Thinking Inside the Box

Poetry is not my thing. But there are times when something strikes me funny, and an impromptu verse pours out of me as if it had dislodged from the cobwebs in the corner of my mind.

So today I was jabbering with a friend who complained about business cliches that incited him to frenzy--phrases like "touch base" and "take this discussion offline". But then he mentioned "thinking outside of the box" and suddenly I started spewing.


I climb into a box before I start to think.
And imagine the world beyond my horizons.
From my box, I sail the ocean
Climbing waves
And fighting pirates on the high sea
From my box, I climb Mount Everest
Or dive from the sky like an eagle
And when I am done with my thoughts
I crawl out of my box
And make my dreams come true.

A Reminder of Who I Really Am

I got reprimanded at work today for going above and beyond the call of duty and being detailed, precise, and careful to do my job.

In need of reminding myself what my goals really are and where I am going, I wanted to share with you an excerpt from the novel RESURRECTION I am working on. I hope you enjoy:

She put her arms around him and pulled his head close. And kissed him. Good and hard. His body answered, heat spreading through him, waking something deep inside. Something stronger than he had ever known. Before he could respond, she pulled away. Her chin trembled. "I'm not Chester. I'm not Jadon. But I'm still a woman."

He pulled her back to him. She wore some kind of soft gown, and underneath, she was naked. Not quite sure how he knew that, but he did. His hands ran down her side. The curves of her body fit perfectly against him. He didn’t know what to do next. Desire and fear warred inside him.

"You're looking at me."

He blinked his eyes. Lelea wasn't in his arms. She stood across the room, in front of the computers, staring at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open with surprise, as if his thoughts flashed like lights above his head.

He cleared his throat. His face burned. It had all been some strange dream. A living dream. He shook his head, trying to wake up. "No, I—"

"You looked at me."

Even now he could see the shape of her breasts through the gown. Her nipples stood out—beautiful, innocent, pure, like a fresh water stream hidden in the rocks. A wild stream that no one could tame. He couldn’t breathe.

"The way a man looks at a woman."

"I'm sorry." Ahern glanced at his feet. Shame gnawed at him. He had no right to think such thoughts; Lelea wasn't even the one he wanted. Nor had he taken her into his tent, presented her to his mother to bind them.

But his mother was dead now, murdered, along with all their people. He alone survived, and he had a vow to fulfill—to kill this girl's father. He must fulfill his oath—before he could ever consider binding a mate.

"No," she said, her voice harsh.

He looked back at her, surprised.

"No. You honor me, Ahern." She had come very close. He could have touched her, pulled her close like he had dreamed. She touched his face and smiled.
This can't be real.

She took his hand and put it on her breast, as soft as he had imagined. His hand tingled; they could have melted into her skin. She turned her head towards his and met his lips with hers. Gentle. Like a soft breeze.

"This can't be real."

"What's not real?" Lelea stood on the other side of the table, holding the plug that she had pulled out of Jadon's neck. A black jumpsuit replaced the soft dress he had imagined.

So who am I? I am a writer, an author, who makes a little money testing software on the side. They don't own me.