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1 Apr


Into the woods, save for the trees

I see the ocean beyond the breeze

Hear the waves as they rush the shore

I am only moments, from the Lord

Can you feel the mist kiss your face

Taste the salt against your lips as lace

Feel the warmth caress your flesh

See the pink upon your breasts

Raise your hands to God above

Hear the call of doves in love

Close your eyes and know you’re done

Home is heaven where there is love

This is the time, it has finally come

You have walked the path known to none

– Tadalena

01 April 2014



6 Dec

#fridayfictioneers via rochelle – 12/06

December 5, 2013

Every Wednesday Romero Wisoff-Fields posts a picture prompt challenging writers to create a 100-word story, poem, or whatever works for you.  After posting your work on your blog,  go back to her site and add your link on her Friday Fictioneers post.  Place.  Page.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Photo Copyright :  Trespass – Randy Maize

“Mommy, do you think I can go out to play?”

“Not today, little one.  It looks like rain.”

“But rain is fun.”

“Not today.  You might catch a cold.”

“But colds are nice too.”

“They are?”


The sweet smell of rain filters in as small droplets begin to hit the planks of wood shielding the windows.


“Yes mamma.”

“Why are colds nice?”

“Because when I get a cold you tell me stories, give me warm milk, and sing songs.”


“Can I go out tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

“I hope tomorrow comes soon.”

“You do?”

“Yes, mommy, I do.”

Pancakes on Friday

31 Aug

It is Friday, and I’ve been craving pancakes for the past three days.

Why didn’t you just make some at home and save the cost of coming all the way out here?

Because I happen to like their pancakes.  Madison makes the best pancakes for three counties and besides, we haven’t seen one another in nearly a month.  I thought it might be nice to share some conversation over coffee and breakfast, which happens to be pancakes for me.

I know, it’s just that we are both struggling here.

Shush, I am paying.

Yes, but…

But nothing.  How’re the kids?


22 May

Photo Copyright – Danny Bowman

By Tadalena Warner

“Pick up, pick up, pick up!”


“Gloria, you won’t believe this, but I found it!”

“Found what?”

“I found it, you know the it we’ve been looking for.”

“You said that last time and it turn out to be nothing more than a porthole to the sales department at Sears and Roebuck no less.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the it we’ve been looking for.  Get the guys and meet me at the corner of 5th and Madison.”

2hrs later

“What took you so long?”


“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.  Where are the others?”




Friday Fictioneers : April 5, 2013

7 Apr

Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine;
something Claire liked with a bottle of red wine.
Oh, she’d spin you a yarn of the finest of tales;
one for the ages, one to curl hair,
but did you know of Claire’s brother Peter O’blare?
He’s a monster, a wretch of a man that none can compare.
He’s buried you see, beneath that hickory tree;
dead these many years from the blood that did seep,
in from the wounds, in from the ground,
in from the pieces left when quiet did sound.
Cut off his head they did and buried it deep
buried it lower than Satan could reach.
What did he do, what did he say,
to warrant dismemberment that crisp Spring day?
I could tell you or I could not
it’ll only matter if your ever came up,
to Hickory Ridge Manor and stayed with Hugh,
you see, Hugh is the only member of ole’ granny’s crew.
He’s the one who’ll cook you some grub
and ask your name before taking you to see
what’s left of Peter’s remains.