Monthly Archives: February 2018

Colleen’s #weekly poetry challenge #73 #Tanka


Perpetual scenes

The trail is buried
beneath the iron hard snow
through the pine forest
with stamina and instinct
the herd will make their way home



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Invertebrate intelligence

antennae held aloft,
she lays a single egg,
in this act, the meaning of life,

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Ronovan writes #190 #poetry prompt #Haiku

She liked to look nice

they said that she was a tart

people are so sweet

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Thursday photo prompt – Dusk #writephoto


Frankie turned to his father and in a low voice that reflected both their moods.

“It’s been a great day  out  in the boat Dad, but it’s starting to  get a bit dark, I think, Mum will be waiting. ”

“She’ll be fine, I’m sorry son, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a blank day, we didn’t even get the bait for the real fishing,” his father replied, trying to disguise his disappointment.

They started to reel in the lines with their unbaited hooks, each silver hook shining silver in it’s individual cape of brightly coloured feathers.

With a wry smile John started the small Seagull outboard and turning towards the harbour lights that were just beginning to glow he turned to his son and said. “You’d better just look up at the clouds for those are the only mackerel we’re going to see today.”

Laughing at his poor attempt at a joke, he twisted his wrist and engine whirring at full throttle, they set off for the harbour and home.



Filed under Flash fiction, Self compositions, Whimsical

Colleen’s Weekly #Poetry Challenge, No. 72: Breakthrough & Movement, #SynonymsOnly, #Haibun


Though the talks had stalled both sides of the table were eager to get a resolution. It was a tense situation but with use of common man to man language albeit in foreign tongues, the impasse was broken and there was seen to be leeway on both sides. Thus the deal was reached limiting the production of weapons of mass destruction.

Over polished tables

old enemies scowl and stare

settled with one smile


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Ronovan writes #189 #Haiku. Zen and noise

When practising Zen

the only noise I could hear

was colliding clouds


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homage to denizens of the dark


spirit of the night

sunspended on the dark skies’

invisible strands

though remembered for wisdom

it cannot dim your beauty


(photo courtesy of Pixabay)

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#MLMM First Line Friday 2-16-18

“I don’t care what you do with it, I just want it gone,” Richard implored, pointing to the dark brown mole on his chin.

“As I explained to you last week, if I cut it out it could leave you with a rather large, ugly scar, that might not help you in your career, now would it?” Doctor Ambrose replied, hoping that his false look of concern would hide his inner smile. He was the last person to have thought himself jealous of the young man’s good looks but he couldn’t help thinking of the way he had ill-treated his daughter those two years ago. “Perhaps bad deeds do come back to haunt you,” he thought.

“That cream you gave me has done nothing, and as the tests have proved negative I just want it gone, I’m fed up with rubbing cream on my face at the photo sessions, it’s not the real me they see,” Richard whined, feeling foolish for sounding so petulant.

“I thought the photos weren’t concentrating on your face so much,” came the sarcastic reply.

“Well, maybe not but please Doctor, I am really desperate for you to get rid of it, it might even make me look a bit like, you know Kirk Douglas or something.”

Doctor Ambrose leaned back in his chair, he hadn’t thought that he might be helping the young man in some way. that went against the grain somewhat, but he knew he had to act correctly. “Ok, I’ll do it but remember you will have to keep the dressing on for at least four days when it’s done. Come back to me afterwrds and you can thank me then for the cosmetic job.”

After the application of a freezing spray to his patient’s chin the small operation only took a couple of minutes and Richard was free to leave with a large dressing taped to his face. “Thank’s Doctor,” he said as he closed the door to the surgery.

Doctor Ambrose watched him go and laughed, “I wonder if he’ll be so happy when he takes that bandage off and has a look in the mirror. Vain bastard.”

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#SoCS Feb 17/18


His eyes opened wide in disbelief. Holding the card in his hands he looked again at the brief message with it’s promise of exotic delights to come. In seventeen years of marriage this was the most explicit Valentine’s card she had sent to him. They had both, or so he thought treated the whole Valentine’s day idea as something of a bit of a joke. Something to be left to the younger couples. he waved the card in front of his nose, not even sure if he would recognise a perfume that his wife liked or used. A bit of doubt as to the identity of the sender began to creep into his mind. He would have felt flattered but instead began to feel nervous. After all they hadn’t sent each other cards every year by agreement but if she hadn’t and he placed it on the mantel she may be a bit upset. It would be even worse if she had sent him a card but not this one and he would have no choice but to put them both up, the strangers alongside hers.

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Sue Vincent’s #Write photo Sanctuary


“Hey, look at this, wow the sound will be great in here, just like St. Paul’s, you know the whispering gallery,” Jane the first violin exclaimed, the nervous excitement lending a sharpness to her voice that I had never heard before. We were all excited though, just beginning to make a name as an occasional string quartet and out of the blue an invitation from the bursar at St. Danae’s girls college. Although we had honed our collected skills on intimate evenings of chamber music in some of the swankiest  little cocktail bars this was big league. By the way I’m second violin, Allan is viola and Suzanne is cello. Jane is our leader in more ways than one.

We weren’t due to perform for another eight hours but as soon as our hosts had shown us the venue we knew that we had to get in and start warming  up. What an opportunity. Trouble was we had to lug our instruments from the van, through the tradesman’s entrance at the side of the stables and down through the gardens. At least it wasn’t an uphill pergola or whatever they’re called.

Passing between the columns  we entered a round dark-brown oak wainscoted chamber. There were a handful of upholstered high-backed chairs on one side and four wooden chairs sitting separately to one side. We assumed these to be ours. With our mouths open in wonder we must have looked like a group of schoolchildren meeting J K Rowling or her creation Harry Potter.

“Let’s give it a go.” Jane enthused, breaking the spell.  We laid our cases to one side and almost in a subdued manner extracted our instruments. With our music stands in front of the chairs it would have looked to anyone coming through the door as though we were playing to an empty hall.

We had decided on a mainly Bach evening so struck up for practise,”The art of fugue,” generally one of his most popular. We wanted to know the musical quality of the dome high above our heads. After a few bars I thought I could hear someone humming along but we were the only ones there and none of my companions would hum and play at the  same time. “Stop, stop a minute,” I said holding my bow in the air, “What is that strange noise, can any  of you hear it?” They all sheepishly nodded their heads, each admitting that they had thought it was one of us but not sure from which of us the sound was emanating. Before we could resume the humming started to get louder, increasing in volume and frequency. It sounded like the wind passing around the doorframe but it was copying the tune we had just been playing.   “It doesn’t do that in St. Pauls,” Suzanne whispered. Allan agreed stating that he was going to have a look round.

“But, there’s nothing to look  round,”I argued,”just bare wooden walls and a few plaster carvings on the ceiling.” I hadn’t taken any notice of the carvings when we entered but looking up we could see that the immaculately carved. figures were cherubs. All had instruments much as ours  forming a quartet and they surrounded a figure of a woman. She was wearing a long evening dress and with her hands clasped in front of her breast in typical singing pose. In our heightened state of mind we all agreed  that perhaps this was not the time to continue practising  until we had spoken to the Bursar and see if there was anything he could tell us about the chamber, perhaps even if it had a reputation for eerie events or characters.


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