The Intellection Collection


NOTE: All links may be shared freely via social media sites, e-mail or any other electronic medium. All content may be published, printed, distributed, or quoted, in whole or in part, without specific consent or permission. Said authorizations require only acknowledgment that Wayne Michael DeHart  is the author and  is the reference source. (Including the website name facilitates simple and  straightforward verification of the original documents in their entirety, should any content be subsequently presented out of context by any person at any time for any reason.)



“Write On Sight . . . In M-Eye Words”  –  February 12, 2023  (Words/Images)


“WordSleeves”  –  January 31, 2023  (15 prompt poems)

“Unlike the picturesque SnowSleeves of Winter, the poetic pieces constituting WordSleeves did not arrive, nor will take their leave, with the whim of the weather. They are for all seasons; responses to a series of unrelated creative writing “prompts” in 2020 and 2021.”



“Three Times Sadness”  –  December 27, 2022  (Non-Fiction/Personal)

“In the early evening of December 26th, 1970, at a small Army camp across the road from the Marine helicopter facility at Marble Mountain, just south of DaNang, five of us were kicking back . . .”


“Billy Ray King Takes a Wife”  –  November 27, 2022  (Poetry)

“Are you still there? Are you okay?
Do you rue the day? Have you gone astray?
Do you have someone to light your way?
Is it a he or a she, or maybe a they?”


“October 7th, Lisbon, Maine”  –  October 28, 2022  (Fiction)

“On the 40th anniversary of a fatal fire at his parents’ house, Patrick Simon knelt at gravesite #39 in a small cemetery that slumbers in silence on a lightly-traveled country lane skirting Lisbon, Maine . . .” 



“Dealing With InnSecurity”  –  September 6, 2022(Fiction)

“The Sneaker Inn is a tranquil 44-room resort on the eastern shore of Waite Lake in Marshfrost, Vermont. Nestled on the lake’s western shore is the Just Waite Bar & Grill . . .”


“Lincoln Laine of Lincoln, Maine”  –  August 5, 2022(Fiction)

“Abraham Lincoln Laine III was born in a tony Boston suburb in November, 1948. Early in his senior year at Wellesley High, where he paired knockout SAT scores with National Honor Society status, his very pragmatic, disturbingly snooty, parents . . .”


“Mae King, Out at The Kabb Inn”  –  July 14, 2022   (Fiction)
The zany full-length version, with extensive “rest-of-the-story” Writer’s Notes.

“Roger Kabb acquired 51% ownership of the Duck Inn & Cabins in Lake Delford, FL, in the summer of 1989, after incessant urging from his live-in companion and business advisor, Madelyn “Mae” King, who took ownership of the remaining 49%, despite the fact that the transaction was fully funded by  . . .”


“Minnie Smart’s Mini-Mart”  –  July 5, 2022   (Poetry)

“Grabbed bread and milk and some orange juice
and asked for a six-pack of bananas for the road
but Minnie snorted and said a no-use recluse
should stay out of sight, not leave his abode . . .”


  –  February 22, 2022   (Poetry/Personal)

be ignored.
It mauls my mind
and torments my soul, . . .”


“Mae King, Out at The Kabb Inn” Mensa Bulletin magazine, January, 2022
Edited-down version to meet space limitations. Direct link to story in magazine:


“A Bit Bizarre”January 13, 2022   (Poetry)

Though none were inclined to agree, the brash braggart boasted he’d be
a man in command; leading the band, living his life so high and so grand.
A weed devotee, at eighteen he was free, to chill and get stoned by the sea . . .”


“The Marshmallow Kid”  –  January 5, 2022   (Fiction)

“September 3, 1958 – first day of school.

Three hundred youngsters, grades 2 through 8, were sizing up the 27 transfer students in their respective classes, an annual appraisal exercise that was silly and superficial on its surface, but for those being assessed, it was an inevitable rite of passage that . . .”



“Safe in Our Homes”  –  September 1, 2021   (Poetry)

they were,
Dark-dazed, dismayed,
enshrouded in haze,
these lionhearts emerged
as shadows from the rubble . . .”


“The Untimely Loss of Lisa Girl”  –  July 17, 2021   (Fiction)

“What did Dickens really know about the best of times?
He wasn’t there when I shared Rolos and raindrops, lemonade and laughter, with high-spirited Lisa of auburn hair and evergreen eyes and silken skin, of winsome winks and guilty grins and “love you too”s.
He wasn’t there through ice cream days on Boston Common and campfire nights in New Hampshire forests of pine and balsam and birch, where lurking hugs and lightning bugs danced around the Muse . . .”


“Said the Lad to the Lady”  –  June 27, 2021   (Poetry)

May 17, 1811, City of Leeds, England

Said the Lad to the Lady:
Dearest Elise, the blue in my skies,
I bring to you this birthday surprise.
It’s neither silver nor gold,
but this day I’ve been told
it will bring tears to your emerald eyes . . .”


