I guess the artist's imagination has to show itself and often it does in more than one direction. I got my inspiration for making up stories from my sister who used to make up stories for me when I was a boy.

I've written prose and poetry, skits, plays, song lyrics and children's stories. I've also written adult erotica as well, but that's for another time and place. If you wish to know more about that, email me directly and ask me. And yes, you must state you are 18 years old or above to receive any of the adult material.

Within these pages are some examples of my writing, some of which has been published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and in the continuing Explorations series from the Mental Health Association of the Southern Tier in Binghamton, NY

Many of these go way back. Still, I hope you enjoy what you read and of course, your considered comments are appreciated. mickeyray@stny.rr.com

Mickey

DETECTIVE TOAD

 By Mickey Ray - Pfleger

Detective Toad was berated by

A screeching Mrs. Fly.

His work was hardly up to par

And she would tell him why!

A week went by, he couldn’t find

Her sugar lump so sweet.

(A human used it in his coffee)

She had nothing left to eat.

Could not dispute her valid points

And in mock capitulation

He kissed her with his toady tongue

A sticky situation.

But as he ate poor Mrs. Fly

For only being vexed,

He grinned a very toady grin

And queried out, “Who’s next?”

PEN PAL

 By Mickey Ray - Pfleger

She tapped her pen upon her tongue

From her ink well, began to write

Scalding innuendoes with searing words and bite.

Lies foul and ugly of her neighbors

All the ones she hated

She posted each and every one

Then merely sat and waited.

They read her nasty letters

Disregarding all but one

A neighbor truly guilty of all she said he’d done.

Instead of showing anger

He presented her a gift

New pen, ink and paper, to show he wasn’t miffed.

She dipped her pen upon her tongue

To thank her new ‘friend’ readily.

She died before she finished it

Her gift of ink was deadly.

OLD VIRGINIA

By Mickey Ray ~ Pfleger

 She's old, Virginia is.

 The harassing hairbrush reminds her

In swirls of gray and mousy brown clumps

That needs removing with a fine tooth comb.

"Ginger," whine the cracked and lonely

Voices of her enforced companions

Drawing her away from the mirror's

Reflection of moles with tiny sprouts 'neath

Her Ginny, chin chin

The tedious crones who live

With her in a Government nursingcomplex

Cling to her like oil based paint

On worried finger nails.

Where is the thinner to dissolve

The reminder of their annoying existence

"Our friends are dropping like flies!"

A shrill and unwanted distraction says too loudly.

Camphor and cookies

Cyanide and sarsaparilla, Virginia wonders

The former government gardener

Was a sweet young thing whose

Conversations were gentle and informing

With not one reference to her aging or infirmities.

And oh, he knew so much about pest control

She's old, Virginia is,

But every once in a while

She smiles brightly and looks a whole lot younger

THE THOUGHT

by Mickey Ray ~ Pfleger

 It started as a compilation

Having no physical substance

Knowing no comparison

To prejudice itself

It created its own

Substance by its self

And

In its creation

It knew its destruction

For as once it was,

It also was not,

Inevitably,

For it knew no better

TONY O

© 1990 Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Detectiverse

 By Mickey Ray - Pfleger

  Tony O was no weakling; he had not an inkling

Of conscience that any could speak of.

He’d could kill with impunity, then get off with immunity

As a witness, he shared a unique love

With the courts - as it were, he'd gladly defer

And rat on more than one villain.

“Nothin’ to it!” he made off, “It’s only a trade off!

And what’s more I’m perfectly willin’

“To sell dope to your kid by the pound or the lid

Or to steal from your dear gray haired mother.

I’ll take, with serenity, your sister’s virginity

And probably not even bother

“To untie her later. Are you beginning to hate, or

Are you thinking that this just can’t be?

Take a walk in the park, or anyplace dark

And here’s what you’re likely to see.

“A well dressed young man, got a suit and a tan

With a patter and smile to melt butter.

