Photos for January Stones and April PAD 2012 property of M J Dills (exception 1/16)

Sunday, November 27, 2016

Busy Editing, Re-writing and Querying

First paragraph of Chapter One
Full manuscript available upon request. (That's my baby we're taking about.)
We left on a frosty morning. The crunchy gravel stuck together with bits of ice as we walked to the end of Main Street, staying low on the side of the road, waiting for trucks. We half hid in the ditch and turned our faces from anyone who’d cheerfully report to our parents that they’d seen us loitering. When we climbed a ladder into the cab of a huge semi, I burned my hand grabbing an exhaust pipe next to the door. In the next few days, every time I gripped the neck of my guitar, I pictured that exact spot in the road. 
Thank you for reading...........

Thursday, September 1, 2016

This, the Life

Last year there were big full moons (all summer
from the back deck); August
was no exception. We began a cycle that
voyeurs, vagrants and tomato aficionados
missed out on.  Guests
filled our house with odors of sizzling fish
frying in the pan, saffron and rosemary, yellow
corn with melted butter between our teeth
oozed down our chins. Drinks mixed in
tinkling glasses. Summer ended with a sigh and we rolled
into autumn with untypical fears of the future, questions
of what might come of us. Us. There
was uncertainty and not a lot of rain; we could never
locate a damn umbrella.
sunk her uncaring teeth into our ankles and
we were uprooted, tossed over like so many
unwanted used women, skirts in the air, grasping
for whatever we could hold onto, slipping away, greased
by old gripes about things that no longer
mattered. Spring was an illusion; filled with cigarette smoke,
bad breath and messy hair.  The trap
that turned into summer
was nothing like what we expected; sunshine
eluded us, not one day at the lake… for a walk
or a sleepy blanket spread out on the lawn, corners
all bunched and sandals lost in the disarray. We
wouldn’t have cared but our spirits were wounded, like
bird wings after an unnatural beating. This year
we can put up with noises in the night, men
in bad shirts who give us a fright, not
knowing where the money went and giving in to
suitcase-dreams and ships that never reach the
shore. August
came and went twice while we waited for friends
to make a new acquaintance. We
waited for things to change. We waited for a miracle.

Thanks for reading........

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Weather Balloon

A narrative poem about a

Weather Balloon

It was dusk and sure, we were tired. Just kids, they said.
We sat around the kitchen table, weary
after skiing all day and walking home in
heavy boots, skis and poles hefted on shoulders and
almost empty knapsacks slung over aching arms. Perhaps
we were affected by some brandy we pretended
we didn’t drink or possess but that was
hours ago
and our heads were clear. Clearer than those
who had wisdom with age.
Whatever it was, it flew. It hovered and
Don’t cause trouble, we were told. We weren’t
afraid, we said. It didn’t scare us, we said, and
You don’t either.
The back yard was lit up by a January full moon.
Sheriff said It was a weather balloon.

He smoked cigarette after cigarette and
tapped the red formica with his pointer finger
every time he talked. Our feet itched
from woolen socks and our joints ached from
all day up in the valley.
It was a flash over our heads and then it
like it was looking at us and then it shot away
and held a space over the elementary school.
Then it went straight up. Hot
chocolate went cold and had an
unappetizing scum on top, lifted off
in one piece with a spoon.
It must have been a weather balloon.

The wash machine in the basement shook
like it was walking to Port Mary. Sheriff said
Can you turn that thing off, and
shoved butts around in the
ashtray. It was fast, faster
than anything we’d seen. No,
it was not a plane, sir.
The phone rang it was Teddy’s mom saying
There’s school tomorrow…
Can you send him home soon?
We must have seen a weather balloon.

We were just kids and we could hardly
know what we were talking about. Maybe
we were making it all up and
Plates with biscuits and gravy
were sat in front of us. We picked
and muddled. Why did they
call this old man to question
us? He was a buffoon.
He just knew it was a weather balloon.

Thank you for reading............

Thursday, July 7, 2016

The Big of Small

The smallest things
happen in a short
period of time and
we find our lives changed in
a big way.
The human blink is a
fraction of a second.
The trajectory of a bullet
can’t be changed once it’s released
but it takes almost no time at all to
pull a trigger.
A germ can float around forever
and land in a healthy system
with less time than it takes a
hummingbird to
The word
is one of the shortest in any language,
yet it can create the longest sentence,
as can a
The biggest things that happen in life
are often committed by the most
minimal acts.
We are all created in
less than a minute,
less than a second,
just a wink of an eye.

Thank you for reading......

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

PROSE Acrostic

Poets, writers and lyricists are ultimately
Responsible for everything magical, historical and imagined that
Occurs in and out of the world and common
Sense tells us that words are not only
Essential, without them we would be nothing


Challenge of

Thank you for reading.......

Thursday, June 16, 2016


I don’t have personal history so
I can’t truly speak of inner and
constant fear,
threat to safety,
misery of concealment.
What I have is familiarity,
memories of mirror balls and strobe lights,
techno decibels and Gloria Gaynor,
beautiful sweaty bodies,
glistening with rendezvous and desire,
walking home in a tropical dawn,
laughing with my gay boys, arm and arm,
one last cigarette and
maybe a splash in the pool in the dark.
Gathered in clubs with smiles large and
laughter unbound,
modified salsa way past midnight.
Never a thought of danger,
nor an allusion of dread,
no panic, no fright.
Shaking the images in my imagination
is not a simple process.
I can no way comprehend
the terror.
I cannot accept the anguish.
These feelings of loss and sorrow
are not mine personally but
they could have been
We could have been
My mourning is not extinguished.
My grief is still twirling on the dance floor.

Orlando June 12 2016

Thank you for reading.......

Monday, June 13, 2016


They told me M&M’s melt in your mouth and not in your hand.
And then they told me that Jesus loves all the little children.

Harsh reality is when you realize the teachers are not on your side and the principal is not your pal.
Boys only want one thing. 
That was wrong, too. 
They want much more.

Thank you for reading.......
(From Prose Prompt June 13, 2016)