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At the Wishing Well

They poured wishes into the well

Dropping copper dreams into clear water

Waiting for a feeling

A change


Like all good things

Time was required

They turned away from the well

Left their wishes behind them

In the forest and woods

They romped and played

Frolicked and fell

Tumbled and turned

They sang to the birds

Told stories to the frogs

Headed home when the sun began to set

For months they returned to the well

Looking down to see if anything grew there

Deep in the water where dreams come true

And they grew

Years passed and they rarely visited the well any longer

Maybe they forgot even what they had dreamt

What they had wished

So much time passed that when the dreams showed up quietly

They went unremarked

So it is with wishes sometimes

Coming true when the wisher is no longer looking

The dream returning while the dishes are being washed

And the dog is being taken for a walk

In the autumn leaves they walked again

To the wishing well

He observed that her wish had come true

She noticed his dream had finally been realized

And they laughed together at the distance travelled

The difficulties managed

For a moment they thought they heard

The laughter echo from their own voices across time

Songs and stories given as gifts to the birds and the frogs

Coming back again to their hearts

As they walked home

In the twilight of fall

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Witchified – Cesily’s Grand Opening (Excerpt)

“Are you the, uhm, witch who has placed the, er, the advertisement up in the clouds this morning?”


“I’d never done one before. Do you think it came out all right?” I asked picking up my coffee and books off of the low table in front of the couch. I began to move behind the counter, and he took a few more steps towards me as I moved away from both the door and the seating.

“It’s just that…” he looked at me then at his shoes, beautiful black boots of scrolled leather and pointy toes, then back up at me.

I shrugged a shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just that what?”

“Well, madam witch,” he paused briefly as if he wanted my name. Then, as if he changed his mind, the rest of his words rushed out in a flood, “todoapublicworkinglikethatyouneedacitypermit. Do you have a copy of your permit nearby?”

My eyes had squinted trying to follow what he was saying than went wide as I shook my head and leaned back.

“How much for a permit?” I asked.

“Well, madam, the permit is 200 lukas, and the fine will be another 80 lukas.” By now the madam this and madam that had started to annoy me, and the amount of the cost of the permit distressed me.

Right away the cheap and frugal part of me went to battle with the obey-the-rules part of me. That conflict was quickly followed by the anti-authoritarian part of me jumping into the fray which woke up survival me, and I’m afraid I stood there scowling at him while this raging argument tumbled furniture and broke things in my mind.

“What if I took it down right now? Would I still owe anything? I didn’t know about needing a permit.” Find-the-loophole-me saunter into the situation carelessly throwing down the obvious easiest possible solution, while dodging the metaphorical plates and chairs the others were still slinging around in my mind. Find-the-loophole-me tried to come up with other exits against the background tussle while I blinked, somewhat fetchingly I thought, at the government man.

He came over to the counter where I had set down my coffee. I piled my books onto a shelf under the counter and straightened back up to see him pulling on his beard. There were crinkles around his eyes which seemed to dance merrily in his face, and he had a crooked bit of a smile which made me feel awfully strange in a nice way when he turned it my direction, like he was doing while I stood there fiddling with my coffee and waiting for his answer.

I smiled back at him. He shook his head and his smile dropped away, which was disappointing. He cleared his throat again and shook his head some more.

“I’m afraid not, there’s already been a complaint, and I’m afraid you’ll have to settle up with me or come down to the office.”

My eyes lit up and I smiled again leaning forward over the counter towards him, glancing swiftly left and right, and whispering loudly, “What happens if I go down to the office with you?”

He took a step back and cocked his head to one side. His eyes glanced at the ceiling, and he stroked his beard, and he said, “Uhm, honestly, this is my second week on the job since my training ended, and I have no idea. Hold on up while I find out.”

Patreon Link to Full Story Subscription tier Curious Cats and up.

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Freshly Brewed (Poetry Book Excerpt)

I was loved once

Not by the woman who bore me

Nor by the one who raised me

Not by the man who acquired me

Nor by the one who may not know I exist

I was loved by ghosts

Goddesses and gods

Spiders and birds

Trees and flowers

I was loved once by a dream

And once again by a song

Though I learned to love people

I did not know

I might still not know

How to be loved

It is a skill taught so young that those who learn

Forget it was ever a lesson


J’ai été aimée une fois

Pas par la femme qui m’a porté

Ni par celle qui m’élevé

Pas par l’homme qui m’atenue

Ni par lui qui me sait pas si j’existe

J’ai été aimée par les fantômes

Déesses et dieux

Les araignées et les oiseaux

Des arbres et des fleures

J’ai été aimée une fois par un rêve

Et une fois par une chanson

Même si j’ai appris a aimer les personnes

Je ne savais pas

Je ne sais peut-être tourjours pas

Comment être aimée

C’est une competence à prendue quand on est si jeune que ceux qui l’apprendre

Oblient que c’etait une fois une leçon


Excited to be working with a translator for this introduction, and the section introductions to my poetry book Freshly Brewed, a coffee table poetry book about objectification, trauma recovery, learning to relate to other people, relationships, and coffee. Point of view is often from the coffee.

