Category: Other Writing

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“Springhill” Book Release Party

I’m delighted to announce the release of my fourth book, Springhill.

From the back cover:

There’s a difference between being lost and being lost in Louisiana. Being lost means that, given enough time, you’ll sort it out. Being lost in Louisiana means you can’t find your butt to scratch it. Bill Montgomery is the latter. After arriving in Springhill, his only hope is to get out. In one blistering hot afternoon, he discovered that it wasn’t so bad, but first, he had to learn its secrets and the people that lived them.

Toles sweeps the reader away, lost in the story from page one, swimming with ease in the current. Sprinkled with humor and small-town charm, the author conveys deep affection for his characters…. a sublime reflection on Americana. When the final sentence arrives and our time in Springhill must come to an end, the reader should not be surprised to think, “Oh, hell… / want more.” – Faith Phillips

An enjoyable ode to small-town America and the wonderful people who call it home… a timely reminder lof the beauty – and importance – of sitting down and listening to people’s story… so grab an ice-cold Coke and jump in with this great cast of characters. – Chloe Fuksa/Putnam Six Bookstore

You can preorder the Kindle version here. The paperback will also be available on November 8th.

If you happen to be in Enid on Friday, November 8th, please stop by the book release party.

If you can’t make it Friday, there will also be a book signing at Putnam Six Bookstore on Saturday, November 9th. Friend and fellow author Paula Benge will also be there with copies of her new book.

Other books that you can purchase on Amazon:

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A Public Poem

I wonder if you know?


Before the first day, you were known.
On the last day, you will be judged.


There are swords made to slay the dragon.
There are swords to pierce your heart.


An angel guards your path.
A fallen one seeks your soul for his own.


There are seven days in a week.
There are three hundred sixty-five days in a year.
There are only so many days in your life.
Live them wisely.


Honor everyone.
Love the brotherhood.
Fear God.
Honor the emperor.


You’re going to die.


Have a little whiskey.
Not too much.
It can be good for the soul.
It can bring you to hell.


Pause.
Let the angels go before.


Pause.
Say a prayer
for you
and for me.


This is not the time to speak your mind.
This is not the time to allow others to rule your heart.
This is not the place to falter or fade.
This is the place to stand.


Question.
Who is going to live your life for you?

I saw the sun rise.
You were there.
We shall live.
For ever and ever .
Amen.

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We are “The Capitol”

I’m a firm believer in Israel’s right to defend. If what happened to them happened to us, we would have dusted off the nukes. I know that we will send billions to help rebuild when it is over. I know that this is not the only aid that will be sent. I know… I know… I know… but…

The tug boat is towing a barge of food to Gaza, which I also firmly believe we should be doing. However, I could only imagine those on the Virgin cruise looking down on it and thinking, “Aren’t we good people for helping out.”

I can’t help but think that this is how we support the world when we could do so much more. We live in The Hunger Games, and we are The Capitol.

This from the hypocrite who is going to Spain to take a walk.

The photos are from AP

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Prompt: You are under a tornado warning

Enid Writers Club Roll Call (150 word limit)

Photo by NOAA on Unsplash

The wind was sucking on Dan’s shirt tails as he dove into the tornado shelter. Quickly, he slammed the door shut and spun the wheel to lock it in place.

Climbing down the ladder, he fumbled for the light switch. Nothing. He had forgotten to charge the batteries.

“Won’t be but a few minutes,” he said to the pitch and settled in, his back against the wall.

He listened, but it wasn’t the sound of the storm that caught his attention. Instead, it was a slurping squelch as something else moved in the dark. 

Cautiously, he felt around until his hand fell upon a short metal pipe. He waited. Moments later, something grabbed him, and Dan started beating away with the pipe. He quit when he felt the skull of the intruder give way under a heavy blow. 

“Damn zombies,” he said and went back to listening to the storm.

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Thursday’s Poem – “Ignore”

You knew it was the cry of my breath
and you knew you would ignore
there were so many cries for life
but none that gave you breath

I came from a distant place
a place of horrors and peace
where the demons shout with glee
giving us flight, while we run in terror
   bleeding in our lost souls

Chase me in the absence
remember me when the clouds break
I’ll not be there
in the lightning
in the cacophony
in the… hmm
  … I might be there.

Short life bleeds into years
no sense in setting clocks
all read the same
all chime last call

A monkey churns
a tune grinds on
I pop when time is…
  ….. time is
  ….. time is
  ….. time is…
when you have become the dancing monkey
you dance
  it rains
  it plays the sounds of the carnival
        and if you dance the dance
        
      ah!

