Friday, October 30, 2020

Flash Friday 55 Halloween Edition 2020



 Welcome all, to the All Hallows' edition of the Friday 55. In a year where almost every day has felt like Halloween, it may be hard to get into the spirit of this ancient celebration of the thinning of the veil between the quick and the dead. It may be too tragic to think of all those who were here and now are gone in this year of plague rampant and its utter chaos, with a dubious future ahead.
Nonetheless, this exercise continues, and let the 55 chips fall where they may, as we remember happier if not scarier times, and the originator of this meme, Galen Hayes, by attempting to have a writer's kickass weekend to a radioactive Jack-O-Lantern's glow.
The rules remain the same. Write a poem, piece of prose poetry or flash fiction in exactly 55 words, no more, no less, and post your link in the comments below. I will be by to read whatever has haunted you this week.

The meme will be live from Thursday at the Witching Hour til Sunday at 4 pm.
~ * ~
Here is my 55. We have had a historic and crippling ice storm here, and the ghosts of my trees are with me in this piece.


 I woke in the dryads' dying hours
to the champagne-crack of their maple towers
falling; ice-winds honed a banshee tune,
a butcher's knife to carve the pumpkin moon. 

1000 suns of supple leaf expire
when winter kicks down summer's flimsy door;
a protean shift from sheeted ice to fire
to dryads' ash on Halloween's dancing-floor.

October 2020







 Images: The Woodland Dryad, © Jesse T. Banfield, 1913 via wikimedia commons Fair Use
Redbud ruins, October 2020 ice storm, © joyannjones

Saturday, October 24, 2020

The Gold Afterburn




The Gold Afterburn
Salvadore, Frida 
and Vincent
go into a bar.
This is America. 
They're promptly 
to leave.
The car was as full
of prayer and profanity
as Texas sky is full
of planets and stars
floating in smoke
and blue
bloody tears.
Cigarettes, flaming giraffes
and your buzzsaw breath
tipped the lightning jug
over all our
The story dissolved
the map; no surprise
everyone got lost.
A wheel or two
may have fallen off
in the gold
and the halos,
but all you need to
roll on that road 
is an engine that burns
the laughter
the mad.
October 2020

posted for Fireblossom

Images: The Flames, They Call  © Salvadore Dali, 1942   Fair Use
Image via internet, author and title unknown     Fair Use

Sunday, October 11, 2020




"...this is the way the world ends/not with a bang but a whimper." ~T.S.Elliot



You've come a long way

to see me slip my skin

across the star-burrowed sky

past Cassiopeia's iron chair

past the spear of Orion

to the killing floor.


You've come for the show

that must always go on

to see my hair burning trees

on my lips the black hole

night for my breath

dripping acid rain.


A big bang for your buck

now the requisite whimper

that comes in the dark

with the last surrender.

I wanted to stay just

a little bit longer


but everything wavers

when fate breaks her lamp.

October 2020

posted for 

The Sunday Muse

Images: California Wildfires From Space © NASA Scott Kelly Fair Use

Title unknown © Mathew Brohder via Internet Fair Use

Saturday, October 3, 2020

A Delirium Of Butterflies





 A Delirium Of Butterflies



There will be

a delirium

of butterflies

after the fever wins,

when the sterile step is taken

under the star-masked void,

when the bounce hits dust a thousand years

unstirred by wind or small-handed rain,




in freefall

instead of white detritus

butterflies stagger up

owners of the impossible

hitting your protective suit

like a trauma of cotton candy




you have crossed the threshold

of sweetness, otherness




 what you call

your life

will lose its casing

will become

a fluttering

an awe

a delirium




 October 2020

posted for 

The Sunday Muse




Images: So Long As You Wish it, © Liz Houston Fair Use

Unknown title, unknown author, via Sunday Muse  Fair Use

Friday, October 2, 2020

Belated Friday Flash 55 for September 2020




Welcome, all, if somewhat belatedly, to the Friday 55 for September, 2020. Apologies for the late post, but since last week, things at my place have been disrupted by plumbing emergencies, brick masons and the unpleasant necessity of allowing workmen into my home when my state is 5th in the nation for COVID positivity, creating a very expensive and stressful chaos to match the larger chaos around us. But the 55 must go on, and I know everyone has a great deal on his or her plate right now, what with the fiasco of a debate, the rise of an old/new racist fascism and various other things, like the plague mounting to over 200,000 deaths in the U.S, and our West Coast burning to a cinder. I hope as writers we can use this exercise to some purpose, either to exorcise, excoriate, or escape. 

That said, the rules remain the same. Write a poem, piece of prose poetry or flash fiction on any topic, so long as it is in 55 words, no more, no less, and post a link in the comments below. The meme will be live from Thursday at midnight to Sunday at 4 pm CST.




Once again, I've chosen to escape to the world of dreams in my 55.



Green Snake


Spirits reach for me

but no owls come,

only the smallest snake

curled as a vine tendril,

the jade of an early apple,

sleeping on my pillow.



send your fetch

to curse my hearth

ashen grey with death

but the snake slithers me 

to cover where

morning kisses water,

where you have

no power. 

October 2020











Images: Bullsnake,  author unknown, Fair Use

Viking Cemetery, F√§rjas, Sweden   author unknown, Fair Use