There was a time in my life
The massive world before me
Windows opened for the climb
Falcon through air, winged beauty

Now fading like light during sunset
Battles fought, young spirit adrift
Time looking more like a threat
Childlike vision no longer a gift

Changes clear, reflections of truth
Gravity winning the war
Hands on the clock steals my youth
Like paper strange images tore

Is it over; is there still time
Mind can’t fathom reality
New visions; not in my prime
Weighing in on mortality

Perhaps this fear and retreat
Betrayal deep; my own doing
Notions no longer so sweet
Point of view my own brewing

Inevitable is this shift
Circle of life; dust to dust
Fought the war, memories swift
Rewards a life I must trust

Looking For and Thinking About Book/Plot Ideas

Working behind the scenes a bit lately. I am working on ideas for a book or short story. No doubt, poetry is easier for me to write; however, I cannot give up the thought of a book because it is challenging. If it was simple, everyone would be doing it.

I am also working on Master Class with James Patterson, an online class I enrolled in. There are some homework assignments that I need to work on. Perhaps I will share them here.

Some of the people I am following are spitting out pieces right and left. God bless them, but right now it is not working that way for me.

So, just checking in and will be back writing soon.


The Tree

Branches and twigs strong and brown
In every direction no compass around
Leaves the color nature gives so freely
Swaying as the wind whispers ideally
Standing as the crowning glory of honor
Surrounded by others given to fawner
Many years old improving with age
Extrinsic beauty only God can stage


Forgotten Child No Longer

Eyes of brown, no sparkle or sheen
Hair tight to face, dark and unclean
Child of neglect, heartbreaking behavior
Child forgotten, demanding a savior

Too skinny and small, concealing his age
This boy lacking care, wishing to turn a page
Child in need, heartbreaking behavior
Child abandoned, demanding a savior

Covered in fabric, all requiring launder
Dreaming of someplace else, only to wander
Child in pain, heartbreaking behavior
Child of God, demanding a savior

Youngsters romping around, no thoughts of the boy
Happy dwellings to return, bellies to fill with savoy
Child alone, no change in behavior
Child hopeless, desperate for a savior

Easier to mask, truth will be uncovered
Some attention paid, easily discovered
Child unknown, unsuitable behavior
Child with worth, will there be no savior

Acting out unprepared, easier to scream
Body of injury, true family but a dream
Child of value, improper behavior
Child of future, in need of a savior

Another approaches, big smile on face
Asking the boy, to sit near his space
Child of benefit, slight change in behavior
Child of friendship, chance of  a savior

Sharing her lunch, selfless this sweet girl
For she knew indifference, heart of a pearl
Child of notice, more change in behavior
Child of quality, yes, finding a savior

Spending time together, discussions abound
Understanding each other, commonalities found
Child of empathy, appropriate behavior
Child of hope, all it took a true savior

Kindness costs little, a difference it makes
Sharing of oneself, often all it takes
Child of beauty, wonderful behavior
Child of love, happiness with a savior

photo courtesy of http://new.spring.me/
photo courtesy of http://new.spring.me/



Shiny, beads of color, silver and
Gems of rarity, sought out and
Shapes and dimensions given a
Parts of one, ten, more or less than
Worn for adornment for others to
Queens, princesses, commoners
Value of wealth, some simply
Some necks without, others quite
Simple and intricate both for
Boastfully worn meant to
A concept so simple certainly
Of this be sure many have
Decoration often thought as
How can we not love a dog with a

photo courtesy of http://spoilurpets.com/


Delicious History Lesson

Chris Columbus known to discover
Prince Philip of Spain, some will argue
In Europe, it spread, then and forever
Now worldwide for always on cue

Different shades of brown all the way to white
The search, the desire, the need to satisfy
From darkness of night, all the way to the light
Antioxidants abound, some not I cannot lie

Bitter, sweet, varieties to create
Royalty, nobles, warriors, and soldiers
Select few centuries ago; not so of late
South America, a place for what cures

In search by many a woman and man
The solid, the melted, all types for indulgence
The mood will change and smiles will land
The craving appears, quite often intense

Fermentation, roasting, drying in the sun
Crushed to a powder with cacao anew
First boxful by Cadbury; now by the ton
Favorite to many and unknown to few


photo courtesy of https://www.brainscape.com


Checking In

When does someone say, “I am a writer?” Now.

