Vixie's stories

    Always, it was to drift, circling, an eagle in flight, place to place amid spaces, finding form in motion, being just to be and breathe ...

    We blow out the dance, circling as bees do, nectar strewn between.   We tip-toe around what is, what was, what may be. But nothing is se...

Stone. It’s only stone. A rock. Grit. Edgy as hell. It can’t roll unless you push it. It won’t stick unless you make it.   Here it lies bene...

  Stowaway   He did it for her sacred heart, kept it locked in a still warm box, sealed with a charm, not a kiss, considered it his.   Rhyth...

  He guards the hidden hollows, cobwebbed snags in window frames, corners asleep in the acreage, where the hundreds came and went.   We sit ...

  Paper spaces   Within this misted riptide, the waste, torn paper, the gutter gasping over, essence of the amiss, a picture with no smile, ...

  Clouds   You take the clouds sometimes, revisit ambition in a fog-blown glass, drift among the old ones tugging your soles, their roots de...

Phantoms Timeless. Where the horizon shrinks, where the sky sprinkles silver lace, once-eager waves reaching into peace. We are lifted. We a...

  Ricochet Life ricochets, outside of warmth, footsteps upon an enamel floor, wrinkles cast in this idle stone we sit upon and desire upon a...

Written for JD Mader’s writing blog – check in at 2minutesgo and start writing.   A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the fi...