Some Call It Art

graffiti wall art
Photo by Humphrey Muleba on

I stared at my work in frustration the canvas lacked something. The carefully posed model, her long blonde hair brushed back in tousled curls, the silky black lingerie a stark contrast to her glowing white skin, slim neck wrapped tightly with a dark purple scarf, bright blue eyes widened in startlement; it all lacked some vital spark to give it life. Then it came to me in a flash. I picked up my palette knife and plunged it down. I would make it right!  I would make it right! Repeatedly I hacked and thrust while my arm grew heavy and tired. Yes! Yes! That’s it! Just the touch that I needed! The rich red tones welled up and flooded over my model’s torso and the pristine blue satin sheets that framed her body. I stopped, drew back, left panting from my exertions and examined my work. Perfection! I dropped the knife letting it clatter to the wooden floor. I could never again match the sacred vision before me; I refused to profane my knife by using it again on a lesser piece. I sighed in ecstasy at the beauty lying before me then left the room gently closing the door behind me. My artwork lay there patiently waiting for my admiring fans.

“That sick son of a bitch has done it again!” Detective Dennis Stroud swore grimly squinting at the latest victim of the serial killer dubbed by the media as The Artist. “That’s the third one this week alone!”

Written for A Writing Prompt a Day: Write a piece about an artistic frenzy.



Go Dog Go Café


There is still time to participate in the Brave and Reckless Winter Holiday Writing Prompt Challenge!

This December, my thoughts have turned to the simple pleasures of the winter holidays. I have reached the age where I am a little weary of material possessions- well, unless it’s a book. There’s always room in my life for more books.  And I am pretty hustled and bustled out.  No matter what holiday you honor this time of year, I would love to read your writing about the things that don’t come with ribbons and bows that feed your soul (or that you long for) this time of year.

The Guidelines

  1. Send me a 25 to 500 word original, previously unpublished piece (and by that, I mean don’t post it on your blog before I publish it on BraveandReckless) focused on the things that are truly meaningful to you this time of year. It can…

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Salve For The Spirit

snow flakes
Photo by Mircea Iancu on

All of the countless promises
Made and then forgotten
Those bitter words and accusations
Both spoken and heard
The blows struck in anger, fear, and hatred
Both given and received
Every painful memory aching and sore
Scouring the boundaries of the soul
Covered over, encased, erased
By soft veils of white forgetfulness
Purged in that blinding blizzard
Angelic avalanche of amnesia
Smoothing over the caustic memories
That constantly burn and sting
Time’s gentle balm
The snowfall of my mind.

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge December 11, 2018: Write a piece of poetry using this phrase “snowfall of my mind”.

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge December 11, 2018

What Hell Is This


What Hell is this, bound and chained?
Tormented by the words you wish unclaimed
Constantly nagged by deeds you desire undone
Deep dark place bereft of glowing sun
However, the truth and beauty of your spirit be not lost
If you’ve the will of heart not to count life’s cost
Lift voice in song, celebration of the soul
Within the ranks of the warriors of light your name enroll
Take courage, strike against evil’s blight
Stand your ground; raise your weapons, fight!

82 Words
Weekend Writing Prompt # 84: “Celebration”


cafe caffeine cappuccino close up
Photo by Aphiwat chuangchoem on

The building was a tiny place, carved from logs, perched up high in the steepest mountain range to be found. The mute curl of smoke from the chimney was the only announcement of its presence in the snow clad surroundings. I fumbled my way through the heavy door, ducking my head beneath the low lintel. I staggered to the polished bar and shrugged out of my thick winter coat.  Foreign faces stared at me with lively curiosity. “Coffee, hot.” I croaked in desperation to the comely woman tending the bar.

“With or without?” she asked throatily.

“I take it with.” I said thinking that she referred to creamer.

Her practiced hands skillfully brewed up my request.

I accepted the steaming cup and gratefully took the first eager swallow. The next moment I was spluttering and spitting from my mouth, trying to rid myself of the sour coppery muddy taste. The café exploded with the laughter of the locals who had been avidly watching my every move. “What on earth did you put in there?” I asked peering fearfully into the squirming, wriggling, slimy black depths of the mug.

“Ye asked for ‘with’, did ye not?” The lushly curved barmaid asked in her thickly accented English.

“Yes, so?” I replied doubtfully.

“Here ‘with’ means bloodworms to add.”

“And these are bloodworms?”

“Ya, the locale specialty. Ye like?”

“Not really, can I have another cup, this time ‘without’?”

“Ya, that can I do.”

I set the first drink down carefully onto the bar and took a cautious sip from the new mug. This time undiluted coffee slipped richly down my throat. I sighed in relief. “Thank you, this is an excellent cup of coffee.”

“Tanka.” The free entertainment over for the day the crowd resumed their business of serious drinking.

A Writing Prompt a Day: The barista at the local cafe asks ‘with or without’ for every order. The towns people know to always say, ‘without’. But you tired traveler make the mistake of saying ‘with’.


library university books students
Photo by Tamás Mészáros on

What is your legacy?
What judgement will the rich depths of history
Claim against your name
Will it be obscurity or glory and fame?
Choose now for once and all time
How high are you willing to climb?
How low are you prepared to fall?
Then answer Fate’s resounding call
The blanks are for you to fill in
Be thou a shining hero or a dark villain.


Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Death Lies Nameless

ancient antique art death
Photo by Pixabay on

Death lies nameless and cold, alone in the dark,
Cringing, creeping, constantly chewing on life’s vital spark,
Silently relentless its stealthy icy teeth gnaw sluggishly from within,
Frigid voice whispering softly, sighing of secrets, sorrow, and sin,
Its gelid fingers slide sneakily, crippling bones and withering flesh,
Corrupting to staleness that which was once young and fresh,
The ebon void infinitely deep does quietly search for your soul,
Every movement and moment claiming its clandestine toll,
From death’s relentless pursuit, there is no relief,
A soft-footed hunter, it pads, a soundless thief,
Upon its exhausted prey, it does seek to leap,
Moreover, claim your very essence, forever to keep,
But allow in the Glory of the Light your spirit to stay
And the Power of the Word shall forever keep Death at bay
Therefore, banish all unspoken and disguised doubt,
In addition, let the Purity of Holy Truth brightly shine out.