Doughnuts, baklava, brownies, and cakes pistachio, chocolate, strawberry and

Carrot

*

A scrivener arrives with

Parchment and pen.

A seamstress unravels the golden thread

At tale’s

End

Alas, the Calico Culprit!

The King is Dead!

Offed by a daiquiri flavored with Dread!

                  Salvo Saturday heads out

                   After three pints of stout!

*

Seven Poems, Or, Word Love II

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A summer morning storm

Honeybee hugs her

Self Heal,

Keeps it

Safe

Her honeyed home, 

Geometric perfection

*

Afternoon sunshine spills,

Long.

Spider weaves her new home.

Ghost in red silk dress,

Reading Chandler,

Remembering

The Long Goodbye

*

Fruit falls from.

Still life,

Amaryllis, nectarine

Brush strokes

Replace.

A red rose, a tangerine.

Add bluebird,

In flight,

Life not still.

*

Commas,

On purpose.

Periods grow legs,

Run On and

Off pages

Marks exclaim!

Interjections! whisper… Ssh!

Semicolons become

Whole

*

Whirl, twirl, swirl, curl,

Dance dress ribbon music

Rachmaninoff, Ravel, Berlioz, Bach

Dahlias, delphinium, daisies, dandelions

Birds in blue,

Nestled in yew

Zyzzyva!

*

Seeds dropped by birds,

Flying.

Flowers grow by bees,

Working

Pines grow by their flowers’,

Heating

Animals thrive with humans’

Caring

Love, steadfast.

*

At midnight.

Stars are

Loud.

Lupine dance disco

Moon above

Sparkles, revolves to Donna Summer

Daisy in bell-bottoms says,

Take a Chance On Me!

Lily wants to be

Dancing Queen!

Petunia is

Hot Child in the City

You Better Shop Around!

*

When You’re Change Averse

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When you (I) must change your diet and you know you’re going to hate it

The fun scale will go down so you’ll never ever rate it

Counting the carbs makes you roll your eyes

You can never again let your weight rise

It’s better to acknowledge and out loud state it

*

When you know a place where doughnuts are hot

Where the cannoli serving is delicious and a lot

A restaurant where there’s yummy marinara sauce

But of your diet you must be the boss

Partake of pasta carbs you must not

*

It’s likely a good thing you like the kale

But you’ve no desire to be skinny as a rail

A happy medium you must find

Then you’ll not be in an anxiety bind

But on this quest you shall not fail

*

Alas there are many good books to read

Stories give you pleasure and to faraway places can lead

You love words and good tales told

Powell’s is close so more books in the fold

Books have no calories yourself to feed

*

Best dessert ever!

Eight Micros, Or, When You Just Love Words

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Eight little poems, or one long one, whichever you prefer.

*

Snow of a midwinter, moonlight tardy,

Bacchanale winds down –

Whirling woolen warmth, foxes dream, their tails they’ll keep

*

An old cellar. Alas,

Books, not wine

Antique parchment’s scent, a language in onyx, olden

*

Words in indigo, pages in ivory, stories in

Hidden limestone layers

Hills painted. Ochre, aubergine

*

Music in a pine chest, a spruce, hand carved

Quilts of old garments, calico. A leopard watches, closely. Kafka’s ghost

Pensive

*

Blueberries in a pie, an old fashioned in a

Tumbler

Gifts wrapped in brown paper,

Cherry red string

*

Old Boston rocker, love’s initials on one arm

BR + LN,

Century old ivory lace, a tiny hole in the train

Add mothballs

*

House on a hill, pink, not haunted

Storm,

Preparing

Maple leaves falling

*

Atop a little knoll,

The Count of Monte Cristo

In

The Cherry Orchard

Thinks about

Crime and Punishment

And finds

The Body in the Library

*

When In Doubt, Rhyme

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You can’t get the podcast you want – you decide to write a rhyme

When it’s done you’ll find other ways to spend your time

When you’ve done wordle and got it in two

You should do laundry but anything else is better to do

Maybe there’s a new book you want and you’ll look online

*

There’s always deciding what kind of tale

One about a giraffe a rhino or a big blue whale

Or a magic painting – a haunted house on a hill

Perhaps a scary cemetery or a contested will

A love letter in the mail or a speedy snail

*

You might be the most stubborn girl on this green earth

And the world is your oyster – of free time there’s no dearth

You can hold out forever and ever

You’ll give in to difficult humans absolutely never

You’ll be patient zen and cool for all you’re worth

*

It might be a good day to write about Mars

A dentist an accountant or a plumber named Lars

Let your vivid imagination run wild

Don’t write anything boring or mild

A story about Pandora’s peach preserves in jars

*

Maybe you can get your desired podcast later

If not a sci fi movie about a giant man eating gator

You don’t have to be all that discerning

Not everything has to be all about learning

Have a snack – maybe fries or tots tater

*

And if nosy ninnies interfere in your life

Because sometimes such people are around and rife

Ignore ignore and do your thing

And out loud with your (my) awful voice sing

Don’t let their behavior  cause you strife

*

You can laugh until the cows come home

Let the silly and snooty elsewhere roam

Maybe you’re a poet and don’t yet know it

If you want – write it down and really show it

And go savor a beer that’s not all foam

*

Gifts

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Monday morning in my

Mailbox, a strand of lovely

Pearls

Not wrapped

Placed on top of a blue envelope, addressed in

Cursive.

