Amorous Affections

I take her hand.
And she holds my heart.
I walk beside her.
And she makes me soar.

I smile at him.
And his smile lights my day.
I speak to him.
And his voice is my music.

Every day with her is magic.
Every day with him is a miracle.
Knowing that she loves me.
Knowing that he loves me.
It is amazing.
It is a wonder.

I laugh with the joy
She gives me.
I sleep with the peace
She lends me.

I laugh with the joy
We share.
I live the love
That will always be there.

With her.
With him.
Within us.
The love will
Always be there.

February Writing Prompts

Immortal And Cantankerous

Author’s Note:  I couldn’t help myself. This piece is based on two of my characters from my ongoing story on my other blog.

I don’t know why
You follow me around
Lookin’ like a unwanted puppy
Caught in the rain.

I don’t know why
You worry about me
Fallin’ on my face
Or gettin’ myself staked.

I’m fine.
Darn it all!
I’m fine.

I don’t know why
You make me feel
Things I don’t understand.
Things I might understand.

But I’m fine.
Darn it all!
I’m fine.

I am a vampire.
I don’t need your coddlin’.
I don’t need your watchful care.
I can stand on my own.
With or without you.

You’re gone.

You’re gone.


Missin’ you and
Wantin’ you to
Come back to


February Writing Prompts

Red Crush

I see him there.
I know nothing about him.
Not a thing about him.

But he makes my heart race.
And he makes my face blush.
And it doesn’t take too much.

All he has to do is look my way.
All he has to do is say my name.
And though I know nothing about him
Not a single thing about him
I’m floating on cloud #9.

I stammer when I try to speak to him.
Or I might talk too loud.
Or I act really weird when I’m around him.

He probably thinks I’m weird.
If he thinks of me at all.

Maybe it’s just infatuation.
Maybe it’s just a silly crush.
For I know nothing about him.
Not one single thing about him.
Just his name.


February Writing Prompts

Dedicated To Denial

I happen to like denial.
I know, some do and some don’t.
But I like it. It’s easy.

So easy.

“I didn’t do it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“He never hit me.”

So very easy.

I used to be honest. So painfully honest.

Then, I met him. He taught me the ease of stretching the truth. He taught me that sometimes it’s better if the truth isn’t spoken. Not necessarily a lie.

A denial.

“It wasn’t me.”
“Don’t point fingers at me. I had nothing to do with it.”
“He would never do such a thing. I know him. I know.”

But then.

He changed.

He had some denials of his own.
Denials he spoke to me.

“I was at work the whole time.”
“I would never do something like that. Don’t you know me at all?”

I saw the holes.
I saw through them all.

And it hurts.
And it burns.

I know him too well now.

I look at the match in between my fingers.
The flame is rushing down to my fingertips.
I could blow it out.

Or I could drop it on these papers.
These papers soaked with gasoline.

I make my choice.

And I’m ready to deny it all.


February Writing Prompts

Raven’s Alternate Reality

Author’s Note:  Yet another alternate reality moment for my Ambrose and Elsie characters. This time, it’s Raven’s turn. 

James Arden returned to the house in a state of badly rattled nerves and messed up emotions.

When will Miss Farlington understand? We cannot be together. It can never be. We can never be.

I wish we could be.

He set the lemonade carafe on a side table in the hall.

How can I go back out there? How can I face her again?

I need to calm down.

I am a butler.

I must be calm.

He entered the parlor to pull himself together.

The parlor wasn’t empty.

A woman sat on one of the stiff-backed chairs.

“Excuse me.”

She rose from her seat to reveal her close-fitting yellow dress.

He bowed. “I was unaware that anyone was in here. I will leave you be.”

She had marigold hair and black licorice colored eyes. “Well. Aren’t you an interesting fellow?” Her voice made him think of fresh cream on a summer day.

She strolled over to him in a way that made James think of a cat. A very dangerous cat.

An irrational fear gripped him. He turned to leave with at least a minimum of decorum.

She grabbed his shoulders and held tight. “Do you have any idea how good you smell?”

“Madam, I need to—“

“You need to just shut up. I don’t care for prey that talks and talks.”

His face turned pale as he understood what he was dealing with. “Vampire.”

“mm. Yes. Vampire.”

“I am deeply sorry, Miss, but I am not interested in becoming a creature such as yourself.”

“Too bad.” She dug her claws into his collar.

He elbowed her hard in the ribcage.

She gasped and staggered back.

He pulled a stake out of his sleeve. With a couple of expert touches, the stake transformed into a full scale javelin.

She opened her mouth to speak.

She was too late.

He thrust the javelin into her heart.

She fell dead.

He dusted off his gloves. “I never thought I’d have a need to make use of that particular skill set.”

James Arden sat down in the seat she had vacated. He thought about his near death experience. He thought about his life as a whole.

He thought about a great many things.

He stood.

Life is so short.

He walked over to the dead vampire and reclaimed his javelin.

For some, it is shorter than average.

He shrank it back into a stake and slid it up into his sleeve.

I may not know how long I have to live.

He let the house and returned to the party.

But I know what I want my life to be.

He found her in the crowd.

May Rose Farlington.

He smiled.

I know.

He strode over to her.

She glanced at him. “What do you want? Sir?”

“I have come to apologize, Miss Farlington.”


He crowded into her space and she did not back away.

He kissed her.

He ended the kiss before she could properly react. “From now on, I will call you May Rose.”

Joy brightened her face.

He kissed her again. A long and tender kiss.

Her fingers slid up the sides of his head, ruffling up his hair.