Confidence is  one of difficult things for writers to feel; however, if you are writing, you are a writer. I have to keep reminding myself of that as I move forward. I can only get better by doing it. What am I working on presently? A poem and throwing around ideas for a book. Those writers who continuously spit out pieces are amazing. I’m not there yet, but I am a writer and I am working behind the scenes a bit. I am also taking an online course called Master Class with James Patterson. Time to get back to work, but wanted to drop in and say hello.


photo above courtesy of

Bellicose Destiny

April, 2014 – DAnthony2

As the Serpent chews its tail,
and the Phoenix shakes off the ash,
The tides of War do begin to clash,
playing out a recurring tale:

A Fire burns in the hearts of all men,
one that separates and then,
The battlefield lines are drawn,
good against evil, black against white,
The soldiers lined up, each a pawn,
itching to join their “noble” fight.

Freedom, Justice, Equality,
all masks for the worst impurity
game of lives like a game of chess,
a simple move is a violent mess,
One that leaders won’t confess,
the truth of its necessity.

“Kill for our country and for our rights!”
“Kill so they don’t kill us!”
“Kill because their existence is a fuss!”
are the cries of honored knights.

We fought a king and won a nation
we fought each other and lost our way
And after the Towers fell that day
we came together for an extermination

“Is it right to fight?” asks a child and his brother,
“Of course, if you fight for what’s right,” says their mother.

“What is right?” reads
a soldier’s epitaph

Aries responds with a mirthful laugh:


June 9, 2015 – by DAnthony2

As dawn bursted with warm yellow ribbons, it reached around the sun-bleached shutters and forcefully pulled my heavy, sleep-filled eyes ajar. Excitement immediately built up in my chest, relieved only slightly by a gleeful exhalation. Anticipation for the distant evening was nearly unbearable for my six year old patience threshold. This was the day I would attend a sleepover for the very first time in my entire life.

Most of the day that followed included an in-depth preparation ritual that consisted of me packing all of my necessary equipment. This included a thick, white blanket to use instead of my black, quilted sleeping bag which, for some reason I can’t remember, was unavailable for my overnight stay. A variety of pocket flashlights resembling generic white doctor’s pens were stored in my pockets in case I needed to navigate my way to a bush to relieve my bladder in the middle of the night. I, in my six year old state of mind, thought that I would abide by the unspoken rules of camping rather than make the twenty foot journey to the house and use an actual toilet. Anyways, the entirety of my things were neatly rolled up and stuffed into an incredibly small plastic garbage bag in a scene that resembled the creation of a sausage. I distinctly remember sitting on that bundle for hours in front of my hulking CRT television set while watching some cartoons so that I could occupy myself until the sun started to dip behind the verdant evergreen Oregon trees. A conversation arose from my worried La Fave 1 mother, who wanted to make sure that I would be able to handle the new experience of spending a night alone without her in regards to my crippling fear of the dark.

“Now, are you sure you want to go to this campout?” she asked in a voice of maternal concern.

“Yes, mom.” I replied in a tone that only a six year old can get away with.

“Okay honey, I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Little did I know that the night would, in fact, not go as I had hoped.

Arriving at my neighbor’s small, plain looking house a few doors down from mine, I held my oversized and overstuffed sausage bundle close to my chest in an embrace like that of two long lost siblings. Much of the evening has since escaped my memory, although I have a faint recollection of roasted marshmallows with their blackened, sizzling exteriors. Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember how many kids in my neighborhood were present. However, I can recall with near certainty the layout of the backyard campsite. The aforementioned site contained three mid-sized tents in a triangular formation with blue tarps stretched across their tops like snowcaps on a mountain range. The backyard itself had a modest line of bushes which hugged the traditional and ever-present white picket fence of the small suburb. A large set of sliding glass doors faced the yard, casting light from the kitchen onto the pseudo-wilderness. After the not-so-memorable events of the evening, everyone turned in for the night, each tent with three to four occupants. If the night had ended then and there, I probably would have thought of the whole experience as mediocre.

