Articles written by Dominick Basile

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About me - Dominick Basile

I am a former:

shoe-shine boy,

newspaperman,

mason,

stone-cutter,

aircraft cargo loader,

truck driver,

instructor and

marine.

I am:

married,

retired,

a baby sitter,

a would-be pilot,

a bicycle rider,

(dangerous on county streets)

a scribbler.

And,

+ more bio information

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Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Christmas tales: 19 of 65

Betty Grable ( A Christmas Story ) There are times when the many elements of nature conspire to produce a natural wonder. It was December of 1947. Simone, Sam to everyone but Esther Manti, was getting ready to receive his first load of Christmas trees. He had spent the previous day clearing his mason materials yard, of the t...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Christmas cards: 4 of 9

CHRISTMAS CARDS 'Twas a few nghts before Christmas and all the cards were to be hung. Over the fireplace? Surely not. A hazard; enticing flames for sure. So why bother? After all, the decorations are always overdone. But the cards and their notes make a book. Each writer's story, individually hung, dresses a tree with histor...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Summer surprise: 6 of 13

Jones Beach Summer, 2009 The cool, clean ocean returns my gaze Across an expanse of warm, white sand. El playa! Il spiaggia! Die Strand! Tickle this viewers' eardrums And the buried bones of Jones, Enlivened by this cacophony, Rock, roll and rattle Within their stygian space.
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Reactions to poor service: 1 of 1

The Grand Repair We don't know who Wendy Freeman is, but she must sit at the right hand. She said she was from the executive office. But you know what? She may even be THE MAN. Wendy Freeman did the impossible. Wendy Freeman lifted us from the deepest pit of despair and made us think the world probably was OK, maybe, after a...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Wild & free: 90 of 166

Spring Grey squirrel, sans tail harvested by winter's maw. Peanut bonanza! Small World A parched Mombassa sees its rain steal to the East. Snows bury Denver History Roanokers fell to the gelid reaper's scythe. Virginia Phoenix. Connection Westbury taralli, Marie bakes on Post Avenue, pull you to Puglia.
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: My life: 93 of 161

Looking in the mirror upon wakening Mirror, mirror on the wall, You that absorbs us all, What is it that you return? On rising the image I spy Has spent a night in the hay. Each strand of hair akimbo, Two eyes Picasso. Luigi Pirandello's nose, An aged, white hard-haired chin Hiding lips allergic to sesame. All this suffused ...
Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: On aging: 42 of 67

An Ordeal As I grow old (I could've said, as I age, but age seems to denote something delicious, a compendium of gathered wisdom whereas old says pooped, tired, slow, right-lane-driver flying a white handkerchief) my body falls way behind what my brain conjures. For example: 1) With some half-dozen hours of certified flying ...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: This love: 90 of 107

SUMMER The early-morning-summer haze engulfs with warmth and fragrance as the new year's foals wet their noses on the dewed grass. Colts and fillies scat and kick about in rambunctious haste and just as quickly rein themselves in, shortly, breathe deeply the new air, puff up their chests, straighten their necks, raise their ...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: The unexpected: 6 of 7

The Find Cecilia turned down the black, oil-packed dirt road toward the sea. She was heading home, a ramshackle conglomeration of shipping containers that her father had pushed, together and piled atop one another. He had insulated and decorated his domestic achievement with cardboard and any piece of driftwood that came his...