Randy Baker

Joined January 2024

177 stories

Bio

Poet, author, essayist.

My Vocal "Top Stories":

* The Breakers Motel * 7 * Holding On * Til Death Do Us Part * The Fisherman

Stories (177)

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Spellbound
Tuneless tinkling of windchimes lulls me like the song of sirens. Like a perfect picture postcard, the expanse of the sea lies before me.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
Doctor Bird on a Winter's Day
I owe that Doctor Bird an apology. Icicles drip from his long, streamer tails. Alone, perched against a snowy backdrop.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
It Lurks in Shadows
Beneath my bed, in shadows deep it lies, the beast, unseen, breathes whispers of the past. With its creeping tendrils it comes and tries
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
Beachcomber
Oil platforms rise out of the ocean like futuristic islands in a dystopian sci-fi movie. I can’t help but think it is, in fact, somewhat dystopian, future, or not. What a way to mess up a magnificent view.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Fiction
Radu Vodă Monastery
Beneath the church at Radu Vodă are thousands, * perhaps tens of thousands, of squares of paper * seen through
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
Prompted: #1. Top Story - February 2024.
PROMPTED: INTRODUCTION I'm new here, but I'm a fan of writing prompts (I have a few things to say about them HERE) and I'm a fan of creating community and uplifting other writers. So, I thought I'd attempt to host a writing challenge (unofficial). If it gets enough interest, I hope to make this a regular monthly exercise. I welcome your feedback and encourage you to join in the fun.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Writers
The Hermitage
After supper, he always did the same thing. He rinsed out his bowl and cup and placed them to dry on a ragged towel that lay flat on a shelf. Its striped pattern faded long ago. The stripes must have once been vivid blues and reds. He did not remember. More accurately, he gave it no thought. If he did, he might recall the colors were, indeed, bright. Much like his eyes had been.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Futurism
Hands
The blue veins criss-crossed the backs of his hands like roadways on a topographic map, showing where his life had taken him. The opposite sides, calloused and strong like a vice, rivaled a grizzly bear’s. At least that’s what I imagined when I was young, looking at those hands, wondering if mine might ever look so scarred and weathered. Those were the hands of a hard man, a hard life. Mine rarely do anything more strenuous than striking the letters on a keyboard. His were gentle only when resting on my shoulder or giving my hair a tousle.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
The Old Clothesline
It’s time to tear the clothesline down; iron poles once held it high, our laundry dancing for all to see, flapping against the sky.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
When Coffee Time Come
“Miss Bailey,” a voice called, accompanied by a tap-tap-tapping on our gate. “Miss Bailey! Please come. Mr. Morris dead.”
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Fiction
Emergency Room Protocol
The woman at the counter asked, “What is your father’s name?” “He passed away nearly 30 years ago,” I explained. I am 50.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Poets
The Power of Prompts
Introduction The blank page is a canvas of endless possibilities, waiting for a writer to paint a picture with words: a doodle, a masterpiece, or something in between. There are so many possibilities, that the most seasoned creative writer can be intimidated by the blank page.
By Randy Baker2 years ago in Writers