Your defenses forsaken, you make one mistake ’n

That’s the end of you, brother!”

Said Staff Sergeant Mitchell, “That son of a bitch’ll,

Be sorry he got on my case!

He’s getting away with more every day

Let’s stop talking and cut to the chase.

“We must get him in prison and stop his existing

Embarrassing rampage of crime

If the courts just won't help, I’ll do it myself

And in very short order of time!”

Mitchell set up the sting, a remarkable thing.

A temptation to strong to resist.

For though hardly needy, Tony O was so greedy

And a big score was high on his list.

It was a bloody affair when Tony appeared

That late afternoon on the scene.

He was told not to run, but he pulled out a gun,

Twixt his eyes, he was shot in between.

His career aborted; it was certain no court would

Get Tony O out of this jam.

Our Staff Sergeant Mitchell said, “Now, it’s official!”

He had finally gotten his man.

THE MISSING MEAT

 © 1990 Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Detectiverse

by Mickey Ray - Pfleger

Mr. Muscher, the butcher, whooped up and down,

“Where’s the cow that I recently slaughtered?

Mrs. Klein, I can’t give her the steaks or the liver

Or anything else that she’s ordered!

She also had dibs on a roast and some ribs,

Where are they?” he asked his assistant.

“If stolen they be, don’t look at me!”

Of his innocence he was persistent.

Mr. Muscher kept yelling, his glands, they kept swelling

Yet he cried ‘till he had no more voice.

“I took not a sliver,” said the boy, “of the liver.

Nor the steaks, prime cut or choice.

But the hoarseness of you has given a clue

Before this case has begun.

Take a look with some pity at yonder most kitty

At least, the cat’s got your tongue!

‘ad enough

Mickey Ray

© 1990 Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Detectiverse

  Me cups filled ri’ up to ‘ere

Said constable Sloane with a sneer.

I arrests when I sees ‘em,

The court up and frees ‘em!

Now I’ve got a killing career.

Tis the law I takes in me ‘and

And I’ll no stick me ‘ead in the sand.

I does it discretely

And fulfills completely

The law of supply and demand!

 THE ROMANTIC

 Mickey Ray

© 1990 Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Detectiverse

 It’s not a question of right or wrong

It simply must be done

To boldly state my love to her

Who faint heart n’er has won.

I’ll woo her with sweet, tender words

And thrill to hear her sighs.

The choice is hers alone to make

She marries me, …or dies.

GAIDA KAT

by  Mickey Ray

© May 18, 1998

The cat in the mirror

Is quite a dull cat.

She sits where she sits

And she sits where she sat.

I wait and I wait

Not a movement is shown.

Just the ones that I make;

She has none of her own.

I admit, like myself,

She’s both svelte and adoring.

What a shame such a beauty’s

So terribly boring.

The Catship

By Mickey Ray

© February 18, 2002

Gnarled, wrinkled hands

Like wizened oaks

Smell of camphor and lilac

And sometimes death

As they evoke purring

With loving if not final strokes

I hear your plea

Release is but a breath away

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

Clouded orbs of watery blue

Behind opaque glass eyes

Stare ahead or out through windows

Filled with nothing

Searching for a final path

Of painless bliss and joyful reunions

I leave your lap

And pad softly to your face

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

I give you my secret name

In rumbled words that

Pass into your hands

As only cats can do

Gentle ever so gentle

The rise and fall of your breath

You bring me to your lips

You call my name and ask to go

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

I take your spirit into myself

I leap from your bed of ills

Away from that couch of frailty

You join with me

And the others who have been waiting

Now you know the secret of

Nine lives

Not far the journey now

One passenger to go

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

The living world will make your bed

And mourn their loss

Rejoice! You cry, my journey begins

They cannot read our knowing grin

As to another uneasy soul

The cat and you, with six along

Climb upon that ancient lap

Our chorus soothes his weary mind

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

We rise in purring song to crying lips

You, the six and I shall say our secret name

For the final journey

The ninth now joins the Catship’s crew

My cargo is complete

The heaven’s ocean is sailing calm

And amorphous waves beacon us to Eternal Bliss

This is the work of the cat

Ahoy! Let me guide you there

I know the way

A Short Children's Story

BEAN BUTTER & HARROW-SPLIT SOUP

By Mickey Ray - Pfleger

 © July, 1994

Pug Mutton loved to eat!

