#Micropoetry Monday: The Writer’s Life


She painted self-portraits & took selfies,
wrote memoirs & autobiographies,
leaving journals, tapes, & videos,
so that her story would live on,
buried in cyberspace
for her descendants to cite.

Brandon broke her heart,
Brendan left her at the altar,
& Braden, for another woman.
As for Brady Bannon,
he was the one she eviscerated in her book.

Her USB drive was an orphanage,
till she found homes for all of her work.

He was her rough draft when she married him,
her working draft during their marriage,
her heavily-edited final draft when they divorced—
leaving him a man of much fewer words.

She’d went back to school after 15 years,
32 going on 22,
& halfway through her HIT degree,
she wondered if she’d made the right choice;
until she realized it would be that degree
that would help her invest in herself
so she could be a writer, always.


#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book


I was such a Pollyanna then, believing religion only made people love one another more, but it was simply one more thing to disagree about.

Goodness was worthless in Protestantism, but required in Mormonism—just as works trumped even faith.

Mormons thought marriage more beautiful than celibacy, for people were trees to bear fruit, or, as David said, future tithe-payers.

Though marriage was between 1 man & 1 woman, I believed marriage was however one defined it; even Mormons believed in heavenly polygamy.

When one reached exaltation, or the celestial kingdom, they weren’t as angels, in relation to God, but as families, in relation to one another.

Protestants believed at death, your fate was decided regardless, but the Mormons believed in second chances for those who knew not their faith.

This Holy Spirit they spoke of, testified to the truthfulness of all things.  It wasn’t even a voice or a personage, but a vapor, a feeling.

They asked me to put their faith to the test—to rely not on fact, but on feelings from this invisible Holy Ghost of theirs that had no name.

They gave us a Book of Mormon & a video called “The Mountain of the Lord”.  It was what adult fairy tales were made of.

“I’ve loved all the families I’ve met so far on my mission, but you, Nolans, & David, too, are special to me in a way God has yet to reveal.”

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #373; Theme: Card


Pinky Tale Creations

Pinky Tickles penned greetings for anonymous givers—
cards for every anni, quarrel and bicker—
cards for divorces and broken engagements,
for the neutralizing of toxic friendships,
and friends-with-benefits relationships.

There were cards for congrats
on being canned like a tuna,
or sacked like a potato chip;
for being kicked to the curb
by roommates growing herbs.

There were cards for bad bosses,
“You’re welcome” cards and “Sorry…not!”;
for unhappy birthdays and ugly afterthoughts.

There were unsympathy cards for deadbeat dads and
“Don’t Get Well” cards for mommy dearests;
“Happy Lonely Valentine’s” days,
“Santa Hates You” Christmases,
and “Thank You for Climate Change”,
for those who fired up the works on Independence Day.

Pinky was a minus sign in a plus-sized biz suit—
a fractious little number—
but the day she finally got some shag,
her heart bloomed into a redrum rose and
her words became sweet as a lollipop gag.


#Micropoetry Monday: Modern Proverbs


Life was a series of decisions, good & bad,
& to erase the bad,
would be to erase the good that came from it.

She awakens to the morning glory
of a second chance at Today,
by letting go of Yesterday,
lest it seep into her Tomorrow.

As their culture coarsened,
their morals softened,
& morality was seen as intolerant,
immorality, as compassionate.

Hope floats like unburied treasure,
in the form of the future,
which is fluid & subject to change—
so long as we change with it.

Life was largely happenstance.
We were all one person removed from our destiny—
one marriage proposal away from happiness or heartache.

#Fiction Friday: #Novelines from the Book


According to the elders, men weren’t as innately spiritual as women, so they had been given the priesthood to help them become more holy.

David had often said it wasn’t any surprise that more women would go to Heaven than men, because it was the men who started all the wars.

The separation of powers in the Church: men had the priesthood & could give blessings, even as the women had the power to procreate, to receive the blessings thereof.

A woman couldn’t love more than one man, but could love more than one child.  Perhaps because she was flesh of his flesh, even as the children were the flesh of hers.

Mother’s eyes were aglow, & I realized the elders had given her back something I hadn’t known she’d lost: hope.

Mother’s amber-colored irises had become luminous with religious ecstasy. She’d become as St. Teresa, leaving David to compete with God for her.

Mother had been a chrysalis—self-contained—but through the hope this “Plan of Happiness” gave her, she became as light as if she had lift.

My mother’s hands—hands that had once played music—now sought to become those of a common hausfrau.

Mother had been a feminist until she met the Mormons, but rather than softening her heart, her new identity would harden it.  She would become as ruthless as a man.

We faded out, like narrators of a stage play, the lights on Mother & the elders, the audience helpless to prevent her tragic conversion.

Writer’s Digest Wednesday Poetry Prompt #372; Theme: Bulletin Board


There were kitties for old biddies,
doggies for old foagies,
playmates for playdates,
and roommates for reasonable rates.

There were ads for crash pads,
clunkers for cash and cash for junkers;
“Wanted” posters of women gone wild,
and want ads for men in argyle.

There were notices of whimsical weapon auctions,
quilting circles, and square-dance partners;
scrapbooking socials and ice cream anti-socials,
Post-It notes and fliers to get out the vote.

There were business cards for back waxes,
ferly perms, and back income taxes;
announcements for risky business seekers,
perfumed piano teachers, and jouncy JED speakers.

There were circulars selling some things old, some things new,
some spouses to lend, and some things Wedgwood blue;
all were held up with pushpins and thumbtacks—
the needs of the community pinned to its cork.


#Micropoetry Monday: The Lighter Side


Mixed-Up Nuts
Peanut, Almond, & Cashew
went to get their DNA checked,
& found they had been totally cracked;
for Peanut, who was the only one
who liked to be boiled,
turned out not to be one of them,
but a legume.

Type A was the Bachelor of Science,
Type B, the Associate of Arts,
but Type O had University appeal—
being a Universal Donor.

Orange hated being lumped in with Apple,
as he was quite pithy & had a zest for life,
whereas Apple often ended up sauced.

Like a potato chip,
she was salted &
browned to a crisp.
When she was bagged,
she was just full of air.

Hammer, Anvil, & Stirrups
wanted to start a band called The Ossicles,
but sister Cochlea was too wired.
She told them to stop the racket,
& so the boys decided to translate sounds,
waxing at all hours.