Friday Flash Fiction

The Scream, by Adrian McRobb

10/7/2020

A face drawn with scattered dirt
in a cold winter long ago
smiling was forbidden
in the place where smiling stood
grins and pretty faces, fruit posing
Pan, nymphs and gamboling lambs
all the world in oil, and framed
hiding in the dark...with salt

many lighter squares on walls
stolen with the people
to places far away
wheelchairs tipped
from balcony height
broken faces on cobbles
where no-one cared
only a face, drawn
with scattered dirt...

2 Comments

Moments, by Guy Fletcher

3/7/2020

1 Comment

These are moments, surreal,
all things in stasis.
She envies a couple arguing
and the trauma will never heal.
Mortality has been broken apart
like a fallen fluorescent tube,
his eyes betraying sadness and fear
with a furious drumbeat in her heart.

Suffering had barely infected her life,
the cosy world of restaurants,
art galleries and midnight bars
has been severed by fate's knife.
Now the world is back at its usual pace
quite indifferent to their plight,
shock has protected her so far
but then a tear...rolls down her face.

1 Comment

Panic Attack! by Adrian McRobb

3/7/2020

2 Comments

I've beaten the sale target
at my local supermarket
I have more toilet tissue
in case I have an issue
while I'm virtually waiting
and not incubating
it is most desirous
that I beat this virus
I went panic shopping
committed over stocking
a bath full of eels
for emergency meals
hoarded medication
to ward off inflation
I've got so much pasta
in case of disaster
bought enough beans
to fill several tureens
I haven't forgotten
over buying is rotten
robs those in need
because of my greed
I guess I'm going to hell
where I'm panic buying as well

2 Comments

The Golf Course, by Guy Fletcher

26/6/2020

3 Comments

Under a deep blue Aegean sky
a thin layer of spring frost
lies on the silent golf course
like stubble on an old man’s face.
The lethargic sun rises and turns
it into shining diamonds and I find
the scene loosens the shackles of my mind.

Shadows dance from trees like ghosts
and a seagull dives into the pond
creating hypnotic transient ripples.
I imagine golfers here long ago
escaping from stress for a while
watching the white ball darting through the air,
their time has gone…but the sun does not care.

3 Comments

Squirrel Now and Then, by Anamika Dey

26/6/2020

0 Comments

A squirrel turned the street corner,
I focussed on it either-
it would turn the other way sooner.

Its small arms were kicking up snow,
I lowered my head to be low,
And did not let it go.

A gust of wind shook it's body-
And I took it on my arm unabashedly.

Previous days

The streets were clogged with vehicles,
The squirrel might not be so reckless.

Back to nowadays

Roads are lone due to Corona lockdown,
Within my grip-
the squirrel tried to leap-
I loosened my palm and it jumped down.

0 Comments

Books, by Adrian McRobb

26/6/2020

4 Comments

Falcon 9, by Guy Fletcher

19/6/2020

1 Comment

On these dark times a rocket launched
from the Kennedy space center
into an azure American sky soaring like
a shooting star to the ISS.
What a mixture of fear and adrenaline
For the two astronauts locked inside
following heroes in the sky who've died.

Yes, the spirit of adventure of these men
is a wonder to us earthbound ones,
the perils of the impervious universe
true isolation in a brittle machine,
the ultimate roller coaster ride
yet their eyes will be met with such a view
of the troubled, lovely planet of blue.

1 Comment

Graduation Day at Wagor High School, by Ian Fletcher

19/6/2020

2 Comments

Under burning rays
of a merciless sun
that beats down
from azure skies
they hurl their caps
into the air hoping
they will soar higher
and higher defying
the laws of gravity
as if they have not
a care in the world
so sure of the future
bring what it may
they would not heed
advice from such as I
for indeed this is their day
and my voyage is ending
while theirs has just begun.

2 Comments

Queueing, by Adrian McRobb

19/6/2020

2 Comments

Whenever you see one
you want to join the line
never even knowing
if they'll have it in this time
whatever your after
they'll have it on board?
You must do your penance
to earn your just reward
keeping social distance
fiddling with your phone
at least when your queueing
you know your not alone
finally...your at the front
it's time to buy that beer
the fire alarm starts sounding
"Please keep the building clear!"

2 Comments

My Kingdom, by Mary Wallace

12/6/2020

My kingdom is beneath the bridge
A shopping trolley
One wheel gone
Another contorted, looking to escape
I should tell him there's no escape
I've tried before, it's not possible

A striped companion
His zipper stronger than plastic
Is keeper of the treasury
His sturdiness attracts conflict
Beckons thieves
Invites hostility

They come
Avarice in their eyes
Snarling, we joust for my chattels
Broken umbrella thrusting
Screaming insanely
"Mine, they're mine"

They slink off...
The steel General and I victorious
His crooked wheels stood firm
We reign
For this night
In our Kingdom beneath the bridge

The Makeshift, by Irene Watson

12/6/2020

As was normal,
they stopped at 10am,
called it peacy time;
came down from scaffolding,
up from ground holes,
off from ladders.
They would leave gloves and hard hats
on makeshift tables;
boards strung between perches.
Flasks poured hot tea,
rolls came out of boxes,
jokes were shared,
hands warmed.
Their peace hut was wherever
they could make it.
When a house was watertight,
the peace hut moved indoors.
Then, there was this one time,
when curly fries
were cooked in an oven, shared hot.
Tea mugs were washed in the dishwasher.
They reminisced of that day.

