Friday Flash Fiction - Poetry

Denouement, by Sue Clayton

10/4/2020

Twisted tortured limbs, remnants of perished boughs,
racked by perpetual squally devastation,
entwine warped wooden fingers in supplication to the heavens.

Battering elements shred coats of bark,
brittle leaves fragment and fall, gnarled knots weep,
as mouldy ferment slithers over festering roots.

Ebony tentacles clutch the dark blanket of nightfall,
that veils tormented gum trees from their denouement,
hoary statues, testament to the dark side of nature.

Willing Slaves, by Dart Humeston

10/4/2020

they kept sending the cards
massive credit lines
bonus rates due
to our great credit
which was not so great
which was not even good

would have to jump
fifty FICO points just
to get to lousy

but they kept sending the cards

we did what the gargantuan
banks and credit card companies
demanded

we spent and we spent and we spent
until our souls were hallowed out,
our very cells gorged by debt

even then,
they kept sending the cards

The Path is Muddled, by Paloma Lenz

10/4/2020

Hair braided,
skirt hem swaying,
her frail hands open,
trailing along the ridges of
decrepit homes
topped with plastic sheets
caked in sludge.
The path she warily
trudges on is muddled
by a century's worth of
dirt and grime.
She passes through
a bustling crowd of
Animals and Humans;
the moos and shouts
signal nothing -
they are but a repetition
of countless days and nights.

When she returns
to her deteriorating home
at dusk, she looks to the sky.
She listens to the tune of her heart,
strumming, beating, with the
whispers of the stars -
mapped among the constellations
are her purest of dreams.
Carried by hope,
she flies with the
closing of her eyes.

Drifting with the Stars, by Guy Fletcher

10/4/2020

It is a sultry summer night:
She escapes from the claustrophobia
Of her stifling bedroom
And lies in the summer garden
Staring up at dead stars
And the full moon shrouded by
A thin cloud, as if a ghost,
Framed by a glorious golden halo.
Now she is free from petty woes
Hypnotised by the star-freckled night.
An owl hoots as she falls asleep
Drifting through the vast blackness of space.
She is hauled back to earth hearing cats scream
And tries in vain to return to the dream.

Epidemiology, by Adrian McRobb

10/4/2020

I've recently found a word
to help with my biology
its a new discovery
its epidemiology!

I could've seen it anywhere
not books on trigonometry
the study of diseases
its epidemiology!

Chris Witty is fond of it
its part of his pathology
he studied it at college
its epidemiology!

Doctor Calderwood fell foul of it
she didn't study geography
it drove her out of office
its epidemiology!

If we discover a vaccine
to help with this dichotomy
studying how its spreads
yes,,,its epidemiology!

An Instant, by Stella Gaucher Murovic

4/4/2020

Now is the time to listen, to pause,
spaghetti cooking on the stove,
music cascading down your ears,
and the man stirs and stirs
the wooden ladle in the stainless-steel pot.

So listen to the small voice,
hear its notes, its cries, its songs,
the unraveling of your mind --
your thoughts of fear
your thoughts of death.

The cars stationed like sentinels,
their motors for once at rest.
The birds are hidden beneath their wings
and the animals finally at peace,
while we're waiting for a sign . . .

and everyone is the same.
So kneel before your gods --
pray to the father, the son and any spirit,
remember your angels, patient as ghosts,
perhaps then you will hear
the beating of your soul.

COVID-19 Consolation, by Gunilla Jean

3/4/2020

"What you want when you're down is soft and jiggly, not muscled and stable." – from That Lean and Hungry Look by Suzanne Britt Jordan

Consider yourself invited, Mina encouraged,
squeeze me Mina urged; dry your coronavirus
tears on my curvaceous skirt, let’s sing about
renewal as I settle your tattered nerves;
hug me ‘til our pulses become one or as long
as you dare; my generous full-figure’s ideal
for loving, cuddling, embracing, consoling—not
obnoxiously strutting down high fashion runways
like fragile, anorexic models; pitch perfect,
big-boned gals like myself never break
like plastic, playboy pretzels who avoided
human touch before self-quarantine or
social distancing became the norm….simply
afraid they’d fracture bones, crack nails,
scratch skin, smear lipstick, ruffle hair;
both vagabonds and heroes surrender to
my calypso heart, tantalizing, irresistible,
enticing, no less during pandemic days
than blissful nights of endless, cushy celebration;
take my hand, stroke my cheeks, kiss my lips,
move forward, reciprocate my tactile affection.

