Friday Flash Fiction

He should have appeared for his country
but this was the 1920s
and so the captain of Plymouth Argyle
was left out due only to his colour.
For many seasons he played the game he loved
somehow managing to keep self-control
receiving abuse which would chill the soul.

Now decades after those inter-war years
of grainy film and long baggy shorts
many black players are in the team
but Jack was destined not to be the first.
They are planning a statue for a man
denied a cap to our eternal shame,
it's important... we remember his name.

(Music: The Ballad of Jack Leslie by Matt Tiller.)

3 Comments

Ocean of Kindness, by Padmini Krishnan

16/10/2020

I tasted a tiny drop
from your ocean
when you beckoned me to
your bench, moving a little
to make way for me.

I tasted another drop
when you stayed for me
after classes even though
your work was done.

I gulped a few drops
in guilt when you
abandoned your project
to finish mine.

I have imbibed many a drop
from your ocean,
now it is time
to make an ocean
of my own.

4 Comments

Jewel in the Morning, by Susan DeFelice

16/10/2020

On his propane stove
He fried an egg and slid it down his throat
Expertly, like it was a raw oyster
And he a discerning chef

He chased the egg with pale tang and dry wheaties,
The stuff of astronauts and athletes

And he felt like an athlete
As he jumped over the brambles concealing his belongings
Then slowed and casually strode to the sidewalk
Where patrol cars pass
Looking for jewels like him

He may be late for work now
On second thought he felt more like an actor than an athlete

2 Comments

Mask-erade, by Adrian McRobb

16/10/2020

The masks stand
equidistant, still
now and then
they sway
staring at the rails
as if in that metal
life's problems answered
a slight shimmer
almost, unnoticable
as the hissing squealing
Trans-Pennine arrives
doors shutter open
masks entrain obediently
a whale gobbling plankton
each to their own
respective destinations
spreading...

2 Comments

Walking with Francis, by Adrian McRobb

10/10/2020

Her umbrella blows
like a disobedient tent
it has been inside out
twice already
home bargains,
never all they promise
now the raindrops
obscure her glasses
wiped fleetingly
as the dog lunges
the boots leave
welted footprints
which bubbling disappear
wind whipped puddles
empty into the road
where traffic passes
in an abstract dream...

2 Comments

Stone Dragon, by Al Watt

9/10/2020

She lay in infinite repose.
Nestling in sprawling ivy.
Protecting her boulder eggs.

Crafted by skilled hand.
A manifestation of beauty,
created to be admired by all.

A creature of myth and legend.
This wondrous stone dragon,
touched my mystic soul.

I like to think,
Elves had fetched her here,
in simpler times.

Every week I’d see her there,
The seasons never changed her
And somehow that pleased me.

Then I saw her broken back
my heart grew heavy
my anger knew no bounds.

That such a thing could happen.
What ever beauty humanity creates,
some ignorant bastard can destroy.

3 Comments

Thumbs Up! by Sandra James

2/10/2020

5 Comments

I just saw this cute kitten
on Facebook
I tell he-who-sits-in-the-brown-velvet-armchair
press a key
and the image travels through
cyberspace
to that chair three metres across the room
a thumbs-up meanders back
through the network

A sad reflection of the modern way?

Well…at least we’re Covid-safe!

5 Comments

R101, by Guy Fletcher

2/10/2020

Over a French village at 2am
a strange object appeared in the sky
on a wild and windswept night
which was to end in mayhem.
R101, shaped like a giant cigar,
cruised the darkness as if a UFO
narrowly avoiding spires of religion
heading for India...but never reaching that far.

Above the world like gods were the crew
until the wind blew the canopy apart
most burning to death in a foreign field,
the wreckage a sickening view.
Yes, just a few escaped away,
the airship a forlorn skeleton
but those who staggered from the scene
would be haunted until their dying day.

1 Comment

Cafe de Distance Sociale, by Adrian McRobb

2/10/2020

The Cafe was full
six people trying not
to breathe too deeply
squeezing past
tartan trolleys, finally
a space for one, apart

balancing my baguette
trying
not to spill
my mocha-latte...etc
peering
at my spaced neighbours
not
making eye contact

I chanced a quick sip
then a tiny bite
stuffed under
quickly
replacing my mask
munching undercover
another glance
no one had noticed

concentrating
on false nonchalance
tearing off a bit
another hasty sip
mask back on
"nothing to see here"

staring out the window
trying to spot
those masked offenders
as Boris wrings hands
while Big Brother
watches on CCTV...

4 Comments

To Add to the Woes Now and the Distancing, by N.Jayasekera

2/10/2020

The automobile kept wheezing
And the telephone went hunting
Was that a reason for neglecting
A tug in my heart says something

Do all these say one thing
Do you deserve this fling
A terrible bee sting?
Would a bird lend me its wing

1 Comment

Old Salt, by Al Watt

2/10/2020

Face baked by foreign sun,
each line a testament of time.
Old eyes sharp with experience,
swirling somewhere in the past,
in a wake of frothing memories,
of exotic aromas, erotic women.

Black cap moulded to crown.
Wiry body flexible and strong,
adorned by wondrous tattoos.
Faded clothes patched but clean,
A sharks tooth tied round his neck,
and earrings to ward off drowning.

Telling bold adventurous yarns,
heady cocktails of truth and fiction.
The sea a heartless, fickle mistress,
so serenely beautiful at times,
at others, stormy in dark rage.
A proud life, a happy life, a full life.