I recognize the hand.

Of my young sister.

But the pearls?

Who put them

There.

*

Also, in my garden,

Pink tulip adjacent,

An opal

Brooch

Half buried

Found by Fiona, my

Yorkie.

*

In my fridge

A pair of emerald

Earrings.

Found by me during my search for leftover

Cheese omelette.

*

Gifts from a stranger

Someone has

Infringed

Benevolent? Nefarious?

*

I sit with a cup of coffee

Ponder

I feel no fear, but tears in my coffee

Now flavored with

Salt.

After, I reapply my lipstick

Ballet pink

I will go out into the world today.

My husband passed away five years ago.

He was here.

Birthday gifts.

*

Yesterday I looked for him in the garden

Shed

How does someone come back from

Ash?

But he was here.  He knew I was looking,

And he came.

*

I put on his gift of pearls.

Fiona and I take a walk.

*

Eyes of Forest

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A copse of birches

A fox watches me

I watch her

I continue to walk

Snow dusts the firs, fragile

A hare, love starts, the sky, sees

A wolf

An oak

Eyes

Snow sugar

No snowballs

Swish swish

A cardinal

A winter tune

A raven, also

A bobcat

Quiet hunts

Feet, stealthy

A stonewall

Time worn

Lichen, hiding

Steel sky

Cold stillness

Daydreaming oaks

*

Woods think, imagine.

Beauty, a few tears,

            Solitude

**

Micros, A Dozen

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The palest blush cashmere

Sweater

A lovely pair of freshwater pearl and gold

Earrings,

Persuasion

—

A pair of black onyx and gold

Cufflinks

A black cat curled up on a red velvet

Love seat,

Lovers under

Mistletoe

—

A walk on a misty

Morning

A sweet Bichon Frise with you on that

Walk,

A stylish chartreuse rain

Slicker

—

A pair of red patent leather mary jane’s with

Two inch heels

A necklace of

Rubies,

A Leos Janacek flute

Concerto

—

A single lotus on a little

Pond

A bouquet of pink snapdragons and red roses

In a tall silver vase,

A waxing crescent

Moon

—

A pair of red

Dragonflies

A hive of

Honeybees,

Love Story

—

Three Calico

Cats

Little red jackets for all three to wear

In rainy weather,

Twelve tiny black

Wellies

—

A vintage

Bookstore

A classic mysteries

Section,

The High Window

—

A lilac scented

Bubble bath

A little

Candlelight,

Blue velvet

Mischief

—

A bowl of perfectly ripe, juicy

Cherries

Champagne for

Two,

It Happened One Night

—

A raucous

Murder of Crows

A scarecrow-less

Corn field,

A Coffin For Dimitrios

—

A full moon

Midnight

A just out of the oven pumpernickel

Loaf,

A bottle of

Malbec

Four Doors, Four Stories

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Four doors,

All closed,

Locked.

All with stories to

Tell,

Inside.

One contains a waterfall, silent until I

Enter, if I choose

It. What tale does sparkling, falling water

Tell?

In another, red amaryllis abseils the walls.

A love story wrapped in deep floral

Red? Only if I unlock can I hear the petals

Speak.

Another contains a fir forest lighted by the

Moon. But only if I choose that door, will the

Light shine. Otherwise, darkness.

Should I open a darkened door?

In another room, Monarchs feast on

Milkweed.

If I choose that door, will I endanger

Them more?

If I open, I can hear stories.

Of their long journeys,

The perils they

Face.

Or should I let them

Be?

Keep their tales to themselves.

Remain unburdened by me.

A sometimes reckless

Human.

*

I’ve been given four keys.

But told I can only unlock one.

What is the consequence of trying all

Four?

There will definitely be

One,

Or many.

Which room do I want more?

Water, beautiful flowers, forest or butterflies?

I cannot have all.

Senses, Crocheted Lapis

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A room painted pink

A vase wedgewood blue

A little silver locket

Lapis lazuli

Possibilities

A thicket of milkweed

Monarchs glorious

Feed.

Hummingbird chances

Ruby throated, rufous.

Larkspur luck

A blue linen blouse’s pocket, a hair bow

Satin lilac

*

Silken sight.

Touch, delicate crocheted.

Hearing knitted Chopin, Handel,

Purled Rachmaninoff, Berlioz.

Taste sewn,

Threaded organza silver

A scent,

Lavender parchment

Black ink,

A love letter touched

*

Tey’s To Love and Be Wise

Keats’ Ode To a Grecian Urn.

No happy ending for Romeo and Juliet,

Neither for MacBeth and his Lady.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream

A Winter’s Tale.

Author Author, a vintage game.

Cards in a deck, jewels in a crown.

*

From locket, a tiny pink rose grows.

Mind it well.

Possibility, fragile

But a worthy gamble

Love touched, felt in velvet, seen in embroidered blue lace.