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It is the job of a writer to make the ordinary extraordinary and the extraordinary ordinary.

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The stories we want to write come from the living we want to do. The way we write them comes from the living we have actually done.

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The more time I spend with the Green Fairy, the more absinth-minded I get. ;-)

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I don't have a bucket list. I just want a decent bucket—light and pliable. Soft even. Easy on the toes when I kick it. That's all I'm asking.

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I'm in the unfortunate habit of burning all bridges BEFORE me.

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I saw a man, this morning, tired and way past his prime. "Happy Birthday," I mumbled. He just looked away. Why do I still have mirrors in the house, anyway?

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"Spring," Tobiel said, with that familiar smirk on his face, "Spring is earth bringing you flowers to apologize for Winter. "

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Archimedes was a very calculating person. Just a thought. ;-)

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"As far as the Creator's grand design is concerned, everything in this world is Plan B." — Tobiel, the carpenter

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"Two wrongs don't make a right," Tobiel said, grinning and making three quarter-turns, "but three lefts do, see?"— Queen Makeda's Sister

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"You, my beloved, are a poem made of flesh and blood. My poetry is but an echo of what it says to me."

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Like a blind man's hands on the face of a stranger, so my soul yearns to fathom the boundless beauty of your being.

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While surfing the internet on my commute to work, I read that many portions of THE ARABIAN NIGHTS were written in mono-rhyme, which is frequently used in classical Arabic poetry. That inspired me. So I decided right then and there to put a few lines together, all of them written not only in mono-rhyme, but also in strict iambic pentameter without any rhythmic variations. So here they are, the thoughts of a man hopelessly in love but not at all certain yet whether his feelings will be returned:

She'll be the star by which I navigate,
My sure escape from a most dire fate,
The final word that wins the tough debate,
My soul's redeemer and its precious mate.
I bared my heart to her, so now I wait,
And her response will only be too late
When, carved in stone, my name with final date
Declares that I have moved past love and hate.

Copyright © 2014 Ruppert Lindemann