Ice cold memories #flashfiction #poetry

copyright-erin-leary

This grey dismal scene

flickered thoughts

embossed  my mind

long forgotten memories

path of my past

icicles dripped dark lies

“failure, fool, worthless”

mud sucked boots

clothes would never dry

and the sky, the sky

spoke the words

“there is no sun

it’s been removed”

only darkness looms

etching finality on your tomb”

no places to dream

those were taken away too

go ahead and scream, and scream

no one will hear you

here I stood

holding my hand

the one that couldn’t remember

tried so hard to forget

 we stood together

at the past’s path again

drip
Drip – L. Moon 2013

Here’s to a New Year for Friday Fictioneers. Enjoy the work submitted by fantastic writers and poets.

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The Ancient Alley’s Story #flashfiction #poetry #amwriting

alley

Aged marks the alley

A way traversed by man

many feet have covered

more years than that  have spanned

Aged marks a history

where crimes in stealth occurred

running for a hidden place

but they had been observed

Aged marks a story

the stones that cannot speak

holding back the knowledge

not told on any street

Aged yes and crafty

we carry many scars

were you to know the secrets

you’d gasp and be alarmed

Seek not for the answers

we whisper in our drink

this alley holds much darkness

they’re coming

for you

we think

*

Thanks to Rochelle and Friday Fictioneers  for another week, another great prompt, and an entry into an alley where there may be no exit.

I took the liberty of editing Kent Bonham’s shot just a bit. I wanted the focus to be on the stones of this alley.

Keep Your Head #flashfiction #nablopomo

al_forbes

Just past the doors, there was something going on. There were deliveries of crates day and night.

One delivery guy got lost and walked into a  room full of male statues.

“I guess it’s gonna be a museum.” He scratched his head.

“Put him up over the lintel of the front door,” she smiled lustfully at the handsome face of Hermes.

“His head seems to hold up the building,” one passerby remarked.

He wanted to write home to Pericles, “Be careful, my young friend, never to piss off a Roman goddess. They need one of us to lead Athens.”

*****

Pericles and Hermes shared two things: they were both Greek and they were both orators. Neither seemed able to keep their head…

Pericles

This week’s prompt takes a classical bent Rochelle the curator at Friday Fictioneers.

Photography courtesy of: Al Forbes and Ancient History.about .com

Ghost Koi #Flashfiction #amwriting

koi

*plunk” another pebble fell from my hand.

She’s gone. slipped right through my fingers like the stone.

I remember when she told me, “Honey, I’m a ghost. We have to find my killer before I  lose my potency.”

“Ghosts have potency levels?”

(The little things I didn’t know about my wife.)

“He killed you for your family’s BBQ recipe?”

” Best in the west” she grinned as she quoted the label.

I fell in love all over again, chasing down her killer.

They found him in a vat of the family recipe.

*

Now I hold her memory and aimlessly watch ghost  koi.

***

Today’s Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt is the photograph of the Koi taken by Douglas Macilroy.

The Day the Music Died #flashfiction

dismantled-keyboard

To say music was “my life” was an understatement.

From dawn to dusk I sang the songs my heart wrote.

When I lost my voice, my fingers became one with  the keyboard.

My brother dismantled my keyboard; the guts were strewn like a dissonant message from my room to the instrument.

“You killed the song in my head,” I screamed in the key of C.

I was cut on a metal shard, bloodied notes fell to the floor.

I refused to let him take credit for the score written in red that day.

That score became a famous Dark Mass.

Today’s dismantled keyboard is the prompt for Friday Fictioneers. Wishing Rochelle a Happy 1 year celebration as the conductor of the Friday Fictioneers

Shopping C’ Art #flashfiction #amwriting

photo-88

“It’s fine art!”

She proudly waved her hand at her creation

This once little known artist had gotten a grant to turn a two-mile long canal into a gallery.

Where there had been reeds and lily pads there were one hundred shopping carts.

“It’s brilliant!”

He smiled to the tour group he was leading.

“This artist has portrayed what life  was like for the middle class in the 21st century. Four-person families lived out of one shopping cart. We kept the shopping cart belonging to my grandparents.”

“It’s sad!”

A young boy cried out. Who will feed the ducks???

This weeks watery prompt for Friday Fictioneers is inspired by Janet Webb. Our hostess Rochelle deserves the honor of a set of waders this week.

Here is the link to the more “political” post that this photograph inspired.

The Bloodied Thorn #flashfiction #shakespeare #amwriting

sandra-crook-3

I stand on the stage where I had given my life’s blood

I love the stage

the  drama that swirls center stage, in the wings and in the musty corners

my final role was Desdemona

That last night was my finest performance

“That death’s unnatural that kills for loving…”

If memory serves me well, Othello had been out of character that closing night

No ministrations could  calm

When they removed Desdemona’s body, they were unable to revive me

“She severed her own bloom,” he calmly stated

Tonight “my love” I meet you upon life’s stage

I pass on  bloodied thorn …

The photo prompt is shared by Sandra Crook (L’Amphitheatre des Trois Gauls, Lyon, France.) and opens the curtains for another week of Friday Fictioneers directed by Rochelle Wisoff Fields

Just for point of reference in the drama: “When they removed Desdemona’s body they were unable to revive me”  “me” refers to the actress playing the part of Desdemona. Thus Desdemona and the actress died tragically that night at the hand of Othello.