The Duck Pond

This was inspired by a Writing Prompt where you pick three spooky words and write a poem or story based on the words.

I chose Banshee, Corrupted and Creep.


Banshee blood

corrupted, cursed and revolting

it’s pooling in a pond where I used to feed  the ducks.


Who will cage it?

will anyone  swim in it?

Who will watch it creep towards the shore?

Will anybody grab a bucket, sponge scream out in fear

more likely then not

everyone will  pretend as if it’s not there.


Banshee blood

corrupt,  cursed and revolting

I wonder if the Ducks that I used to feed

wished it wasn’t there.


I Am Officially One of ” Those People “

Photo by on

Last year I took my dog to the vets and the Vet and her staff  were great.

Hamish adored his Vet- he didn’t even stress at his examination and didn’t care when she gave him his shots- he was just super happy to get those cookies  that the Vet liked to give to her patients after giving them their shots.

Once I tried to explain  Hamish spends some of his days fending off his 16 year old Cat brothers who stick him with their claws at least once a week and because they are old sometimes they cat pull their claws back out and I have to unhook them from each other.

I told her I don’t think a quick jab is stressing Hamish out at all but he likes cookies and she likes to give them to him so I dropped it.

Then she asked me, ” So, is Hamish a Daddy yet?”

I was stunned.

” He’s only three years old. ” I said in absolute shock. I fought the urge back to reach down and cover Hamish’s ears for fear of what she would ask next.

She looked at me in my leather jacket and ripped up jeans and somewhat fearsome makeup job and to her credit she didn’t  do that fake cough you fall back on when you don’t want to laugh.

We chit chatted about dog foods and Hamish’s follow up appointments  and that was that.

It took me awhile- like maybe an hour or ten to realize what I had said and then I realized:

I am one of THOSE dog owners who forgets her dog is a dog and not a human child in a fur jacket.

I don’t know when that mindset took hold of me or when it happened.

I could speculate the why  of it all  but on the other hand- I don’t think that is such a bad thing. I kind like this quirky person that I’ve become since Hamish came into my life as a 11 week old puppy.

I know this much, nobody seems to mind.

Especially Hamish.

Photo of Hamish Macbeth
A.M Moscoso


I Wrote This

I am struggling with this-

Does posting quips on a comment thread or a few lines about an article that someone else wrote on Facebook make you a writer or a journalist?

I know that when writers and poets or musicians dedicate themselves to their craft they name themselves a Writer, Musician, Artist, Poet.

But a certain amount of passion and dedication brings them to that point. If you do it on Facebook all you have to do is whip your phone out and you are now in the same league as-( fill in the blank) .

I’ve noticed something  else interesting and a bit disturbing on Facebook.

People aren’t just having conversations- they correct each other’s grammar, they fact check each other, they  leave letters ( or comments maybe a better term ) of complaint to each other for saying the wrong thing- or saying someone is missing the point or for being on the wrong side of their issue. It’s  not much different then how they react to news stories from the media outlet of their choice.

I like my friends- the real ones are pretty unique and interesting and the Facebook ones are amusing but I don’t look to them to tell me which way the wind is blowing and I also don’t use those newsfeeds as a way to gain some insight into what they’re thinking.

As a writer- granted I write fiction for the most part- if you want to get an idea about how my head works then my writing is the way to catch a glimpse of that process.

That picture I posted of the cat and dog praying over a piece of pizza they’re going to steal, well all you’ll learn from that is I like cats and dogs. But the WHY won’t be there. I won’t be there because not only did I not take the picture, I didn’t put the funny line to it.

I’m wondering as you can see, does Facebook truly  inspire creativity or healthy  conversations? We can share an idea or a picture and then the trolls come along and who is talking to each other anymore? Nobody because the trolls or someone who just feels like setting the world straight will make it all about them.

It happens ever single time.

Does Facebook  really  have the power make us who we want to be in real life -witty commentators, journalists or writers. Do we really believe that we ‘have the floor’ ( at last )  and that platform provided on a site designed as a marketing tool is on the only one that matters.

To me, the biggest question of all is, if you don’t participate on Facebook do you cease to be relevant, will you disappear, will what you say matter, will anyone know YOU ARE THERE?

RDP Monday: NOTE

Go Out And Look

I’ve just finished a biography about  Giordano Bruno  by Ingrid D. Rowland

Giordano was a friar, a writer, a poet and Bruno believed that the Universe was infinite at a time when the understanding of the Universe was somewhat sketchy and that sketchy view was the accepted view.

Giordano studied and contemplated and wrote papers and poetry about the Universe and the Earth and God- and at the point he actually went out into the world and experienced it- the good and the very worst that humanity had to offer- Bruno had been  willing to accept it as it was as it was.

It happened that after studying  with other well heeled young men who were sent to be schooled in a religious order in Philosophy and religion, and law some of his fellow students ended up with keys to the tavern next door and apparently did  they not only carry weapons they carried on with the local ladies too.

Maybe it was at this point Bruno began to realize that people and the world were bigger and less easy to define then he may have concluded.

