She stood silent and still
listening to the spirits on the hill
a beautiful young wiccan she
standing straight next to a tree
listening to lost souls from eternity
whispers that soon became a plea
begging her to be set free
she listened compassionately
but it wasn’t meant to be
her magic wasn’t strong enough
to set the tortured souls free
so she returned every night
listening to their stories sadly
standing beside an old oak tree
dreaming of the day
when she could set them all free
(184 words -Flash Fiction/Poetry)
They called her Little Red in Sedona, Arizona where crystal-gazers told the fortunes of tourists who came to see the famous red sandstone hills beauty, that explodes in orange and red splashes of brilliant colors when the sun rises, or sets.
Little Red was from the barrio on the wrong side of town, a collection of homeless people who gathered around, helping one another, like a sister and brother, to survive in a merciless economy of the 21st century…
The local homies who respected her gig of taking from the rich and giving it to the poor, had a good rapport with the Harley-riding Little Red who stayed ahead of the law gaining the awe of all the local gangs…
One day Little Red went to see her grandma who lived by the sea, to see if everything was the way it was supposed to be, when she discovered an anomaly that led her to believe an imposter was there to deceive…
Little Red hopped on her Harley and headed for open country determined to be free from the constraints of fairytales and history.
the writer waited until he hit a century
before releasing the rights to his diary
while flipping through the pages one night
his still-active imagination took flight
and he was a young man again
as far as he could ascertain
and a young lady came near
and whispered in his ear
they went for a walk
and had a lovely talk
when the writer’s son
came to visit the next day
the old man had passed away
with a smile on his face
he was in a better place
when I was growing up my grandfather use to say
that boy is going to find out everything the hard way
if he comes out of his childhood alive
there’s a damn good chance he’ll survive
I was an eager student of the School of Hard Knocks
my troubles were never pebbles they were always rocks
taking the least traveled pathway had a price
I come close to losing my life twice
there was never really a choice for me
I’ve always been on the verge of tragedy
but in these later days of my life
I look back and appreciate the strife
and accept my past and my destiny
whatever that happens to be
The valley was a wintery tableau
buried beneath a carpet of freshly fallen snow
where a defiant flower bulb did silently grow
snugged in beneath the frozen ground
it didn’t wait for spring to come around
already emerging safe and sound
Icarus flew too close to the sun and his wings melted, but mankind’s desire to fly through the ages withstood mythologies warning. Tales of the old gods slipped into oblivion and were translated into technology… opening the door for new gods to worship.
All powerful Thoth, the Ibis God, gave way to airplanes and spaceships…the spawn of the transformation and worshipped by mortals who love flight. The natural world shifted and birds (god’s messengers) shared the skies with machines.
Mankind’s lust for flight takes each spaceship further into the cosmos in an endless search for the furthest limits of universes.
The man in the mirror was changing every time Randy looked.
It was a slow transformation. His once calm and bland features turned into a landscape of worry wrinkles. His blue eyes became murky gray.
He knew the change was about more than just growing old. Something was evolving in his mind. Something dark that slithered around his consciousness just out of sight. Fear of the other. People with different beliefs and colors.
Randy’s world, rooted in another era, was gone and he missed it so much it made him angry. Hate crept into his heart like a venomous snake.