A hearty and gleeful thank you to the judges who picked my comedy ghost story--A VISIT as a third place winner in their nationwide contest under the Adult Category.
I have to tell you the stories ahead of me are marvelous and as I read through the elementary, middle school and high school winners we should take notice that the future of this genre in literature is in great hands. Congratulations to all winners for 2011. Happy Halloween!!!!!!!!
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Parade of Bad Poetry Presents:
Living On Time
Not very long ago, I lay awake in bed.
I thought about my life as it is
and that’s when I found myself dead.
At first I was kind of mad, worried about my tan,
and all the golf I was going to miss
as a result of my wife’s cold hand.
She hadn’t been herself in awhile, so a smile was nice to see.
Her eyes vibrantly danced with joy
as she continued to kill me.
And as I was being sliced to dust, I entered into a pause
and wondered about the universe
its meaning and its cause.
Could there be life somewhere else? That’s the mystery.
Out in all those planets and stars
far from our own galaxy.
And in that place, if they are, are they void of strife?
Unlike us, in a utopia,
with people less true to life?
Not very long ago, I lay awake in bed.
I thought about my life as it is
and that’s when I found myself dead.
At first I was kind of mad, worried about my tan,
and all the golf I was going to miss
as a result of my wife’s cold hand.
She hadn’t been herself in awhile, so a smile was nice to see.
Her eyes vibrantly danced with joy
as she continued to kill me.
And as I was being sliced to dust, I entered into a pause
and wondered about the universe
its meaning and its cause.
Could there be life somewhere else? That’s the mystery.
Out in all those planets and stars
far from our own galaxy.
And in that place, if they are, are they void of strife?
Unlike us, in a utopia,
with people less true to life?
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Parade of Bad Poetry Presents:
Paycheck
Electrocuted at sunrise.
In time to kill more brain cells to survive.
Watching them zip your dreams into body bags.
Waiting for their permission to die.
What did you expect?
Your life is nothing but a piece of cellophane.
Electrocuted at sunrise.
In time to kill more brain cells to survive.
Watching them zip your dreams into body bags.
Waiting for their permission to die.
What did you expect?
Your life is nothing but a piece of cellophane.
Parade of Bad Poetry Presents:
The Day
The sky is grey
and the dawn can’t lift its haze.
The seas are brown
with the products of greed and waste.
The forest is black
and overcome with the dead.
The die is cast
and to our future we are wed.
The trees just bleed
in submissive conformity.
The sterile grass
salutes our obsessive vanity.
Back to the dust
I crawl in pain and disgust,
winding my shroud
as the sun slumps to the ground.
The sky is grey
and the dawn can’t lift its haze.
The seas are brown
with the products of greed and waste.
The forest is black
and overcome with the dead.
The die is cast
and to our future we are wed.
The trees just bleed
in submissive conformity.
The sterile grass
salutes our obsessive vanity.
Back to the dust
I crawl in pain and disgust,
winding my shroud
as the sun slumps to the ground.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Grover Cleveland: The President is a Sick Man
Catch my review of this wonderful book on Associated Content.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Microhorror---Thank you
Thank you to the good folks at Microhorror for publishing my story I WISH IT WOULD RAIN.
This is a great e-zine of flash fiction.
This is a great e-zine of flash fiction.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Chapter 4 The Devil's Hour
Three in morning is commonly known as the Devil's Hour; a time when spirits and demons are at their most active and this morning they did not disappoint.
At exactly 3:07 am and 16 seconds both are night vision camera and electronic record ding devices picked up a rare simultaneous paranormal action. On camera a fine white mist developed over our cook top---could it be a the ghost of flour tossed in the air? I say flour because of the simultaneous evp recorded; an evp that terrified the entire team: "add flour" "add flour".
At exactly 3:11 am and 19 seconds as the team was was climbing stairs to a catwalk; the entire team, and I stress that everyone was accounted for; heard a disembodied scream "Where's the Risotto!" coming from the space directly below them. This scream was heard by all but since all our recorders malfunctioned at that same time, we were unable to record it and we knew this to definitely be be paranormal.
At 3:23 am and 47 seconds we picked up the strong smell of bacon cooking. The smell was traced just inside a doorway where there was a vacant room. Could this room have housed a kitchen or a hotplate in its past?
As we trudged on I decided to go for broke. I unpacked a small gas powered hibachi. My plan was to use this cookware as a trigger object to draw the hauntings directly to me. This was a gamble of sorts, but a gamble that soon paid off.
As I had finished preparing the salad course, prepping for the main course, I and my camera man distinctly heard a voice. This voice was followed by a dart shadow like figure running past the basket of pimento loaf. The voice, or should I say the entity, quickly established itself as intelligent: "Where's the potatoes?" "Wheres the potatoes?"
Just think how unjust it must be for a spirit to be caught between the world of the living and eternal rest; to be locked into a sort of limbo because a last request or a want has gone unsatisfied.
We not only study ghosts but we help where we can to send them toward the light. It was at that moment that I decided to cleanse this building of at least one spirit. I quickly dug into my cooler pulling out a hand full of sweet potatoes in effort to whip up a souffle.
Twelve minutes and sixteen seconds later; we distinctly heard a loud and angry disembodied yell that came not five feet from me "I wanted russets!"
In an undisclosed location; a location we are sworn not to divulge, the dead both appear and speak in an eternal struggle between our world and that of salvation.
The End.
At exactly 3:07 am and 16 seconds both are night vision camera and electronic record ding devices picked up a rare simultaneous paranormal action. On camera a fine white mist developed over our cook top---could it be a the ghost of flour tossed in the air? I say flour because of the simultaneous evp recorded; an evp that terrified the entire team: "add flour" "add flour".
At exactly 3:11 am and 19 seconds as the team was was climbing stairs to a catwalk; the entire team, and I stress that everyone was accounted for; heard a disembodied scream "Where's the Risotto!" coming from the space directly below them. This scream was heard by all but since all our recorders malfunctioned at that same time, we were unable to record it and we knew this to definitely be be paranormal.
At 3:23 am and 47 seconds we picked up the strong smell of bacon cooking. The smell was traced just inside a doorway where there was a vacant room. Could this room have housed a kitchen or a hotplate in its past?
As we trudged on I decided to go for broke. I unpacked a small gas powered hibachi. My plan was to use this cookware as a trigger object to draw the hauntings directly to me. This was a gamble of sorts, but a gamble that soon paid off.
As I had finished preparing the salad course, prepping for the main course, I and my camera man distinctly heard a voice. This voice was followed by a dart shadow like figure running past the basket of pimento loaf. The voice, or should I say the entity, quickly established itself as intelligent: "Where's the potatoes?" "Wheres the potatoes?"
Just think how unjust it must be for a spirit to be caught between the world of the living and eternal rest; to be locked into a sort of limbo because a last request or a want has gone unsatisfied.
We not only study ghosts but we help where we can to send them toward the light. It was at that moment that I decided to cleanse this building of at least one spirit. I quickly dug into my cooler pulling out a hand full of sweet potatoes in effort to whip up a souffle.
Twelve minutes and sixteen seconds later; we distinctly heard a loud and angry disembodied yell that came not five feet from me "I wanted russets!"
In an undisclosed location; a location we are sworn not to divulge, the dead both appear and speak in an eternal struggle between our world and that of salvation.
The End.
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