"I love fooga-looga ice cream," he said.

But most of all,

I love Bean butter and harrow-split soup!

"I can stuff myself with grackers and kanoodles,"

Said Pug Mutton.

" But most of all,

I love Bean butter and harrow-split soup!"

"I love to munch and crunch fretzels and goompahs!

But most of all,

I love Bean butter and harrow-split soup!"

"Once I tried pooka-pie and freamcheese and

Liked them very much!

But most of all,

I love bean butter and harrow-split soup!"

One day, after playing very hard

He came home.

And there on the table was a very big jar of

Bean butter,

A large slice of

Biddle bread,

And a big bowl of hot,

Harrow-split soup!

And a note.

The note said,

"Here is your lunch, Pug Mutton.

Be a good boy. I love you,

Your mom!"

Pug Mutton ate every bit and said,

"I love my mom!

And I love biddle bread!

But most of all,

I love Bean butter and harrow-split soup!"

THE END

Prose & Other Thoughts

A Musical Philosophy

by Mickey Ray ~ Pfleger

3/6/10

 "I am music, and I write the songs," sang Barry Manilow in his song describing the power and influence music has within the world. "I write the songs that make the whole world sing...," he continues.

     And, while that particular song may not make the whole world sing, it is my feeling that the whole world moves and vibrates to its own personal music. Mankind has used music to express every gamut of his emotional range. From comedic, sardonic country, to the helpless and woeful sadness of blues. References from the political, anger and frustration of rap, and the joyful exhalations of Gospel. Our failures, successes, and of course, our relationships with one another, particularly love, have been expressed in some form of music.

     There can be no doubt that music can effect our mood, bringing us up or down in joy or melancholy. David Kelly, creator of television's Emmy winning shows, such as The Practice, and Ally McBeal, recognized the essential core within ourselves that is often expressed with our own, personal song. During stress, or awkward moments, or in a crises or when just feeling down, Ally and the senior partner at the law firm, would suddenly hear their personal songs and find themselves, for that moment, uplifted and taken away from the current situation and into a real happiness which they expressed by suddenly singing out or dancing on the spot. Often at the embarrassment of whomever was looking on.

     Unlike Ally McBeal, I wouldn't suggest we start visualizing the computerized "dancing baby" bopping to "My Guy" in the middle aisle of K-Mart, but having a personal song, one that is you, one that, every time you hear it, or hum it or sing it out loud, makes you feel good about yourself, is really a terrific idea.

     Music has been the center of my inner self for as long as I can remember. I can barely walk ten paces without a song encouraging a quicker step and a brighter outlook than I had when I started out. And, yes, I very often am singing it out loud and feeling all the better for it.

     I hope you can find your personal song, or many songs, like myself, and let it carry your spirit up, giving you the comfort, security and joy to hear that other hearts are singing along and that you'll discover that the whole world does indeed sing.

The play takes place in the basement of Edna and Gerald Dingle. They are a painfully, long time married couple of retirement age. Gerald, a self-described inventor, has been 'moved' to the basement which has been converted into his personal and hobby room. His wife still continues to nag him and he has invented a new Rube Goldberg type of machine with murder on his mind.

You are welcome to order either or both these script in Word document form, to use in a not-for-profit production and no fee will be charged.

Along with your request for these scripts, you must send the name of the company producing the play, where it's playing and the dates of the production.

The person requesting the scripts must send their home address, email address, and a phone contact to be verified before receiving them.

This page is under continuing and ever changing construction!