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Tail Ends

There were stories told about her hair

How dangling out the window curved

A brave lover dared to climb

Who woo’d her time and time again

Until she fled captivity

Did she bundle up her locks to flee

Did she sheer them off and hide the key

Did she stay the course with lover dear

Or did she veer away when the path was clear

Around the campfires late at night

They sing the tale of tail’s poor plight

How clumps and strands of golden locks

Were found within the Bear’s porridge

Wrapped around the table and every chair

Mounded on each size of cot

No footprints leaving through the mud

The theory is she’d had enough

Grew wings and to the skies she took

This is how the golden eagle came to be

When we reach the end of gilded tails

Look up and tell me what you see

golden eagle
Photo by Pixabay on

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Seeing Angels

They love the bustling crowds

Of New York City

Philadelphia, Boston, Los Angelas

Blending in

Elbow to elbow with humankind

There is a cast to their outline

A little brighter

A lack of shadow

They feel your glance like a touch

When your eyes dart back to look again

They have already disappeared

Did they shapeshift


Become invisible

Were they to task

Or on shore leave for a moment

Oh, mysterious world!

Full of wonders and secrets

Unfold miracles in these troubled times

And let the winged ones

Have their moments

In the sun

man with wings standing on brown mountain peak
Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on
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Behind the Song: 10 Cent Angel

Patchwork Blue Album

You don’t look back. You fly.

Being Uncomfortable
Meeting Angels
Turning it around

10 Cent Angel is about leaving – not the nostalgic adventure, but the one where staying would mean the death of spirit, destruction. This is the song for those who walked, or ran away, and who maybe looked back once or twice and kept going.

This is for those who want to go, who need to go, or who have considered it. If you understood the fuel behind the leaving, you might understand how it wouldn’t be as true if it had been done differently.

This song is also for those met along the path, who shared a part of the journey. Good company. Angels taking care of angels. Shelters in the storm. Those kind words, and unexpected generosity. Thank you.

And this is for the gossips left behind – the petty speculation  and mean-spirited focus are part of the whole problem with humanity. Turn your mind to helping yourself and others.

And lastly this song for those who take advantage  of others’ youth, innocence, and naivete – you never win, nor will you ever win.

Wendy Kheiry
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Kicked to the Curb (with Audio)

On a dingy curb they sat

She in a dress once white

Grubby ruffles sliding down

From scabbed knees

Bare feet in the gutter

A thin arm wrapped around

His shoulders boney under

A faded blue shirt

His grim shorts matched

The grey cement

She called his name as she

Held him

Grabbed his elbows then

Wove her arms into his

The traffic in front of them

Pulsed in fumes and beats

Music poured out from cracked


Behind them legs took people

Quickly to their next appointment

She called his name

She called his name

I need you, she said

She called his name

I’m sorry, so sorry, so sorry

She called his name

Please survive

I will find you

In this bubble outside of time

Pact struck

Within the swirling city

That never was

Children who never were young

Spit on palms and clasped hands

Making promises

For the future

Writing hope into the lamplight

Singing dirges to the past

Drawing stick figures in grime

A couple kissing

Two in love

Encircled by an asymmetric heart

And when they woke

To another day in hell

Apart and never parted

Hanging on by a thin thread

Woven from a fragment of a

Dream half remembered

Until the day it was needed

“I’m glad you made it,” she said

“I feel selfish for needing you to survive that.”

“I hope you found some joy in the sunlight,

And laughter in the wind,

And peace in the water,

And love growing up from the soil.”

Possibilities swirled around them

Standing there between the light

And the Abyss

A single path began to coalesce

As he slid his hand into hers

“I said I would find you,” he told her

Every star in the sky became a blossom

Every flower in the meadow burst into flames

Birds became dragons

Whales flew through purple skies

Smoke curled up from stone chimney

A cat slept next to a dog in front of the hearth

They curled together under a blanket on the couch

She began to read to him from an unfinished book

When he closed his eyes for a moment

Under the words she spoke, he heard her call his name

And his name meant home to her

And so he stayed

monochrome photo of person sitting on curb
Photo by Brett Sayles on