The Sad Fate of A Twisted Guy


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Malice and envy are green and alive

they’ve taken root in a twisted little guy.

His eyes  have teeth

his tongue writhes in his mouth

Obsession is his Master and so is Want.


Malice and envy are green and alive

their roots now run deep in this  twisted little guy.

He’s stolen his voice he’s stolen his bones

it wasn’t enough and now he wants her’s

This is his world and he is a slave

to Obsession to Want to Spite and to Hate.


Malice and envy are green and alive

nothing will change for this twisted little guy.

He will always crave and he will always need

he will always be enslaved by what he sees.

A sad and twisted fate for a sad and twisted man


Obsession is his Master and so is Want.


On Words and Teeth and Bones


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Maybe words

have teeth

Maybe words

have bones

Maybe words can live

with no tongue

to call home.


Maybe words

can fly

maybe words

can walk

maybe words  can crawl

from skull to lips


maybe words have hearts.


Maybe words

are soulless

maybe words

feel pain

and maybe words

are our masters

and we are

just their slaves.


Lilly’s Funeral


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” Cupcakes are a funny thing to serve at a Funeral. I mean I get serving them at the Wake, ” Tovia Sims said to her co-worker at View Ridge Lane Funeral Home and Cemetery Sheena Ainsley ” but during the Funeral itself?”

Sheena handed a cupcake to an elderly woman in a long fur trimmed coat,” Everyone is going to be munching on cupcakes and getting crumbs all over everything during the entire service. And do you know who is going to have to vacuum this all up?”

They handed more cupcakes out as the family and friends of the recently departed entered the chapel in a long somber line.

Tovia placed her empty box under the table where the guest book was was and she pulled out another. ” Uh. The Groundskeepers?”

” Guess again.”

” I did not go to Mortuary College to end up serving freaking cupcakes at a funeral and then having to hoover the mess up after the service. Jesus. Who’s idea was this anyway?”

” It was Lilly’s.” Sheena pointed to the portrait sitting on the table next to the guest book.

” She was warped.”

” She was rich. These cupcakes are trimmed with edible gold and I kid you not, and flavored with vanilla beans that only grow on one island in the entire world. These things are like a thousand dollars each. And they were baked by Lilly’s favorite baker in Lilly’s own kitchen which is also stocked with foods from the most remote places on the planet. People have died bringing fruits  to Lilly’s that ended up in her morning  bowl of oatmeal.”

” Thousand Dollar cupcakes.” Tovia pushed the last empty box under the table.

” Yep.”

When they heard the music in the chapel start, hey checked the doors, the halls and then quietly and carefully closed the doors to the chapel.

” She must have loved her family a lot to do this for them.” Tovia whispered. ” Feeding them thousand dollar cupcakes and probably leaving them a boat load of cash.”

” I heard she left it all to her cat.” Sheena said

” Oh sure. Like that’s going to happen. ”

” She really loved that cat. I saw it when  went to her house to do the removal. It’s the coolest cat you’v ever seen. It has two faces. It’s like 20  years old and she was offered millions for it, but she always turned it down.”

” I’ll bet they find a way to get that money and more cupcakes” Tovia shook her head.

Did I tell you her cat had it’s own Nanny? Her name is Mavis. She speaks three languages” Sheena whispered.

The two Funeral Directors stared at the picture of Lilly- it wasn’t an old picture. It was a new picture. Lilly was standing in front of a large shelf filled with bottles- they were in all shapes and if you looked very closely you could see what was inside of them.

” Hey. Look at these…” Sheena tapped on the picture.

The two women looked from the pictures to the cupcake boxes and then they practically knocked each other over as they ran and pulled the chapel doors open.

Lilly’s guests turned and with their mouths full of Lilly’s special cupcakes mixed with vanilla beans that only grow on one island in the entire world, decorated with edible gold and frosted with the finest purest butter cream frosting ever made by human hands and full arsenic from Lilly’s special little bottles.

Dancing In My Bones At The Creek


If you like my Enduring Bones

you might enjoy getting Lost with me at my other blog


I’ve sworn off of communicating through Facebook

and to replace it I started a second blog. There’s more reading involved then what I do at FB, but that’s not such a bad thing when what you do is WRITE.

I hope you will visit that blog too for all kinds of random stuff by me


Faithful Writer/Blogger/Reader

Anita Marie Moscoso

Picture This


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Abstract by Jean Myers

Abstract by Jean Myers

When I was in Junior High School I took an art class.

I was always excited when we got new projects to work on- plus our art teacher was so cool that you actually liked going to class and it was fun to jump off that cliff of expression straight into the wild that raging river of creativity  running below it.

