Elbow Macaroni

Written for the September 13th Flash Fiction Challenge

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Margarite grinned wildly, stepped off the bus and hurried toward me.

When she got close she dropped her backpack and leapt into my arms.

“Holy smokes, Kiddo,” I pushed her hair back and kissed her, “what are you so excited about today.”

“Art class, Daddy. I made a picture of you.”

“With paints?”

“No.”

“With crayons?”

“No, Daddy. Mixed media,”

“Mixed media? What’s that?”

I put her down. She pulled a paper plate from her backpack and showed me.

Macaroni was glued to the plate. There were pencil lines and hints of orange marker. It looked just like me.

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The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes pasta. It can be spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, or any variety. It can be a meal or a work of art. Go where the prompt leads.

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Devil Boat

Written for the September 6th Flash Fiction Challenge

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I read that she was called “The Devil Boat” in reference to Revelations Chapter 13. We never called her that. The USS HAWKBILL SSN666 was a highly decorated Sturgeon Class Attack Submarine.

What was most grand about her was the crew.

Every crewman on a submarine stakes his survival on the skills and knowledge of the rest. This creates a bond. It builds pride in self and in others as, daily, you do more than you ever thought possible.

It’s a dangerous and cramped workplace. It’s not for everyone. It sometimes stinks. It frustrates. I’d undoubtedly do it again.

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The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write about an epic workplace. It can be real or imagined. Go where the prompt leads.

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Authors comment: If the photo I have used here is yours please contact me and let me know who you are so that I can give credit where credit is due. It’s a great photo of the Hawk and you deserve the credit. Thanks.

Acrostic Bottleneck

Written for the August 30th Flash Fiction Challenge

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Beneath the quiet, dormant wheels
Of this sharp, sleek, motionless luxury automobile
The motorway lies still, inert and unmoving despite my serious objections. Roll up the windows then,
The heat is relentless and the malodourous exhaust fumes of a thousand cars
Lingers and mingles languidly with the
Ether that surrounds us.
Needless to say, we should take the next available
Exit, we should find a relaxing spot to picnic; or a back road we might use as an alternative – a means to
Circumnavigate this bottleneck, else we won’t be home before
Kwanzaa, and it’s not yet Guy Fawkes Night.

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The prompt and instructions were:

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a bottleneck. You can be literal or use the term to describe congestion. Go where the prompt leads.

One of my Haiku at Vita Brevis

Vita Brevis recently hosted a poetry competition. It was a lot of fun, it was very well attended, and there was an abundance of great submissions. I am honoured to have been selected as the winner.

Brian Geiger, the founder and Editor has published my submission on his online magazine. You can read it here.

Thanks to Vita Brevis and to everyone who stopped by to read and comment on all the entries. Every submission there was deserving of the win. I feel extremely lucky today and plan on buying a Lottery ticket.

 

Haiku Poetry Competition

Inspired by watching my grandson play in the garden this morning I wrote this “short one” and submitted it to the Vita Brevis Haiku Poetry Competition. It’s a unique contest that takes place entirely in the comment section of the announcement post. Go on, then, submit your poem.

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Green hues of sunlight
filter through the trees and hide
a young boy dancing.

 

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Ephemera

Haibun

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The gentle hum of bees fills the air. I sing to them as I slog along the fence guarding Farmer Morton’s trees. I listen, and watch them work. They are tireless. Blossoms perfume the air and each day is a little warmer, a little more fragrant than the day before. Singing is the secret. My mother never sang out here and although her honey was sweet; mine always seems sweeter. I sing with my daughter in anticipation. Where my voice is gruff and low, hers carries the timbre of a violinist; sul tasto: ephemeral, light, airy, delicate and fleeting. Her voice will blend in harmony with the sounds of the workers.

The hives are abuzz
it’s almost time to harvest.
Three frames from a hive
produces about ten pounds
that tastes, as sweet as it looks.

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This piece was selected and published by Vita Brevis – Check out this on-line literary magazine for yourself here!