It had started inauspiciously, much as any other day. But that sharp, cold, Thursday morning was one that would shape history. Both political and religious history. It would be wrong to say that it 'changed' history, as history is an eternally changing story. History itself cannot be changed - only the telling of it.Not a single member of the congregation of The Church of Our Lady who arrived that November morning had any...

  THE CALENDAR TAUNTED JANE, its little yellow-highlighted square outlined in a bold red stroke mocking her lack of progress. ‘You’re going to miss the deadline, you know. I’m just six weeks away now,’ it scoffed. ‘Whatever made you apply for that fellowship anyhow, and what could the panel have been thinking when they gave it to you? You’re no writer; you’ve proven that over the past ten and half months.’ She glared at i...

Slowly rising. Slowly standing up. Slowly ascending, descending the stairs. Slowly and carefully. This is the way of the world for you now. And still the head is light. The sparkles are spinning, flying free. Up above the fray.  Leaning over, leaning down, forehead resting on your arms. Blood flowing back into your head. Surging out of your heart. Through your wretched flesh. A temporary trance, filling your mind with som...

Leaning as far over as she dared, she peered under the lake’s gently rippling surface. She could see all the way to the silt and rock bottom but couldn’t discern a black rectangle protruding from it. The phone was gone. “Stupid, stupid,” she muttered. “Where is it?” She risked leaning even farther, searching beneath the canoe but the old wooden vessel creaked in protest and tilted perilously, threatening to capsize. She s...

A day in my life without you is like a fog bank in the murky twilight, I see shapes and hear sounds but there is no illumination, no clarity. The mists hide the beauty of the woods and the twilight hides the day. Where is life without You bringing the Light? A day in my life without you is like a wintry day in the midst of haze, Forms are white and sounds are muffled, senses strain to understand. Drifts hide the beauty of...

"National Suicide Prevention Hotline. Project semicolon; please remember." A voice is pleading. "What did you say?" The question is uncertain. "National Suicide Prevention Hotline." A voice replies with more force. Hesitantly. "What is it?"  "One eight zero zero two seven three eight two five five." Again. "One eight zero zero two seven three eight two five five." Once more. "One eight zero zero two seven three eight two...

Uncle Jeff called them bear berries. That hadn't sounded right to Terrance. Now, so many years later, he recalled that long ago moment and curiosity finally lead him to search online. It didn't take long to find a picture of them. They were salmon berries. That was the succulent fruits he had found growing thickly and profusely on the briars out in the woods so long ago. He couldn't even remember the taste of them. Just t...

  The bus ride over to the museum was as painful as a tooth extraction without the laughing gas. Kids who were nearing adulthood acted like two year olds on Red Bull, bouncing in their seats, yelling at one another, popping gum, running down the aisle playing musical seats, ignoring the shouts from the teachers. We were on our last outing of our senior year, not that anyone cared. Most complained about going because who,...

When shall we wake?  Shall we wait, wringing our hands,Until our last child smiles no more?Shall we wait until he’s gone to war? Shall we wait, with a self-righteous tear, as last he feels his mother's love,And ends his life in the streets of our City’s empty heart? When shall we wake? Shall we wait, clicking our tongues as the newsman tells of the old womanwho suffered in the cold and gave up her will beneath the weight...

Note: This compilation occurred to me more than a year ago. In fact, the reason I logged on to Facebook on March 14, 2017, was to reach out to Alan and propose that we combine our efforts, merging his Colorado Calling and my Jersey Rejoicing into one poem. Instead, I learned that morning of Alan's passing a few days earlier. It threw me for a loop, and the idea got pushed to the back of my mind. But it was always there, t...

Old enough to drive. Old enough to own a car. Old enough to go steady. The first Saturday after Jake Terwilliger turned sixteen he went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get his license. He struggled a little with the written test, but he passed the driving part with no problems. It was a sunny spring day in the Ozarks. They drove his family's old '52 Ford during the test. Jake was used to it by now.  Before that, he...

It began. It was just a feeling at first, but I knew it was coming. I couldn't stop it, all I could do was wait and hope it passed me by. It didn't, it just grew and grew in intensity. But then... Wait! Had it stopped or was it just lurking, waiting to take me by surprise? I began to relax, relieved that it had come to nothing. That was the moment it sprang, and I couldn't avoid it! I fumbled in my pocket for something bu...

about 2200 words Hamlet and James Dean Died Youngby James Foley In Virginia, an hour’s drive south of D.C., there’s a huge white house—built in the 1890s out on a point on the Chesapeake. And this summer when I drove there for a Wednesday-evening literary-club meeting, a gale was churning the water in front and on both sides of the house. And somehow on that lightning-blasted and thunder-shaken night, this lit-up mansion...

"We can dance if we want to." So that's what they did. They drove about an hour away to the nearest honky tonk. The music was mostly Texas two-step and foxtrot but the band got a little funky at times trying new things. They danced that night, having fun and enjoying each other's company. It finally came, a magic moment, when they were dancing and the crowd moved back. Formed a circle. Clapping as they danced alone. One m...

I was tailing the unfaithful husband of a neurotic client down a dark alley when someone slipped behind me and put a gun to my neck. I heard Bugsy’s voice and knew I had a problem.“Frank Danger, P.I.!” he said with a delighted baritone that rumbled like a dump truck.“Bugsy.”He laid a heavy mitt on my back and sent me staggering. Bugsy was a great guy. I thought the world of him.“Hands up!” he said, “Turn around slow.”I ca...