Betrayed: By a Bitch with a Blade

Betrayed by the bitch who wanted my boyfriend

Betrayed by the bitch who went behind my back

Betrayed by the bitch who bedded my boyfriend

Betrayed by the bitch who wedded my boyfriend

{who became my ex}.

Betrayed by the bitch who done broke my heart

Her knife in my back twisting everlasting.

Betrayal done but still remain the scars.

Betrothed no more, divorce papers soon signed

Only one question to my Betrayer was there:

Ain’t karma a bitch.

daily prompt: betrayed


Anchor’s my way, my boys!

Flash-fiction, flash-thought.

Promptly — Micro: means beer!

Craft beers. The golden goods churned out by microbreweries. From pilsners to porters and all between, good or bad, there’s something magical in brews crafted by heart and hand that machines at the Big Beermakers cannot replicate or achieve.

Microwbrews are: Mojo in a Bottle.

Not gonna delve into critical thought or reviews of beers. Such analyses overfloweth online. Instead, I wish to pay my respects to my very personal favorite:

Anchor Steam

1849. The rich history of Anchor Brewing can be traced all the way back to the California Gold Rush, when German brewer Gottlieb Brekle arrived in San Francisco with his family.

A direct quote from its site; more here.

Anchor Steam was way ahead of its time. It created craft before craft became common and, I daresay despairingly, trendy.

My own roots with Anchor Steam date way back — some 30-40 years — in a love affair everlasting.

Through the decades, I’ve drunk oodles and oodles of beers, ranging from marvelous microbrews to the swill that is Budweiser.

Ultimately, over time, my heart always takes me back to:

Anchor Steam


 (the original, though seasonals and new arrivals are worthy as well)

Mmmmm-mmmmm mmmmmmm-mmmmmm mmmmmm mmmmmm mmmmm.

It’s sheer coincidence that well-known song “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”* pairs with the City that is home to the one brew that has my heart.

*SF – where I lived looooooooong ago before it and California went to total shit

Were I on Death Row — the chance of which is nil, just illustrating — I’d request a bottle of Anchor Steam with my last meal.

(Also on the list: hirame (halibut) sushi – or, if unavailable, cooked — a bowl of Japanese rice with a raw egg and seaweed, spinach, a pig-in-blanket (weiner wrapped in Pillsbury crescent) with mustard and ice cream)

On second thought, prison wouldn’t allow beer in the bottle due to the glass. In special circumstances, a Dixie paper cup’ll do.

On my deathbed, ditto the drink.

Anchor SteamLifting free off this planet with Anchor Steam on my tongue … and a naval lyric in my Piscean heart … perfect!  … I can see and hear(t) it all now!

Anchors aweigh, my boys,

Anchors aweigh

Farewell to foreign shores,

We sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay.

Through our last night ashore,

Drink to the foam,

Until we meet once more.

Here’s wishing you a happy voyage home.


daily prompt: micro

Es ist fremd! Or is it?


It’s foreign! Es ist fremd, in German.

This prompt. So rich, so inviting, so. very. up. the. alley for this girl who lives, breathes and is born for other cultures. The true Global Chick long before that phrase and concept became trendy and diluted by popularism.

Soooo my topic: Foreign.

But: I’m going to back away from the obvious for brevity’s sake.

Keep it simple. Sweet. To the point. Off-the-cuff first response.


Learning a foreign language. I’ve studied five to some degree or another.

Spanish. Booooooring. Oh so very boring.

French. Hated hated hated the sounds. One semester was plenty enough.


German. Ja! Ja! Ja!

Japanese (written and spoken). Hardest of all — and this from someone who studied German, itself no cakewalk, for five years!

What I remember most about my earliest studies of Japanese is too intimate, to private to reveal. Boudoir matters that are none of your damn business.

BUT! That’s partly why those first instructions in Japanese are still so damn memorable 30 years later.

Language learning in the classroom vs. boudoir.

Takeaway lesson: Whatever your native culture and tongue, foreign sheds its inherent “otherness,” obstacles and problematic communications when passion, connection and love come knocking.

That's so true.


daily prompt: foreign

The Talisman Talks

“Talisman, schmalisman!” she exclaimed.

Sailing into a hard-landing on the floor they went, the entire lot.

A crimson rabbit’s foot from her childhood.

A silver 4-leaf clover off the charm bracelet — a 15th-birthday present from her mother.

A pearly-white rock from a river’s shore during a walk.

Even the wallet-sized picture of Lakshimi, Hindu goddess of good fortune and wealth that she carried from slot machine to slot machine at the casino.

Heaved to the ground they all in a raging anguished “All crap! All bullshit! None of this crap works!”

She turned, glancing at the talismans lying near her feet. The smile of Lakshimi’s radiant face caught her eye. Remorse and guilt surged in Mandy.

Against her better judgement, she retrieved the photo that’d she herself had printed off the Internet with such care a year ago. The picture’s edges were softly worn from many times of being pocketed in her blue jeans or caressed during slot spins.

“Talisman, schmalisman!” she chuckled. “Like the sound of that. I’ll hafta write about that.”

She left the trio of Lucky Charms — or Not-So-Lucky Charms, they’d never brought her much in the way of wealthy gaming or jackpots  — on the faux-wood floor. Retrieved only the picture. Brushed Lakshimi’s gentle face with her thumb, then kissed it.

“I wonder if this is how apostles felt after dissing Jesus.”

Respectfully she set the 2X3 glossy print to a place of esteem: against a jar of flowers on the dresser.

“I can’t stop gambling,” she thought, gazing at the revered goddess.

“Or maybe I just don’t wanna. Or I’m not ready.”

Lakshimi’s beautiful smile didn’t waver.

“But if only,” she whispered to the saintly goddess, “if only you’d deliver me a jackpot, I’d stop. Just that, then no more gambling.”

The room was silent apart from the hum of the air purifier.

Mandy turned to go, then the weirdest thing.

“Wealth, abundance, good fortune are all around you. In life. In your breath.”

A voice?! Nah, the wind of the air purifier? Probably?

An alarmed Mandy zeroed in on the picture. Lakshimi’s smile — still as ever. It hadn’t cracked, wavered or shifted even a smidge.

“The talisman talks” — is all a spooked Mandy could mutter as she exited.

Only after she’d left her apartment did Lakshimi crack that smile frozen upon the photograph. A smile from ear to ear that positively glowed like Light itself.

Fact is: The talisman of wealth, abundance and good fortune doesn’t just talk but she shines.

And neither dime nor dollar was inserted into a slot game or spent in any fashion for that bliss, for the wealth that is wisdom, that is serenity.


daily prompt: talisman

Incubate: You Farmer in the Dell

Dark is the moon

Today’s new moon in Pisces 26 degrees

The dark of the new moon:

Time to plant seeds

To cultivate your own Farmer in the Dell.

So don your metaphorical denim overalls

Grab the spade, the grungy leather work gloves

the watering can and packet of seeds

Not off the shelves of Home Depot

Rather the seeds of your desires, wishes and dreams

that speak to you right now: this 17th of March 2018

Be the Farmer in the Dell

hand-turning the soil

clearing the weeds

sprinkle a seed, two or three

into the earthy bed

Cover, water and water some more

with thoughts positive and encouraging

“Oh seeds, I can’t wait to see you emerge!”

“You will be beautiful”

“You will be bright”

Sowed now in this darkest of night of the moon

The seeds

You incubate hidden from view

In a short time you shall break the soil


Stretch for the sun

And shine

Seed your dream

In this lunar blackness

She awaits you

Tonight heigh ho the derry-o

You Farmer in the Dell

daily prompt: incubate