Love’s Young Dream



Thirteen year old Skylar and fifteen year old Billy played mama and daddy in the little house that sat on top of old man’s mountain while awaiting their new arrival. Their love, like the sun and the moon, filled the house when it was high in the sky.

Nights of unbridled passion followed days of unbridled joy. She, singing and dancing bare-foot, he playing Halo. But, batteries run low, and one day, everything stopped.

He couldn’t believe how fat and ugly the nag had become. She wondered why she’d never noticed how sullen and mean that loser was.

Night fell, and with it, the moon and the stars.



Sensible people will see trouble coming and avoid it, but an unthinking person will walk right into it and regret it later. Proverbs 22:3

Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

Just Deserts


Long before the sun rises she arrives at the park. With beads in hand she walks the circular track praying. By the time the sun has reached the horizon she is gone. But not this morning. This morning she sits on the bench facing the bay.

Beads of sweat cover her serene face. The heat turning her first pink then red as she sits motionless. Her hands, clasped around her prayer-beads, sit on her lap. Her light blue pashmina folded over the back of the bench gets lifted by the breeze and is lying on the dew-covered grass. Perfect!

She breathes in, and breathes out. Silence.

Picking up the pashmina, and bending over the bench, I ask, “Are you alright?” 

“Are you?” she responds without moving.

Unnerved by her response I recoil a little.

“Scuse me?” 

“You’ve been watching me from those bushes for months. My question is valid where your question is redundant. You know I am fine.”  

I gather myself and compose an attitude of confidence, which is the last thing I’m feeling. “Well, if you are alright, I won’t bother you anymore!”

“But you haven’t answered my question.”

Her eyes remain closed and she still hasn’t moved a muscle apart from her lips. Beads of sweat are running down my face. Being a salty old dog I struggle to keep them from stinging my eyes.

“What question?” I ask backing away from the bench.

“Come now, playing coy? I asked if you were alright.”

Her unshakable confidence disturbs me. This one is different, but I knew that from the start. There’s something very exciting about her… “Yes, of course, I’m fine! I was just concerned for you!”

“Is that why you’ve stalked me all these months?”

“Stalked! Now, just a minute!”

“What would you call it then if not stalking?”

“I… I, was simply concerned for a young woman out in the dark by herself. That’s all!”

“So what were you doing out in the dark?”


“Don’t tell me, let me guess, you were taking the night air?”

“Well, yes in fact. I was.”

Without moving her shoulders her head spins to face me. And, even though her eyes are still closed, I can feel her search every cell of my being. I want to run, but I’ve no strength. I feel myself fall to the wet grass and I’m grasping for air. I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe! I can’t move!  I watch as she rises from the bench to stand over me. She must be a hundred feet tall! I can’t protect myself; it’s no use. I’m going to die, I’m going to die!  


Her voice reverberates through me.

“Dominic, these are your last moments on earth. Do you have anything you wish to say?”

I can’t speak. I’m lying on the ground like a dead man, unable to move.  I scream, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!  —  Nothing’s coming out of my mouth!  

“What are you sorry for Dominic? For Alana? Betty? Jean? Rose?…”

I watch terrified as she transforms from a beautiful woman to a grotesque monster. She lifts me from the ground, and  like a dog would a bone, crunches down…


An aged heartbroken woman sits knitting while gazing at her daughter’s picture. Her ears perk up when she hears the nightly news begin.

Police are calling the death of a respected local Deacon suspicious. A dog-walker discovered his body this morning in the same park where a number of young women have been found murdered over the last two decades…’

The old woman rises and lifts the picture of her daughter from the sideboard. “You see Rose, my darling, didn’t I  tell you, God answers prayers?”

Returning to her armchair she opens her bible and whispers, “Lord, protect all your babies, send Evil to hunt down and slay the Wicked this whole world over.  Amen!” 


Evil will slay the wicked…Psalm 32:21a   


Mr. Gruff (Love’s Revenge!)

I have no idea where this came from. I always pray, Lord help me to write what you’d want me to, before I start a new blog post. LOL, no I’m not blaming God for this. I’m just saying!  :-)  Enjoy.



I think I like the things you do

The way you bend and kiss my shoes

And how you carry all my stuff

I think I like you, Mr. gruff


And even though you are a Grouch!

I think I like your sulky pout

And how you grumble when opposed

And even how you pick your nose


Yes, I think I like the way you are

Yes, even when, you’re mouth’s ajar

And you’re spitting words like spears

And swearing you’ll go back on beers


Ac tually… you’re kinda cute! 

Huffing, puffing and storming about

Cause you are just a teddy-bear

That’s getting fat and losing hair!





