old-trumpet-1411142_640 Dust and rust fell from the trumpet like snow.

“It’s a beauty,” said Grandpa Frank.  “Go ahead and play it, Erik.”

Erik had no intention of following the request.  “Wow, no, I couldn’t play your old horn. I’m no good,” Erik tried to deflect.  He was terrified of what tetanus in the mouth would look like.

Grandpa urged again, egging on the grandson to give the horn a chance.  Erik reluctantly drew the horn upward.

Grandpa Frank slapped his head.  “You do everything people tell you? Don’t be silly. This thing needs to be melted down.”

Erik couldn’t agree more.



via Pixabay

“Mack, go help that guy.”

“He looks fine, Pearl.  There’s no need to get involved.”

“How is he fine?”

“Well, he’s not screaming in agony, is he?”

“That should be more alarming.  Look at all this ice.  Poor fella could have bonked his head.”

“Look around, no one else is concerned.”

“Mack. Go help him.”

“Pearl, I’m telling you, Farmer John is fine.  Pearl, don’t give me that look.”

“You haven’t seen a look yet. Go help that poor man before that annoying dog tries to eat his legs.”

“Fine,. I’ll go ‘ba’ at him for a moment.”

“Thank you.”



The flock had seen the Great Lakes, the heads at Mount Rushmore, whatever one calls the empty space between towns in Wyoming.  They had seen these attractions all in the course of a week.

The week prior, the birds had traveled over the Appleseed trail, made friends with wild turkeys in New England and tried their best to spot early Norse settlements in Newfoundland with no luck.

Through it all the birds flew, ate and dirtied windshields with glee.

Only their leader, the wise old Frank Goose knew the true reason of their extended trip; he was lost as fu…

Just Pictures


via Pixabay

“Pictures.  They’re just pictures.  You know what people can do with Photoshop these days? Come on. No one will believe they’re real.”

“Reality is constructed, built upon that which people see.  If it can be seen, it can be believed.  Right now, even the possibility that something can be seen builds reality for some.”

“Dave, come on, man. Look, look, I’ll delete the files.”

“You know what people can do with cloud storage these days?”

“Nah, no, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You saw too much, Marcus.”


“I am sorry for this. You were a good photographer.”

Bird King

My name is Bird King.
Birds ’round the world come to kiss my ring.

Out on a limb; lookin’ so grim.
Leaf pile hair style.
Prey can’t see me.
They will feed me.
Way it should be.
None can beat me.

“Hey! Bird King!”

What do you want?
I’m a savant.
Rhyme flow is go
Time for my show.

“Swell. Hey, you rhymed ‘me’ with ‘me’, like, five times.”

Gleefully see
Claws come at ye’
Sorry, you’ll be.
Don’t mess with me.

“Constructive criticism. That’s all.”

Time for lunch
I’ve got a hunch
You’re my brunch.

“Lunch? Brunch? Pick one.”

The Tough Part

Cake. Chocolate cake. Thick frosting covering every available millimeter of the surface. Obtaining the illustrious food was easy. The tough part? Finding a place to eat even the tiniest piece where the kids would not discover him.

The cake was secured; sneaked into the house under cover of, “just grabbing some boring stuff from the car!” Hidden in the back of a darkened cabinet until the moment arrived when the sugar filled delicacy could be devoured.

Bed time arrived, the kids fast asleep.  He stepped into the kitchen, pulled the cake from its plastic casing and…

“Dad? What’s that sound?”