Automatic Lightning


‘Connect.’  ‘Shun.’ Two words / concepts about as diametrically opposed as are ‘Fast’ and ‘Slow’. Either way will always be the same way: Chose. Only. One. The. Other. Has. To. Go.

Unless … Unless … the two were to marry. Shunning their individual singularity. Casting off, eradicating the negativity  keeping them apart. Allowing for an infinitely more life affirming bond: a true connectshun / connection born of the Heart.

You knew this. Deep in your wonderfully twirling swirling mind this truth you held self-evident. For, a ridiculously gifted girl, you were. My Gosh … glance at my 16-digit phone card twice and you use it without looking. Like freaking Hendrix. He never looked. Why would he – people don’t need to look at their feet when they walk.

They Just Walk .. Jimi Just Played .. And You .. You Just Could, In general .. You Just Could.

Standing there in the doorway … a still-life painting of a wildly gesturing pantomime. Your ‘Automatic Habit’ held in abeyance if only for a short time.

Yeah Yeah Yeah … And the way you looked was way beyond compare. Made you laugh. Made you laugh. Hard. Shaking your head / swinging your long brown hair.

It was that instant I knew you’d be mine. Smiling & laughing and looking so fine.

But your porcelain mannequin feared attack. Your smooth, young skin beginning to crack … where? … how much? … is it good? … I don’t care … Gimme Gimme Shelter.

Some shelter from the raining draining paining brain storm. Daily ‘must do’ notes and articles? Whatever. Splat. Balled up and thrown face first on the ground.

Spider Lightning in your head. Invading / Desecrating the newlyweds’ bed.

Believing that the Spider and Lightning know best. Searching for something Good. Then Beyond both Better & Best.

I CRY that You found it.

And pray In Peace You Rest ….


Automatic Habit

via Daily Prompt: Cranky



A Lovin’ spoonful of full moon fill. Slipping over the sides, running into my eyes.

Glass bead tears of silver blue and gold – the color of the sky, I’m told.

I’m 33 … 34 … 35 … years here – I’ve still got 13 … 12 … 11 more before I’m too old

Having a Love & Awe for all things Little & Great .. the tiniest little red bugs outside the coffee shop, the weird, ugly hopping whatevers outside your sister’s gate.

Cute & Quirky … while, at the same time … Cranky & Irate.

KILLING of any kind no no no no no not something you would tolerate.

But your automatic habit, girl. Your automatic habit, girl. That – RIGHT THERE – that

automatic habit of yours … can’t you see it? Can’t you see it? Can’t you see it escalate?

It’s ripping your mind. Stealing your time. Spinning it’s lies in a rhyme. Taking every penny, nickle & dime. NO! It’s not yours. It’s I me mine I me mine I me mine.

Patty. Allison. Mike. Peter. Endless others enduring their daily druthers.

You … a tiny star / a tiny scar / trying to navigate your tiny car / up the hills / chasing the thrills – the shiny poison pills / black eyes / mean guys / a smooth talking oil slick / tricking you with its silvery shtick / c’mon on in – there’s plenty to go around / couldn’t get traction on the slippery slope ground / tires were bad bald and flat / not going to climb a hill with tires like that / sliding down down down into the past / at first slowly / then faster than fast / a backwards race with a finite finish line / spinning out of control out of control / nothing to grab onto / nothing to hold / it was too strong / too long / too big too bad too bold …

& all the while it kept on kept on singing your song

It kept on kept on stringing you along

An infinite free fall / A masquerade ball / Too strong was its call /

This Automatic Habit … that finally cost your Your All ……

Do you know you’re magic Yeah, you little star

Walkin’ through the world Breakin’ peoples heart
Do you know you’re magic Yeah, you little star
Well, shine on, shine on

Back and forth across my heart I won’t forget you, little star
Little star

… Written for my dear friend, Angela

whose ‘automatic habit’ {a term she coined} stole her from us all

I’m so profoundly sad to say goodbye.

Starlight .. Star bright … 624 Stars on a starry starry night …

(Little Star lyrics / Bob Welsh)









We Three

winebuffaloIvia Daily Prompt: Successful

Ev’rybody’s talking ’bout Bagism,  Shagism, Dragism, Madism, Ragism, Tagism

This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m

Ev’rybody’s got opinionism, derisionism, myopic stereo visionism, internal mental prisonism

This schism, that schism, is-m, is-m, is-m

All we are saying, is shake the stressful. Be successful.  Come Together.

