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.
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
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.
*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.
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
“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.
“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.