Friday Flash Fiction - Poetry

Volte-Face, by Sterling Warner

11/6/2021

Perusing old love letters like
ancient, fragile Dead Sea Scrolls,

sans animal skin, sans papyrus,
my paramour’s script as elusive as

the Qumran Caves, our romance
an equivalent Judaean Desert where

dry air kept fervor's proclivities from
melting into an endless fluid tryst;

yes, yes, yes—your perfumed missives
added an ineffable essence to pages of

vulnerable self-revelation, confessions
revisited today—eyes misty, heart lonely;

words intended to be read by me alone;
I now want the world to mourn my loss.

Not So Sharp, by Andrew Carter

11/6/2021

a snail crawls unharmed

over sharpened sequiturs

to eat green pellets

Home, by Swati Moheet Agrawal

11/6/2021

Bent over the kitchen sink,
Maa is scrubbing utensils with a puritanical zeal.
I notice the mahogany linoleum warped from moisture
and ants darting up and down the counter.

In the living room, a lizard clings to the ceiling,
Maa chases it away with a broom.

I see termite trails growing like creepers over wooden cupboards
and mildew stained photographs sealed into albums,
lush green mounds of grapes and a delectable loaf on the dining table.

How I love my childhood home,
all my memories are rooted in these four walls after all!

Home is not where I rest my head at night
or fancy furniture or avant-garde décor,
home is the love I’m surrounded with, the warmth in my chest,
the guardians of my darkest thoughts, crippling fears and my deepest secrets.

The Pink Skip, by Guy Fletcher

11/6/2021

On the grass verge opposite
lies a pink skip with traffic cones
guarding as if to highlight
its transience. It resides
next to a red berry tree where birds sing.
The house is empty, the skip's open tomb
whispers to me about sadness and doom:

in its bowels are slippers
as withered as daffodils in May,
they will not be worn again.
There's a plethora of black plastic bags
and a mirror broken on impact,
the lost owner never again to stare
at a drink-ravaged face...etched with despair.

Top Spot, by Michael Leach

11/6/2021

Glenelg,

noon,

02/02/2020.

I

pull up

&

eye

a

redder

race car.

Privilege and Entitlement, by Alex Andy Phuong

11/6/2021

Principles involving
More than a combination
Of sense and sensibility,
For within modernity,
Privilege merely suggests
The supreme,
And no matter how hard
Life might seem,
Entitlement
Could actually
Distort society,
So practice humility,
And combine love
With humanity
To create a better
Reality

Clockwork Mice, by Adrian McRobb

11/6/2021

They scurry and skitter in places unknown
harassed and playful a dog with a bone
chewing and gnawing at anything tasty
carrying food in pouches but, not too hasty
whirring, unwinding a slow turning key
running and jumping in search of their tea
papers they like to soften their billet
yes...at a push, they'll even eat millit *
flashing around as they wind down
they lodge in the dark, under the ground...

*wartime bread diet

The Scent of Rainfall, by Michael Leach

4/6/2021

overdue rain drops
on dry soil & frees plant oils--
petrichor rises

Hay Fever, by Christyn Stergios

4/6/2021

My bella prima donna.
You pluck at my heart strings, Lily...

I've wasted daisies to find out if she loves me.
Attitude turned lackadaisical.
I know the truth about you now.
You're poison. I've cut the ivy you've spun around my eyes.
You were my rose. Does that make me the prick?
My goddess Venus-
flytrap. Men swarm. We're just snacks to you.
You chewed me up and spit me back out.
I guess I'm not a catch to you.
I'll miss the little things; the scent of you.
But you made your bed, now lay in it.
You're dead to me, Lily.

Atropa belladonna.
My deadly nightshade.

Parental Guidance Suggested, by Alex Andy Phuong

4/6/2021

The MPAA began censorship guidelines
After the release of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Nevertheless, cinema really is nothing more
Than Hollywood fantasy,
And within reality,
Some parents do try
Their very best
To provide guidance
So that their children
Could live independently,
And dance freely
As if no one
Watched them
Cope with hope
For not fearing
Virginia Woolf

Tulsa, Oklahoma, 2021, by Sankar Chatterjee

4/6/2021

It was the burning summer of 1921 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Even after Lincoln’s emancipation of slavery
Tulsa remained divided along the racial line.
Black citizens, working hard became prosperous
The “Black Wall Street” became city’s successful business zone.
Time was ripe for jealousy and anger for the city’s other race.

A rumor bomb was thrown into that flashing rage
Black Dick Rowland raped white Sarah Page.
Thus began the race-riot, burning businesses, and massacre.
Then the entire event miraculously vanished from nation’s consciousness.
The recent brutal murder of Mr. George Floyd
Resurrected the Tulsa-event back in spotlight, a century later.

