Category Archives: Writer’s Island

July 17 Jae and Aedan

Writer’s Book of Days prompt: in a state of disarray

Writers Island prompt#12: Reunion

Aedan looked at her standing there wrapped in a blanket, holding a knife, fierce and afraid but facing him down anyway.  He stood still with his arms at his sides.  He didn’t want to give her any more reason to fear him.  He knew he had handled things badly.

He sat down.  It was all he could think to do.

“Wait.  You remember?  You were there?” Her hand tightened on the knife.  “Was it you?  Did you bite me?”

Aedan frowned. “No it wasn’t me!  Think back.  Don’t you remember the wolves?”

Jae thought about that night.  She remembered a large gray wolf.  Aedan was a dark chestnut in his wolf form.  She felt some of the tension leave her muscles.  She thought again about the wolf.  She always thought her dad made him leave but she remembered there being more than one wolf.  Her da couldn’t have beaten them all off.  She was so scared and it hurt and everything seemed to happen so fast.  She remembered another wolf snarling and…”It was you!  You attacked the grey wolf! You made him stop biting me.”

“That was Liam.  He was a new wolf.  Very strong but not a lot of self control.  He moved too quickly for me to stop him completely.  I hoped you wouldn’t change, but I was too late.”

Jae shrugged. “So why didn’t I meet Liam when I was with the pack?”

Aedan looked towards the woods.  “Liam is gone.”

Jae watched him. “So why are you here?”

Aedan looked back at Jae. “I wanted to meet you in human form.  Simon sent a message telling me you were here.”

Jae sat down, still keeping her distance. “Simon.  I should have known.”

Aedan smiled. “He meant no harm.”

Jae was quiet for a moment.  “Your eyes are the same.”

Aedan stared at her. “So are yours.”

For More Wolf Moon Stories click here


Writer’s Island #11 prompt: Treasure
we search and lurch
from dream to dream
hoping for well
that makes us less
or makes us more
yearn for shore
on the shore now
thirst for
what was first but now
is last beginnings never
last for we
are moving ever
forward when we
only want to stop the clock
and stay a moment
for a day or maybe longer
time to hold it in
be stronger than
we were the daydream
passes without notice
hours and minutes
taken from us
by the choices
voices of
the ones we love
and those we don’t
the soundtrack in
the background wind
will blow the treetops
over and the shade will hover
for a second then
the sun will out again
our breath our heart
beat from within
without the hands that
hold our days and ways
of passing time
the search is quest is
journey through
the best is still
a part of all our
memories of days
and trees

Vacation Begins

Writers Island: Imagine

There is a feel to Florida
like nowhere else I’ve been
the ocean softens the air
lazy hazy heat
back in the day
palm trees made me smile
tall and thin
strong and I
eager to run in the sun
I can still imagine that girl
and love the feel of sand
between my toes
but now I feel more kinship
with the liveoaks
dripping with spanish moss
I would sit in their shade
and listen to the bullfrogs
smell the ocean
and watch the palms sway
like so many ladies
fanning themselves
whispering secrets


Writers Island: Change One Single Impression: Dawn and One Word: Tide

if I held the moon
in my hands
I would command
the ebb and flow of
ocean tides
hidden strings
wolves would sing
their night song
gazing at my face
my light would paint
the trees and streams
and though I change
and disappear
I would return
huge and bright
haunting  dreams

if I held the sun
I would pour it out
flowers lifting faces
following my path
I wake the birds
to sing you the dawn
while I bath the sky
watercolor ballet
delicate traces
bring forth sweat
as you toil
then rock you at eventide
a symphony of royal purple
and flame
setting and rising
warmth my name

But if I could breathe the wind
I would cover the sun and the moon
with clouds and
blow them all away again
make you chase your hat
while I laugh
the trees would dance and bow
as squirrels cling
the oceans leap and burst
spraying the sky with diamonds
seeds scatter to wait
for the sun
carry the birds
fill the sails
in darkness and light
power of butterfly wings

