riding into sunsetHe rode into sunset
Glad to still be alive
Drifted with prevailing winds
Reluctantly, gave way
To Johnny-come-latelies
Even though, he felt
They didn’t deserve it

Discretely, knew how far
To carry rebellion
“I Hate Myself for Hurting You”
Blared over the jukebox
Drowned out mental pictures
Of the dead–some because
Their tickers couldn’t take it

Found it difficult to relate
To rocking horse cowboys
Without senses of direction
What good was knowledge
Wasted on the unappreciative?
Another fizzled-out shooting star
Maybe it was time to let go?
He thought, saddled up, and
Rode off into darkness



baby mourning dove

Baby mourning dove
Feathers fluffed
Hunkered down
Hidden, from
Gently cooed
Became, part
Of, leaf litter
Dead grass
That surrounded

–Photo by Craig Roberts–


DSCN0347” Here comes the rain again, …Falling on my head like a new emotion”

Rippled waters appeared through my office window this morning.  Thunder crashed, lightning flashed–weather radar lit up with bright reds and yellows.  A line of storms slowly passed overhead, but not before dumping excessive amounts of rain.  That was in addition to rainfall during the night.  A stream flowed across the back of my house.  It formed a confluence with a “creek,” near the palm tree at the edge of my yard.

Reddish-brown water, colored by dirt from the construction project next door, contrasted with green grass.  Elated frogs formed a chorus line in the front yard to the accompaniment of cacophonic “ribits” and croaks.  A tiny frog took up residence on my doorbell button.  I foiled his plan to sneak in my front door.  The drainage ditch in front has now become a mosquito hatchery because of excessive July rains.

The sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds.  Three large pools of water remained in the backyard.  My patio still has standing water.  Soil has reached the saturation point.  Please, rain gods, I beg of you–no more rain for the next twenty-four hours!  Somewhere, someone else needs rain much more than I do.

It’s happened before–excessive amounts of rainfall in a short time.  In 2005, we got twenty-two inches of rain in four days.  That time, our street was completely underwater, from beginning to end.  I think it’s the uncertainty and fickleness of the weather.  “Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it.”  There’s nothing to do, but wait, and hope for the best.

In the meantime, Maggie, my mischievous mutt, decided to play in the water and mud.  She allowed me to approach, then barked, and darted quickly away.  Any closer and it was bath time–If she tracked mud in the house, we’d both be in trouble.


Create a short story, or epic poem that is 26 sentences long, in which the first sentence begins with “A” and each sentence thereafter begins with the next letter of the alphabet.


All pleasantries set aside
Bridges burned at both ends
Called play-by-play
Drive-time shock jocks
Egomaniacs, eagerly self-anticipated
Full of one-liners, punch lines, buzzwords
Glorified baser human instincts
Hipster heroes, Harry Whodunits
Ignored implications, complications
Jumped on their own bandwagons
Kissed babies and behinds
Liars for hire, professional deniers
Mostly cheered for their sides
Never seemed to shut up
Only to catch their breath
Please, give me a break!
Quickly–I need peace and quiet!
Relief, sweet relief!
Sooner, rather than later!
Trash, talking fools
Usurpers of the air waves
Vacant, vapid voices
Wrong-way Willies
Xerographic imitators of imitators
You shall irritate me no more
Zombie apocalypse has finally come!


mississippi lightning--alex northThe ghostly
Figure, of a man
Walked, hunched
Over, up and down
The beach sand
On stormy nights
Still, searched
For something
He’d, never found

Sharecropper’s son
From hard-time
Mississippi, when
Things was rough
The day he left
Like to drove
His mama
And daddy, insane
Boy, he could
Sure, wail those
Blues, like
No one else

That, was
Because, of
Troubled feelings
Hidden, deep
Inside, big
City darkness
Took ahold
Of, his soul
Wouldn’t, let go
When, he died
It seemed
As though
Folks, would
Never stop cryin’

Now, his
Blues wailed
In the midst, of
Howling winds
His tears
Lost, in
Driving rain
Played, to the
Of, thunder
And Mississippi

–Photo by Alex North–