Friday Flash Fiction

The Slippers of Lord Byron, by Guy Fletcher

18/10/2019

There exists today slippers
once owned by Byron with faded
soles born in exotic Morocco.
His boatman recalled them worn
at a house in sun-kissed Kapsalis,
this poet and lover of great renown
but no enemy weapon struck him down

for though he led an army to aid the Greeks
in their eternal fight against the Turks
fell to a fever, the leeches
unaware of the famous blood they sucked.
I picture Byron with now priceless slippers
despite a club-foot an imposing sight
staring at the stars of an Aegean night.

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Perhaps, by Sandra James

18/10/2019

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If you could do
anything you wanted to
what would it be?
See the world
climb a mountain
write a book
say you’re sorry
make amends
give a gift
If you could be
anything you wanted to
what would it be?
An adventurer
a listener
happier
more understanding
fitter
braver
Perhaps it’s not too late?

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Serenade Me, by Ana Marie Dollano

18/10/2019

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Serenade me one more time
for the moment of promise is here.
I hope for a rainbow when the sun shines
after the rain disappears.

For your words are as sweet and juicy as the fruit,
like music playing softly, is your gaze,
melodious is the rustle that lingers, haunting
as thoughts keep me anticipating.

I shall keep to our noontime tryst
neath our tree whose trunk is mighty,
steadfast against any storm and enduring as time,
its broad canopy, encompassing, as an evergreen symphony.

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Here To Help, by Gip Plaster

18/10/2019

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Ada’s reusable grocery bag of scavenged, half-rotten fruit scraped the ground as she dragged herself along the sidewalk. Only 61, she was withered and looked 154.

“Can I help with that?” her neighbor Cara asked as they separately approached their apartment building.

“Put it at my door,” Ada said.

“Absolutely,” Cara said, trying to be positive this time.

A minute later, Ada dropped herself into the big chair on her porch. Then she hurled an overripe grapefruit at Cara.

“You know your kind has never been welcome here,” Ada said as she also lobbed a moldy orange at the mailman.

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Agincourt, by Adrian Mcrobb

13/10/2019

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They sat cross legged
The engines of the army
Fletching feathers and willow
Daring others follow
Tarring bodkins in grain
Stopped in mud
Mallet crush helmets
Guarding flanks
New men-at-arms
Two finger salute
To who dares
Leaving the poetry bare?

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World Weary, by Ian Fletcher

11/10/2019

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Though just sixty
his hair is white
bleached by stress
alcohol and failure.
Lugging emotional
baggage from events
long forgotten by all
but he, his memories
and life’s narratives
spool endlessly round
and round in his mind.
Thus laden he steers
a lonely course through
an unforgiving world
not sailing but sinking.

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One Song, by Guy Fletcher

11/10/2019

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It was an old Georgian song
and we must have murdered the words
but I left my body on Earth
experiencing a state of unbeing
more powefrul than narcotics or alcohol.
Alas, such feelings are doomed not to last long
but though it was just one beautiful song

it was enough to restore hope.
The choir is a sanctuary
from the dreck and fear of the world
and it was so fine to be there
at this particular moment in time,
then I stepped into real life once again
with dirty city streets and driving rain.

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Six Very Short Poems, by Bruce Levine

4/10/2019

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Empty Days

Hunger strikes with claws
Burning holes beneath the skin
As tantalizing mem’ries arise
And lightning lasts forever

Hammer-head Sharks

Forty-six minutes
Turbulent times awaken nothing
Hammer-head sharks strike without reason

Obtuse

Floating over the horizon
Candle lanterns glow in synchronicity
Caverns of emptiness awaken sympathy
Flights of fancy bring joy

Wall Street

Frogs line the avenues as Dragons breath fire
And leprechauns taunt the greedy
Playing nine-pin or bocce ball
Outnumbered by Wall Street moguls

Mozart

Succulent servings of seaweed
Over a bed of rice noodles
While Mozart plays on the radio

Beards

Five o’clock shadow
Mist on petals of flowering plants
Dragon-fly wings in green soup
Tomatoes filled with tuna fish

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Winter, by Adrian McRobb

4/10/2019

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Silver trees
frost rimed
frozen in time

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Transience, by Guy Fletcher

4/10/2019

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Over the homely hills of the Wenallt
a rainbow illuminates the crisp air,
shade retreats as if a beaten army
as the land rests for just a while
from monotonous autumn rains
but this is what makes our country so green,
I pause in the field to admire the scene

yet know the transience of beauty:
life has special moments
so you can escape the mundane.
The sun shines on golden leaves
and raindrops upon them glitter like stars
but then dark clouds come, the gods shed more tears,
like a spirit the rainbow disappears.

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The Holy Ghost of Lincoln, by Sankar Chatterjee

4/10/2019

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Our strongman can’t tell a lie:
“I'm the most presidential
Except for possibly Abe Lincoln.”
Caught in the treason of peddling self-interest,
He now threatens fellow citizens
Promising “A Civil War like fracture.”

*

Honest Abe turns over inside his grave
He touches the wound
From the bullet he took
Almost eight scores year ago.
The price he’d paid
Uniting the nation from fragmentation.

