Friday Flash Fiction

Navigating storm cellars
we’d crawl along floors
flattening our guts, wishing

the farmhouse stove’s warmth
had traveled with us as we
burrowed ourselves far below

rotating columns of air
its twisting, turning vacuum
leveling the barn, throwing

tractors and pick-up trucks
in four directions, setting them
down in cornfields where ripe husks

opened wide, absorbed seismic shocks,
fashioned random crop circles as we
siblings & I huddled tight atop damp dirt.

2 Comments

Transformation, by Guy Fletcher

13/5/2022

It's been over thirty years
and now her face is as worn
as a homeless man's old pair of shoes
from too many toxic substances.
Age has withered him too
as he observes her world-weary hands
shake like leaves in the breeze.
Oh, how swiftly the years fly by :
he remembers being entranced
by her youthful beauty like a
Botticelli painting but now
only when she smiles a trace remains.
She always appears youthful in his sleep
knowing his obsession...was only skin deep.

3 Comments

Sing, by Marjan Sierhuis

6/5/2022

12 Comments

The sun shines brightly
Please sing your heart out, everyone,
for the world to hear

12 Comments

Lesson in a Silent Language, by Alex Blaine

6/5/2022

4 Comments

As a child I learnt
British Sign Language

I still can say
Pink
Blue
Please
Thank you
and F off

4 Comments

The Swimmer, by Guy Fletcher

6/5/2022

As I saunter across the pebbles
of Penarth beach next to the pier
my thoughts conjure Kathleen Thomas
who at only twenty years of age
became the first to swim the Channel
from Penarth to Weston-super-Mare.
Due to the tide the distance
between shores became twice as long.
What elation she must have experienced
as she reached the sands of Weston.
I watch the placid waves sizzle
on this somnolent, sunny spring day
and seem to view Kathleen Thomas' ghost
beginning her swim from the South Wales coast.

2 Comments

Sit-down Meeting, by Michael Leach

29/4/2022

4 Comments

the chair
opposite mine
at the kitchen table--
my dog

4 Comments

Shame, by Guy Fletcher

29/4/2022

I remember struggling up Welsh hillsides
pretending to be Lance Armstrong
high up in the mighty Alps
then descending as if flying,
wind caressing youthful hair,
oh, that was long ago.
The Tour de France captivated me
but now the magic has turned to dust
like a dry leaf crushed by fingers.
How I used to admire that man
recovering from cancer to rule the world
yet it was all just a drug-induced sham.
He fell from the stars and forever shame
will be associated with his name.

2 Comments

My Father's Image, by Clive Owen Barry

29/4/2022

I sit in the autumn of my years,
watching him struggle through the winter of his.
Memories of the past, now long erased,
leave a void of confusion echoing
within once such vivid inspiration.
His magnificent baritone silenced,
given way to shallow whispers,
mumbled in a dialect unknown.
As my hero, he once stood tall and proud,
taking me by strong hands, he taught me
this great adventure they call life.
His withered frame, now left so frail,
makes blurred contrast
against such splendid memories,
I remain holding on to.

1 Comment

Two Things, by Alex Blaine

29/4/2022

Two things
you should never
let the devil do
and that is see
you winning
or see you down
He knows exactly
how to walk in
your shoes
And if you follow
his instructions
to the letter
somehow you will
still get it wrong

2 Comments

Public Holiday, by Michael Leach

22/4/2022

verandah
on Easter Monday:
sound of rain

1 Comment

2Pacalyptic, by Alex Blaine

22/4/2022

By the pricking
of my gums
something wicked
this way comes
Open Glocks
Hip Hop knocks
with a crooked
million dollar smile
When 2Pac delivered
Shakespeare's lines
my eardrum exploded
and the stage flatlined

2 Comments

Covid Tales Haiku, by Padmini Krishnan

22/4/2022

7 Comments

covid night

a lone star disappears

into the clouds

covid second wave

the boy counts his parents

and sister in the sky

7 Comments

Old Lady of Sorrows, by Mimi Grouse

22/4/2022

6 Comments

Tainted things of old.
Fake and faded flowers
Reminiscent of the time
You danced with Navy chaps
Before they left to die and drown.
Moth-chewed Chinese silk
Dull pink rose mouldering
On its stem, your nodding head
A storm-grey vault of names
Of men to whom you waved good-bye.
Son, husband, brothers
Devoured by the mad
And hungry monster that is War.