The Turning, by Ian Fletcher

3/4/2020

You’ve always
sensed you were
approaching it:
yes, even though
it had seemed
not out of sight
but out of mind.

Yet now you find
this subtle change
a sinister turning
for it has fixed you
firmly in its eye
moving ever nigh
in untimely haste
never to be at rest
until it shall reap
its final harvest.

Something in the Wind, by Adrian McRobb

3/4/2020

From a casement window
watching things blow by
in the wind

The silent terror
screams in my brain
there's something
in the wind

not the poly bags
or hurtling gulls
something unseen
breathed in
incubates

two metre rule
turns to four
then six
we avoid
each other

masks become
fashionable
everyone's a doctor

a cough earns
stone face stares
hushed breath
in the stores

there's something
in the wind...

Only Mama, by Ana Marie Dollano

3/4/2020

Your love perfumes the air I breathe,
sweet, delicate.

Your fragile arms enfold me,
secure, comforting

Your words are music,
soothing, healing.

Only you, Mama,
restore my courage
ease my spirit
calm my soul.

Unrequited Love, by Paloma Lenz

3/4/2020

Swirling emblem of creation,
womb capable of life
and devastation.
Unparalleled in fidelity,
majesty, and
fragility;

Skin streaked with
irreparable scars, bloated
by the expanse of
endless sea,
throat coarse, dry,
and searing:

Eternally
persevering.

Heart rushing,
bursting; from this
sprout trees and flowers,
their roots only growing
with intensity as this love
blossoms and invites.

It’s a spectacular display
masking the
pain she hides inside.

“The climate has
always changed.”

Plastic straw
obsessions - their myopic ideals,
delusions - claim them,
but the temperature only
continues to rise.

She perpetually
averts her eyes as
she supports
her own demise.

Annals, by John Sterling

3/4/2020

Wearing warm Laplander hats,
trudging through snow covered
streets enroot to the Washington
Monument, I readily challenged all
social injustice, created lasting change,
deviated by necessity from the norm.

Golden years cast shadows, curb
momentum, as thirty-something
adults frequently offer up bus seats,
allow me access to crowed crosswalks,
wave as I’m riding a bicycle, grey hair
hanging below a protective helmet.

Now when I attend comedy clubs,
jokesters poke fun of my tie-dye
shirts, inquire if I’m okay, call me
Willie Nelson (ask if I’m loaded),
wonder whether I’ll outlive performances,
or shower the headliner with death rattle laughter.

Out of Reach: Valdivia, Chile, by Paloma Lenz

27/3/2020

The taste of choritos
drenched
in the sour juice of
bright yellow lemons,
still fresh on your tongue;

the spray
of the salty shore
that somehow
always
manages to envelop you
wherever you go;

Tía’s laugh, -
the way
the corners
of her eyes
crinkle when she
smiles -

that musty,
warm,
laughter-filled home,
ripping at the seams
with love
as pure
as gold.

a thousand other feelings you
succumb to,
with every intention of
letting them hold you;

that home
and
everything
else you’ve ever
known now seems

unreacha b l

Moonlit, by Adrian McRobb

27/3/2020

He trod on the golden harvest
leaving jewels in his footprints
by the yellow dancing lights
across the stream of blood
black in the moonlight

Whirls of steam from his engine
wisping over his shoulder
as he crossed the iron matrix
Meccano shapes in a forgotten land
false rubber path leading nowhere

By the quiet concrete hubs
feeling their intimate silence
giant shadows passed eagerly
trying to match his progress
crushing darkness underfoot...