3 Comments

Bipolarity, by Adrian McRobb

25/9/2020

Walking through paintings
admiring the abstracts
she tries to decode
wishing to emulate

the room distorts
muted whispers
become louder
the room sways
and tilts
white dots swim
in her vision
like polystyrene beads
on water
feeling unbearably light

later in the cloakroom
sitting on the lid
cradling her head
mutterings louder now
thoughts racing

the paintings return
strangely twisted
bent frames, paint
running out the corners
of her mind...

4 Comments

September Sunrise, by Guy Fletcher

25/9/2020

Clouds are breaking apart
as if sea ice in the sky.
The light has just risen
and the unseen sun paints the clouds
a most fantastic vivid pink,
there's a myriad covering the blue
Turner would have stood in awe at the view.

Blackbirds fly in formation
as if planes from Bomber Command
but this is a moving picture:
clouds transmute from pink to gold
and then the magic is over,
all is lost under a shroud of deep grey
for rain clouds have wiped the beauty away.

2 Comments

Leadership, by John Hancock

25/9/2020

“Invasion on my command”
The leader raised his hand.

“Sir, the latest report,
Please give it some thought

The blue planet, third in line
Uses customs about this time

Their Santa dressed in red
Delivers if you’re asleep in bed

His face is covered with long white hair
He sits all day in a big comfy chair

Orders are placed sitting on his knee
If you’re good he delivers for free

It’s all very secret, peeking’s not fair
On December 25 your order is there.”

“Invasion is cancelled, I’ll be in bed.
Have my pizza delivered instead.”

2 Comments

For Kith and Country, by Al Watt

18/9/2020

Silhouettes flutter on the skyline,
banners snap an’ flap boldly.
Stand firm hearty lads, stand firm.

The enemy carpet sweeps onward,
covering more and more land.
Hold fast bold men, hold fast.

Battle horns blare and trumpet.
Arrow clouds darken the sky.
Fight well heroes, fight well.

Valiant battle hymns sung,
to pounding shields of rhythm.
For kith and country, for kith and country.

Swords shriek from scabbards,
metal clangs, blood spills.
It’s done, the Devil’s work is done.

4 Comments

Words Count, by Adrian McRobb

18/9/2020

I should have said things to you, like..."hey mines a sandwich" but, that's not cool (even with Beetroot)

I should have said, "yours is the least expensive wine" but, it wasn't

I wanted to say, "hey-yay-and today" but, just mumbled "ok"

I wanted to say, your hair was nice and you smelt fine, my mouth wouldn't say it

I thought I could say...lots of nice things (if I was able) but, I couldn't

2 Comments

The Ancient Yew Tree, by Guy Fletcher

18/9/2020

In soft summer rain with dearest friends
I enter St. Andrew’s Churchyard, Kenn,
situated in the fine county of Devon.
Some epitaphs are erased from view
next to the red brick of the church.
Oh, so many ghosts over the years
have stepped inside here with both smiles and tears

but the yew tree commands centre stage,
maybe born at the time of the Saviour:
massive and ancient. I pose for a photograph
clambering up between its great branches
to touch history with awe.
Every quarter of an hour Sunday bells chime
yet the tree reaches further back in time.

2 Comments

The Mouse and the Snake, by Adrian McRobb

11/9/2020

A little mouse hopped out of his burrow one day
and decided to explore the hill and highway
while scurrying around in the grass, by the lake
he happened to meet up with a large long green snake
the snake thought ha! He would have a nice meal
thinking of how mouse fur in his tummy would feel
the mouse though, was of the other persuasion
racking his brain for a plan of 'not being eaten' evasion
just as the snake was getting ready to strike!
The mouse roared away, on a red motorbike...

3 Comments

Success, by Ian Fletcher

11/9/2020

Yes, you did it did
all you were meant
to do and more:
did well in school
got your degrees
your qualifications
the job the career
the promotions
the wife the kids
the pension plan
the nest egg for
your golden years.
Oh yes, you did it
did it all, did it all
to perfection.
What now?

3 Comments

Your Lie in April, by Alaric Erami

4/9/2020

They say there is beauty in music,

I can’t see what they mean

I play the notes, but I can't hear the sounds.

Like I'm at the bottom of the ocean,

My world had no color.

Until I met you.

I can hear the music you play.

My world took on color.

You took my heart and changed my world.

I had fun for the first time with you.

Until the day that you fell.

You tried to convince me you were fine.

But in the end.

It was Your Lie that fateful April.

That kept me sane.

1 Comment

Scafell Pike, by Adrian McRobb

4/9/2020

The Winter sunrise raises shadows
which as the light increases
race each other across the land
like fell runners they cross
lichen covered rocks and heather
with the speed of early morning sun
dropping down impossible drops
just as quickly climbing crags
accelerating with the mist burning light
black fingers caress the peaks
as if sculpting the land anew
but, inexorably the sunlight rises
shadows shrivel hiding in burrows
retreating from the stronger light
secreting themselves in rock fissures
dark hands resting for future labour
waiting for tomorrow when waking
they race across the fell again
each trying to win...

4 Comments

Imprisoned, by Paloma Lenz

4/9/2020

The sound:
imperious, piercing
It seeps in,
foul-smelling,
with no understanding
of time or interval
seizing all who hear it

1 Comment

Terrible Twos, by Mary Wallace

28/8/2020

14 Comments

Two wrongs, two too many drinks, too fast
Two cars, two children dead, two families ruined,
Too much loss, too much pain,
TOO MUCH GUILT
Two sad eyes, too too sad
Too much disappointment,
Too little sleep
Two arms empty for too, too long
Two separate lives
Today is too hard
Tomorrow stretches too long
Tonight
Two little bottles
To oblivion.

14 Comments

Loneliness, by Maria Tonu

28/8/2020