This grey dismal scene
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 – L. Moon 2013
Here’s to a New Year for
Friday Fictioneers. Enjoy the work submitted by fantastic writers and poets.
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…
This week’s prompt takes a classical bent Rochelle the curator at
Photography courtesy of: Al Forbes and Ancient History.about .com
*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.
Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt is the photograph of the Koi taken by Douglas Macilroy.
“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.
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.”
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.
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.
“And there you are” my tour guide said as we stood on a field, in who knows where, facing three doors.
We only travelled to Paris during the French Revolution where I almost lost my head. (my eyes narrowed)
Stalingrad during the siege of 42 – 43. I got frost bite (gritting teeth)
Kilimanjaro was a cheat because we didn’t start at the base. (throws up arms)
What about the blue door?
Intergalactic? No oxygen? A minor technicality. No gravity? We’ll bring the door. No Starbucks? What kind of second-rate travel agency do you work for anyway????”
And here we are at the beginning of this week’s travel in 100 words through Flash Fiction with our guide Rochelle Wisoff- Fields. Enjoy the journey!
“Hello, Hello in there?
My friend Eddie said he got a new head of hair here.
I can live without hair, I have a hat. The thing is well things haven’t been working that well since Maude died.
Sure they have implants and pills, but what you offer is kinda like a second-hand version of the fountain of youth.
I can pay the price.
I know the drill: Dance with the pretty girl, light the candles, ring the bell, take a swig of this 100 year old stuff… Uggh
Just so you know I checked the calendar – it’s not April 1st!”
Today the Fictioneers are going on a romp to a
thrift store led by Rochelle. I’m sure we will find all sorts of goodies.