Category Archives: Whimsical

RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #192 Slim&Chance


The pickings were slim

down at the Last Chance saloon

but no one folded

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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

Just thinking

As fascinated

I watch the snorkelling swans

breathing through their bums

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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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Kat’s Twittering Tales #71


Bejaisus, Mary, will you come out here and take a look at this.
I’m busy Sean, what have you found that would make you bellow so, like an old heifer?
Some eejit has turned the bloody signs around again, and did I not just bounce my head off da buggers? 249c


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Three line tales #106


We all knew that moving staircases do not all travel at the same speed but how do we judge the quickest climber.

To win this race with the prestige and the substantial cash for reaching the top first relied on luck alone.

Two rounds of rock,scissors,paper and the order of choice was made, let the contest begin.

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Sue Vincent’s #write photo.


Many people have admired the stone pillar at the side of the lane that leads to the medeival church of San Marco in Firsti but but it is only the locals who feel they know the true builders and the reason for it’s curious structure. I will tell you the story that I was told when I was just a boy.

Cardinal Cadenza smiled but it was a cold, humourless expression of his sadistic nature. Turning to the two black-robed, cringing priests he asked them to confirm that the nun Sister Dometia had really confessed to the heresy that appeared to afflict so many of the order known as the. “Poor Clares.” They showed him the scrap of parchment and pointed out the scrawl which was purported to be Sister Dometia’s mark. “That is all I need,” he thought. Pressing his fingers to his lips he thought for a moment and then the decision was made. He had been toying with a new punishment for heretics and this would be the ideal opportunity for him to show these heathen that the work of our Lord was just and transgressors could be shown mercy if they turned from their ways and repented their sins. He ordered the two priests to take the prisoner to the lower cell where the stonemason would be waiting for her. The priests left and descended to the lower dungeon where they found Sister Dometia kneeling in prayer in the corner of her cell. Clad only in a woollen blanket they led her down two flights of steps to the room where they saw the mason and his team waiting.  They stood around a wooden coffin  and stripping the nun naked they told her to lie down in the coffin.  All were impressed that even though she knew her probable fate Sister Dometia maintained her vow of silence and stoically lay on her back, arms folded across her breast, in the coffin. The masons then started to trowel cement into the coffin until only her face was showing. When the coffin was filled with the cold, hard, liquid stone the men all left her in this nightmare situation. In the morning when they returned the cement had set and there only remained a corpse in the coffin. They smashed the wood and stood the pillar upright with the nun’s dead face set in a rictus smile looking out. The pllar was then placed at the entrance to the church as a warning to all.


Filed under Alternative history, Flash fiction, Inspired by fable, Self compositions, Whimsical

Ronovan writes #Haiku #187

Spot the old woman

with painted delicate blush

shy at Aunt Sally

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Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #186 Body & Close


Finding a body

buried close to the surface

may suggest foul play


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Three Line Tales, Week 104 JANUARY 25, 2018 ~ SONYA


“You’re not really thinking of going in there are you, that’s where the cats ate that old couple isn’t it?”

”Of course I am, you don’t believe that silly story do you, I mean can a couple of cats eat people, I ask you?”

”They may have been big cats.”


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