Pastry (an acrostic poem)


Perfect doughnuts penetrated my persnickety consciousness

All demanding my devotion to their deliciousness

So I complied, completely cashing out with my confections

Taking titillating bite after bite to toast my triumph

Realize that these rare respites from my diet restrictions

Yields too many yummy yeast infused carbs for my blood sugar

Cube (an acrostic poem)


Cognac on the rocks was her drink of choice

Until about three in the morning, then she would bounce to bourbon

Both ice cold, just like the blood in her veins

Especially as she tossed the dice one last time with everything on the line.

Steak (an acrostic poem)


She took out the long wooden stake and drove it into his heart

The vampire shuddered once before collapsing to the tabletop

Emily smiled.  Buffy had nothing on her

Alan took a step back from her, horrified

Killing someone in cold blood because they liked their sirloin rare seemed a bit over the top

The Navy Blues ( a 200 word story) *disturbing content, please be advised*


The whiskey scorched all the way down as he took another swig.  He almost fell over as he ground out his cigarette.  That brought him face to face with that photo of her in that navy blue dress.

“I can’t believe you’re gone.”

A sob escaped causing him to slump into his recliner.

“We were so good together.”

Putting down the bottle, he picked up her image and gave it a sloppy kiss.  He went to put it carefully back down, but instead, he fumbled it.  The photo tumbled to the tiled floor, shattering the glass.  He groped for the now naked photograph, cutting his hand, but undeterred, he snagged it.  He sucked on the blood while staring into the picture’s eyes.

“You enjoyed that didn’t you, hurting me again?”

He picked back up the bottle and pounded what was left.  Snatching his lighter he set fire to her visage.


He watched her burn, yet even when the flames reached his fingers, he couldn’t let go.  Not even when she was just ashes.

“I told you I’d do anything to make you stay.”

He showed his fingertips to the navy blue urn on the bookshelf.

“See, I meant it.”



Blast (an acrostic poem)

Bombs went off in his head when Lindsey announced she was pregnant

Liam was blown away.  “How could that have happened?”

And that caused Lindsey to explode into laughter.

So now you want to know how babies are made?  That’s a riot!”

The roar of blood rushing to his head was the last thing he heard before he passed out.



Costly (an acrostic poem)

Casualty numbers kept trickling in

Obscuring the greatness of the victory

Still, Vincent had to admit he’d lost over a quarter of his troops

They sold their lives dearly though

Littering the fertile fields with their enemy’s dead

Years later the soil still held the scent of their sacrificial blood



One Fewer For The Enemy (a 200 word story)

The killing field surrounded her as if she was in the eye of the storm.  Bodies strewn all over, stabbed, shot, burnt.  Not another living soul was in sight.   Fallen comrades in arms were strewn among the remains of their enemies.  It was a miracle that she was alive considering how much of her own blood stained the ground beneath her feet.

Her unit had been sent out to stop the approaching horde.  Their village had been decimated by the plague, so they could only send out farmers and those too old to serve anymore.  She was amazed they had stopped the monsters from taking away what was left.

She was so tired, but there was still there was more to do.  She lit her torch and began to burn those bodies closest to her.  The stench of sizzling flesh stung her lungs and eyes, but she didn’t pause as she raced to set more of the fallen ablaze.

The battle had been fast, but not fast enough.   She tried to cry, but the tears were too tired to come.  As the moon rose, so did the fallen.  She could only set herself on fire.  One fewer for the enemy.



Push (an acrostic poem) part 1

Penny jogged down the block, her iPhone drowning out the world

Under all that workout sweat her blood ran cold

Someone had left a note explaining what she had to do to not be exposed

Her job was now to decide to murder or be murdered



Broken Accords

The framework of the accords were so biased against Francis that he didn’t know why he was even reading them.  He wished he could just draw a weapon and kill the man who was forcing him to sign it.  It might not end the conflict, but it would take out Geoffrey Winchester the Fifth, their best commander.  Francis could also imagine it would feel so good since Geoffrey was a pompous ass.  Of course that’s why Geoffrey’s bodyguards had made him surrender all his weapons before allowing him to “parley”.

Francis waived the document containing the accords at Geoffrey.  “Let me try to understand this.  We capitulate to all this drivel you demand and we get what out of it?”

Geoffrey smiled.  “Well good chap, you get to still be a country.  You keep your puppet government in place and enjoy a few more years of living well.  Otherwise I will roll over you and grind your little insignificant country between my thumb and middle finger, dropping the crumbed remnants to the scorched and salted earth I leave behind.”  He left his middle finger extended in Francis’ direction after demonstrating said grinding.

Francis looked back at the document, then back at Geoffrey.  Geoffrey’s smile grew larger, almost swallowing his mustache.  “Now you see how good a deal this it?” Geoffrey asked.

“Hand me a pen,” Francis said.  “I want to get this farce over quickly.  I have other things to do today.”

Geoffrey signaled for one of his men to hand Francis a pen.  As the man retreated, Francis tried to sign, but he couldn’t seem to make the pen work.  “I thought you wanted me to sign these accords,” Francis said.  He got up and held out the pen to Geoffrey.  “You try it.”

Geoffrey looked pissed, and all his men shrunk back a step.  Geoffrey’s temper was as legendary as his command of the battlefield.  He walked up to Francis, took the pen, and showed Francis that it worked.  “You and your people are uneducated idiots, aren’t you.  Maybe I should just rip this up and destroy you anyhow.”

Francis took the pen and paper.  He placed the paper on the desk then looked Geoffrey in the eye.  “Sir, I might not be educated in letters and numbers, but I have had a top education in what I am best at.”

“And would that be in screwing farm animals?” asked Geoffrey.  He turned to his men with a big shit eating grin on his face.  He was enjoying himself immensely.

“No,” Francis said quietly, “but I am a master assassin.”  Before Geoffrey could react, Francis spun and stabbed the pen into Geoffrey’s aorta.  He pulled it out just as quickly, spewing blood all over the tent.  As the other men drew steel, Francis smiled and licked some of Geoffrey’s blood from his cheek.  Yes, it did made him feel good.