6 Comments

Lonely Doll, by Guy Fletcher

15/4/2022

Amongst the screams and broken dreams
a doll lies on the bloody ground
to the sound of screeching sirens
at this terrible bombing scene.
Minutes ago the crowd was talking
as they waited in an endless queue
but now there's terror in survivors' eyes
yet for me the most poignant sight
is of the doll and I wonder
what has become of the little girl
who must have treasured it
and if she's alive will never leave this day
who clutched this doll only a short time before,
a reminder...of the horrors of war.

3 Comments

Caches, by Sterling Warner

15/4/2022

Beneath Yggdrasil’s broad bows
green ash tree branches extend
rooting into nine eternal realms,
life affirming rhizomes disturb soil
teething on golden doubloons
long buried…now siphoning air
like sea squirts collecting plankton
as marine snow falls from shallows
sinking into the deep-water chill.

Earth below its gnarled trunks
drops from a sheer cliff, creates
a shoreline cavern peppered
with mussels, cockles, clam shells,
& sand dollars—natural treasures
boxed in by a giant redwood log
tuber shadows blocking sunrays.

1 Comment

Easter Poem, by Mary Wallace

15/4/2022

13 Comments

I hope Jesus knew.

I hope he knew when he was staring at that cross
Ready to sacrifice himself,
Facing pain alone after being betrayed by one friend
And abandoned by others.

I hope he knew as he staggered under the weight of responsibility
And fought fear with Faith,
Crying to his Father in his time of need.

I hope he knew that almost two thousand years later,
We who love him
Would stand together
To thank him for his sacrifice,
To share the joy of his resurrection.

I hope he knew that in his darkest hour
Those who love him today
Were standing beside him.

13 Comments

Black Lines, by Alex Blaine

15/4/2022

Intimidating letters
dance on the page
black blurry lines
that make no sense -
out of place misspelt words
reading a book a play
a poet's lines is
like quicksand to me...
becoming a lion-tamer
kissing a king cobra
or driving backwards blindfolded
down the M6 at rush hour
would be a much easier task
than reading a few words
on the page

3 Comments

Black Lung, by Ivan Ristic

15/4/2022

How much gold do I have to dig
just to make them smile?
How deep do I need to dig
until my black lung bleed,
just to feed my family
and pay the bills?

I daymare all night long
slaving and fouling,
while the siren is howling
hour by hour,
until I break...
the dawn.
Until the dawn
breaks me...

1 Comment

Empty Spaces, by Michael Leach

15/4/2022

my last words to a friend:
“hope your treatment goes well”

next text unsent

2 Comments

Daffodils on the Cliff Top, by Guy Fletcher

8/4/2022

0 Comments

It's sublime to suck the bracing spring air
as I stand on the cliff top at Tenby
where in a soft breeze daffodils sway.
The calm sea far below
is a most glorious turquoise
sun creating the illusion of stars
as a cloud shaped like an old man's face
with a beard drifts harmlessly by
and children laugh without a care.
How I wish I were that innocent
but for now I'll relish the view
of Goscar Rock and St Catherine's island
and the daffodils which in the soft breeze sway,
I soon have to leave...yet I yearn to stay.

0 Comments

Alex Higgins 1949-2010, by David Dumouriez

8/4/2022

I saw him once, came down our local club;
He turned up late from some or other pub.
He didn’t smell too good if truth be told,
And sniffed so much I thought he had a cold.
Strange how small they seem, folks from off the box;
Right frail he was, with something of the fox.
He bobbed around, calculating angles;
Slammed the balls, put several blokes in tangles.
He gave us 50-starts and beat us all,
Save one called ‘Ivor Biggun’, I recall.
Ivor Biggun, that made us laugh a bit,
And so did Alex with his slurry wit.
Then he was gone, a minimum of fuss;
More drink inside, few hundred nicker plus.
A legend with a cue; a joy, a pain.
No Hurricane like this shall strike again!

3 Comments

Pity They Missed It, by Alyce Clark

1/4/2022

5 Comments

I watch the children play.
And they watch their phones-
glance at their watches.

I see them grow and learn.
They see tomorrow’s to-do list-
missing today’s glory.

I referee the games.
They sit in the stands-
not involved, not present.

I hear the kids laughing.
They’re deaf to those giggles-
that will soon be outgrown.

I know these moments are fleeting.
They know schedules and playdates-
forgetting childhood ends quickly.

5 Comments

Black and White, by A C Clarke

1/4/2022

His strip says he belongs,
says he blends in
like a zebra on the high veldt
striped by long shadows.

His smile says we have won,
beating the odds;
His raised fist signals joy
simple, heartfelt.

Belonging holds its opposite
as the clenched fist
includes its threat.
But he beams out over leagues

of busy air, without a cloud
to dim his sunshine,
proud of his team,
which has done him proud.

1 Comment

Take Leave, by Daniel Hybner

1/4/2022