October 10, 2005
My favorite kitchen guru and true blue tribe friend! I look forward to every thoughtful letter I get in my mailbox. He brightens my days and makes me smile without fail. I'm so lucky to have him!
Steve
There are a lot of kind people hereI am amazed at the generous nature of most tribe members that I've encountered thus far. They're willing to share their experiences in life and their knowledge freely with me. If my two cents can feed this family of friends half as well in return, yet another cool thing will have occurred in my life.
Passionate minds at work
cool tribes
Word Freaks,
""Classical music lovers,
Bach,
Baking (Breads and Pastry),
Blues Tribe,
Book Lovers,
Bookworms,
Brahms Tribe,
CREATIVE WRITING,
Creative Writing Critique,
Early Music,
Edward Gorey,
Finders & Scavengers,
Literary Life,
![[moderator]](http://images.tribe.net/tribe/images/redesign/moderator_icon.gif){kind=icon}
Lute lovers,
Mark Ryden,
Recipe Exchange,
Seraphinians,
Viola da Gamba,
Writing Fiction,
Nice places to visit
Cause for pauseGender
Male
Age
51
Location
about me
I try hard and am truly interested, though not the brightest bulb under the shade.
To bring a dead music to life is the among the most erotic feelings I know of. Loving the kitchen and feeding my loved ones go hand in hand with my pleasure. Being honest to myself at all times has always been, and will remain the best policy.
You are not connected to Steve
want to grow your network?
My TestimonialsJune 12, 2005
WE HAAAAAVE A WINNER! hehe*
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what was, is
I'm still a running blur.
My guts strung out I see in myself momentarily mirrored: A pair of naked yearning eyes succumbed to that beautiful self, both flawed and indecent of character. Fancy dancing her pinkest groan, ecstatically jumping an honest bone, enwrapped in the most violent of tangos while she tosses that last flower away.  Tortoise, with nails gray-brown that had toughened each day of his many long lived, till one day he thought of them “My nails are hard; yes, yes they are the toughest ever crawled upon” and so, it was with that thought he set out to challenge life. “This shell is a fortress hardened by tribulation, thus I am strong; I will persevere.” At first the small pebbles merely parted as he shuffled his slow way forward, though gradually, over time, the much larger and bigger stones also creake... read more 
Hung apple
Wed, March 12, 2008 - 1:44 PM
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haste in weight, of sun’s most radiant slide, gold rays aplenty taste you then, to fill Eve’s knowing eyes. That darkly storm-clouds' gathering, indifferent tossed their rhythm; a rainbow - hope, outside the land of God, new fruit is given. 
Inevitable as sunrise
Mon, March 3, 2008 - 11:52 AM
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its changes profound, through day older eyes.  The days were the days not those that I knew, but of scent and in hues quite familiar.  What price the pound of flesh then when offered on the street, that in like of herring or tasty kidney meat? Should she then twine her hair 'round and coo you with her voice, what price the pound of flesh then when mounting that of choice?  Some folks eat Roo, do you? Some folks judge others too, but do you? And when it’s spilt, milk will run downhill; To find a honeyed place inside that nook to hide and still… Some folks rue their food, Well, do you?  The stiffening, quickening heartbeat of disemboweled thoughts pound. They race hot like hurried nasty teen sex; coming out sticky and grinning at silly creation, with all the moon-pie eyes of God on a good day.  “The Hymn to God” he painted, the fishes they do sing; of silent voices in the depths, and beauty’s subtle theme. 
