Tag Archives: Prose

The Tracks–Home: Daily Prompt



The train rushed past my house every 27 minutes or so bringing millions of strangers to and from one of the largest hubs in the world, Penn Station. The noise of the train rocked my street and at times, shattered its foundation. It trembled at odd hours and to me always seemed magical. When the temperatures dropped, you could see small blue flames light up the hot tracks. It seemed this beating heart was always present.

Nothing is more extravagant, noteworthy, historical, romantic, nostalgic, and more like a house with hidden stories, than New York’s railroad system. To me its pulse housed all the “home” I’ve known. It sheltered my hopes for love and life and mystery.

I spent countless hours as a child climbing over the platform to sit as close as possible to the track. Other times I would hide nearby and imagine stories about the businessman walking in a hurry, the Muslim woman carrying a child..the homeless man struggling for warmth on a train car. It was all fascinating to me. Where were they going? Were they happy? Were they at their last stop?

As I got older I would sometimes ride the train to Penn Station or any other stop just to feel the train beneath me. To see the magic of a new neighborhood, to roam the streets..to let the mighty car pull me away from my own lonely thoughts. Some of the greatest memories of my life happened on that train.

Riding with a lover, all dressed to venture the city’s music— to navigate our souls and bodies. ( I can still feel the sting of his facial hair against my skin as we huddled in the corner of the train car). I can see the sneering faces as we laughed over the noise of the rumbling engine. Young lovers can be so disruptive.

His body was as strong and as powerful as the MTA car it seemed.

I secretly wished that ride would never make it to its final destination. The train sheltered us from life’s blunders. From the realities of love and its inevitable losses.

Writing poems on the Metro North train while crossing the Hudson..watching the river beneath me almost crash through my skin from the dingy window. Bringing my daughter on her first subway ride, all bundled up as a wide eyed baby..just looking out in amazement at the world rushing past us.

Yes, that train was home to me. And it still is. When I go back and feel the familiar rocking below me, see the strangers altogether as a family for one short ride–I feel safe. I feel hidden.

I’ve often wandered if my very elusive idea of “home,” will ever find me. By this age, I pictured myself on a rounded porch, overlooking the landscape, huddled in the kitchen over a pot of sauce, writing by the window…watching the leaves and our lives change. Finding peace in my heart. The house smelling like garlic, the warmth of candles, the hissing of a heater, the low toil of family life, mini me stumbling in for meals.. the security of the same strong, handsome face coming down our long driveway.

They are delusions long buried under those tracks by now.

And while those daydreams are simply, well… childish fantasy, the tracks past my early home are very real. They are waiting for me to step on and feel that long lost feeling of hope and love and maybe magic just one more time.

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For Him (Daily Prompt)



His power is raw.
He unravels and exposes

Dissects me.
Heals all of me.

His dark eyes startle me.
Stir me. Ache against me.
For me.

In dreams,
He trembles and climbs inside me
again and again
under our bare sky.

And I heal him.
Unravel him. Expose him.
Shield him.

And he stays…stays because
only he hears
the stifled knocking
coming from my heart.





The Withdraw: Daily Writing Prompt

The knocking in my heartw11-john-waterhouse-lamia
asked for one more fix.

His hot mouth.
The trance of pretty words.
Grand fantasies. Hope.

Just one more time.
To feel possessed. Owned. Wanted.

Same ending.
Raw. Exposed. Forgotten.

The knocking becomes an echo.


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Dreams within Dreams: Daily Prompt



” In love, we need to learn to let go.. holding on comes naturally.” One of my favorite writers spent his life trying to answer our questions. We have all heard the saying, if you love it..
Let it go. I never understood it until recently. We all are forced at times to give up and let go of our dreams.

I’ve always been a big dreamer– idealizing and fantasizing about the person or place that can set my heart free. I stumbled upon the closest I’ve gotten to that “place.” I found an inner peace in myself which enabled me to truly give myself. And my dream came crashing in…

It was a passionate, strong but dark vision that brought me a solace I’ve not found in anything else. The puzzle piece, the frightening vulnerability–
The hands in the dark. The vision.

But this dream was in and out of my life. And so when it got close again and walked back in.. my heart’s fear was that one wrong move– and it would be lost again…

I dived in anyway..clinging to this soul tugging experience, it was always dangling off a cliff. As much as I found satisfaction and bliss– you know the kind..the.. I’d go anywhere, do anything, say anything, to keep this near me kind of feeling… I could always sense a deep unhappiness in the other soul.