Mars, by Adrian McRobb

20/3/2020

They came too late
dropping out of orbit
the dust
kicked up by the boosters
dead and heavy

Ruins and silence
an eerie quiet
papers blowing by
plastic straws on beaches
mute testament

Miles and miles
of empty savannah
oceans devoid of life
rusting cars
on an empty highway

Advertising boards
selling toothpaste
to empty air
a dead planet
wasted...

Cracked, by Paloma Lenz

20/3/2020

Things are not right.

We see
all the cracks -
the eyes,
they know -

but they never
want to be reminded.

Coping, by Sue Clayton

20/3/2020

Cradled in her arms
She fondles my hair
Cannula bruised hand in mine
Her eyes brim, but do not spill

She never cries
Not even when Dad died
Why? I once asked
If I start to cry, I won’t cope

Do you know you’re dying?
I ask silently
Stroking sparse white hair
Caressing a careworn ivory cheek

I fold her into my arms
Gently she pushes me away
I need to cope, she whispers
A lone tear falls on her last breath

I kiss the translucent lips
That kissed away all my hurts
Wipe away her tear
My own tears fall as I try to cope

Minsky's, by Guy Fletcher

20/3/2020

How can I forget Minsky's?
Drunken drag-queen nights
yet now closing forever, past its hey day
when cigarette smoke blurred the neon lighting.
25 years of escapism
and in these sad times of Covid-19
so many hours to think of what has been.

It replaced the Stage Door:
I remember Enola Gay filling the sweaty air
and dancing with the carefree vigour of youth.
Minsky's, I visualised 20's Berlin:
Cabaret, Christopher Isherwood,
but yet more Cardiff consigned to the past,
oh, those halcyon days...travelled so fast.

The Shooting Star, by Mary Wallace

13/3/2020

Our fingers touched and I saw stars
Not twinkling in the skies
But they were there of certainty
Just lurking in your eyes

And on your lips, one glistened there
It caused your mouth to smile
So charming did it make you look
I gazed for quite a while.

I felt the stars then reach my heart
They burnt a little hole
And while you twinkled down at me
I swear my breath you stole

Of course some stars are fleeting things
You shot through with your wife
Cold daytime stars are dangerous
They cut you like a knife.

Afternoon at Writing Group, by Sandra James

13/3/2020

It begins
a seedling thought
carefully planted
nurtured
encouraged
until it grows like Jack’s beanstalk
new shoots
branches
spreading into worlds unknown
and bearing
golden fruit

Brief Encounter, by Adrian McRobb

13/3/2020

On the train
she sat opposite
"this seat taken?"
she said...and smiled
she was from Coventry
Emily
we talked
about this and that

Much later
in the Hotel
she reminded me
what I had said...

"Do you really think I'm pretty?"
so I showed her again
she took some convincing
and stroked my face

Her hair tumbled
in a brown flood
across the pillow
she was so soft

I never saw her again
Emily
but always look
when I get on a train...

March Sunrise, by Guy Fletcher

13/3/2020

He awoke from a troubled slumber
but then the March sunrise
broke over the horizon
appearing in his bedroom window
after days of brutal storms.
Raindrops on branches from the night gone by
shone as if stars had fallen from the sky

to a mellifluous orchestra of birds.
Aeroplane vapour dissected
the glorious azure ether
as he yawned and closed his eyes
the sun rising higher and higher,
its welcome warmth kissing his sleepy brow
and all was right with the world...just for now.

Looking Up, by Paloma Lenz

12/3/2020

Up there
were the distant
valleys of moonstone
and emerald.

Eyes look to them
from the blue plumes,
immense and shifting,
until the last shine was lost.

She watched the night sky, waiting.

Fonteyn Meets Nureyev, by Sue Clayton

8/3/2020

Standing on the steps
she noticed his nostrils
in a pinched little face.

Smaller than expected.
he had an odd pallor
peculiar to Russian dancers.

They took tea
sizing each other up
five sugars for him.

Polite, he sat up straight,
with limited English
but making himself plain

When he laughed
she saw a difference
losing his 'on guard' look.

He smiled.
she was captivated.
they would dance.

The Lovers, by Adrian McRobb

6/3/2020

We lay
frog slippery
in cooling sweat...