It took some time but eventually Bruno made the leap from observing the world to participating in it because it was no longer fine and acceptable as it was.

In the end Bruno was burned as a heretic because one of the charges leveled at him was that he did not believe that the bread and wine he took at communion was actually flesh and blood.

An institution demanded blind obedience from him- if he was told that wine was blood and bread was flesh, that’s what you saw and that’s what you tasted and to deny that was to deny God.  End of story. Full stop.

The tragedy was, Bruno was a man of faith and he did see God in all things. It’s just that what he saw was different from the accepted vision.

Now days we are being told that we need to deny what our own eyes see and that unless we see the common accepted vision we are ” Libtards ” or “Uppity “. We are  silly ignorant dupes that have been conned by Scientists and Professors and Teachers.

The common vision being put forth where I live  dictates absolute obedience to a dream world spun into existence by a man and his followers who treat  people who are different from their shared fantasy  as obstacles that they must subjugate in order to have their more perfect union.

So I can rage against this- and I have.  I can back a candidate to the hilt for President and hope for the best. I can keep up with current events.

Or I can do what I have been doing.

I read, I listen to music, I enjoy art and I write. I have been doing that more then I ever because I want to remember that there are good things in this world  and these things deserve my time and attention.

I’m not ignoring that the world is an ugly, vicious place. I will not deny that I have severed friendships with a sense of malicious pleasure because I have zero inclination to ‘listen to the other side.”

Like  Bruno I have come to a time in my life when accepting and working with the world with patience and understanding as it is,  is no longer acceptable to me.

I’ve made that decision because “listening to the other side”  will only work when you’re serious about learning something new with respect and a sense of decorum or you are passionate about becoming enlightened about a topic and frankly, I’m not seeing any of that in the ‘conversations’ people want to have with me.

So why did I chose the picture at the top of this piece? This silly picture of UFO and  Bigfoot riding the Lochness Monster as he apparently flips off the photographer?

I chose it because  the Universe is an infinite place and within that infinite space anything is possible and unless you stay flexible to that reality it’s not going to be a happy place for you.

If you’re going to demand the Universe bend to your will in a predictable way-through politics or crystals or herbs or religion, I’m sure it’s not going to work.

My view is most certainly  not based science, but I think that is how we all got to this cage we are in now.











What Did He See?


Photo A.M. Moscoso

I am sure there was nothing out there

watching me and my dog.

I am sure it was nothing

that made him snarl

like a nasty ill tempered cur.

Maybe it was only  the wind

that made the bushes near the fence stir

maybe it only a bird or  mouse

that cried out and stopped suddenly  silenced perhaps by the chilly nighttime air.

I am sure there was nothing out there

that isn’t there during the day.

But I still don’t know what it was

Hamish saw

that turned his eyes dark and fiery red.


RDP Prompt: Pet


She Really Wrote That


When I was little

and  somewhat melodramatic

( that is before I discovered the joys of just being strange and macabre )

I used to tell my family that I hoped that circus that they always said

was going to show up and steal me away because the circus was always in need of sly, sinister and naughty workers

would do it soon because my family were



Running away never figured into my dramatic exits.


But then I discovered the joys of Space Travel from Star Trek

and one day I wrote

in Magic Marker-

I’m not sure what the Magic part was because it’s not like the

ink disappeared

on the contrary, it lasted for ever-

on the refrigerator door:

I’m going to Mars because

I’ll never have to clean my room again  because  it will be on Earth-with the toys I hate and the ants in my lunchbox.


Rag Tag Daily Prompt : LETTER

The Cottage On Chestnut Hill

In a small cottage, the kind of small cottage that you can find hidden at the end of roads that you would swear you’ve never noticed but you must have driven by it everyday since forever


roads and cottages surrounded by wild gardens do not just appear  as if by magic out of thin air- isn’t that right?

So, back to my little story.

In my small cottage, surrounded by a wild garden  chocked by weeds with softy downy thistles and tiny pink and purple blossoms I work on my needlepoint near a window with aged cream colored curtains tied back with packing string.

Last week I saw a car drive by and then the car  stopped and rolled back and the driver and I were eye to eye, as it were.

I wasn’t going to stand up, because I was very busy but I decided to because my knee was a little stiff and I wanted a drink of water anyway.

So I stood up and the driver in the car leaned back and then leaned forward and I saw her take off her eyeglasses, clean them and put them back on again.

Then she sat there and then she looked straight ahead and nearly drove into the tree at the side of the road ( a beautiful twisted apple tree that produces the tastiest apples anywhere on Earth ).

” Silly woman, ” I said, wishing just a tiny bit that she had hit the tree or maybe the fence because nothing ever happens on quiet little roads like mine ” you’d think she had seen a ghost or something.”

I guess I had startled her- my windows do need a bit of cleaning because they are a little dusty.

I went to my little kitchen and got myself a glass of water and on the way out I checked my calendar again- because I am so bad with numbers and impossible with keeping track of dates

January 6th, 2019 FULL MOON

I had written in red- with little paw prints  all around the square because I have not only a taste for over sweet apples, needlepoint and gardening.

I have a wolfish sense of humor too.