Bee-lieve, a Fantastical Submission

Happy New Year! Let’s wish for wonders amid the angst that 2020 C.E. will no doubt bring. I would like to make a tiny offering of writer humor.

Dear Editor,

Enclosed are approximately 600 bees, which will perform an interpretative dance titled “Bee-lieve” for your consideration. My submission takes little over a minute to watch.

My pollinators have been previously shared on YouSnuze and Intergalactic Meditate Show. One of my dances received last year’s Tap Dancing Penguin Award.

Also enclosed is a self-addressed, stamped package for my bees and your reply. Thank you for your time.

The Royal Choreographer


Text: "They attacked us in our dreams. No one had expected humans capable of invading minds."

we might appear
to any sentient life that
misread our tendencies.

Content on this page was previously posted, August 2017.


Jungle landscape

Jungle Jump

Prey approached.

The monster held his breath and moved nothing but his eyes. The human would get no warning.

A vine of green satin pressed down on his shoulder, heavy, but the monster waited. He counted within the shadows. On the twentieth second, he leapt.

Shirts flew alongside him, adding drama to his ambush. The human screamed.

“Sam! Get out of my room!” She flung a large rock.

He roared in hideous laughter. The rock felt as light as a pillow.

From beyond the jungle, a meddler shouted over him. “Samuel, go to your own room. Leave your sister alone.”

Revised from “Hunting Boredom” (originally posted 2010).

Pink rose with water drops

Promise and Practicality

It’s my birthday week! My present to myself is this post. Do you want to share what you’ve read lately that you enjoyed?


“Promise and Practicality”

by A.L.

pink roses with dew
blossoming from green foliage
eaten by a goat


Modified from a haiku posted in “How Not to be Funny” (2009).


Dream Dawn

Thoughts flitter past:
translucent butterflies
void of color and pattern.

I am rock,
not the powerful creature
full of energy
that directs
body and mind.

Both rest, waiting.

At dawn,
light creeps into mind’s crevices,
returning life to stone flesh.



Originally posted as “Predawn Pallor” (2009).

Illustration of flowery symbols in a chickadee

Voices Left Behind


by A.L.

“You won’t fly again,” they said.
My wings spread.
I rise on my exhale.

Illustration of flowery symbols in a chickadee

“Voices Left Behind”

by A.L.

My father-in-law was told after a war injury that he would never walk again.
He walks.

My aunt was told that she died years ago.
She lives.

I have known people who believe that once broken, one is broken forever.
Yet I heal.

Don’t listen to the voices that would keep you from spreading your wings.

Content originally published in 2017.