I didn’t want to fight. I wasn’t made for battle, I was made to sit on a throne and be quiet and pretty.

When my brother ran in, he was already mortally wounded and died in my arms.

His blood was the anger I needed to pick up his sword and fight back.

A rebel entered. Had I been empty handed, he may have left, but I was armed, and he engaged me.

His sword came down, and I saw the faces of my people in his blade.

I hacked and stabbed and finally killed him.

But all for nothing.… Read the rest

Getting ready for work, I have a smile on my face and a lightness in my step and in my heart that is unusual for this time of morning.

I have coffee, get dressed, get to the office early and have a great day.

I go home, have dinner, chill with the people I love, and get into my nice, warm bed.

There’s nothing amiss, there’s nothing to complain or worry about or fear.

I am able to slide between the sheets and fall asleep without being scared for anyone at all.

Cable news went off the air this week.… Read the rest

What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?

Something like this.

I’m always putzing around in my leisure time. I’m on my laptop picking away at something or reading what someone else has written, I’m scribbling in a notebook, I’m reading on my Kindle, listening to an audio book, or holding a paper one in my hands, which is too infrequent these days.

But I enjoy putting words on screens and papers, I enjoy getting them out of my head and my hands and making them into something someone can use, even just me.

I want more than … Read the rest

What’s your dream job?

If you’re here reading this, you’re sort of looking at it.

My dream job is to write for a living (again). I got a taste of it for a few years when Newsbreak was just throwing money at me, but that income source dried up like an old African desert well and the tap has never really been turned on for me again.

So, I write.

I write poems every day, not because I think they’re going to make me money, but because I love writing poetry and I think the more I write, the better … Read the rest

He slams the cash on the counter. “I need a bouquet with a hidden meaning.” He’s not the first to ask.

“What meaning, sir?”

“Murder.”

“Murder again!?” the shopkeeper exclaimed.

She puttered around the room and talked:

“Well, my heavens, sometimes I wish I didn’t keep promises, like when I promised to keep this shop open after my grandmother died. She passed the magic along to me, though. Don’t worry, dear. I’ll solve your problem.”

She presented him a bouquet of the deepest red roses, and he watched her spray them with something.

“Don’t sniff – only her.”

“Who?”

“Your … Read the rest