The smallest lick ignites a spark,

the breezes blow

while kindling catches

and warms your skin


You lean in to feel,

to touch,

stroking the metal

poking the offerings

extending your hand

free of trepidation

And wait for the fire…


your insides



for the quiet flicker of flames

mistaking the devouring of your soul for a

lovely incandescence floating above the bonfire


his legerdemain drips bitter on your tongue


your heart’s become merely a fleshy mound on his spit


showing  no penitence

his rips at your tender skin.

with pointed and bared teeth


Don’t wish for water….

The beast must be fed.


Linking to three prompts with this one…

Mama’s Losin’ It
Write a post inspired by the word : bitter 
Velvet Verbosity Writing Prompt
This week’s word: Beast 
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Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do

Autumn Offering

Sam was deliberate.

Oblivious to the stares of the other shoppers, the piped in elevator music and even the harsh overhead lighting she handled each one,  grabbing it by the stalk, tipping it over to inspect its round bottom and then balancing it the palm of her hand to contemplate its merit.

They had to be perfect.

Her phone chimed but she ignored it as she worked her way through the choices.  It began to ring and she tapped the dismiss button, annoyed now.

She was talking to herself and making a disgusted face at one particularly ugly selection when the Droid went off again. Dropping the gourd she tapped an icon and typed swiftly, “I love to spoil them “and then barely hit send before turning off the sound and dropping the phone in her cavernous purse.

Sam remembered Daddy bringing their special Halloween surprises home as she tapped her booted foot. “The choice should be simple” he’d say as he plopped them on the dining room table, turning their painted smiles to their delighted faces. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

Mixing up the memories, she realized he wasn’t referring to the gifts. He was reminding his daughters to go with their guts.

Sam closed her eyes , opened them and focused on two silly faces and set them gently in her cart so they were sitting where a child would, grinning up at her.

Her nephews would love these and even with him gone all these years, her father’s tradition was still her favorite part of Fall.




*Inspired by the actual Fall tradition my daddy had of buying us Painted Pumpkins every year. My sister Dana, Aunt & Godmother extraordinaire, continues  the custom for her nephews. Love her so.*


This is for Studio 30Plus:



This week, we borrow from Nonamedufus and his self-titled blog, “Taught By My Example.”

“I love to spoil them.” and/or “tradition”

The word for the 100 Word Challenge at Velvet Verbosity (even though I completely ignored the word limit)


Velvet Verbosity Writing Prompt

The prompt at The Light & Shade Challenge

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Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.

Albert Einstein (1879 – 1955)



At Your Knee

“I’m okay.”
You’re okay.
(right? )

Until you repeat the question,
(“You okay?”)

and I stammer (dammit!)
choking on the black dust of memories
while the
loose gravel of forgiveness under foot
threatening to
lay me out if I’m not careful

“What were you asking?”

“Are you okay?”
I pause
listening for the echoes of your voice
(a little too tightly)

to your lips spilling promises

Grow old with me…”

Your gaze is all want and concern
You’re subtle, I’ll give you that.
A charmer for sure.

If I was any kind of student I’d show you how much I’ve learned
taught by my example” you’d say and pat yourself on the back.
I meet your icy blues.
“Never better.”


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It’s Strange You Never Knew

tie a string around your finger

set a timer

organize your calendar

or wait for the church bells to announce the hour

but please never forget


there are no sunsets

if that great yellow globe hasn’t been shining all day

or rainbows

if the sky hasn’t opened and cried its heart out


you never need to




(but if you do, please just ask)


because even when you’re not occupying space

close by

you are always spinning


looping through the rivers of my bloodstream

paying rent in the deep caverns of my mind


you may have forgotten

but I can’t…

or won’t…


I’ll simply linger

until the world has faded the picture

I refuse to set fire to.

Mazzy Star’s got nothin on me.

In response to the prompts for Light and Shade Challenge

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Weekly Writing Prompt

and Velvet Verbosity’s word of the week:








Now You See Me, Now You Don’t



He watched Wakeford take a deep draw from the mug and then another.

“It won’t be long now.” Amriel mused, strangely satisfied with his choice.

Well aware of Raguel’s watch the angel inched closer to the hallway and his only chance to escape.


Amriel halted at the hiss in Raguel’s voice.

“The council is requesting your presence, my friend.”

Amriel chuckled, “Yes. I would imagine they would, my friend.”

The senior guardian frowned and reached for him, “You’ll come quietly then?”

Amriel nodded but continued down the hallway with one eye on Wakeford who had taken on a dreamy, punch drunk look and the other on a gilded mirror hanging in the middle of  the foyer that had begun to shimmer.