Monkey Thinking

One word: brave Writers Island: Gift

I am not brave she said
there’s monkeys in my head
they scream and rattle
bars and scars and would you
please just take a look
the answer wasn’t in the book
she held the light and looking in
I saw the wires tangled tin
and copper mangled how
the mess was made
she didn’t say but I
knew time had passed and
problems massed and
worsened with neglect
prone to misery abject
the words won’t come and
ideas fade to boredom made
from separation
objectification instant
gratification no easy solution
too much thought pollution
I gave a description
of the prescription
get out of your head
you see where that led
set shoulders stiffened back
try to fake the things you lack
beat it with your tiny fists
always planning making lists
striking out against the tide
better to just let it ride
don’t hide your pride
is not your friend surrender
doesn’t mean the end you’re
in the stream the dreams
of other lives will carry you
just sink into the link to
all the waters flooding surging
changing paths and paths converging
lines will blur and colors soften
even birds ride currents aloft
let it go and simply float
and maybe
rock the boat


Writers Island Prompt#5 Blindside

I don’t know much
for sure it’s such
a truth that I know
less than last
the past is gone and
isn’t it just like the present
to visit when I’m not home
dancing in the future
a barefoot roam
certainty was solid
once but shifting sand
was all it took
to creep behind me
sneak up on me
turned my head and
blinked a breath
the side I couldn’t see
was always where the
trouble be and just
when land seemed
close at hand
the storm blew in and
blackest night took
out my sight and
with a tug the rug
that was my home and faith
was shaken and no longer
a phoenix bird can rise again
I heard and though
I’m not a bird
I learned a bit you know
about the rising from
the ashes from the
crashes life bashes
blindsided upside
down and inside out
a doubt just close
your eyes and breath
and pray

Where I Would Go

One Word: Lashes and Writer’s Island: Stowaway

I would like to be a stowaway
a castaway, a vagabond
a kite blown where wind blows
that knows what wind knows
and take all my hungry eyes
can hold under lashes
sleep heavy dream wishing
deep fishing for blue sunfish
train hitching nerve twitching
car jumping hitchhiking
sun melted snow pelted rain
of millions of days liking all
that I see and seeing all that is shone
and not shown if you don’t
stray from main roads and
cities of boxes and boxes and
shopping and carpool and tennis
and tanning and Sunday and golf
for me I will take the old man
on the porch or the shade tree mechanic
Tim down at the Dixie Cream
that sponsors the ball team
coached by that guy that plays
banjo on Saturday night in
a barn out on highway halfway
to the graveyard where willows
weep lonely past road signs
and white lines that go on forever
that’s where I would wander and
wonder and ponder and walk
down the white lines and pass
all the road signs till sunset sets
low and the lights shine and glow
and go on to the star shine
and moon shine the state line
yes there I would go

Mountain and Valley

I am working on a story but it has a mind of it’s own and wants to wait.  Paschal mentioned Pando in a post (a clonal colony of a single male Quaking Aspen in Utah, connected by one massive underground root system). Next I read a quote on zen and reverence on about breathing in and out – greeting and acceptance and the prompt on Writers Island was Message. Connections, intentions, commonality, all on my mind so I hope this will count as an Event.

You would think
Just glancing at us of course
That we are nothing alike
My eyes are smaller than brown
Yours huge as the sky
My mouth, plain, unsmiling

I don’t live here, never did
But you and yours are all up and
Down this valley
I worship on the hilltop
You dance in your glen

I inhale the scent of honeysuckle
Fanned by the robin’s wings
He flew in this morning from
His rambles in the valley
Where you sighed at the sunrise beauty

Over the apple trees that rooted
In rain washed soil from the mountain
That once bore the footprint of my mother
Feet bared, wriggling in cool mud
Through branches where your children climb

Then and now and time to come
Witness borne by earth and sky
Tendrils of all life enfold the roots and
Seeds of lives entwined the message
Carried forth on foot, by sigh