Field Guides

At night I walk to meet my friend the surf
Alone with me and the heron…
Or the egret…
Not sure

(I should get a field guide to shore birds
More practical than the whale guides, but oh!
How I love whales
Magnificent creatures these beasts
The quiet masters of the earth
Meditative and melodious.

When I die, God, make me a whale.
After the humans are gone,
So I can truly rule the seas
Top to bottom
All seven.

Yes, a whale, please?)

“So quiet out here,” Surf says.
Our gentle chats
Awash in humility
“What else, Poet, do you need?

The whales will wait for you
Learn the name of that bird
And fly for a little while –
There is time.”

Non-Vacant Vacancy (1987: Age 16)

March 5, 1987

And I stare
At an empty sheet of paper
And I wonder
How long it will be
Until words sparkle on the page.
It’s like the old days
I would stare
At the empty beat of my heart
I would wonder
How long it would be
Until beats sparkled on my face.
Those days, how long they were.

These nights, how long they are
When you stay away
and leave me with this
Non vacant vacancy.

Over the next few weeks I will be spending time with my 16-17 year old self from 1987. In no particular order, these poems will be presented in the final form I found them on computer discs discovered in an attic many years ago. This will culminate in the next entry of my Into My Own, My Story as a Writer series found here:

When Speaking to a Unicorn- Kindra M. Austin and Stephen Fuller

So thrilled to see my collaboration with Kindra M. Austin at Sudden Denouement. What fun to take on the challenge of writing about unicorns and rainbows, and pretty cool how it turned out. Thank you Kindra for sharing your writing time with me, and thank you Christine for your always passionate support of friends and writers. We hold all in the light. –Stephen

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Once upon a time,
I asked a unicorn to dance
Seemed lonely in the field
Eating rainbow spelt 
And candied corn

A whisper snuck into my ear, 
A wistful breeze
Had been searching 
Ever since the sun
Began to shine, 

A rogue child

Have courage child, 
Walk up to her
Don’t ask about the horn, 
Not yet, she knows you know, 
She wants to be seen a part 

The sweet beast, bastardized by
Fictions fashioned by man,
Is sensitive to ill-hearted hearts;
No discernment is greater than that of

Approach with trueness, and no
Regard for self;
Be a leaf carried on the breeze,
Or a ray of sunlight breaking through the
Oak trees

Speak to her with kaleidoscopic words

Run up the hill
Osculate me
Yearning to
Glow like a 
Inviting my

She sees you
Like light in night
She hears you
A song for the…

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‘This umbrella tires of holding up the rain’

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain.
Her waterproof nylon grown thin,
Ribs starting to bend to the wind,
She tires,
Whispers: “Let the rain drench you.”
Wind blown sideways like the sky
Asking for directions as it falls
To the earth looking for suture:
Heal us, our stars and their stories.

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain.
It beseeches me to close it
“Look up!”
See patterns raindrops make falling
Like a web of stars torn apart
Looking for a new storyteller
To mix the tonic God pours down on us.
“Wrap your arms around me,” she says,
“Let the story fall on its own.”

Umbrella, I tire of holding back rain.
Open me up and I will catch it
This mystery I can no longer solve
The water will resolve its story
In rivers

Holding my collapsing ribs,
Holding my frayed skin together,
She accepts the rain inside.

Warm Hand (1987 – age: 17)

November 5, 1987

Warm hand
I hold your
Warm heart

Strong arm
grab my
to the sea
we face

Whisper breeze
to share

Soft pale skin
sensual touch
lips to
red lips
white neck
soft pale

A shiver

In my heart
to swim
float in
the warm
sea air
life in you
warm hand

Over the next few weeks I will be spending time with my 16-17 year old self from 1987. In no particular order, these poems will be presented in the final form I found them on computer discs discovered in an attic many years ago. This will culminate in the next entry of my Into My Own, My Story as a Writer.  The first of the series can be found here:

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge August 14, 2018

Come visit us in the GDG today and follow Beth’s weekly prompt… “smoke on the water” you may find there is much more to Deep Purple than you ever knew! Stephen

Go Dog Go Café


Hi everyone!  Apologies for missing posting a challenge last week.  Sometimes life gets in the way.  But we are back!

Deveraux Frazier and Beth Amanda are currently hosting the Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which was started by our star writer Christine Ray. We hope to offer all of you something that will spark your creativity and willingness to participate.

The prompts are designed to be quick challenges that can be written in 10 to 15minutes,  inspire you creatively, are fun, and get everyone interacting.  Please post your response to the prompt in the comments below and show your fellow posters some love and support.  All members of the Go Dog Go community, including Baristas, are welcome to participate.  Feel free to share this post on your own blogs and/or Facebook.

We are always looking for cool, quick writing prompts.  If you have a great idea for a future Tuesday…

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Blow Away the Smoke

When last seen, the smoke had settled on the water

He looked up at the fire ball screaming across the sky

Hoping it would soon end.  Night had become day,

Day had become night and he was left sorting stars.

This one tells the story of a dolphin dancing in the surf

This one tells the story of our hunter Orion and his aegis

This one tells the story of a mother chained for her beauty

This one tells the story of…

Me.  I have burnt my deck house down to the water line

Row away with me in the life raft, open to elements, feel

Rain drip down our cheeks and lightning tickle our lips.

I will be the fire in your sky, just blow away the smoke.

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge August 14, 2018

Image: smoke on the water by raun

Smoke on the water

Before We Sleep

Driven for miles and miles.
Accelerator leg begins to ache,
A nerve end grown annoyed at the stillness.
Seat adjusted forward, up, down, and back
Nothing calms the temperamental child
Tossing tantrums on my cheeks: sneak attack!
Stop. Stop! STOP! Get OUT! Put out this fire!

Still driving.
Driven miles and miles.
Feigning appeasement, the car pulls over
To buy plain M&Ms, update profiles.
One more nut and insanity will takeover.
Sane fall like leaves from trees coloring woods
Like blood’s first taste of O 2, but too soon
The brown, dried, crunch, tramples underfoot.

More miles to drive,
So many more miles to drive before
We sleep. A tree standing naked beside
The road reminds me to watch her disrobe.
Teasing me, knowing a firm nipple slides
Free from lace to arouse voices lost deep
Inside my head: Wake up, you grim weeper
Promise me one more song before we sleep.