It was starting.

Raguel tsked, “Look what you’ve done.”

“I did it for Jane.”  Amriel shot back and flung his arms wide, as he did so; his whole hand plunged into the surface of the smoky mirror followed by the rest of his body.

Raguel grappled with the empty air, snatching at nothing.

He was gone.



Continued from my last installment of The Angel Sagas.


For the Master Class monthly prompt:


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I missed the weekend link up for the Light and Shade Challenge  but I wrote this with it in mind:


Amriel’s wings twitched under the trench coat as he strode down the street. He wore a faded brown fedora he’d snagged from Lameschial before he left the hospital room offering strict instructions to his two colleagues but vague references as to where he was headed.

Thinking about Jane’s sleeping body and her anguished heart caused his wings, eager to unfurl, to flutter against their forced imprisonment again.

He sidestepped the cracks in the concrete, still suspicious even after all these years, and kept his head down as he passed the hooligans clustered at the corner of 10th and Carson ignoring their petty cons and shenanigans .

Amriel was angry.

Anger didn’t come naturally to angels.

Frustration at the sight of human unkindness? Sure. Disappointment with a flawed soul refusing to learn from the lessons thrust upon them? Yes, it happened every day. He’d even felt moments of torment or plain grief as he watched events unfold saddened by the knowledge that there was nothing his hand could do to stop them, but anger was a new and especially frightening emotion.

Angels were built for forgiveness or empathy, but Amriel crossed the street to the high rise building he was headed with Jane’s guttural wail of despair echoing in his ears. Touching the brim of the hat, as if he were straightening it and pinching the bridge of his nose,  he willed the sound to recede.

His body burned with rage.

He’d never believed it could happen to him when he’d been warned over and over again about the risks of becoming too close to a charge. Amriel was the angel of a beautiful and especially serene month and no appointment he’d ever been given up to this point had turned out to be anything but a chance to right a wrong.

But Jane was different in ways Amriel couldn’t explain.

Coming through the front door of the law office he made his way to the front desk where the trench coat draped over his arm, his beautifully tailored suit and hat in hand offered him entrance to the inner sanctum.

As he moved through the halls  his hand cradled a small tube of fine dust he’d drawn from his pocket; similar to the pink dust Kabshiel has sprinkled over Jane, but a purple so dark it appeared black.

Going off grid was not advised and Amriel knew he would be dealt with severely but he took comfort in knowing the reason Jane was not healing was because the heart her own was still attached to felt no sorrow or remorse.

It was time to right that particular wrong.



You’re not going to believe it but I’ve wanted to write this piece since Sunday.

Work is crazy.

Home life after mini-vacations is crazy.

I am tired.


I used three different prompts to write this newest installment to my story about angels.

(Anyone have any good ideas for a title of this series? All opinions welcome!)



From Studio 30Plus: 

This week’s Studio 30+  prompt comes from Ashley, at Fictional Fool, who gave us “Buried Treasure,” 

“He wore a faded brown fedora.”

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From Light and Shade Challenge: 

If you wish me to weep, you must mourn first yourself.

Horace (65 BC – 8 BC)
And from Master Class (the weekly challenges) 
I used the words HOOLIGAN(last week) and SHENANIGANS (this week)


I invite anyone here from any of the challenges to come write with another one. I am so proud to be a “Prompt Diva” with Tara (Thin Spiral Notebook) over at Studio30Plus and we have lots of exciting things planned for our community. Please come #WriteWithUs.


Jane’s eyelashes fluttered once then again until her eyes popped opened and she stifled a yawn.

The lighting was so bright in this room and she hurt all over as if she’d overdone it in Zumba class. Again.

Adjusting to the sunlight streaming in, she squinted and balked at the three people (people she’d never seen before in her life) standing around her bed.

Her bed?

Wait a minute. This bed wasn’t quite big enough and the sheets were white and, yes, stiff and if you were asking, a bit sandpaper-ish.  Where was her overstuffed comforter and sheets that felt like clouds laying on top of her feet? This bed felt like a hospital bed, all tucked in corners and shiny metal bed rails…


Jane reached out and touched the shiny metal bed rail. Tears welled as she finally made eye contact with the man whose hand was sharing space with hers on the rail.

“Hello Jane.” The man said.

He was short but handsome, the man standing next to him was taller with a longer nose and a chin so sharp and angled Jane was sure he could cut glass with it if he wanted to, but the shorter man was more Jane’s type; piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the color of her favorite shoes and wavy brown hair that sat on his head like a cap.