An indifferent breeze dries
Thu, October 11, 2007 - 11:11 PM
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the ragged clothes of longing; combating aching bones, home, my house- and possessions. High spirits sent zagging haphazard into a blue sky, silhouetted easily, a dancing butterfly in the rippling grasses. Overwhelmed (serve me this scene), a time when even thick thorned roses weep. I take my softened heart thinking now of colder winters, and that longing for a field’s flowers with mud between my toes, I knew then they kept me from that ma... read more  I’ve only a while to make you smile bright. Might a hop, skip, or small jump do for you, when I am but memory and through here? A bee trapped in the window looks out …  I wanna be the red skin. I wanna be the martyr, hung up, nailed, shot like coyote. Roped to the hood of a ‘52 Chevy; a downed deer rolling eyes and sticking tongue at everyone that stares. I wanna be the Injun layin dead in the dirt, beneath your cork gun. That would be so cool. Tay ya. If only I weren’t so white. I wanna have eagle feathers hangin from my head, wear buckskin britches. (I wonder if my balls would sweat, or be cooled hanging free?) Tommy g... read more 
This is a little story. The kind of story that close friends and family once told each other late at night when there is little else to do. It takes place in a little room, much like one I’m sure you’ve sat in before. A room so small, that a ticking clock can be heard if you are silent for but a moment. But this story isn’t about a clock; or is it about the little grandmama who never remembered to wind it. No, not really. Here then, let me tell what it ‘is’ about.
Wed, August 15, 2007 - 11:45 AM
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For years, rising wi... read more  It was an old white washed church typical of those found in the South. In the parking lot, the minister stood outside waiting as the congregation gathered. When everyone had arrived he invited his flock to pick a handful of blackberries from the bushes that surrounded the church grounds. It was to be a lesson, a favorite that he recited often. Inside the stained glass windows had been draped, and once all were seated, the lights were turned off. The pastor instructed each of us to pass ... read more  A flea bitten, moldering, good for nothing mooch. All but deaf she loudly screams: “Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!” at my front door, too good to go to the back porch where her dish is. “Yeah, I can hear you already.” Can opener grinds its way to stinky food. Plopped from the can, the engine is off and running. Scratching her behind her ears while she’s too busy to notice and run away. I wonder how many more years she’ll stick around before moving to New Jersey or wherever t... read more  Foie Gras, veal Escargot, eel, lamb and ham, a dish of fish, even crude fast food that mooed. I squeal in delight, at the cringe (and their fright); while taking large bites, that taste out of sight. Blessed vegetarians be, see - there’s more left for me. 
St. Peter: "Next!" (Looks up.) "Oh, it's you."
Thu, June 14, 2007 - 1:59 PM
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Jerry Falwell: “Praise God, the moment I’ve been waiting for all my life.” St. Peter: (With a questioning gaze.) “Really?” Jerry Falwell: (excitedly) “Yes indeed, I’ve looked forward to this moment, to walk, talk and be in his presence. I can just feel the love coming from in there.” St. Peter: “But you had your entire lifetime to love people and show them kindness.” Jerry Falwell: “I showed kindness to ‘those’ poor sinners who wou... read more  Buzzing in the ear… “What on earth’s the matter now?” Buzzing… She pulls the thread tight bringing it to her teeth where a quick bite separates from beauty another stitch never made. “Well, that’s all well and fine...” Buzzing… “Uh huh, well, you don’t say?” Buzzing… Between her fingers she slowly threads another color through. Over smudged and crooked bifocals she takes time to roll her once sharp eyes up towards heaven upon completion; half over the accomplishment, ... read more  Dispelling concern with a flick of her hand, like shooing flies away, she rocks back and forth, commenting in a sage voice about how the garden could use some rain just about now. Sipping glasses of too sweet lemonade, a cool breeze carries the scent of dust kicked up miles away and the neighbor's fresh mowed lawn. Lightening splits open the sky, there’s a distant rumble, a soft sigh, and then the protracted shuffle inside for cherry pie, cards, and a tooth aching refill. 
A prolific cuss,
Tue, May 8, 2007 - 3:26 PM
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he slugged out more dead than most writers do in a lifetime (publishers wet themselves). Gone, he’s more alive than most ever hope to be. Bottles raise daily: “To Buk!” LA’s Shakespeare still shakes up the literary establishment, who fear even his “second rate” work for the genius it is; the balls they don’t have. His poetry goes on and on, a romantically reclined boot awaiting the ass of tempted analysts. Six foot down he can still put feminists ... read more 
-The most intense horror lies solidly within the mundane.