The Tory Story”  – June 24, 2021   (Fiction)

“The Tories live in the UK. 
The Torys, however, live in Sunsett, a hybrid town in southern Merrimack County, New Hampshire. They are average people who live average lives. They go about those lives relatively unnoticed, like those very small dents near the rear wheel-well in an otherwise flawless new automobile . . .”


“Five First Encounters  (1972-2002)”  –  June 12, 2021   (Medley)

a bus
ticket to
San Francisco
on a Winter morn,
nineteen seventy-two . . .”


“A Long Time After the Echoes End”  –  April 25, 2021   (Musings)

“Aloft and alone on the imposing rock ledge, enraptured by the panorama of Fall color that spread from here to there along my line of sight, I immersed myself in the seamless serenity of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. I had been reflecting on recent tumultuous times that had blurred the boundary between the end of youth and the beginning of real life . . .”


“How Being Left in Right Feels”  – March 23, 2021   (Fiction)

The sound of a Louisville Slugger ripping the crap out of a grass-stained official Novice League baseball was followed quickly by loud, anxious shouts aimed in his direction. Not so much from spectators in the bleachers because there were only 17 spectators and no bleachers, but . . .”


“The Kids of St. John’s”  –  March 7, 2021   (Poetry)

“From nineteen fifty-four through nineteen sixty-two,
we roamed those halls, and that schoolyard too.
Some years a lay teacher, but most with a nun,
some years a split class, but all remained one.
As we grew up together, we lived by one rule . . .”


“March 15th at Mary’s Motel”  –  February 26, 2021   (Fiction)

“Mary’s Motel is a lackluster, lemon chiffon 11-unit bargain basement lodging establishment that sits at the edge of a small, stagnant pond on the west end of Sundown Road, known to the locals in Sharonsburg, Maryland, as “Roman Road” – because the only way tourists find it is if they are roamin’ around looking for a place to snap photographs they can show to friends back home . . .”


“Colonial Matinee: Concession Confession”   –  September 7, 2020   (Fiction)

“Summer of 1962. For me, the long pause between the 8th grade and the 9th grade. There was this black-haired, doe-eyed female who lived a couple of streets over. She was two years older and 3 inches taller than me and I had seen her use a long left hook to make a guy’s nose bleed at Opechee Park. But on this Sunday afternoon . . .”


“In Gnames  and Ledgens”  –  August 28, 2020   (Fiction)

“Nothing of note happened in the valley town of Gnames on October 10, 1961.

But thirty miles west, at the fancy new hospital in Delfeye, a liberated little girl was delivered into the world By Hephera “Heffie” and Zachary “Zeus” Drillings. In truth, a doctor delivered the kid – Heffie just pushed when told to. Her dazed hubby sweated whiskey and water droplets onto . . .” 


“In Search of Found”   –  June 6, 2020   (Musings)

“No small endeavor, this – 
defining the word “found” in terms of my own life’s experience
using exactly 50 letters, no more, no fewer . . .”


“The Old Man at the Grocery Store”  –   April 24, 2020   (Musings/Fiction)

“I went to Market Basket on Wednesday for the first time in a month.
And I learned something about myself at age 71.

I can dance!

Judging by the nearly-full parking lot, I was hesitant to enter because it didn’t seem possible to observe the six-foot distancing thing, but I needed some stuff to eat . . .”


“Ode to the Widow Franklin” –  February 23, 2020   (Poetry)

“A learned yet awkward soul seemed he.
Never seen with a smile, never seen with a frown.
New to “The Rivers” in May of Eighteen Sixty,
with shoulders so broad and eyes so brown . . .”


“Lew Louis in Apt. 12”  –  August 11, 2019   (Fiction)

“Second floor. Old guy. Moved in about two months ago. Keeps to himself. Aloof and distant.

Grunts when someone says hello if they cross paths when he goes downstairs for his mail or takes his trash out to the dumpster. Slight of build, appears pale and gaunt, thick glasses, long hair but clean-shaven. Wears a belt with a large brass buckle that reads, “GUS” . . .”


“In Remembrance – A Reassurance”   –  July 10, 2019   (Musings)

“It seemed so simple, such an easy task.

Clear, concise, with no questions to ask.

Leave them a message, let it be read.

Let them know. that I’ll never be dead . . .”


“The Thread on Her Head”  –  April 1, 2019   (Fiction)

“May 8, 2016.

At a lively gathering of seventeen of her friends, Emma acknowledged their best wishes on her birthday with a proud announcement: “Yes, at 75, I am finally officially ‘old’ and pretty certain I’m still a woman. But I am NOT an old woman – and I’ll thrash the bejeezus out of any one of ya who says I am.” She winked and smiled, then sat her old ass down . “


“A Kiss at Fifteen”  – March 16, 2019   (Fiction)

“Nancy was her name. Not a good omen. His eighth-grade girlfriend had been a Nancy and she had broken his heart, her head turned by the quintessential older man – a 16-year-old with his own car.

