It’s Always Christmas At The Vineyards


Thanks Rochelle for hosting and Sandra for your picture.  All links can be found here.

Sandra Crook


Nestled up to the rusty ornate art work they sipped on Cabernet and Merlot.  They rustled with a sense of importance, the limo waiting.  Simple fine lines, pleasures they could not feel concealed behind the work escaped them.

“Spectacular” they said.

“That sounds Grand.”


Arc-white eyeballs, cracked red finger tips they did not think about.

“That’s cool…”

They loved the work, the chains, the lockets, the devices, the propane, the trinket perched on the porch.  They poured more wine.

The breeze blew hot across the vineyards, the wind of conversation skimmed the surface.

“It’s called Marley’s Harley.”










Holy Host

Going to build a fire today

And let it burn until the moon goes up

Until the smores melt on my chin

The wind blows the cold of winter away


Going to watch the TV as the kids fade into another day of school

As midnight comes around and all the sounds trickle

Into the melting Ice of Sunday libations, peace

The partaking of the blood of Christ

The holy host

The holy shit he is a loaded host

Sweets at the end of the night





The Tree

Thanks Rochelle for hosting and thank you Scott for the picture.  All links can be found here.

Every neighborhood has a spot to hang out.  A generic name for a specific spot, the tree, the pit, the dock….

From Scott Vanatter with permission-Copyrigh-  Indira

I see a Dodge Dart, teeth collapsing in

Girls dancing to Southern Rock, someone standing on the hood

Overalls and hand me downs, a fist full of loving

The kind of hands that would collapse a man

Make him weep and see god, apologize

And realize

That he stood

On the wrong rod.

I see me

All In The Family

And you

The Tart Cart

The Earth shoe

A strange LSD hue

The coming of greed

Better weed

I see the tree,

The pit, the dock

Thom Mcan

Playing kick the can

On the block

Country rocks

Japs and jocks


the tree“The Tree”