Thu, May 3, 2007 - 6:20 PM
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Tired and angry, the push through traffic tore at us. We’d been snapping at each other’s throats for the last five minutes. Karen’s panicked incompetent directions around the jam had finally wore my patience thin. “Shut up for a second and let me fucking think!” I snapped. “Yeah right! If you’d listened to me and left when I told you, we’d have had plenty of time. And I don’t know why you’re telling me to shut up, when it’s ‘... read more  In the dream, strands of her flaxen hair tickles an entourage of tiny green fish. Their joy laughs inside bubbles before popping to the surface with a gay “Ha!” Swiftly the school turned to dart downward. None saw the sailor cast his greedy net. They didn’t see her turquoise tail thrashing when hauled aboard and plopped down on the oaken deck. How could any of them know or understand the passion stirring inside him at that moment? He stared, entranced by her pale firm breasts their nipples ... read more  Characters Tom, a middle-aged man in a suit and tie Dick, a middle-aged man in white shirt and slacks Harry, a middle-aged man with blue eyes, in jeans, striped short-sleeve shirt sporting a pocket protector, thick glasses and slicked back hair Betty, pretty young blond with great legs, wearing a short white skirt, a pink pullover sweeter Butch, Betty’s husband, a young tall and muscular man dressed in an army uniform Several office workers, at least three women and a couple of me... read more  Where I grew up, we had just the one stop sign, right in the center of town. Our one and only law enforcement officer, the Sheriff, would sit outside the corner barbershop playing dominoes and tip his hat to those making the stop. If for any reason someone were to slide through it, he’d ask, upon seeing the perpetrator in Church, what the rush had been. If however someone were to run it, which didn’t happen too often, he’d cluck his tongue, shake his head slowly from side to side and mutt... read more  Answering the door Brian didn’t respond to my usual, “Hey dude how’s it going?” In fact, his reaction was quite the opposite. Scowling, he just stood aside and let me in. “What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?” I joked. “UCK U!” he screamed, or would have, were the words intelligible. “What?” I started to say before he stomped off angrily. Inside, I could hear Rebecca laughing her ass off. “What the hell is eating him?” I asked confused. Coming round the corner, smiling and wipi... read more  “Show me your secrets” Judith says. “Trust me" Bluebeard pleads looking deep into her eyes. “Do you love me?” she coyly asks him. He thrusts in a key. Reluctantly, yet in turn, opens the six doors to: the pain, tools, riches, beauty, terrain and tears that ‘are’ his life exposed. “Show me your secrets” she says yet again. “Please dear, just trust me” he begs of her. “Do you love me? If you do, you will open it” she demands. With the last key in place, he sadly tur... read more  A sick child cooled under Momma’s hand, a damp terry rag wrung out in worry. And the doctor says, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” When dark dreams come, and screams fill the house; as footsteps approach, where do demons go? She hums her lullaby: “Hush my child don’t you cry, doctor don’t know as much as I, so close your eyes now sleepy bye sleepy bye sweet baby.” Sick child cooled under a Momma’s loving hand, the damp wash rag wrung out in a hurry. To... read more  On the gold plain I lay too, flat on my back seed looking at blue above with a sore spot beneath. I’ve been told there are many things waiting for me, floating above in the clouds, if only I choose to see them; but there are only the blacks, blues and whites that itch in passing. Off in the distance, I can feel a train approaching the silos along this track. Close by, I hear the song of the meadowlarks and a farmer working the next field over. The turned soil brown, the dried gras... read more  What ‘has’ happened to Mister Nusko? They prepare his body for the crossing over ceremony but remember Susé dear, with great reverence this is done. Yes child, yes, I know that there is no actual body left. How could there be after the great dragon’s fire ate its fill? But his spirit must rest, and so they mourn to let it know it’s time to go. We must mourn too. As we light candles and burn incense, you must think of him. You must think good thoughts, even though he teased you when you ... read more  Victims of thought; who was it that told you not to listen to that voice inside, and plug the ears from a passionate heart? The aristocracy of thought has befuddled the heads of many men; it’s then, when a mind forged prevails, that the weakness of life’s ebb is realized. Worried, thinking about what we should do or why, we simply forget to act, and failing in that we fail ourselves.
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