Of course, the only problem was I made a mess of all of my projects, I never got better then a “C” on my work. The “C” meant average, and that was with pity points because I showed up to class everyday and participated in discussions.

You’d never guess I came from a family where artists and great photographers ran all over our family tree like wild monkeys in an overloaded banana tree- but that was the case.

I guess I was like one of those baby monkeys that fell out of the tree and snapped it’s neck on the way down because friends, I was not as talented as the rest of my family.

Not by a long shot.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

.Twice a week I had to bring my Telecaster Guitar to class because I had music lessons after school and no way was I going to leave it in my locker or in the Principal’s Office- it’s not that I couldn’t trust him, it’s just that if he wasn’t in his office the door was locked and I had a bus to catch so that wasn’t really an option.

Anyway my art teacher used to ask if he could play my guitar and I’d let him, and then I’d play a little.

He knew I was good at creative writing and sometimes he’d tell me my English teacher would show my work in the break room and how much he and the other teachers had enjoyed what I’d written.

” You’re a pretty talented cookie and you’re funny.” He said more then once.

These conversations of course took place over the mutilated remains of that weeks project. It wasn’t as awkward as you’d think.

Our teacher graded the projects on the spot. He never said the grade out loud. He’d just go over the technical aspects and ask you to tell a little story about the why of it all.

I used to enjoy that- I mean stories with pictures. What wasn’t to love?

Once I looked down at one of those sad little things I’d dragged DOA into the world and was getting ready to pitch it in the trash after I’d gotten my standard ” C ” grade. My teacher was about to walk to the next project and I’d sort of said, before I dropped it into the can ” I’m no artist. That’s for sure. “

My teacher turned back and said to me, with surprise ” Yes you are an artist Anita. Yes you are.”

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso


Something’s Gotta Give


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When you write or paint or sing you’e supposed to draw this passion from inside of yourself and express it all over the place.

I’ve known some truly horrible, despicable humans in my life. I wouldn’t wish a few of them to Hell because I wouldn’t want to lower the real estate value.

So believe it or not, I refused to write anything about them. I didn’t want to track their sick into my stories where they would live forever.

As we all know, if you publish on line that’s exactly what happens.


The one time I did allow one of my ‘creepers’ into a story, it actually turned out to  a pretty great story.

Did I take heart from that?

I did not.

Some people never learn.

I  guess I am one of them.


I’ve never called my inability to write at times as ‘writer’s block’.

I have always called it ‘snakes on the brain’ or ” I can’t write because i have snakes on the brain.”

If  I say that, I don’t get a bunch of FYI’s about how to overcome something that I know darn well how to get over.

I only have problems when I don’t write what is the ‘truth’.

The biggest problem being when I walk around and around an idea or an image because I don’t want something creeping into my ‘art’ and nesting there like a colony of rats in a basement or a wall.


I’ve learned a lot of ‘truth’ lately.

I’ve seen people reach to some despicable lows to get what they wanted, I’ve watched people in my life turn on each other, betray each other and compromise their integrity.

How do I write about that, I wondered. Shouldn’t I let it go, forget it tell myself it was their circus, their clowns…walk away?

Or do I draw from it, write about it, give it a place to live?

Given that my silence is a creative killer and I’ve learned that lesson the hard way I’m thinking.



Praise Dog!

Daily Prompt


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'Hamish Macbeth' Photo By A.M. Moscoso

‘Hamish Macbeth’
Photo By A.M. Moscoso

Until a few years ago, I was all about forging ahead, making my mark holding myself to impossible if not brutal standards in how I looked, where I should be in life.

If I missed that mark, I ticked off one of my failures after another and beat myself down to a bloody pool of yuck.

Then I get my dog.

I found out that people weren’t snapping their dogs at the end of their leashes to get them to pay attention. They didn’t scold dogs for making mistakes- every chance you had was a teachable moment with your dog.

A good, non-stressful teachable moment

Teaching with kindness and patience had made it’s way into the world of Dog Obedience.

Hamish has never been screamed at, never had a rolled up newspaper landed across his backside or muzzle, he’s never been yanked by his collar or had an angry face pushed into his own when he couldn’t figure out a command.

How did that work out for us?

Hamish Macbeth is one of the happiest creatures I have ever known.

He likes to meet people, he likes to explore and when he’s surprised by a loud noise or an angry dog or he can’t have that  candy bar or rotten cheeseburger someone threw out of their window he’s the same happy dog he was when he woke up in the morning.

Hamish Macbeth hits those bumps in the road the way we all do and lands on all four paws, wags his tail in a circle and goes in search of the next big moment.

I’m hoping that as Hamish and I work on his lessons I’ll start learning what he’s learned.

He’s a good dog.

And a wonderful teacher.