It is the little things that you appreciate the most.

Some things are really not worth losing your soul for.

A lighthearted, look back to the days when a few pints of beer in the local British pub was an honour passed down from Father to son.

Very Good Story.

This is officially my 2nd poem.

This is an account of a strange incident that happened to me about fifteen years ago. Was it a UFO? It was to me because I couldn’t identify the object. Can you?

Sweet and juicy fruit.

Love sickness.

This is the cannery experience which I did for 25 years, till they downsized and I became flotsam. I wrote this on a piece of paper towel at 4:05am, the graveyard shift, while running the seamer, a machine that seals lids on filled cans of product. Mind numbing work, the blue collar dollar.

In memory of my brother, Roger E. Rice, who died too soon (1947-1968).