James Arden broke away and opened his eyes. He looked at May Rose Farlington with all of the love he had kept so carefully concealed. “My own May Rose.”

The Bad Ending That No One Wants To Read

Author’s Note:  On June 16, I posted a story where Elsie rides off into a thunderstorm with Ambrose.  I decided to top it with the most unlikely of scenarios.  Just because the thought of it was way too WHAT THE HECK? GAH! PLEASE NO! to pass up.  Fair warning: This is not for the faint of heart.  😀

Elsie walked up the long, winding drive.

Ambrose had moved to Seattle with Barbara for unknowable reasons.

Hildreth had joined a Tibetan monastery in Toronto.

And Elsie’s mother had married Barbara’s father. They were currently on their honeymoon somewhere in North Dakota.

Elsie was alone.

She reached the top of the cliff.

A mansion stretched before her, all ablaze with light.

She smiled.

“I won’t be alone for long.”

She marched up to the front door and kicked it open.

“No point in knocking nicely.”

She headed into the living room.

And he was there.

Mark Caten sat in a comfortably-sized wingback chair, reading the newspaper.

Her smile grew.

She walked over to him and swipped the newspaper out of his hands.

“Hey! I was reading about a delicious calamity in South America. Oh. Hello, Elsie.”

“Mark.” She dropped the newspaper on the floor and admired the man sitting before her. Why did it take me so long to see how gorgeous he is? “You have always been the worst person on the planet. I’ve never liked you, even when I worked under you. I hated you. But…” She brushed the back of her hand against his face.

He smirked.

“They say that hate is simply love in another form.”

“Huh? Who says that?”

“Mmm. I don’t know. People.” She kissed him and he took it very well.

As she pulled back, he smirked. “It’s about time you saw how magnificent I am.”

She laughed whole-heartedly. “We’re going to be so happy together.”

“Of course. You’ll be a lucky bride. Married to the epitome of manly perfection. No. Better than that. Married to the epitome of godly perfection. There. Much more accurate.”

She kissed him again and again. “Mmm. Mrs. Elsie Caten. I love the sound of that.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course you do, cupcake.”

Letters To Euturpe #62 – Liminal

He stood in the doorway of what used to be his kitchen.
She sat on a chair at what used to be their table.
Her eyes were downcast.
Her voice was silent.
Treads of tears stained her face.

He entered what used to be his kitchen.
Now it was just hers.
He walked over to what used to be their table.
He stopped beside her.
And he felt lost.

Lost for words.
Lost for deeds.
Lost for ways
For her to see him, hear him, touch him
One more time.

He smiled.
It was a challenge.
And challenges had always been his thing.
When her life and his life were combined
Into their life.

He would not back down from this challenge.

He stretched his hand forward.
Worried that she wouldn’t feel it.
Worried that she’d slap it away.
Worried that she wouldn’t know it was real.

His hand landed on her arm.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t raise her head.
She didn’t react at all.

He pulled his hand away.
She raised her head.
She glanced around.

He said her name
It was just a whisper.
It was liminal.
It was barely perceptible.

He said her name again
And sang it like it was his favorite song.
He sang it as she sat.
Alone at her table.
In what was now her kitchen.

He sang it all the day.
And she listened to its melody.
With tears in her eyes.
And a smile on her mouth.



Author’s Note: I borrowed the first line of this poem from the Robert Frost poem mentioned in What Rhymes With Stanza’s Weekend Coffee Share post.

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
He is all rocks and I am a flower patch.

I wonder why we get along like we do.

He is storm clouds and I am rainbows.
He is restless nights and I am happy daydreams.

Why do we get along like we do?

He is miasma and I am clear air.
He is snarling dog and I am happy cat.

Is there a reason why we get along like we do?

Is it because we are such opposites?
We can’t help but be there for each other.

As night needs day and as clouds need sky.
We can’t help but be together.

And maybe that is why.
We get along like we do.

Daily Prompt: One Fry Day

I haven’t had a French fry in a very long time.

Don’t get me wrong: I loved them as a kid.

But as soon as I got out of that whole adolescent/teenager food glomping thing, I realized something important.

I didn’t need French fries to feel good about myself.

I could live just fine without them.

And you know what? I have. I have lived a peachy keen life free of all of those greased up fats slathered all over and into a poor pathetic slice of an excuse for a potato.

I don’t need the starches.

Don’t need the grease.

Don’t need the mega trans fats.

I am a survivor of my horrible teen years.

And my life is just right.


My life is not just right anymore.

The man I loved.

The man I thought was 100% the one.

That man…He’s gone and left me.

Even wrote me a Dear Jane letter and stuck it on the fridge.

Couldn’t even give it to me in person.

He’s gone.

I don’t know how to handle this.

I don’t know how to process this through my mind and make any sense of it.

I read his letter over and over and over. I can see the words in my head when I look away. I can see the curve of his letters. The pin-prick perfection of his punctuation marks.

I recite it when I take a shower and before I go to sleep.

No matter how hard I try, it doesn’t make sense.

His words are empty and useless to me. They’re just scrawls of ink on paper and I can’t make sense of them.

I need to get out of the house.

I need to get something to eat.

I need something to uplift my crushed down spirit.

I need what I haven’t had in such a long time.

French fries.

They will make the pain dissipate.

I will feel better.

I need the carbs and the starches.

I need the saturated trans fats.

I need to know that everything will be fine with salt and ketchup all over it.

I’m going to stop at the first fast food place I see and order the largest size of French fries.

And I know.

Everything will be all right.

via Daily Prompt: Fry