Love Fool

I came to the park today

To sit on this bench

To watch the children play

I think about my true love

And how she went away

I wanted her for myself

She always belonged to someone else

On my shoulder, she did lean

When the world was being mean

In my arms, she would cry

When someone else left her side

For many years, I would see

The curve of her smile

Her happiness and glee

Her best friend was all I could be

For my love, she would never know

I was too fearful to let it show

Today, she said goodbye

Yet another stranger by her side

Oh, she will return once more

Knocking on my door

And whisper my name

With no boundaries

With no shame

When the world closes in

When her soul is weary

From the wind

And I will play the fool

Once more, once again




The Great Laundry Mystery

Laundry days at my house are usually somewhat dramatic. When I became a single dad, one of my biggest challenges was the dreaded washing, drying, folding, and putting away of the clothes that accumulated in our laundry room. My ex-wife would always take care of these sort of things. In fact, she insisted on it. I figured it couldn’t be that hard to keep up with it all. I was wrong. I was conclusively wrong. It is of great assurance that I can say that at this moment, laundry and I are not friends.

Now, it came to my attention one day, that my boys would on occasion, sit around the house in their underwear and snack. The snack of choice also happend to be one of a distinct color. Cheetos are probably not the best snack to eat while sitting in your underwear. Their argument was one of validity and one that I could not counter.

“We don’t have a woman around to tell us we can’t.”

For this reason, I set forth laundry rules. The first rule was that everyone would do their own laundry. This rule appeased all parties involved. They didn’t want me to see their underwear and I didn’t care to. I already knew of the Cheeto smudges and didn’t want to think about anything else that may be on them. The second rule was that in the event that the boys needed the dryer, and my clothes were in the dryer, they under no circumstances, should fold my clothes. This rule stemmed from a situation that occurred one day while I was at work. I should have known better than to let teenage boys match my socks. This was another chance to bring up an argument. This time, they couldn’t match my favorite socks because the dryer and socks apparently were plotting against me. The mates were missing! According to my oldest, the absent socks were sent into a great dryer abyss. Only the dryer knew where this black hole led. I always thought that was a myth. Maybe it isn’t. My socks still come up missing, so maybe the dryer and socks are plotting against me. Well played laundry!


Excerpts From My Ebook

Here are a couple of excerpts from an Ebook that I am working on. It’s about an investigative reporter who is murdered, but quickly becomes an entity that helps detectives solve his murder from the Spirit world. Hope you enjoy!

Excerpt 1:

I quickly turned beside a building on the next block and up a small alley. Maybe he would pass by and I would know that he wasn’t following me. There should be no reason for him to come this way. Nothing back here but posterior doors to greasy restaurants, smelly dumpsters, and alley cats anticipating their next meal. I saw him walk past the alley. I waited a full minute. Nothing. I rapidly walked back toward the street and turned the corner. Instantly I felt a stabbing, sharp pain in my left side. The pain was intense and hot. The wounds were deep. I couldn’t speak, my breathing was suppressed. I met the stranger’s stare. His cold blue eyes pierced me as deep as the blade had. Why would you? How could you? As I crumbled to the pavement, his plain black hat, and a tattoo of a pin-up girl on his neck regulated into my impermanent memory.

I stared into the darkening sky. The rain splattered across my face. The sounds of the city were evanescent. I died at 7:10 pm.

Excerpt 2:

I was conceived out of lust in the back of a soup kitchen in downtown Atlanta. I was born to Mark and Juliet. Yes, my mother was named after Shakespear’s Juliet, mainly because my grandmother, who was of German descent was a lover of classic literature, as well as classical music and fanatical religious clergymen. It has always been rumored that my mother was the love child of one of the clergymen, but one can always assume, as my grandmother accredited, that Juliet was the daughter of an anti-war hippy named Dutch. At the age of twenty, my mother who was an English major quit college to pursue what she called, a lifetime of love and healing. To help the unfortunate, misplaced, and underprivileged. She started work at a bakery, much to the reproach of my grandmother and soon after, started volunteering at the aforementioned soup kitchen. There, she met my father, who was not there of his own accord. His appearance was solely based on community service in which he was obliged to because of a DUI. My father, unfortunately, was also a college drop out. According to him, a psychology degree, would only manage to burden him with other people’s problems and circumstances.

About nine months later and not much time wasted, I entered the world. The first five years of my childhood consisted of constant arguing and fighting between my parents, who seemed to lack self-control with curse words and alcohol. My mother usually worked two jobs, my father rarely worked one. I spent a lot of time with my German grandmother, who by then appeased her lack of social skills with televangelists and romance novels. She taught me to read before I even entered school. I immediately found an escape with words and writing. Around my sixth birthday, my parents entered divorce court. My mother had found that my father was not just an alcoholic who was a leading economic indicator, as he was largely unemployed, but that he was a homosexual as well.


Life is Short, So Live Long

I am a father. I am a son. I am a brother. I am divorced. Three years ago, my wife decided to pursue other interests, with whom she is living with now. I can honestly say that I trusted her with everything in me. We were married fourteen years and had two wonderful boys. We had good jobs and a nice house on the lake. Life was good. Now, I’m not one to post blame on my ex-wife for everything that has happened. Although I had been faithful and good to her, I’m sure perfection was not a trait that I pursued with passion. I’m also sure that it did not stalk me with ambitious steps. Looking back, there were things I could have done better, things I could have done to stabilize our union. She started to pursue her interest in early March and confessed to it in early June. I was not blind to her change of habit and routine, nor was I accumulated to it. She was simply not happy and she didn’t try to hide it. I had a lot of peace with the actual act of adultery. A few months later,  however , the emotional roller coaster fired up and it was a hell of a ride.

Divorce takes a lot out of you. I don’t recommend trying it, but if you’ve been down the dry and dispirited road that intersects with lonely avenue, then you know what I’m talking about.  I wasted no time on introductions and was quickly in another relationship before the ink could dry on the divorce papers. My new relationship with a wild brunette was built on carnal desire and immoral sexual attraction. Our transgressions outweighed the need for meaningful conversation. She was transparent and flirtatious. I justified her generous affection for the opposite sex as misplaced guidance from parents that had too many children and elevated blood alcohol levels. It didn’t take long for that relationship to turn into a complete disaster. One day, while the boys were with their mother, I began to take a long look at my current situation. I missed the companionship that marriage brings, but did that mean I had to be in a relationship all the time? I always felt like I had to go to dinner with someone or hang out with other people. I hated being alone. Why? Was I such a boring person that I couldn’t do things alone? I sat there in my living room with loneliness trying to suffocate me and made the boldest decision of my life. I decided to love the skin I was in. I wanted to be me again. I soon began to spend more time with my boys and at least a couple of times a week, I would spend time with myself. I went to the movies, bookstores, coffee shops, dinner and even museums, all on my own. It was like date night with myself. I felt free. I signed up for a few college courses. I told my boys to live the life they wanted to live and not to settle. Set goals, buy a house, get a college degree, travel the world, raise a family. Just live and love yourself. Don’t let other people dictate your life. It took me over twenty years to figure that out. I know I have to take a chance on love again. But I don’t have to be pressured into it. I don’t have to manipulate it, stimulate it, or go out and search for it. When I do those things, I tend to land in the wrong types of relationships. So, I will wait for it to just happen. Until that moment finds me, I will love myself and I’ll be happy with me. Life is short, so live long.