    ”Have a nibble. It won’t last
     but it will bait you along.”

I watched the sun
my eyes wide open
blistered my vision
opened my mind
and if it mattered
we’d all play the violin
and pretend the world was flat

As it is
I’ve forgotten my name
(thankfully, the Son remembers)
fifty-nine years and the plague of our dreams
               Sai, we know not why
skips past and dreams of a better day.

Bring me my life.
Bring me my breath.
I will live
            yes
    I will live

YES

Black, white, and other shades of gray. These are the colors of our mind
   these are the color we see…..
       ….. I am blue.

Find me.

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Writing: Why did the Owl Hoot?

150-word Roll Call for December 2023 Enid Writers Club

Image by Chräcker Heller from Pixabay

To hoot, or not to hoot, that is the question:
For to hoot is to speak in hopes of being heard,
To not is silence amongst the trees,
Meditating upon the moon and the leaves.
If perchance I see a friend, a hoot would surely invite them in,
Whereas a foe might seek me out
Only to harass, harangue, and steal my house.
So, I perch wide-eyed in my hollow oak,
Prudence shepherding my unspoken note,
Equivocating on whether to hoot or not.

A snap, a twig, a scurrying in the night,
My dinner moves cautiously out of sight.
Unaware of my presence and eyes so bright,
Nor of my taste for furry gray mice.
I swoop, I dive, I see my mark.
I reach, I grab, I clasp thin air.
I sit, I frown, no wages for work,
I’ll go hungry this night, my soul in despair.

“Well… Hoot.”

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Writing: Floating

150-word Roll Call for Enid Writers Club November meeting. We had a FIVE-way tie for the winner!

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

My first trip to the International Space Station would be my last. Not because I wasn’t qualified or because I was planning to retire. No. This would be my last mission because I had failed to securely fasten the tether that anchored me to the station, and for the past thirty minutes, I had been drifting away. The station, now no more than a dot in the distance, would soon pass beyond the horizon of Earth, and I would float in this blackness forever.

“Robert? Colonel, this is ground control; we are working to….”

Click.

I turned off my communications link. I had approximately thirty-two minutes before I was out of oxygen. No matter what they were working to do, it would not change my fate. I choose to enter the Greater Silence while listening in this lesser one. Perhaps I may hear the door between the two snicking open.

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“Jumping from a Plane”

Enid Writer’s Club April Roll Call. Must be 150 words or less. The prompt: “Jumping from a plane.”

The engine coughed, then died. No option. Quickly shouldering on the parachute, I made ready.

God knows how I would miss this plane. She had been good to me through so many dog fights, even having survived the Red Barron, but not today. Nothing more than a faulty engine and a soon-to-be-fired mechanic.

Racing to the rear of the plane and sliding open the door, I gently kissed the fuselage. “I’ll never forget you,” I said and jumped.

When I landed, my disapproving wife was standing there.

“Harold! You’re an embarrassment,” she said, hands on hips.

“That may be,” I responded, whisking my white silk scarf over my shoulder, “but I’ve got three more quarters.”

The kids standing outside the Piggly Wiggly waiting their turn on the kiddie plane groaned as I inserted my coin and waited for those magical words.

“Barron Killer Nine, you are cleared for takeoff….”

149 words

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Opinion: What We Lost…

Photo by Ben Wicks on Unsplash

If you want to change the nation’s opinion of gun laws and background checks…

Tell us what Evelyn’s favorite color was and how she used it in her pictures.

Tell us what Hallie’s favorite animal was. Mine is a polar bear, but I’m guessing she had a different one.

Tell us how William wanted to play the lead in the school play when he was “bigger” or maybe right field like Babe Ruth.

If you want people to listen and respond to the challenges of mental health…

Tell us how Katherine poured her life into a better future for children.

Tell us about how Cynthia worked as a substitute teacher, knowing the teachers she filled in for were as crucial as the students.

Tell us about Mike and his love for those kids and how he wanted everything to be just right for their next day at school. 

If you want to change the world, stop telling us about those who take and kill and, instead, tell us about our loss, for it is oh, so very great.

I can hear nine-year-old William—if he had a voice—a few years from now, quoting Shakespeare, “Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.”

The killers are nothing. Those they slaughtered… we’ll never know.

Want to change the nation’s opinion of gun laws and background checks… 

Tell us about what we lost.

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