The full moon wrapped itself in the sparse cloud cover above as a flapper dons a flamboyant feathered boa. I woke with a start, a feeling of great urinal pressure invading my sleep. Wielding one of my trusty pen-flashlights, I noticed something strange: besides me, my tent was completely empty. I unzipped the entrance with the rapidity of a desperate prisoner escaping in the night. Though I had originally planned to urinate in the bushes, as previously mentioned, I decided that I would check on the house first. As I peeked into the glass sliding doors, I saw my tent mates curled up in the living room across from the kitchen. They had abandoned me for the comfort of a large brown sofa which seemed to mock me from inside the security of the home. I tried the sliding doors to no avail and I knocked without a response from the comfortable betrayers which left me in the tent alone. Panic set in as my urge to relieve myself became impossible to ignore. I made my way to the nearest bush, holding my flashlight with my teeth, and doing the dirty deed. Though I had no audience, the feeling of peeing in a bush left me mortified. Upon further inspection, the other tents were just as vacant as my own. My fear was pressing against my diaphragm, forcing me to breath a little heavier. It was night, the middle of the night, and I was alone.

From deep down within me, and from depths of my personality that I had not yet explored, I found a light in the darkness. The fear that used to debilitate me had now become inconsequential compared to a growing sense of mechanical awareness. It allowed for me to shut off my fear of the dark in order to rationalize the situation I was in. The evidence I gathered told me that I was alone and that I should pack up my things and walk home. So I did. I marched back to that tent, I threw all of my things back into that tiny plastic bag, and I walked away with my pack hoisted over my shoulder, reminiscent of a cartoon hobo. The shoes I had arrived in were also thrown into my bag, leaving me barefooted as I made my way to the moonlit street. As I walked, the brisk night air filled my lungs with a satisfying tickle while the lightly shrouded full moon greeted me with a clear path home.

I made my way up the porch and up to the solid oak door that barred entry into my home. With a quiet yet strong voice, I called out to my parents while tapping on the large door. The hollow sound of my knocking echoed across the empty streets and bounced off the fences of my various neighbors. My mother answered the door, squinting from sleep with an expression of relief. She knew, somehow, that I would return and she slept in the living room in direct view of the main doorway in accordance with this prediction. Call it maternal instincts or what have you, but I was overjoyed to see her and solidified this joy with a hearty hug. Tonight, I had overcome my fear of the dark.

Magic Soap

July 18, 2015

I lumbered down the cobble-stoned street, filled with aching grief, holding my tweed jacket closely to my body in order to shield the chill of the night. I could not plumb how I would ever be the same man without the woman I had spent these last glorious years with. I never even considered she may not be with me through my twilight years. We were a team. We were soulmates. We expected to always be together. My heart ached beyond anything I had felt before.

Cancer! I hated cancer and what it was doing to the beautiful woman I loved. The doctors informed us there was no more to be done. My wife would succumb to the disease within three months. I felt in utter shock, not wanting to believe our new reality. She did not deserve this pain and I wished I could take it from her, but we had exhausted every avenue to find her successful treatment. There just was nothing to be done. I could not bear to be home while my wife remained stoic and resigned to her fate. She gracefully accepted her truth, and her calm demeanor made staying in the house unbearable. I made an excuse to leave with some fabrication of needing fresh milk and eggs from the neighborhood market, but I really just wanted to walk and clear my head. I had to be strong for her.

I had ventured out for at least two hours with no destination in mind, just walking and hoping I was in the middle of an unwelcome nightmare. As I turned down an old, weary boulevard I had never noticed before, I felt compelled to continue. I was walking to nowhere, a bit lost, but unable to retreat to more familiar pavement. In the midst of my jaunt, I glanced up and observed a completely unexpected site. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and peered up again. This is when I heard a roar of laughter and, although my heart was heavy, I realized the bluster came from my own lips. There it was in large, old-fashioned lettering on a old, withered board. The sign clearly read in large letters, The Black Emporium. Underneath, in smaller type was, Oddities to Astonish and Amuse. My wife’s great-uncle had spoken of this magnificent place he inadvertently stumbled upon years ago. His vociferous gabfest about the treasure trove of items in this magical outlet would go on for hours. Knowing my dear’s great-uncle with his unbelievable anecdotes made this tale just another inconceivable declaration from an old, imaginative man. But here it was!