The Squashed Rat, by Ian Fletcher

12/6/2020

I passed a squashed rat
on the road some truck
or car’s wheel having
flattened it into oblivion
like a steamrolled character
in an absurd Disney cartoon
though this poor creature
will never rise up again
its frenetic activity
erased in an instant
leading me to think
our little lives amount
to but this, more or less,
when all is said and done,
one moment full of purpose
scurrying about our business
yet in the twinkling of an eye
extinguished into nothingness.

Inchcree, by Adrian McRobb

12/6/2020

A months rain
has fallen
in 24 hours
the water furious
plumes and cascades
forcing through
the rocks
pulverising
the stones below
who watch
nearly worn away
next year
they will be gone

nearer the top
hatchet nosed and angry
facing the full force
shouting silently
in water roaring debate
they face
the sawmill
of corrosive water
worn into angrier form
bared teeth
and wild eyes
their argument
continues

lower down
in swirling pools
algae grows
feeding dippers
birds and fish
as the rage relents
it sparkles
encouragingly
salmon spawn
herons angle
until the rain
comes again...

Déjà Vu, by Paloma Lenz

12/6/2020

the very fibers of the water,
trees, and plants
stretch, fold over themselves,
tear and rip apart

a gaping hole
left, the stars of the night sky
peeking through; entered
with hopes of understanding

transported to a garden
on the other side of the Earth,
the same solemn tree above
the listless water,
the dreary clouds
whose tears now stream
from my own eyes

relishing every second
of the confusion
until a step forward is taken -
no longer willingly chained
in place
I come to.

The Collector, by Adrian McRobb

5/6/2020

She walks the lonely woods
picking coloured pebbles
from a stream bed
a nest wind blown
goes into her bag
wooden shapes
like faces
pine cones
she will paint
later

the woods are quiet
no-one comes here
so things lie
undisturbed
once long ago
fingers protruded
now long moss grows
as birth creates renewal
so does decay
mushroom and wild garlic
patient years
and long shadows
until the collector

collecting the unusual
to decorate her home
her pockets are full
of feathers
a bird fascination
collaged into crows
to keep stuffed owls
and dancing mice company
the woods
are coming home...

Blue Ice by Guy Fletcher

5/6/2020

"Things fall apart" - Yeats.

All is calm under the antarctic sun:
seagulls and sea lions scavenge
then there's a crack like a giant creaking gate
and the towering ice sheet collapses
ensuring the sea is briefly wild.
The people in the boat have mixed feelings:
this is some scoop, a photograph to behold
but tragedy in the land of the cold.

Nothing is permanent, "thing's fall apart,"
and next day all is tranquil again,
distant clouds like the ghost
of the mighty ice-cliff that's fallen.
Icebergs drift and the blue ice
has retreated but still far from finished
yet thousands of miles away on the shore
the water creeps up... Just a little more.

Spaceship, by Guy Fletcher

5/6/2020

In these lonely troubled times
I feel I'm in a spaceship
drifting through the indifferent universe
just like the Earth itself.
I think I'm going slightly mad,
in the night I stare outside the bedroom
to view the stars and moon from my soft tomb.

Yes, I feel I'm in a spaceship,
Ground Control to Major Tom,
I can still contact Planet Earth
but it's a light year from face-to-face
and memories haunt my soul,
like many longing to be free again,
but for now in this spaceship ...I I remain

The Ballad of Kirstie and Tommy, by Gordon Lawrie

5/6/2020

Something a little different this week. Today, I was supposed to be attending the wedding of a lovely couple who had finally got around to doing the deed. Then along came coronavirus...

This is dedicated to couples everywhere whose plans have been similarly sent sideways.

How in the world did it come to this?
It wasn't meant to be
Instead of a wedding sealed with a kiss
There's only you and me
The party's cancelled, the band's left town
The guests have all stayed at home
We're left to party with no one around
So we'll celebrate on our own

It might be June, but it's pouring with rain
These empty glasses should be filled with wine
We're standing on the platform, having missed the train,
Don't worry, it'll all be fine.

Standing outside of our house by the sea,
Wondering what we did wrong
But look at the stars, what will be will be
It'll all be right before long
And there's always tomorrow, as you've always said
For all the things we planned
We still have each other, and the kids are in bed
So come on now, take my hand

It might be June, but it's pouring with rain
These empty glasses should be filled with wine
We're standing on the platform, having missed the train,
Don't worry, it'll work out fine.

