My first first appearance on Pure Haiku. It was accepted as part of their Unfurling series… and printed today! Thank you Ms Pickard.
See it here if so inclined
Category: Poetry
Triangle- A Poetic Text
Alex was a pickpocket,
a thief. He was a keeper of time,
husband to Mathilde
(who was kind, green-eyed, and fair).
Alex and Kirsten met at a neighbourhood barbeque
in the suburbs north and east of Odessa.
Kirsten was a coquette who quickly became his paramour.
They would sneak away for time together
She always carried a phone
to stay in touch with her mother.
He always kept a watch, a stolen timepiece that controlled time
ensuring that it ran linearly.
Until it no longer did.
One summer afternoon, Alex and Kirsten arranged a tryst
in a citrus grove near the river’s edge. In his haste,
he dropped his pocket watch. It fell from his waistcoat, landed on the river bank.
The clock disappeared, quickly covered in white sand
due to the lovers frantic coupling.
No one noticed for a time. Till the movement on Alex’ watch slowed and stopped,
time went awry; time ran backwards, time ran in loops, time ran in circles.
Caught herself; in a vicious, repetitious loop Mathilde, eventually spied her
husband and his consort passionately engaged.
Kind, unassuming Mathilde – killed them both, shoved them into the current.
She tossed the phone after them and picked the watch up from the sand.
She fastened it around her neck. Like a locket.
When she wound the mainspring, time eventually settled back down.
To again become linear, smooth, predictable, unavoidable.
Mathilde was a widow. She was the keeper of time.
Restoration of Hope
I wrote this for the April 11th Flash Fiction Challenge
He didn’t hold a sign or jingle a cup with a few coins.
He wasn’t selling apples or matches, or singing street music.
He sat with his eyes closed in the chill evening air; had his blanket pulled tight.
So, he didn’t see her approaching from across the road.
“Hey,” she said to catch his attention.
When he looked up at her he was startled.
She was well dressed, but looked stern, the way his teachers had done.
He took the white paper bag that she proffered.
“It’s warm,” he said.
She simply nodded, turned around and walked away.
Follow the hyperlink at the top of the page to find out what the prompt was. Take a tour of Carrot Ranch while you’re there. You might want to have a go at the challenge. You might not. You have choices. Thanks, Charli; this was a good one.
Owls and Auks
I wrote this for the March 28th Flash Fiction Challenge
He chose to stand atop a grand eminence, banked by steep outcroppings; a sentry, ever vigilant who watches over the Pacific. He has stood this post for more than fifteen hundred years. He is a giant towering over 300 feet high. He is massive, with a base of more than 30 feet in diameter. A Giant Coastal Redwood, a landmark with owls and auks living amongst his branches.
I come here to admire him from time to time. I always come alone. I am humbled.
Majestuoso y eminente, por derecho propio, es bien conocido a lo largo de esta costa.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that uses the word eminence. It’s a rich word full of different meanings. Explore how it sounds or how you might play with it. Go where the prompt leads!
Ashes of the Truth
I wrote this for the March 21st Flash Fiction Challenge
Kenny hitched his trousers up and plopped on the front porch couch. A cloud of red dust rose up; some settled back on his Momma’s old Chesterfield, while the rest got picked up by the breeze and carried away.
He sat for a while watching the clouds roll in. When he was sure it was gonna rain he went and fetched the old galvanized bucket with the broken bail from beneath the sink. He sat the bucket in the bedroom directly below the ceiling stain.
Tonight he would say his prayers and ask for cash to fix the roof.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that features a bucket of water. What is the condition of the water and what is the bucket for? Drop deep into the well and draw from where the prompt leads!
Kenny’s bucket is currently empty, no water. There should be water tonight though. Should be water tonight.
The Fisherman
I wrote this for the March 14: Flash Fiction Challenge
My father was an artist; a sculptor, usually working in clay or stone. One day he, and six of his drinking buddies, brought a large stone and sat it in the centre of his studio.
“What are you going to make from that, Papa?” I asked.
“I won’t make anything from it,” he said, “I think I can find something.”
He told me that he believed a fisherman was hiding in the stone. That he would find the fisherman by knocking off small bits and pieces. He promised he’d take care not to cut the fisherman with his chisel.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a chisel. Use chisel as a noun or a verb. Think about what might be chiseled, who is chiseling. Be the chisel. Go where the prompt leads!
Raincoat
Snowed In
I wrote this for the Intermittent Challenge
I thought it wouldn’t matter much.
I had plenty of food;
electricity and gas are still on
‘least for now.
Then I ran out of beer.
I climbed from a second floor window onto the garage roof
and used a broom to clear a path to the edge
where I could sit down and put on my new snow shoes (couple hundred bucks at REI).
Stepping off the roof I only sunk a foot or so.
I can do this.
Leena’s Liquors is on the highway just this side of the river bridge.
It’s about three miles or so.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words, no more, no less, write a story about “buried in the snow.”
The Matchmaker
I wrote this for the February 14th Flash Fiction Challenge
My elderly neighbor, Mrs. Silverberg, is always trying to fix me up.
She once arranged me a date with her granddaughter, Ruth.
I liked Ruth, just fine. Ruth just didn’t like me.
She told her grandmother that she had found me – awkward.
On the first of Shevat I happened to meet Mrs. Silverberg at the park.
She wanted to talk with me; about me.
She offered to coach me, so that I might become – less awkward.
It seems that her Rabbi’s youngest daughter may be looking for a husband.
Mrs. Silverberg believes I can be ready by Valentines.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about valentines. It can be Valentine’s Day, the exchange, love for another, romance, or friendship. Have a heart and go where the prompt leads!
Country Music
I wrote this for the February 7th Flash Fiction Challenge
The sign on the door read, “The Unwritten Halibut”. She stood just inside waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. This was her kind of place. It was a drinker’s bar. Dark paneling lined the walls; a couple of neon beer signs glowed in the back. A ghost of smoke held up the ceiling in defiance of a local ban. Rainbow colored bottles sat on glass shelves and four or five patrons rested at the bar; staring into their drinks, not talking. The volume was low as Hank Williams sang a hard luck song on the box.
The prompt and instructions were:
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a sign. It can be a posted sign, a universal sign, a wonder. Go where the prompt leads.