I hesitantly extended toward the threshold, both afraid and intrigued at the same time. I continued across the doorway into unknown territory. The aroma of incense emanated throughout the store. It was a fresh smell of musk and bark, with a hint of vanilla, the same kind my love had chosen for me in the gift of cologne last Christmas. The minute I made my way through the entrance, it was strangely obvious this was no regular market. There was something peculiar about the place. The scent was inviting, but the objects placed neatly on shelves all over the store were a mix of beauty and fright. There were shelves of freakish oddities, just as advertised, but also books with strange pictures and colors on their covers, and oddly shaped boxes of what I was unaware. There was no writing on the cover of any of the books and no explanation of what the puzzling novelties were. There were objects that resembled a sort of twisted trees, different sizes and colors, some of rough texture, others very smooth, nothing I had ever seen before. I noticed various shaped bottles with peculiar looking liquids inside. These liquids were different colors and consistencies, some quite thin, others thick, and even more cloudy, like a gas, not a liquid.  I was not clear what emotion I felt, but I knew the love of my wife and my own curiosity pulled me in and would not let me go. This odd place actually appealed to all of my senses as a wave of tranquility washed through my body.

I continued to browse the various items on shelves throughout the small emporium when I suddenly realized I was alone. There were no clerks, no other patrons, only me with this force that wouldn’t allow me to leave.

I called out, “Is anyone here? Hello. You have a customer.”

No answer.

I tried again, “Hello, I would like to buy something. Is anyone here?”

No answer again.

My perplexed mind could not grasp what everything in this establishment was, but the intense desire to know would not allow me to depart. I was mysteriously drawn to the various objects in the store, and continued down each shelf, too nervous to touch anything, but mesmerized by what I examined. Without warning, I was startled by a sound coming from the back of the store. I gingerly stepped towards the noise, expecting the merchant, and hoping for an explanation of the curiosities I had perused.

“Hello, is anyone there?” quickly taken aback by how harshly my voice carried through the still boutique of strange and wonderful riches.

Still no answer.

Hurriedly, a ball of fur shot out from the darkness, and passed through my legs. I yelped and was nearly thrown off balance as the rodent’s slimy pink tail whipped at my ankles. As I struggled to keep upright, I hurled my arms out to my sides for balance. In doing so, my fingertips grazed an unfortunate curio, which then rocketed to a distant corner of the room.  I quickly pivoted towards the door hoping to catch a glimpse of the furry fiend.  Almost as to mock me, the creature stuck his snout out and shot his beady eyes in my direction, after which he darted away as quickly as he had arrived.

I continued to watch out the door wondering what I had gotten myself into. Being a responsible man, I knew I had to return the misplaced artifact to its original home. I paraded toward the relic. As I bent down to retrieve the item, I caught a glimpse of something in my periphery. I cocked my head to see a nearly unnoticeable alcove in the wall.  I immediately abandoned my initial chore and strutted directly towards the cavity.

Sitting alone in the cubicle was a suspicious looking object. I advanced closer, slightly bending forward at the waist, elongating my neck and head in a cockeyed fashion. I wanted to inspect the enigma but felt compelled to leave a gap of security, in case I sensed the urgency to turn quickly and dash to a protected distance. Upon further investigation, the feature I discovered was completely white and smooth, immediately identifiable as an ordinary bar of soap.  I sighed in a confused state and wondered what a normal bar of soap was doing hidden away while all the strange relics were open for browsing.

I moved my entire body closer to the bar of soap, no longer apprehensive, and could not believe my eyes. A thick layer of dust had settled in a circumference around the normal bathing piece found in every home, but the bar of soap itself remained pristine without any signs of age or wear. It appeared to be of no real value, but was as shiny as the chrome found on a polished, brand new automobile. It was such an ordinary thing, a surprise in such an extraordinary place. I was drawn to the soap, but afraid to disturb its existence. It was then that I heard the voice.