It’s Us & You & Me & One & One & One is Three

Imagine. Peel off your face so you can see you staring right back at you.

How does it feel to be One of the Beautiful People?

Ev’rybody’s posting about aloofism, spoofism, goofism, burden of proofism

This Cat now dancing on Washington’s hot tin roofism

Ev’rybody’s waiting, grating, hating, debating, inflating, overstating, reinstating, translating

Ev’rybody’s a street sweeper looking deeper honoring their Mother their keeper

Yet …Worried maybe perhaps …

about our new lighthouse keeper …

under-the-carpet-sweeper peeper grim reaper

This-ism, that-ism, is-m, is-m, is-m

All we are saying, is shake the stressful. Be successful. Come Together.

It’s Us & You & Me & One & One & One is Three

Imagine. Peel off your face so you can see you staring right back at you.

How does it feel to be One of the Beautiful People?


NOTES: a) based on “Give Peace a Chance”/John Lennon /”Baby You’re a Rich Man”

b) in response to the word-of-the-day-prompt ‘successful’

c) & also, the barrage of fb postings re: the Presidential election


Eye Candy

via Daily Prompt: Retreat


Here we are, one day removed from the smorgasbord spectacle of specialty cheeses spread on specialty crackers. Of ornate cookies, cakes & quiches decorating the dining room table as proudly as any ornament dangling from the Christmas tree. Of the excess of this squared and that cubed. Of eye candy, fatty fruit cakes & candied cordials. Of sweet treats galore and more and more and, what the heck it’s Christmas, even more.

A day of giving & getting. Loving & letting. Eating without vetting.

Come Dancer and Prancer. Come Donner and Blitzen.Give Santa a call. Ask him to bring me a new suit as the one I’m wearing has gotten too small. It’s tight & it pains me. The pounds they have gained me. Whether I breathe in or breathe out – These colorful calories have made me quite stout.

T’was a glorious spread. Too much to resist for the eyes in my head. Trinkets & treats both respectable and resplendent. Chitter Chatter. Pitter Patter. Hopefully I can still fit in my bed & I won’t need a tent.

I believe I’ll now retreat to my room sweet room.

And don’t believe I’ll otherwise retreat any time soon.

NOTE: Written this day after Christmas / 2016 in answer to today’s one word prompt: ‘retreat.’ by Pr.

double filled bleu cheese

via Daily Prompt: Festive


Double Filled double creme chocolate sandwich cookies – with a hazy thought bubble containing the message ‘double filled / double good’ floating above a highly-detailed photo of same . Bleu Cheese veggie dip {announcing it’s wonderfulness with an ‘!’ no less}. Windex of ‘streak free shine’ fame & boasting of it’s ‘America’s #1 selling glass cleaner status – with the obligatory ‘*’ meaning: it may or, indeed, may not actually be ‘America’s #1 selling glass cleaner.’ The pint of Mod Podge sharing a sliver of the floor makes no such ambiguously declarative statements – instead, simply indicating which sheen variety is contained within its opaque plastic shell: Gloss – Lustre’ – Lustre to avert any accidental or unintended sheen application.

Taken as a whole – or, indeed, individually – perhaps one might find difficulty in discerning the festive nature or attributes of these varied products scattered about within arms reach of this machine now capturing their collective confusing relationships.

But each – to it’s own aficionado subset – would surely be as welcome & smile-inducing as the little toy cars left under the tree & discovered early Christmas morning by any pajama-clad, messy-haired, skin-apparently-glowing-from-within 3-year-old boy regardless of  Country / Language / Socio-economic status or any other perceived pigeonholed prejudice.

Some – most – all, actually if one really thinks about it – are open to interpretation.

The state or quality of being ‘Festive’ not excluded from this list *.

*  = this statement alone is open to your interpretation.

Either Way / With Without / Inclusive / Exclusive / Universal / Individual …

I wish you all not simply a Merry Christmas … but a Festive One as well.

NOTE: written this Christmas morning in response to the word of the day prompt:

‘festive.’ by Pr.