Shadows, by Adrian McRobb

4/6/2021

Afternoon... four long shadows moving abreast
darker in suns slant, shadows shortening
moving left, other shadows meet them
some short, some tall
thinner shadows detach, pointing
some shadows disappear, leaving many smaller ones
one shadow left, a passing minute, longer still

Arizona Territory 1881

Domestic, by Alex Blaine

4/6/2021

Menacing words
from the parrot tongue.
Teddy saw everything
and said nothing.

Autumn Leaves, by Marjan Sierhuis

4/6/2021

Autumn is coming
Leaves will be changing colors
I shall buy a camera

Nocturnal Rite, by Ivan Ristic

4/6/2021

When midnight comes
she rises to worship
the Moon.

In the blinding light
her perfect body,
full of marks,
burns
and smells
and melts
like a candle.

Meaning and Life, Graham Brussen

4/6/2021

four new cases in the suburbs
no one would care if she died
this whole thing is a waste of time
you made a mistake
can’t feel your hands, can’t feel your feet
i appreciate you givin me that money
i don’t want to die
you’re like a holy place to me
nobody knows what happened
your words lost meaning and life
a tale told by an idiot
people hasten to judge

Forgotten Remnant, by Guy Fletcher

28/5/2021

The subway on Kingsway
was once a thriving canal
bringing coal and other materials
into the heart of Cardiff.
I seem to sense the ghosts
of hard men on the barges
yet now there is only
an empty whisky bottle and graffiti
and a forgotten metal remnant from the canal years.
Countless thousands of feet have ventured here:
shoppers and drunks, many long gone.
Through the arch the grass
of the castle and wall come into view,
I climb the steps under a sky of blue.

Dislocation, by Adrian McRobb

28/5/2021

Night leaks into the windows
of the sleepers who inhale
subconscious unreality
in anamorphic dreams

waking with early fogged minds
remembered nights madness
pours off them in droplets
into a cup of malady

sunshine syrup of melancholia
invades in a toxic wave
searching for themselves
foil wrapped on floors

metamorphosis of dichotomy
shred and split sardonic
duality beckons schizophrenia
on condensation glass...

Crossroad, by Alex Blaine

28/5/2021

Lonely
guitar
shivers
a
blues'
tear.

Summer, Demon, Daemon, and Cicada, by Kumar Vikrant

28/5/2021

The cloudless, blue summer sky in the heavens above,
The air feels recycled, almost artificial

My trance-like state, broken by the cicada songs,
Yes, it is a song, not a cry or scream

The cicadas provide a welcome break,
Otherwise, the demon in my head would have eaten me alive

The hot summer air scorches my face as I walk through the lush green meadow,
Mother Earth talks to me noisily, like an orchestra

Is the meadow alive? I ask mother Earth!
One of the cicadas talks to me, welcome dear visitor

I look into the cicada’s eyes, bright red, almost demon-like,
Its red gaze penetrating the depths of my soul, burning it

I tell the cicada, ‘I have everything, yet there is a chasm deep within.’
Not unlike the serpent, amid this heavenly meadow

The cicada sings to me, my eyesight overpowered by the bright summer light,
The air now a pleasant breeze, the demon now a benevolent daemon

Method Role, by Alex Andy Phuong

28/5/2021

As people leave their homes,
And venture into reality,
They leave behind
Everything that remains inside,
And might employ masks
As an attempt to hide.
Nevertheless,
All people have roles to play,
And some do more
Than what others might say,
And having the courage
To cope with adversity
Methodically
Is sometimes more powerful
Than any form
Of method acting.

Who's For Dessert? by Gordon Lawrie

28/5/2021

Vanilla ice cream
Topped with warm chocolate sauce –
I'll have some of that.

Despair, by Ian Fletcher

28/5/2021

It’ll be a beautiful day
the forecasters say
but it won’t be for him
so beaten down by life
he cannot even cry.
He exchanges smiles
with cheerful passers-by
enjoying the fresh air
oblivious to his despair.
He looks up and sees
the impenetrable heavens
and the empty blue sky.

A Heavenly Treat, by Marjan Sierhuis

28/5/2021

Strawberries red and juicy
Ripe for the picking
A large basket, please

Seven Ducks, by Sandra James

21/5/2021

Lunch by the lake
mother duck
and four fluffy ducklings
swimming a waltz
I hum the childhood song
and wonder where is father duck
has he gone looking for the fifth little fellow
who did not come back?
movement in the reeds…
regal dad glides toward his family

and the fifth little duckling
races to catch up