“I have been waiting for you.”

My eyes peered in every direction to see who was finally speaking to me only to see no one. “Who’s there? Please show yourself.”

“I’ve waited a long time but knew you would eventually find me. You wonder about the soap, do you not?”

“Yes, yes,” I rapidly answered displaying my fascination.

“The bar is no regular soap. It is quite special. Listen carefully and you will fathom the wizardry before you. Take the soap from its home of many years and have your wife wash her body three times.  She may feel a shock, even a little pain, as she cleanses, but that is a favorable sign. Tell her not to be frightened. There is an exclusive restoration that comes from this exceptional soap. You will find that your troubles will vanish once your wife purifies herself. Remember, she must wash three times. Do not be astonished when after each wash, the soap returns to its pristine and original form. It will look and feel as if it had never been used.”

The voice continued in an ominous tone. “There is a critical part of this task you must know. Listen carefully to fully absorb my words. You must never divulge the grace you have found here. You and your wife must preserve this secret for eternity.”

I nodded in agreement assuring comprehension of the warning.

“Something else you must know. After the third cleansing, you must return this soap to its authentic home. If you do not, the benefit it offers your wife will be lost, and there will be no second chances. Take the bar and do what I say.”

I hesitated, unsure of this voice that came from a presence unseen.

“Go ahead. Do not fear. Take the soap.”

I carefully gripped the object in one hand and slowly placed it in the pocket of my tweed jacket. I checked to be sure it was securely stored while I ventured to find the familiar streets that led me back to my household where my wife patiently waited. I could not believe what had happened to me on that difficult day, but I had a distinct sense of hope.

All the way home, I could utter only the words, “Please heal her. Please heal her. Please heal her.”

Walking quickly into my home and directly to my mate, I asked her to put her quilting aside and listen carefully to my story. Her large, blue eyes stared intently into mine as she concentrated on my words. The blue of her eyes became more acute as she heard my tale, a trait of hers I had always admired in her when she became delighted. Interrupting me mid-sentence, my spouse cried out her great-uncle’s name, with firm recollection of the elderly man and his fictional accounts of adventures he experienced only in his extravagant mind, or so we once believed. Could these elaborate fantasies expressed for the entertainment of his gullible family actually be true? My obedient bride smiled with glee and agreed to do as I asked. I explained every detail of my experience in what I now assumed was a magical place. My wife watched me carefully with a look of awe, aware I had not lost my mind. She knew me too well and agreed to do exactly as the unseen voice had instructed.

After three careful scrubs with the enchanting soap, each time the bar returning to its original unused form, my wife felt energized. The strength she had lost due to cancer invading her body had returned and she felt better than she ever had before. After visiting several of her doctors, there was no evidence of the illness my partner had previously suffered. The doctors were all astonished and spoke only of miracles as they found no cancer in my wife’s body. She had been cured. We, of course, could not share how such fortune came to be, as we remained silent.

Shortly thereafter, I returned the soap carefully to the pocket of my tweed jacket.  I headed in the same direction as before and found the magical shop without much difficulty. I walked in and again was greeted by no one. I was once again alone in The Black Emporium. Looking around, I observed that nothing had been disturbed; even the curio that I had knocked over was now in its original site. I walked gingerly to the hidden alcove, reached for the soap from my pocket and cautiously returned it to its place of greatness. I heard no voice. I saw no person. I only felt a sense of peace, relief, and happiness.

I never found emporium again. In fact, the cobble-stoned road I had suddenly discovered was now gone. I did not know why I was chosen for this gift and why my wife was revived, but I knew it was no accident. I was certain my wife and I had been selected by a force I would never clarify.

It is now forty years later and my soulmate and I are still in great health. We are enjoying our twilight years together, taking advantage of each day. I will always remember that wonderful great-uncle of my love and the bewildering excursion many years ago. I will always appreciate the blessing bestowed on us. As a result, and, more importantly, I would never lose faith in unforeseen possibilities again.

Written by Niecy and DAnthony2, mother and son