Curled Up In You

Curled up in ringlets Electric parts of you, Shoulder length distractions Thoughts are all askew, Hope for sleep abandoned Your pillow’s made for two, Nose to nose connection Our favored point of view. Random touches, random whispers, Fingers playing finders keepers, Hidden fragrance in your smile, Let me breathe you for a while. Chastened by your virtue Encouraged by your sighs Midnight flame rekindled My … Continue reading Curled Up In You

TwitBook

Well, TwitBook came and electrified Put-down words and the antikind Pushed around the peaceful sign New hope for the feeble mind Polished speech from political swine Faceless screeching twittering tool Stubborn resistance like a mule Spreading by-waste as a rule Clueless, useless as a fool Stuffing blinded eyes with wool Rolled downhill like a stowaway Stepped on you like a runaway Took the dark one’s … Continue reading TwitBook

My Catalan Love

Susanna Avila, my Catalan beauty, woman of Spain. Coy smile held mystery, Unknowable history, Too briefly our souls entwined; This beauteous love, my destiny. Soulful gaze, emerald eyes piercing, Black hair dancing with night, Skin purest translucent white, Slender and graceful, slim elfin form, Delicate, raven-haired sprite. Ivory shoulders, smooth marble breast, Face fairer than Venus’ race, Spirit virgin, chaste, Ethereal, supernal essence; Tender, enchanting … Continue reading My Catalan Love

Cast the First Stone

From my amniotic nest I emerge untainted into the cold metallic light and harsh steel voices disconnected from the comforting lullabies that whispered through my forming bones; with the cast of a stone I become a changeling and tremble wailing before those who will taint me with their jealous love and solemn oaths. Some things we learn and some we’re taught, others are innate; defenseless … Continue reading Cast the First Stone

Fathers and Sons

Birthed in promises unspoken, on a bed of dreams and ghosts, I grasped the pleading in his heart, but faltered at the post; Desperation’s embattled prayer in a father’s grasp for fate, For all of that I could have done it’s too little and too late. Hiding from the ancient child weeping alone inside my head, Looking down at no one, looking up at those … Continue reading Fathers and Sons

Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Alternating POV / Reality

I’m feeling my way through this “dabbling” in experimental writing.   The last time he visited Barcelona, he was alone. I was dead. He returned to our beloved city knowing he would find pain but hoped the numbness would lift as he remembered me in the neighborhoods of my youth. Instead, he found the city also in mourning. The warm glow of Gaudi’s lanterns had … Continue reading Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Alternating POV / Reality

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Thirteen

I left the Command Master Chief’s office practically walking on air. I wasn’t going back to Vietnam. They said I needed a break and would be replaced by another Chief who needed the time in-country. The tension had drained from me like shedding a layer of skin. The feeling of doom lifted from my shoulders and I felt twenty pounds lighter. What a relief. Sam … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Thirteen

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Twelve

Dense clouds of cigarette smoke assaulted my lungs as I made my way to the exit, already missing the scent of the beautiful woman I’d left in the back room. I had reached the door when I heard my name called above the screeching noise of the jukebox. “Frank! Hey, Frank. Over here.” I waved my way through the smoke; Sam gestured to me from … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Twelve

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Eleven

I’m glad Frank didn’t see my mouth hanging open as he left. By the time I collected myself the door had closed and shut him out of my sight. I understood then what people mean when they say their heart sank. I had lost something wonderful and my body was letting me know what a fool I had been. Instead of smiling politely and gazing … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Eleven

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Ten

I stayed behind after George left and played pool with the barmaids. When that grew tiresome I went into the bar and nursed a warm beer while deflecting playful propositions from the girls. It didn’t take long before they caught on and stopped pestering me to buy them drinks. I’m no prude, but I was never one to pick up women in bars; heck, I … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Ten

A Wished- For Love, Chapter Nine

George’s iron grip dug into my shoulder while his other hand crushed mine in a hand shake. “Hey, Frank, great to see you, buddy. Come on in and join the party.” I looked back to see if Marie might be following me. She wasn’t. “Come on, come on,’ George said tugging my arm. “Don’t be shy. You know everyone here, don’t you?” His southern accent … Continue reading A Wished- For Love, Chapter Nine

Status: A Wished-For Love

Thank you so much for reading along and supporting my effort. This novel is thirty years in the making and has been a journey of remembrance, blood, sweat, and tears. Most of the characters are based on real people. Tom’s and Sam’s Susanna was my girlfriend when I was stationed in Spain; yes, she died. Aida was a girlfriend in the Philippines. Lek was an acquaintance in … Continue reading Status: A Wished-For Love

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Eight

. Book Two Chapter Eight Olongapo, Philippines 1970 Frank and Marie The orange-red sun was setting on another sweltering day in the Philippines when our C-130 touched down at Cubi Point Naval Air Station. The war in Vietnam was nine-hundred miles behind me and I could finally relax as the target on my back melted away. The creepy feeling that I was a sniper’s target … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Eight

