Category Archives: Self compositions

It was a cloudy warm evening in June

as we strolled hand in hand through the dunes

looking up at the dark clouds above

we decided that if we were to make love

we’d get soaked if we didn’t do it soon.

Bad luck or ill-wished

Hocus pocus is the cry

fingers are still crossed

Silently the old tree watches as his shadow lengthens

and shaking his once proud green headdress now no longer needed

but soon must fall to earth that he renewed may live again

Here’s how it works: Every Wednesday I post a photo (this week it’s that one above.) You respond with something CREATIVE Here are some suggestions: An answering photo A cartoon A joke A caption An anecdote A short story (flash fiction) A poem A newly minted proverb, adage or saying An essay A song—the lyrics […]

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #203

On our regular Wednesday afternoon walk, my regular companion, a generally steadfast fellow, was looking over the fence at the strangely industrial-looking complex away in the distance. He seemed lost in thought and there was a pained expression on his face. His eyes looked rather red, I thought perhaps a touch of hay-fever from the unseen grain dust. “I say, Wormsley old boy, are you okay, you seem a trifle off. Has something happened?” He turned to me and replied,”I’m fine thanks old chap, but seeing those silos gave me a bit of a start. You see, I’ve never really talked about my time in the trenches before but those things over there certainly rang a nasty bell. They just reminded me of the square-heads in the opposite trenches with their binoculars, all the time watching us, ready to unleash the rain of death and destruction if ever they noticed us doing anything unusual. Sorry, just can’t seem to shake it off, often think about them at night in bed too.” This rather put a dampener on the afternoon jaunt so an awkward silence ensued. Finally he smiled and said, “Anyway, that’s nothing to dwell upon, let’s just carry on old chap.”

Carried on the breeze

to pluck notes on the septum

the scent of danger

Jovan’s arm extended and two digits grasped the narrow neck of the flask. The callipers opened allowing it’s release from the super-cooled compartment in which it had nestled for the past seventeen years. Time for the next assignment on their mission. He pulled the flask from it’s cradle and turning, reached over and placed it onto the belt carrying it to the jettison chute where it would be released into the planet’s atmosphere commencing another seeding if found viable for life.

I don’t really know a lot about trees

but I feel that I might recognise these leaves

as you stroll through the countryside

just cast your eyes up to the skies

and if you are in a grove of apple trees

you may see in the branches clumps of these

and just in case you still don’t know

it’s a parasite plant we call mistletoe

once sacred to the Druids nowadays this is

the one to stand under if you want to be kissed

As the burning sun illuminates the golden sandstone blocks

The ramshackle convoy speeds along the dusty desert road

Following the gaudy balloons that soar high in cloudless skies