Now 16 himself (though without a car), he knew instinctively this Nancy was different. She was a younger woman (15) from the poorest of families and lived in “that” neighborhood. It seemed like she had just a few outfits for school, including a couple of ill-fitting blouses and faded, dark-colored skirts often adorned with lint and loose threads . . .”


“Rest-cue: Sense the Silence”  –  July 20, 2018   (Poetic Image)


“And Here’s to the Dawn of Their Days . . .”     – June 25, 2018 (Musings)

“You did not dedicate this book to the likes of me. Nevertheless, it guided my path, made me strong, brought me home. I read it on the plane ride over, and again on the plane ride back. The former with apprehension, the latter with gratitude. Sometimes in our journey, we bless the unintended. As you did for me.”


“The Bumper-to-Bumper Blues” April 19, 2018   (Poetry)

“Out of the office, into my car;
four miles from home, not very far.
At the turn of the key, the engine’s alive;
the clock lights up, it reads 5:05.
Into reverse, backing out of my space;
workday is done, getting out of this place . . .”


“Eventide on the Granite Coast”March 27, 2018   (Poetry)

“Settling onto the smooth surface of the rock nearest the edge,
I took my rest in the sheltering shadows of those who came before;
seeking answers in the splashing symphony of the Emergent Sea.

Northeast winds gathered and guided the sun-glistened swells,
adorning the vibrant waters with brilliant diamond sparkles
not unlike those that danced across her eyes at touching time . . . “


“A Day at the Dam, Summer, 2017, Franklin, New Hampshire”January 31, 2018   (Musings)

Her: “It’s so beautiful here … and quiet.”
Him: “Yep.”
Her: “Whose car is this?”
Him: “It’s a Veloster, baby.”
Her: “Whose Veloster is this?”
Him: “It’s Ron’s.”
Her: “Who’s Ron?”
Him: “Ron’s gone, baby. Ron’s gone.”


“ired, I Said”.September 15, 2017   (Poetry)

“Fired he said, you’re fired he said,
so drop what you’re doing and clean out your desk
and be gone by noon without disturbing the others
with shallow goodbyes and stuff like that because you’re f ired, he said . . .”


“The Gray Two-Story Across From the Park”  –  August 28, 2017   (Poetry)

A Home Becomes a House Again:

The last boxes of this and that have been laid to rest
in quiet scattered solitude on the hardwood floor,
awaiting only a lift from the mayflower man . . .”


“Maybe Just One Thing”August 22, 2017   (Musings)

“I have had few good days of late.

At age 47, I have discovered that my dreams will not be realized.

Such discovery was not sudden. I have known for some time that I have been losing control of my life. Those around me define it as simply a mid-life crisis, an awakening of sorts, to the debilitating effects of time and spent emotion . . .”


“view from a hole”
  – August 21, 2017   (Musings/Poetry)

“i look up and around as i slip down,
the light of tranquility fading

i scratch and i claw till my fingers are raw
losing my grip and my strength. . .”


“Annie’s Time”August 6, 2017   (Fiction)

Paul and Annie met and fell in love their Senior year in high school.

Well, not exactly.

Better said, it was in their last year of school. It was a different time, and Senior year was never a reality for either of them. Not even in the distance. Not even close. Reasons were many, and choices were few.

And while they did indeed meet in whatever final grade that was, the love came later.”


“The Fire in Jimmy Louis”July 20, 2017   (Poetry)

“He endures the emptiness of love lost, of dreams forsaken.
His canvas mourns in brooding browns and ashen grays.
Most say his drive and direction were lost
when she exploded out of his life,
shattering his heart, draining his soul.”


“Past / Passed in the Night: Next of Kin” July 18, 2017   (Poetry)

His heart expired at sunset with no one at his side.
The hospital bed was slowly stripped of its linen
by the amiable nurse’s aide who had winked at him
and smiled each time she captured his gaze.”


1st Post: – April 9, 2017
“Words You Can Touch – Can Touch You Back”
April 9, 2017   (Musings)

“Rescued from the furthest corner of the very top shelf, the nondescript brown book revealed itself to be dusty and dated, seemingly dispensable now after a long-ago demotion from displayed to displaced on the still-sturdy steel shelves of the basement library. I chose to allow the dust to see another day and carefully opened it mid-binding, to a random yellowed page of crowded text and curious font.

I began reading at the top, mid-sentence, and stopped, abruptly but . . .”


***  YOU CAN:

Simply click on the link below the selected title


Read all titles/pages directly from the main page, just by scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling some more – until you reach the end of the last line of “Words You Can Touch – Can Touch You Back” !


Meredith, New Hampshire

2 thoughts on “The Intellection Collection

  1. Pingback: Website Introduction | words you can touch

  2. Pingback: Website Introduction |

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s