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Seven

I pumped my fist. The stars had aligned in my favor. The Gods had smiled on me. Clean living; that’s what did it. I could have kissed Steve. “What happened? How did he break his leg?” “He fell off a jeepney.” “How do you fall off a jeepney?” “Yeah, that’s what I asked. He was drunk and coming back from Subic City with some other … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Seven

Writing in “The Zone”

God, how I love writing in the zone. That period when your whole mind is so focused on the story that the story absorbs you and you become your protagonist. His emotions are yours, the blood racing through his veins is yours and the poundpoundpound of his heart is the poundpoundpound of your heart. The dialogue pours out, the conversation moves forward, the emotions tear … Continue reading Writing in “The Zone”

A Wished-For Love, Chapter Twenty-Two

I glanced up at Sasi’s balcony as I approached her building. Her rooms were on the top floor directly above the pool. I wasn’t surprised to see her waving to me. I returned her wave and walked faster. When I looked again she had gone. I pushed through the revolving door and strode through the lobby. The clerk called out but I ignored him; I … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter Twenty-Two

Beelzebub – I Lost a Draft!

Somehow I’ve contrived to lose a draft post of a little over 200 words. It’s quite deflating to see a work of two months flushed away into WordlessPress Land and not know how it happened. When I left the draft yesterday evening I felt it was shaping up into something I would be ready to post this weekend. My six verses of lyrics titled “Shake … Continue reading Beelzebub – I Lost a Draft!

Of Love and Memories

I wish there were more moments to recall, the ones that show us naked and afraid. Instead, I recall our time together as projections of idealized portraits, retouched and photo-shopped by minds unable to bear the sharp edges and blunt-force trauma that lovers stumble through along the boulder-strewn road of romance. I don’t want to recall only the good moments but the ungood moments too, but maybe it’s better that … Continue reading Of Love and Memories

On Writing: Hemingway on Writing, Ambition, the Art of Revision, from Abigayle Blood at Writer’s Blog

I’ve read some of Hemingway’s advice in other places, but this post pulls a lot of the best together. I was unaware of Arnold Samuelson and his connection to Papa; what a great story! Best of all, Hemingway shares his reading list for writers. Thanks to Abigayle Blood for the post. Enjoy! “As a writer you should not judge. You should understand,” Ernest Hemingway (July 21, 1899–July 2, 1961) counseled … Continue reading On Writing: Hemingway on Writing, Ambition, the Art of Revision, from Abigayle Blood at Writer’s Blog

On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,

This dark and deep poem from Joseph Emerson comes from the soul and brings to the surface the fears we all have about living life to the fullest without wasting a moment. I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in, I punched my way through the tamped surface a ghost of a chance, that I’d let … Continue reading On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,

A Wished-For Love, Chapter One

This is the final edit of chapter one. Feedback is welcome. Would you continue reading? Invocation Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam 1970 They say you don’t hear the bullet that kills you. How could anyone know that? Because, they also say, bullets move faster than the speed of sound. By the time you hear the sound of the bullet in your back, you’re dead. What if … Continue reading A Wished-For Love, Chapter One

Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

By Stephen McGuinness I feel my footsteps Count down days With chimed strokes Resonant, reflective. A sinus wave hearbeat Synchronous vibrations of Train beaten whispered Words on tracks. Calm, a balm, a salve. Chantors: ancient haunting Mantras, dripped holy oils. Smoke in tendrils, lifting, Rising: one, two, three, Expectant tension then Reassuring: four, exhale To begin once more. Repetition, confirmation, prediction. We seek out rhythm, … Continue reading Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.

February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.

By Stephen McGuinness Hanging yellow smoke, Remnant of blue coal Fire, retreats, yields ground To offered stars, becoming Magnificent in abundance. Time, slowed with motion, Allows a reluctant sun, Lazy with sleep, to Couple with a blind, Impatient world. Warmed colours run, then, Easily into one another. Streaks of glaring light Shower brazen stripes Over bleached winter streets Burdened with yawned Traffic, ploughing heavily Towards … Continue reading February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.

Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter One

. Chapter One Susanna Avila   The last time I visited Barcelona, I was alone. Susanna was dead. I had returned to our beloved city after her death knowing I would find pain, but hoping the numbness would fade as I remembered Susanna in the places we had visited. Instead, I found that the city, too had died. The warm glow of Gaudi’s lanterns had … Continue reading Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter One

Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter TBD

The days drifted slowly by, each one passing with the speed of sap drip, drip, dripping from a maple tree. Then, as the feel of Susanna’s body dissolved into particles of memory, each particle carrying a different part of her, and it took longer to call her face to mind, and I had to strain with my eyes closed to feel her lips, the days … Continue reading Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter TBD

Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter XX

Death came gently. The glow of life dimmed gradually until the candle that was Susanna snuffed out. The painful, wracking cough subsided and her breath became less labored. As death gathered her into his jealous arms, a calm repose relaxed her features and the lines in her face smoothed away. Her body seemed to sigh with relief. Susanna died peacefully in her sleep as her … Continue reading Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Chapter XX