Skip to main content

And Then What Happened

The day before boarding the train he read a story on yahoo of a tornado that hit
freight cars of a train passing through Nebraska. What he wanted to be thinking about was
meeting a random woman from an exotic place who was a brilliant conversationalist. You
know the type. Long black hair, eyes that write Bangkok Noir and the kind of lips that
make men leave other women. 

      A woman stepped into his view. She was tall with a caramel complexion and dark brown
eyes. She wore a faded slouchy orange dress, carried an orange snakeskin hobo bag, had an
orange and white pop art bangle on her wrist, muted orange wedges on her feet, neon orange
nail polish on her finger and toe nails and a tangerine beret that made him think of Kate
Middleton. She took his breath. His facial expression remained distant until her eyes met
his. A slow confident smile grew as she moved toward him. She took a seat across from him
and smiled as if she hoped she had found trouble. He smiled and said "I hate that

Season of Glass


  1. You've created a mysterious woman, I'm loving her snakeskin hobo bag and "eyes that write Bangkok Noir." The bit in quotes is brilliant.
    Here's my attempt:
    Story Opener

  2. "...eyes that write Bangkok Noir." Damn that's a sexy line. Excellent descriptive of the woman.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The 5 People Who Make Life Heaven

They listen when you need to talk Talk when you need to listen They know your darkness Let you know theirs Without judgement and expectation You can talk to them about how you see things They don't get angry or anxious when you disagree Trust you enough to say what they really think Read tweets and novels Never make you beg or grovel Won't allow it Remind you that you're better than that Lay some of their burden on you Let you behind their wall Feel welcome behind yours You feel each other with heart and mind Even if you don't explain yourself  They get you You get them These are the ones that make life worth living Make you love to be alive Reflect you to you Teach and learn Some days the lead singer Some days the band These are the ones You can count on one hand (c) Ron Kennedy 

Poetry Tree

I saw no birds grieve No fallen leaves No branches on the ground None made a sound It wasn’t rotten It didn’t die in a storm Capitalism came In its progress form To take one of my last  Best refuges from me I may be the only one who noticed The death of my poetry tree.


Photo by  Gustavo Spindula  on  Unsplash Sometimes I check my neck to see if it’s still Half red, half dirty and half um Andrew, I’m still gonna need some Help with that Math We live in an era where Before you even speak an opinion You might be attacked For what you have Or don’t How you look What you might say How you act Who you love Where you live That you give a damn about facts That you empathize with those cast As villains in the common narrative Or even that you don’t naturally fall in line Being of your own mind Self-educated Self meditated Spiritually in moments sublime I lay on my back & count the stars listening to For Now Thinking on philosophies that rhyme Alone & feeling fine.