Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

home is where?

08 March 2014



I’ve returned, just for a visit,

not sure why, but here I am.

You probably don’t remember me,

after all, I’m just one lamb.


I’m not sure what I’m doing here,

I don’t know you anymore,

I’m not sure I’m even looking

for the way I walked before.


So much has changed inside of me,

I’ve wandered far, lost and alone,

I’m on the outside looking in,

will I ever find my way home?



8 March, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

with a side of bacon

08 March 2014



How do you associate that with this?

What did I miss?


Your mind is too random to understand,

is that your plan,


to confuse me till I’m ready to scream?

What do you mean?


Is it meaningless, your endless babble?

My brain’s scrambled!



8 March, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


08 March 2014



Study until you are

completely knowledgeable.

Our desires,

taut and vibrating;

enthusiasm is everything.

Find that weak spot,

break that guitar string.

When a problem comes along,

we trifle, like

we must be apart.

Limits? Set none, like nature.

The rest will be easy.


(written for Friday’s Threesome)



8 March, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


08 March 2014


I don’t eat well, or often,

but this body sure has softened.


It used to be all fit and firm,

but we’re no longer on good terms.


I have excuses, ‘though none make sense,

I’m blind, but not to laziness.


I used to bike five miles a day,

stayed active in so many ways.


Losing my sight has been depressing,

I’ve given up, or so I’m guessing.


Perhaps it’s time to set some goals,

find my way back to being whole.


I should have done this New Year’s Eve,

better late than never, I believe.


Gonna be some changes in what I do,

find myself, or choose someone new.


I’m taking back control again,

it’s not too late to start a trend.



8 March, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

she was there

08 March 2014



“Is that it?” Susanne asked incredulously and I nodded silently. From the safety of the car it looked innocent enough, a dilapidated, long since forgotten old house.


The yard, if you could call it that, was still peppered with more small boulders and rocky outcroppings than grass. Fallen branches littered the ground, the broken bones of two large trees flanking the house to the front and side. They were dead years ago, bare, leafless, and yet somehow still possessing that sinisterness they always had before.


Surprisingly, what grass was still there was green, but not over grown. It had never seemed to grow, even back then.


“Do you want to get out and look around?” Susanne asked tentatively, knowing all that I had shared with her about this house, the memories and nightmares I had never escaped from, even after twenty years. This time, I sat silently and didn’t answer her. She touched my arm gently, tenderly, and I shrugged. It was the only answer I could muster at the moment.


Everything about the house seemed the same, although time had taken its toll on it. The roof was curling upwards in places, the outside was pockmarked, pieces hanging off or simply missing. The cement front steps leading up to the porch were eroding, while a scattered few potted plants were thriving on both the porch and the balcony directly above it.


Most of the windows were still intact, even curtained, all except that one.


It had been my room.


Susanne opened her door quickly.


“What are you doing?” I demanded, more abruptly than I intended.


“I want to see if it’s open is all, just to peek inside.”


I knew telling her no was pointless, she was far too strong-willed, so reluctantly, I started to follow her.


“You sure honey?” she asked without any hint of teasing or challenge. “You don’t have to go with me you know.”


Again, words would not come out and I shrugged and nodded simultaneously, probably trying to convince myself more than her.


At first, when I initially shared with her my memories of those final days in that house, she playfully chided me, teasing mercilessly. But in time, when the nightmares became something I shared more intimately with her, she became understanding, supportive, even though she remained a skeptic at heart. There were too many unexplained happenings to dismiss, occurrences which she witnessed – it’s always difficult to argue with personal experience.


Standing on the front porch she glanced at my face, waited for some sign, permission to proceed perhaps. I gave none, but she reached for the front door and …


“That’s all I really remember,” I said, my voice trailing off. The officers looked at one another, then me. I kept expecting the guys in the white coats to come through the door of the interrogation room.


“Tell us one more time about the little girl you saw in the window upstairs,” one of them demanded, his voice hardly disguising his suspicious disbelief.


I suddenly remembered. Everything happened so fast, but I ran, terrified, back to the car, jumped in, locked the doors, started the car, threw it into reverse, and floored it.


She was there, peering out my bedroom window, the eyes that stared at me, that face that haunted my troubled sleep, that smile, usually the last detail I remembered before I woke up screaming. She was there! Maybe I am going crazy, maybe I have always been slightly mad, but I know one indisputable fact. She was there and now Susanne is not.



(written for Kellie Elmore’s FWF)



8 March, 2014 Posted by | Fiction | , , | Leave a comment