The men were wearing suits. Jane loved men in suits particularly.

She flirted with a smile and then bit the inside of her mouth.

“Am I dead?” she asked no one in particular.

“Oh dearie, no!” she heard from the foot of the bed and Jane fixed her stare on a small round cherub- like face hovering right over her blanketed legs. Jane blinked. The woman couldn’t have been more than 4 and a half feet tall, the size of a small six year old really, and her bouncing yellow curls made it look like she had a halo (slightly tilted) above her head.

The shorter man touched her hand, “Jane, you’re not dead but you are, um, not quite alive.”

“Oh.” she said, letting the single syllable slide through her dry lips.

“My name is Amriel.” The man continued “And I’m your, well,” he turned to the taller man who shrugged and shot Jane a smile as if to say, ‘you can tell her’ “I’m, we’re your guardian angels. This is Lameschial and this is Kabshiel. ” He used that move where he wagged his pointer finger between the three of them to denote their inclusion in the club.

“I have guardian angels?” she asked.

“Oh indeed dearie!” the cherub lady chirped. “You needed them, especially after the, um, unfortunate incident.”

Jane’s head hurt and her throat felt like the bottom of the ocean, all grit and salt plus every time she tried to sit up an awful case of vertigo sent her falling back on to her white sterilized pillow.

“Best to stay put for now.” The taller man advised patting her legs.

Jane nodded and tried to remember how she’d ended up here. Squeezing her eyes shut and thinking really hard it all came rushing back. Suddenly it seemed like all the oxygen was being pulled not only from the room but from her lungs too.

She was back in her living room slowly folding the letter into two then four pieces then unfolding it only to fold it again. It was like he had just evaporated from her life. There had been no signs to indicate anything was wrong. In fact he’d told he loved her, wanted her for his own (his words) only two days before she found the letter and then , out of the blue, he was gone.

“Charles!?” she sputtered and soon tears were sneaking down her cheeks into the hollow of her neck, creating puddles. Then a  sob erupted and soon she was choking, wailing from a primal place in her.

“Quickly!” Jane heard Amriel order Kabshiel who jumped up and waddled to the side of the bed where she sprinkled a fine pink powder over her.

Jane felt sleep take her swiftly under.

“That was close.” Amriel said to his counterparts. He produced a small phone from the inside pocket of his suit and pressed a button.

“Yes, hello.  Please tell him that we’re here and we tried but she’s simply not ready.”

A moment passed, Amriel listened.

He sighed, “No. No, no. We’re not going anywhere. I made a promise to guard Jane’s heart and that’s what I intend to do.”


If you missed the first part of this story click here! 

Studio30 Plus prompts comes from :

Nonamedufus who let us borrow this line from his story, “He Confessed Everything.”

“… he had just evaporated…”


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My response to the  Light and Shade Challenge  prompt based on this quote:

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

May 23.  Exactly 11:11am.

Jane should have been making a wish at precisely this moment, squeezing her eyes shut with a crooked smile playing around her mouth like she did when she was contemplating her options. Instead she was confined to the bed in this overly bright room with soft love songs pulsing in her ears and her dreams locked away from everyone but the angels guarding her.

Amriel made a notation in a small lined notebook and nodded at Lameschial who was seated in a high-backed chair on the other side of the room who made several chicken-like scratches in his own.

Both men, well that was the form they took here, let their eyes rest on their charge.

Lameschial sighed, leaned forward and placed his impossibly square jaw in the cup of his hand.

“It’s been almost two years, Am.”

The angel of May went to answer when they heard footsteps and the squeak of rubber wheels on linoleum in the hallway. Pressing a small white button on his wristwatch his wings folded into a nearly invisible slit in his suit jacket imitating a letter sliding into an envelope.

Clearing his throat Amriel adjusted his suit jacket just as the nurse hurried into the room tapping at an iPad.

“How’s our patient today?” she asked, never looking up.

“Still sleeping.” He answered as if that fact wasn’t obvious.

The nurse, a girl with light blue eyes and a mess of wild strawberry blonde curls framing a soft round face, was named Jennifer. She lifted Jane’s hand and silently counted a pulse, tapped at the monitors that surrounded the bed, adjusted the sheet and made her way to the door.

“I’m beginning to wonder …” Jennifer stopped before finishing and then she was gone.

Amriel mused about the hospital staff. They thought the angels were Jane’s uncles, lawyers who had been named as her guardians and considering the job they were doing, it was a suitable lie.