My Mother is never far from my heart or my thoughts.  This is about her reality. Sorry for being so morose, but I write what’s in my heart when it’s in my heart. On a side note, I can’t get WP to format this properly. It is a four line, four stanza poem.

Headshot in bluehousecoat 


I don’t want to be here

I want to be there

Where mama’s in pain

and awful despair


She can’t lift a finger

Nor stand on her feet

Her efforts a whisper

She no longer speaks


It’s hard to reach over

That ugly divide

Of folk with their faculties

And hers locked inside


And she can’t understand

A thing that they say

So alone in her silence

She withers away.

Father Abraham



From morning’s dawn to evening’s dusk

Father Abraham looks down

He hears the screams of His children’s blood

Resound, resound, resound.

He weeps and tears like rivers flow

As brother murders brother

And his precious little grandbabes fall

In dust beside their mothers

His heart is torn, it’s rent in two

His soul’s torn just the same

And yet his prayers for love and peace

Remain, remain, remain.


“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ Matthew Chapter 25″

Cotton Candy Clouds – Ajaytao


Sometimes, we just need to look higher. thanks Ajaytao for a wonderful post.

Originally posted on Ajaytao 2010:

Cotton Candy Clouds - Ajaytao

Cotton Candy Clouds – Ajaytao

God writes the Gospel
not in the Bible alone
but also on trees,
and in the flowers
and clouds and stars

It’s wonderful to climb the
liquid mountains of the sky
Behind me and before me
is God and I have no fears

Helen Keller

Cotton Candy Clouds - Ajaytao

Cotton Candy Clouds – Ajaytao

The air up there in the clouds
is very pure and fine
bracing and delicious
And why shouldn’t it be?
it is the same the angels breathe

Mark Twain

You must not blame me
if I do talk to the clouds

Henry David Thoreau

View original


My Bunny Rabbit

Betsie lay doubled over in the corner of the attic, in exactly the same place Sophie had flung her three years earlier. And, even though she hadn’t moved in all that time, her mind raced. Her daily thoughts were always of the last conversation she’d overheard.

“Don’t you want to take Betsie to the new house Darling?”

“No, this is her house. She stays here!”  

“But Darling, you’ve had her since the day you were born.”

“She’ll only make my new room look grubby, and my new friends will laugh at me if they see her.”

“Oh well, Darling, if you’re sure.”

“Yes Mummy, I’m sure.”  

As the swords of memory tore through her heart once again, the door to the attic squeaked. Being upside down Betsie couldn’t see who had come into the room, but the scent… It was Sophie’s mother!

Slowly the click of heels on bare floorboards came closer, and closer, until they stopped. Great tears fell, splashing the dust from the floor, and her thickly layered back. Then a soft hand gently clasped onto her and lifted her up.

Before she could think, she was cuddled tight and hearing heartbeats as loud as thunder. Tears landed, and soaked through her faded cotton dress.

“Oh Betsie! why didn’t she take you with her? Why did she leave you behind?” Sophie’s mother sank to the attic floor and continued to wipe the dust from the rabbit. “Why did she leave you behind?”

“Gloria! I’ve been looking everywhere!” Mr. Roberts gushed falling to his knees beside his heartbroken wife. “Oh my darling, I was so worried.”

Squashed in the middle of the crying adults Betsie wanted to cry herself.  What on earth has happened, she wondered.

Mrs Roberts held Betsie straight out and looked at her with a love Betsie’d long forgotten existed.

“She cherished this cookie-looking little rabbit. She never went anywhere without it.”

“I know my darling, but all kids grow out of their baby toys, it’s natural.”  

“Yes it’s natural! But why? If she’d had Betsie I’m sure she wouldn’t have…”

“It had nothing to do with dumb toys!” Screamed Sophie’s father jumping to his feet.  “It was those evil little trolls! How can a child handle that kind of pressure? Ten year olds don’t have the maturity to handle that kind of evil.  Friends! FRIENDS?  Evil little bastards! Wish to God we’d never left this house, our baby would still be alive!” He dropped to the floor wailing loudly.

Betsie froze when she heard the words, would still be alive. Sophie’s dead?

Mr and Mrs Roberts finally stood together. Mrs Roberts held Betsie by her hand. “What’s the point?” she asked throwing Betsie back into the corner.

Mr Roberts quickly retrieved the bunny and swiped it clean, “The point is, this funky little bunny, was the last friend on this earth who truly loved her. She’s coming home with us!”

Count On Me, Bruno Mars:



There is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother. Proverbs 18:24 Hint? Jesus.       

Previous Older Entries


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 157 other followers

%d bloggers like this: