Dream Leader

Follow my dreams?

No sir, I will not.

They are ‘my’ dreams.

I will lead.

And I will live them how I choose,

Deciding what compass and speed.

You will see me smiling, wind in my hair, with nothing but fires of determination lit in my eyes.

Watch my dreams chase me, and try to keep up!

For they’re mine, and a girl like me, only has her dreams.

Never lose sight of a dreamer like me, I will amaze by magic and show you the impossible.



Image result for funny deaf

For Argument sake

How does wind blow through your ears,

But yet, you never hear?






Greedy roots outstretched for alms

Scavengers are inflated for sunlit cons

As dirtied laundry wedgies hide in cracked nail beds

Dissolving the bones hidden in closets of newlyweds

Sunburn their hearts filled with cemented spite

To jump off cliffs from death defying heights

All for the fame of nine innings at bat

But you must be a fool, for we all smell a rat

Double-crossed gamble with streets stinking hoodwinked

Organized crime of goodfellas,  the chaos has you linked

Kiss that stub of a finger and pay your phoney respects

This is murder for hire, an addictive but antiqued retrospect




Beware the Frogman

I had a request to re-blog an older post I had made a few months ago…  enjoy!


Thanks to Devious Bloggery  for inspiring this bit of silliness with his blog today- Field Guides and Frogmen.

I love creepy urban legend tales of the unexplained!


Here’s your story on the misadventures of Missy Barton Devious Bloggery! You have most certainly given me the giggles! I hope you find it ribbiting! (heehee!)

Beware the Frogman

Erstwhile upon an epoch…


Squeaky Miss Missy Barton, was not use to living a life so strictly spartan,

She decided to go a jumping into reedy Isabella Lake, wearing her only plaid Tartan.


She was a few days older than just sixteen ,and maybe a smidgen and a speck, or just a bit naive?

Not to mention wide-eyed, innocent and sore gospel aggrieved.


Oh how she fancied those fairy-tales so exquisitely penned,  living so brazen with pinks and in purple sin.

But she wickedly dreamed nightly, of castle knights who would touch her rosy chagrin.


Whilst exploring the lake on a hiking odyssey, she heard the provocative ribbit cacophony.

Humming it’s pleasure to the strings of her young high pitched heart’s frail modesty.


Sitting prestigious there on a sun warmed rock, she found him washing out his colorful socks.

This Frogman, bare web was sitting there looking dashing and all dapper in his tight fitting frock.


Turning her direction and catching her glance, he flipped out his tongue to flash with a lewd jiggy dance.

Delight escaping by contagious giggles, they could only adore fate for this rare happenstance.


Then jumping up close to spring up beside her, he burped a hello hoping for love, and to inspire.

Puckering his wet lips like in her fairy stories told, and cajoling a tease for a gentle reminder.


What could it hurt just this one simple kiss?

If there is magic afoot, he could then be her charmed prince!

Leisurely leaning into a painted slime smile,

and giving it her darnedest to make it worthwhile!

The longing and loving tongues tried to played,

but Missy has never kissed a prince or frog since to this day!


The jesters and bards try to tell it all in song,

of the day Missy from Isabella Lake got it terribly wrong.

Of course the Frogman took his wet sloppy kiss,

but now Missy must live with the memory and regretfully reminisce.


When one meets the Frogman and with him you cavort,

the only magic that happens is you end up with warts!








Butterfly Fancy



A creature of secrets,

One that never reveals

Believing nomadic life

Is one that is ideal


Abandon peculiar curiosity

Spurning all those who judge

Stalking, arms distance

Before pretty warblers begrudge


Cares of shabby shrubbery

Are scintilating delight

Kissing children’s noses

Their imagination takes flight











Comfort Eating

Emotions escape by us all. Those dodgy lowball bullets of confidence, maybe a bit sifted through with those antiqued sieves and then stamped counterfeit, squeak in retreat.

‘Give sentiment, be not sentimental,’ she chides the king of cake.

As is the lady’s way of dismissed privilege, to chide, not knowing the first thing about silver plates or bullets.

Later in cloaked midnight, temporary airs are discarded. Apparitions appear all the same while laughing in platinum frosting.

It was that moment, I myself, felt domestically feral. Turning to make contracts of tears that bite hands, and feed on others guilty pleasures.

Open wounds of the heart only heal, when the chocolate is buttered, creamed, and gloved in silk.





The god of thunder paid a visit today,

Sat down for tea and blusterd away

With his little pinky curled, exceptionally high

Proceeded to bellow and complain, he made me cry

His new lover, Windy, was right on his heels

Mouthy and a bit crazy,  she created an unnecessary ordeal

Snarling her contempt,  in a jealous rage

She puffed up her chest, and began her rampage

Him with his rolling laughter, only fueled her fury

I fled as fast as I could,  away from these bullies

It wasn’t long, till my champion the sun

Broke through their anger, and told then they were done

Ten minutes of my life, and I felt like a cold coward

But my  sun smiled again,  and even brought me flowers