27 December 1999 to 07 February 2017

16 years, 42 days

You crossed the Rainbow Bridge yesterday,

While I whispered “I love you” into your ear and my heart shattered.

Memories of you flood my mind, crowding out all other thoughts.

I miss you so much.

The house is so quiet now without you in it,

Yet I can feel you everywhere.

The paw prints you made in the snow are still visible

Across the front yard to the step,

When we came back from that final walk up the street;

We didn’t make it all the way to the post office, you and I,

But I didn’t think we would.

Walking was hard on you, but

At least we got to enjoy the sun and fresh air together

One more time.

You knew what was going to happen when we drove you to the vet.

We all knew that our lives together was quickly coming to an end.

You were so brave as you faced your imminent death.

Could you hear Mark’s heart beating as you leaned against his chest

While you sat on the blanketed table,

As the sedation took the strength from your legs

And you laid down?

The last few minutes ticked by;

We both said our goodbyes to you before

The vet came in and gave you the final shot.

We laid our hands on your body as you took your last breaths;

Your heart beat a few more times and you were still.

I searched for you in my dreams.

I wanted to make sure you’d found your way safely back home,

But I got lost.

I love you and miss you, Roxy, my sweet girl.

I will see you when I cross that same bridge.

I hope you’re there to greet me when I get to the other side.

If not, I will look for you when I get there.

Gail Fulkerson

08 February 2017img_9420


Daily Prompt: Crossing

via Daily Prompt: Crossing

The bridge spanning the chasm lies just ahead,

Marking the end of the serpentine trail.

Mists roll up, blurring the bridge’s outlines; the deafening sounds of a powerful water fall fill your ears.

The trail behind you was erased while you were distracted.

Turning back is no longer an option.

Breath is gone, heart is still,

No more light behind your eyes,

Yet visions and memories still float silently before them, before disappearing like so much smoke.

You have arrived at the place of final crossing; taking your first tentative steps, feeling the bridge solid beneath your feet.

Emboldened, you take another step, and another.

Sparks of light begin to flash; you look in all directions to find their source,

Only to discover the shimmering effervescence is radiating from you.

You can feel the sparks as they flash around you, faster and faster, reflecting the fullness of the colour spectrum – and more.

This is your spirit disengaging from its corporeal confines.

Total disconnection is imminent.

A popping sound, then silence.

An exquisite floating sensation as your human form is discarded, revealing what you are:


Pure and powerful.

The bridge is behind you, no memory of having traversed it.

The mists swirl and the bridge is gone.

A sense of finality permeates the scene.

You cannot return and take up your life

Where it left off.

It is done, and

The bridge is no more.

Deep sighing, as though from a great distance reaches your ears;

The sounds of loved ones mourning their loss.

Up ahead, someone is calling you.

Moving in the direction of that voice you know,

There is a slight shift in the air at your back,

Perhaps an Angel’s breath,

As the Veil closes gently behind you.

Your crossing is complete,

And new adventures await.

Daily Prompt: Flames

via Daily Prompt: Flames

The fire was no accident.

Neighbours watched in horror

And morbid fascination

As the flames consumed everything,

Exploding the windows

One by one,

Reaching hungrily for the trees

In the front yard

As the panes of glass melted and ran

Down the walls.




The flames grew, unabated,

Devouring years of

Accumulated detritus.

Layer upon stinking layer,

Left rotting in the darkness

On sagging floors.

Walls dripping with mould

Where rainwater ran through

Holes in the roof.

Putrid smoke rising,

A black cloud smudging the sky.


The shining house, once full of light

And promises of happily ever after,

Suddenly went dark.

The old woman turned off the lights,

Closed the drapes and locked the doors.

She spoke not a word after that day.

The years passed.


They say she purposely

Started the fire in her bedroom.

So much fuel; such a small match.

The fire fed like a ravenous animal,

Consuming the upper floors,

Racing down the old staircase,

Leapfrogging from stack to stack

Of old newspapers and magazines

Piled high on the stairs.

It fled to the main floor,

Sweeping from room to room,

Roaring in delight.

It ate the entire house and its contents,

Including the old woman.

She is finally at peace.


They built a fast food restaurant where

Her house used to be.

Daily Prompt: Irksome

via Daily Prompt: Irksome

I find unnecessary noise irksome. It jangles my nerves, startles me, and pisses me off when I’m absorbed in writing, reading a book or lost in a daydream.

Why disturb the quiet with unneeded racket? Why slam a door when closing it quietly is just as effective? Why speak loudly when the person you’re speaking with is within whispering distance?

Perhaps these annoying sounds serve the purpose of bringing attention to the noise maker, who may believe they deserve frequent acknowledgement, validation of their existence, and copious amounts of attention from others.

Feeling ignored? Make an unnecessary noise so others around you will look up, with an annoyed, alarmed, or curious expression on their faces, in search of the source of that noise – you – and for a brief moment, you get the attention you so desperately crave. It doesn’t matter whether it is negative or positive – it is attention. Do it often enough and its effectiveness wears off. People start to wonder whether noisemaking is indicative of a more serious issue you may have.

Here is the bottom line: Making noise that does does not enhance the space we occupy is irksome, so put a cork in it.

Daily Prompt: Hyperbole

via Daily Prompt: Hyperbole

A promise is a promise until it crosses a politician’s lips; then, it becomes a lie that gets stuck in the quicksand they’re standing on, and the weight of all the combined promises starts dragging them down.

And, while they are sinking, their mouths keep moving, spewing promise after promise, each one clinging tightly, weighing them down even more as they sink faster.

Many don’t realize or accept that they are sinking because their eyes are glued to the shiny polls that glitter with big numbers that tell them how well they are doing in the political ring. But polls are nothing more than inflated numbers injected directly into the egos of those who run for the highest public offices in the land.

Yet, even after the quicksand reaches up to and past their lying lips, filling in their mouth, choking off their air,”vote for me” can still be faintly heard as they are finally swallowed up. Their sweaty hand gripping tightly to the little flag is the last thing to disappear.

But, don’t you worry; one of their cronies will pluck that tiny flag from their dying hand before it sinks and is gone forever.

They will take it and wave it proudly, their chest all puffed up, as they strut through the throngs of voters, the adoring crowds who, moments ago, faithfully followed the newly dead candidate to the edge of the quicksand, but did not fall in. They now have a new hero: the flag waving fool in their midst, quietly practicing how to convincingly say, “Vote for me,” as he hatches new promises to utter.

And this is politics at its finest.