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Winter, by Adrian McRobb

4/10/2019

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Silver trees
frost rimed
frozen in time...

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Sorrow, by Adrian McRobb

4/10/2019

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A terrible weapon of darkest night
with edge that refuses to reflect light
forged in a mountain by demon made
has pierced more hearts than a human blade

The wound it gives will never heal
with an expert twist of poisoned steel
no shield can deflect its mighty blow
harvesting souls like a deadly hoe

Sheathed in misery and tears of grief
it drips with sadness there's no relief
wielded on high it keens in air
another victim is driven to despair

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Rendezvous, by Ana Marie Dollano

27/9/2019

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Let us sneak off, together
Into the shadowy night, and dance,
To the rhythm – of our beating hearts.

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Spider's Web, by Guy Fletcher

27/9/2019

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The spider's web is intricate,
a circular work of art
like a net with thin lines of wire
which shine silver in the sun.
It hangs on the front gate
bending and blowing in the wind
as if a tent or sails of a boat.
But there's no sign of its owner
who has left the property vacant,
only a solitary leaf and chaff
caught in its deadly jaws
yet a fly will be doomed soon enough
and as I stare at the web realise
a wonder of nature...lies before my eyes.

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He Watched the Rain, by Bruce Levine

27/9/2019

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He watched the rain
As it washed away the snow
And felt an emptiness for the earth
That transcends reality

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Spider in the Garden, by Adrian McRobb

21/9/2019

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Sophia weaves within my garden
teaching daughters while victims harden
a ballerina of the high wire
her body reflecting Autumns fire
fascinated by the things I fear
I noticed her the other year
while photographing her minute life
quite uncaring of worldly strife
her single minded purity of purpose
silver web turns in aerial circus
my spider friend has such a deft touch
deadly she is; pities not her crutch
a cross of Wolf and Harvest breed
I admire her and fuel her need
designed by a most delicate hand
she builds our bridges strand by strand...

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The Bottom of the Sea, by Bruce Levine

21/9/2019

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A starfish crawls across the wreck of a ship
The hull opened like a tuna fish can
Plastic bottles filled with water
Awaken the hereafter

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Indian Chorus, by Sheila Ash

21/9/2019

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Late monsoon rains
noisy frogs
rivalling train horns for length of song

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Blue, by Guy Fletcher

20/9/2019

They called her blue for her eyes
were the colour of the Mojave sky.
He plays her only album once more
deep into a starry night
and peers at her photograph which shows
an alluring young woman with a grin
yet her eyes tell of a darkness within

and as another sad song draws to a close
he remembers her at her best
but the poison had enticed her again
after abstaining for so long.
He stares into the vastness of space
but the silver moon and stars do not care
and he does not feel her presence is there.

A Calling, by Ana Marie Dollano

20/9/2019

Soft moonlight, in the gloaming
Night birds call out
In greeting. Come, join the fun!

And Pigs Might Fly... by Sandra James

20/9/2019

A tree hit my car today
moved across into my lane
and scraped all down one side.
Must have grown legs
I guess.

Reminds me of that dog
who ate my homework
when I was eleven.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

Night On The Town, by Ian Fletcher

14/9/2019

They pour out
from their flats
and houses
into the maw
of the city
with Friday highs
as if existence
were all blue skies.

Soon they’ll be
out of their minds
on chemical beers
and non-vintage wines
these huddled masses
whose souls lie
in their senses.

And so the night
goes on and on
as life goes on
until they crash
coupled or alone
into Lethe-like sleep
and final oblivion.

In Praise of Older Women, by Adrian McRobb

13/9/2019

The slightly sagging breasts
that once promised ripeness
the faded bloom of an elder rose
that conjures impure thoughts
unlike love, this feeling more urgent, basic
feeling sullied in emotional decadence

This exciting taboo that breathless
quivers the spine, of younger man
having sex with an older woman
he will remember her forever
when all the bright young things
have been long forgotten...

Reverie, by Ana Marie Dollano

13/9/2019

Close your eyes, relax--
Rest your troubled mind, for fresh
Beginnings await!

<<Previous

The Slippers of Lord Byron, by Guy Fletcher

Perhaps, by Sandra James

Serenade Me, by Ana Marie Dollano

Here To Help, by Gip Plaster

Agincourt, by Adrian Mcrobb

World Weary, by Ian Fletcher

One Song, by Guy Fletcher

Six Very Short Poems, by Bruce Levine

Winter, by Adrian McRobb

Transience, by Guy Fletcher

The Holy Ghost of Lincoln, by Sankar Chatterjee

Winter, by Adrian McRobb

Sorrow, by Adrian McRobb

Rendezvous, by Ana Marie Dollano

Spider's Web, by Guy Fletcher

He Watched the Rain, by Bruce Levine

Spider in the Garden, by Adrian McRobb

The Bottom of the Sea, by Bruce Levine

Indian Chorus, by Sheila Ash

Blue, by Guy Fletcher

A Calling, by Ana Marie Dollano

And Pigs Might Fly... by Sandra James

Night On The Town, by Ian Fletcher

In Praise of Older Women, by Adrian McRobb

Reverie, by Ana Marie Dollano

Poetry

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