Jane’s real family had no idea she was still alive.

Amriel moved to the window, the sun through the slants in the blinds lit the halo above the crown of his head.

He yawned and pulled at the Windsor knot at his throat, loosening the silk.

“Her healing is slow.”

Lameschial shifted in the chair, “I was too late. If  I hadn’t hesitated she might be smiling and making wishes on clocks that read 3:33.”

It was a common lament from his partner but every now and then Amriel indulged him, “It wouldn’t have mattered my friend. He’d confessed everything, spoken her name, satisfied his own soul at the sake of hers. There was nothing we could do after that but make her comfortable.”

“I know.” The other angel said wistfully.  “But you would think that after all this time…”

Amriel turned his gaze back to Jane’s sleeping form, pondering her plight (as he had done for almost two years now) alongside any recourse he had. He knew their world longed to see her smile again but he weighed assuaging that desire at the risk of bringing Jane any more pain.

Of course there was still no guarantee she’d ever be the same again.

Amriel touched Lameschial, who was dozing in the chair, lightly on the shoulder and he stirred.

“My friend,” the angel began consulting his watch. It was nearing lunch time with little time to waste. “Please make a call to the angel yard and request Kabshiel but tell her to hurry.”

The second angel smiled and pulled a small phone from his pocket; the patron of grace and favor was a mindful choice.

Amriel pulled the cord on the blinds, bathing the room in warm, rich sunlight.

The clock read 12:11.

“Let’s wake our Jane and see if she still has any wishes to make.”


This week a line from my last offering was the one chosen to inspire you…

“he’d confessed everything” from Man on a Mission. 

Tara and I would love for you to #WriteWithUs.  Click here. 



The prompts this week from Lyssa and Thomas at  Light and Shade Challenge

were about Angel Yards and a proper quote:

” You pays your money and you takes your choice”

– caption on a Punch cartoon

**Sorry about this being so long my friends, but the story was one I enjoyed telling. (not to mention the research about angels names) **


Amriel is the angel of the month of May. 

Lameschial is an angel who is meant to thwart deception. 

Kabshiel is the angel of grace and favor. 


Man on a Mission

There’d been fireworks when they’d met; loud spectacular bursts of color accompanied by the thump! (awww! ) thump! (oooh!)  of another heart beating in time with his.

Talking over the din and more than a little drunk on the intoxicating scent of her lotion mixing with the wafting smell of acrid after-smoke, not to mention the Yuengling he was swigging from long neck bottles, he’d confessed everything he was feeling.

She’d smiled with  a light behind her eyes that rivaled the color of summer skies, and in that moment he realized he had nothing of his own, nothing that truly mattered if he couldn’t have her.

With the pop, snap and fizzle of the spectacle above them their foreheads met and he fell.

He’d asked her to marry him every day after that, sometimes serious and others half jokingly but always sincere; kissing her hand or (on more than one occasion) dropping to a knee in the mall, out in the middle of a cow puddle field while out on a walk, on the steps of the small clapboard church in the center of town. She’d blush and laugh, call him crazy and kiss him into a heavenly daze, never really answering him.

It was almost eleven months after that first night of heat, kisses and popping color, on a cool spring evening, when she’d walked into his apartment laden with a pizza box, a cloth bag full of groceries and a request of her own.

He’d taken her to city hall the next day and never looked back.



using the prompt “… he had nothing of his own.”

Taken from Joe Scott and his piece Packrat Red and his Cart o’ Sad Crap.”


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one of the prompts was FIREWORKS this week and it was the one I used.



Enjoy The Show {Shade and Light Challenge}

I can watch her, from up here, perched like some prehistoric bird of prey while I spoon rocky road into my mouth, metal dinging against my teeth while I lick both sides and swallow.

She is pacing, pent up and anxious today, flitting in and out of the shadows.

Her silhouette shadows her steps;

Three to the right,

two to the left,

when she pauses to twist the ring on her left land, I wait for the heavy sigh I can always hear from here.

The clacking of her shoes starts again

four long strides

three baby tip-toes

a quick peek at a screen; when she looks up the sun comes from behind the clouds.

Their shadows pool, her face obscured because his fingers are stroking her face, cupping her chin.

Their kisses are always prime time worthy.

I love you

He breaths into her mouth until his tongue takes over.

He is lying.

She opens wider.

so is she.


There’s a new prompt in town:
Light and Shade Challenge (my friends Tom and Lyssa’s brain child)

This week the prompts are the picture above and this quote:

She tells enough white lies to ice a wedding cake – Margot Asquith
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