It was always painful to see my dream be realized, to have that arm around me, to feel his familiar smell, to feel safe again. Because a storm was always present. One slight.. And it would vanish.

You cannot hold onto a dream that already wants to go. And while the image of the family or love I’ve lost again will be a tough one to face for a long time… Especially for someone with no family and no stable rock like myself.. I know also I was not healing his ghosts. As much as it helped heal mine..and indeed gave me a few more.

I think if you find the puzzle piece.. And I was lucky enough to find it..You watch it walk away hoping that solace will be his someday. You hope that his heart is happier free.

And you try not to remember that dream, the mornings, the nights, the beds, the floors, the laughing, the crying, the jealousies, the life it brought. Even if you know that feeling in your heart, the peace and the fire will never come back again.

Fences (Daily Prompt)

Just a short lollipop yellow dress.
But its ribbons and threads
still remember you.

Destiny John William WaterhouseHands trembling over its seams.
The bright white and yellow flowers
against my tan bare shoulders.

Your fingers twirling the short ribbon
telling me to come near–
NO– nearer.

The dress danced over my knees
like my soul  just jumped out of a plane.

The yellow has not faded,
but the dress sleeps folded
on a dusty shelf.

When the barbed wire of your storms
start to climb high in my memory,

I pull out that yellow dress.
And remember how it thrust against
your fingers and words.

That one night
when our fences retreated.

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Daily Prompt: Love

Never knowing how long
his body might tremble above me.

Leaving an atlas of himself
for days, weeks… months..years..
The rage of startling separation.
Will he leave me at the shore?

My body would be sick with misty rain.

Seeing his mouth in dreams…
just an apparition?

His soul softens me.
Reawakens me.
Steals me.

Keeps me willing.

And I lay against the buttons on
His blue plaid shirt,
praying my submission
and my gypsy soul make him stay.

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Daily Poetry Prompt

w11-john-waterhouse-lamiaBody turgid and hoping.
Swollen as the tide.
Azure eyes.
The final devour.

Hands clamoring
Between ripples;
Cleaving, heaving, tugging
His yellow shirt.

Outstretched legs.
White sheets.
High Heels.

peculiar moans…

Grasping for air.
Face pressed to a mirror.
Bent in half.
Swaying then jolting.

Rolling tides and ripples.
Violent thrusts.
“Look at me.”
Looking behind.

Waiting for the withdrawal
And the return .

—- ME


Reckless — More Than a Broken Leg: Daily Prompt


Is it better to surrender blindly or keep passion at bay. Well, in my opinion, it is probably better and safer to keep it at bay. Kick it to the curb if it’s too much trouble, untie the strings, enjoy freedom, keep it from entering the small little dark room inside. But..Ive never been one to follow advice, even my own. And so, the biggest risk I took was stepping off the plane.


I let everything that was wound up tightly slowly unravel. Let myself lay like a child next to his blue plaid shirt, believed it all again..I built new dreams. I forgave. Nail by nail we rebuilt a shelter. Swallowed my fears that he would turn off again to me. I took the prize for its face value, with millions or nothing..over wine and candles or tears and rum. I wanted that arm on mine. I wanted his good, bad and ugly.

That last morning before the sun came up..I sat in the low corner of our room, looked out at the snow blanketed driveway..and pictured him walking toward me as an old man. Me waiting his arrival. Yes, I let myself flash-forward. I had never flash forwarded in my life!

Now he will walk down that driveway to someone else, walk in the door one night across from a different pretty face at our table. He will forget the nights he had nothing but my voice. Truth is both my legs were broken.

I was cut out quicker than a prostitute with a cashed check in hand.

Being blinded again by that familiar arm, watching his façade go to pieces..watching all of the routines, the promises, the dreams go in a flash again.. I realized that the ride was all mine.

And so I may be in a cast, but the blind passionate memories are good memories.. And getting off the plane was worth my heart flash forwarding. It meant I had hope.

So risk..it can be a good thing, but prepare the bandages beforehand.

Imitation and Flattery: Daily Writing Prompt

A decoy, an evasion.
The same stroll down the same
stretch of sand.
Carbon- copied phrases. Promises. Ploys.

A different woman’s skin to hook into.

Renewable forgeries, new faces.
The plot. Seeing her smile.
Watching her face change in passion –
To feel her slowly become a believer.
Her eyes soften, her body opens to him.

It is the ruse of lies
and even a trap of tears.
It is his blue eyes
conquering their momentary fix.

But, even the flatterer becomes alone
in the universe.
He is a weathered boat left at dawn,
with nothing but shadows on its pillow.


* The prompt was to describe imitation/flattery.

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