They're lyrics to a song, of course. And here we are, a bit rough and ready for any number of reasons but particularly the haste, so I hope you'll make allowances. You'll get the idea, at any rate. Thanks to my wife Katherine for the impromptu backing vocals – GL

A Sonnet for Smiling Sorley, by Barney MacFarlane

29/5/2020

A casual stroll into a well-known room,
Expectant of a mere acknowledgement,
When startled currents from your heart exhume
Joyful commotions plausibly thought latent
And the object of this mislaid stimulation?
Perchance now intimate of some power innate,
While presenting practised communication
To place the happy visitor in a dizzy state –
A charming individual whose still small life
Is considered more in months than ages,
A summer lad indeed and free from strife,
Ergo while still engaging, disengages.
Indeed, you might have thought you’d seen it all
Ere Sorley had you in his radiant thrall.

I Will Return, by Guy Fletcher

29/5/2020

I will return to Whitmore Bay
to watch the sparkling sea
when these dark times are over
with my soul floating free.
I'll drink coffee at O'Shea's
as so many times before,
be caressed by the warm sun
as I wander on golden shore.

Yes, I will return to Whitmore Bay
stroll to friar's point and view
the quantock Hills under
a sky painted a dali blue.
On my way back I'll eat
fish and chips at Boofy's cafe,
I miss the smell of the sea
but I will return one day.

Fishbones, by Adrian McRobb

29/5/2020

They lie in dark water
staring at the land
time is spent
for them
but they look
anyway
once they breathed
saw sunlight
drank beer
until
they sank

On storm surges
they stand
on tidal beaches
fretting
for a glimpse
of candle glow
that glow
that warms
a fretted soul
cold from deep water
home again
just a league
offshore
reaching for sand

When the sea
thrashes in torment
they sing
for lost loves
to kiss
their children
hold wives
in close embrace

But dark nights
are an empty chalice
no soul
just tidal water
and noisy shingle
dragging beaches...

No More Heroes, by Guy Fletcher

15/5/2020

I remember a Stranglers gig
Many decades ago, they were dressed in black
With attitude and Dave Greenfield
Played sublime keyboards.
We had a plethora of lager
Dancing like there was no tomorrow
In times when I felt little sorrow.

So may you rest in peace Dave,
Another figure departed from my youth
Joining Lemmy and Jim Morrison
In a band beyond the clouds.
I put on the old vinyl,
No More Heroes with the volume high
As I remember.... Days long gone by.

The Next Ice Age, by Bruce Levine

15/5/2020

The frozen lake no longer exists
Heat has stolen time
Chemicals in food has changed lives
Women becoming barren
Flight of songbirds
The phases of the moon mutating
As the world becomes further
And further adrift
Lives on hold
Fantasies taking over
As video games become the new reality
Tides rising around the corpse
Of another time
Stigma reinvented
Jobs forsaken in favor of escapism
As adolescence extends into middle age
And maturity evaporates
Half way through the forbidden
Grandmothers laugh
Gold threads extinguished
Without knowing when or why
A torpedo blasts against the rocky coast
Sending shale amongst the cacti of Arizona
And the lake swallows the debris
Lost forever in the next ice age

Mandala, by Paloma Lenz

15/5/2020

A thousand poppy flowers
dance on the shore of
a sea illuminated by
the soft light of the moon
reflecting off a pale thicket
of coral and weeds
stretching the extent
of an endless meadow
home to rabbits and
dragonflies, their buzzing
drowning out even the endearing
trill of a songbird up
in the nearest tree, the
sound traveling into
the depths of the dirt farther
than the bones and exhausted
roots of sleeping plants
until it breaks through to the surface
and is met by the blue expanse
of a clear sky
and centered is the eye
of the willing prey,
entranced by the
ceaseless sway of
his spirit.

The Old Priest by Ian Fletcher

8/5/2020

So the old priest is dead
coronavirus they said
dying alone spluttering
and choking in his bed
this venerable soul
who promised his flock
prayer would save them
from all earthly harm
for whom all the troubles
of the world could be cured
by a parable or a psalm.

<<Previous

The Scream, by Adrian McRobb

Moments, by Guy Fletcher

Panic Attack! by Adrian McRobb

The Golf Course, by Guy Fletcher

Squirrel Now and Then, by Anamika Dey

Books, by Adrian McRobb

Falcon 9, by Guy Fletcher

Graduation Day at Wagor High School, by Ian Fletcher

Queueing, by Adrian McRobb

My Kingdom, by Mary Wallace

The Makeshift, by Irene Watson

The Squashed Rat, by Ian Fletcher

Inchcree, by Adrian McRobb

Déjà Vu, by Paloma Lenz

The Collector, by Adrian McRobb

Blue Ice by Guy Fletcher

Spaceship, by Guy Fletcher

The Ballad of Kirstie and Tommy, by Gordon Lawrie

A Sonnet for Smiling Sorley, by Barney MacFarlane

I Will Return, by Guy Fletcher

Fishbones, by Adrian McRobb

No More Heroes, by Guy Fletcher

The Next Ice Age, by Bruce Levine

Mandala, by Paloma Lenz

The Old Priest by Ian Fletcher

Poetry

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