We Get to Choose

Yep, felt a bit spunky when I wrote this. But don’t we all know people who, through our eyes, their kindness fades or we see something in their character that we can no longer tolerate? We get to choose our friends, our partners. If our relationship with them causes us to feel emotionally damaged, we also get to unchoose them. Cool, huh? Easy? Not always. Still, life is short and we all deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. Because that’s what we give, right?

Meet Me Half Way



Meet me half way.


Without compromise our heels will blister

our feet will tear, crack and falter

We will stumble and crumble

and the road will rise and swallow us whole.

The demons will tug on our insides

until nothing is left but slivers of ice

cold and unforgiving.


Meet me halfway

and the rocks and cactus needles will subside

the path will straighten

the surface will be shed of it’s splinters

the shards of glass will dissolve into sand.


Meet me halfway

and together we will weather

each strenuous road

as we take turns carrying cargo too heavy for one.


image credit

via Uncompromising

He Ain’t Normal


Although I’d thought about it many a time, I made it through half of the summer without killing No-Account. So has Aunt Nolie for that matter. Her and that dead-beat husband of hers seem be back to some kind of normal — which for them  means the typical bed grunting.

I see No-Account out the window. He’s brought Dad home from another hot springs pool that was supposed to help with his arthritis.

No-Account walks through the door. He’s supporting a man under his arm that looks nothing like my dad. Looks like he weighs no more than a baby bird. Ninety pounds is what they say he is now. Skinny as a rail, not worth a grain of salt. Definitely  not strong enough to lift a hand on me — barely strong enough to lift a word.

Excerpt from the novel, No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham.

painting by Edvard Munch – image credit

via Typical

More than a Bloody Moon


Dad is slumped over on me now; half of his weight is on my right side, my right arm under his. I walk him to his side of the bed hoping Mother won’t wake up and see how drunk he is, see the blood I didn’t get the chance to wipe off his face. He lies down and is out cold. He’s good for the night.

I go into my room and see Delma asleep on her bed. I lie down on mine and stare up at the ceiling. A dim light comes through my window. The half-moon pays me a visit, casts shadows of a kid named Cono who never could beat Hicks Boy.

Well, I guess Dad has met his own Hicks Boy.

I can’t believe I’m not jumping up and down, celebrating. I feel kinda sorry for him, my dad beaten by a cue stick. The same man who, to my knowledge, never lost a fight except for in the boxing ring with Shorty Houghton when I was three years old.

I also feel pretty good that I was there for him, did something for him that maybe he’ll remember. But it doesn’t really matter if he remembers. I will. For the first time, I felt useful to him.

I hear Mother scream. I snap back into the present, out of my daydream. Maybe she’s woken up, has seen blood on her sheets reflected in moonlight, seen the blood on Dad’s face.

I start to get up but the quiet has taken over. I think I might just go back to sleep but the silence only lasts for a moment.

Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper by C. Dennis-Willingham

Image credit

via Dim

The Hidden to Light


Entertain me with your laughter

not your bravado

dance for me a jig

and smile when I join you

Extend your hand

and walk me across the water

into a field of wild flowers

Run without thought

to catch my hat from the breeze

Talk to me of topics peaceful

and fill me with stories of compassion

Take me to your favorite place

and share with me the secrets inside

Remove the metal around your chest

to show me the softness within.

And I will shelter you from the storm.


photo credit

via Entertain

The Woman’s Wee Man

So much did she love her wee Sammy Crockett

she kept him tucked safely inside her shirt pocket.

He didn’t much mind the prospect at first

he never was hungry, nor parched from a thirst.

The lining was soft, the fabrics in style

He seemed satisfied, at least for a while.


But the day she took him on a long morning  stroll

he started to feel like a con on parole.

He yelled from her pocket, “Enough is enough!

“Yes, I HEAR plenty, but I want to SEE stuff!”

Like bands playing songs, leaves blowing off trees,

a man at a circus atop a trapeze,

the people at market buying their wares,

the making of popcorn at our county fairs!”


Well, she loved him so much she planned to devise

something he’d like that would fit his wee size.

She built him a house from a splendid, smooth boulder

and attached the small building to the top of her shoulder.

She filled it with pillows, a couch and plush chairs

and cut out some windows to give him fresh air.

12488204 - image of a hand holding up a house on nice clear blue background.


“Look dear,” she said as they ventured to town,

“The queen has arrived with her shiny jeweled crown!

She continued to talk as she traipsed over ground

But her husband said nothing, no peep nor a sound.


She turned to the silence, looked in the wee house

and there, snoring deeply, lay Crockett, her spouse.

The townsfolk could hear as she said without doubt,

“He seemed to forget that he yearned to look out!” 

She carted him home, placed the house on a shelf

and decided to do something fun for herself.



Screenshot 2017-10-15 15.44.43



first image- 123rf.com

second image:  youtube.com “Walk cycle-the proud naked old lady”