Friday, June 28, 2013

White Bread

                                                                        Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949

White Bread

A stale moment frozen in time,
Like outdated pie,
or feet too scared to dance.

Those monochrome days choked in the smoke,
Like unwritten lines,
Creating boundaries so oppressive to the soul.


Like white bread.

                                   - T. M. Crone


White Bread was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by Stanley Kubrick's 1949 photo.

Friday, June 7, 2013


Below is a snippet from "Gator Meat," my short story about space walks for the terminally ill. It explores social injustices in the future.

"Gator Meat" can be read in its entirety in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS, my anthology of previously published short stories found at in paperback or kindle format. This excerpt is well into the story after Becka Tubbs decides to leave her home in Florida's swamp land to accompany Baxter on his final adventure.


Leaving Swamp Town was the easiest thing Becka had ever done. It was Baxter's twenty-first birthday. After a brief celebration eating alligator jerky, she packed a small bag, nailed a plank across her swamp hut entrance to keep intruders out, threw half a decayed gator carcass onto the deck of her
least favorite neighbor, and then hitched a ride on a harvest truck with Baxter. Baxter didn't pack a bag.

They drove north up the coastline and then stopped when they reached the Cape. Becka helped Baxter off the truck, her faded khaki short spotted with peach pulp. Launch pads sat in the distance, a few with ships on them. Baxter led the way to a large steel complex with doors high enough for a mega giant's largest cousin to walk through. 

"All you need to do is stroll along like you own the place and nobody'll bother you," Baxter said.


Thanks for stopping by, and feel free to leave comments below.