Friday Fictioneers, “The Mirror…” for 12th September

With nothing in your heart, the memory is all you look back on and, even though you don’t want to, it distorts your mind with glycerine efficiency. Uncompromisingly twisted by truth, you see more clearly than ever before, and it still doesn’t hurt, though every fibre of your being wants it to. The new glass fits perfectly, though. Each segment of it slotting together just as she would have wanted, transparent memories of lost moments, encapsulated  before the cards’ accusing stare, the last wisp of steam gone, the last stain removed, the last moment replaying again and again and again…

As ever, the photo prompt brings up strange images and words from the depths of my mind…


I have had a little play and edited this slightly, trying to add in some clarity.

I offer this as an ‘alternative’ version and hope it’s okay!


Carpe Diem Haiku Special 105: St. Francis of Assisi

Forgiveness, given

in a breath,cherished in the

ears of the dying.

Another amazing prompt! Such a thought provoker this one. I considered doing my usual Triptych of Haiku, but can only find the words for this one: I think it is sufficient and requires no more.

I hope you enjoy a moment with it.

Friday Fictioneers 29.8.14 “Thought.”



protoplasmic and ineffable,

remains when all else is earthbound

wormfood for a Godless world that

rates Self over Other.

It remains limp, lost, lonely,

intractable in concept, yet resolute in defiance

of the inept, the oaf, the Worldly,

and finds solace in the spaces between consciousness,

the space where Understanding lives,

feeding the soul and Higher Self, and it waits.

Effulgent in concepts, Thought and Understanding

stand together, tall and intractable,

in a world where Truth become commodity

and Commodity becomes life

without style;

without substance;

without Hope.

Life will find a way,

It is not After-thought,

It is us.

A little bit of a Growl from me here, as part of the 100 word challenge. I think, I am becoming more intolerant of the seemingly inherent stupidity of the people on this planet. I have been researching Edmund Burke (1729-1797) for this Fictioneer, as this quote, “The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away, for expedients, and by parts … the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” has always been a part of my life since (ahem!) years old, and was a springboard for my poem. Hope you like!

The rain dropped a memory

The rain dropped a memory today.

Wet and clear, it relieved me of my doubts

and, without knowing,

allowed me to see the spaces in-between my sorrow

with more accuracy.

It was unexpected, but not without gratitude,

as I had already begun to leave some,

(Admittedly only a small amount:

as time ripples expectations and circumstances),

of my heart behind in the past

finding it not so much unbearable,

as irrelevant and not needed any more.

I could make a simile here, explaining that it was

‘like a…’, ‘as if it were a…’ but that would be trite

and that is the one thing that memory is not.

Which didn’t so much surprise me, as disappoint.

For, isn’t Memory meant to increase expectation?

relive the devastation of event and,


justify occurrence without the need of evidence?

As created myth, it is legendary in falsehood

and deviance,

 (oral tradition being a case in point),

having no bearing on anyone, save me; yet

I feel that I am beholden to others.

It is their understanding of events

 that drive my own, casting hooks of doubt

into the waters of my mind, muddying up

my understanding and destroying my point of view,

replacing it,

shaping it,

erasing it,

until there is – essentially –

no more than an echo of reality

within the black waters of my mind.

Carpe Diem Haiku 546: Silence


Silence deafens the

ears of the one who is left

alone in their bed.




The space between  words:

pregnant with each syllables

phonic potential.




A gap in ones thoughts

allows the dew of stillness

to settle inside.

This is an interesting one for me right now, as I have just lost my Grandmother of 100 years age. I can feel all sorts of emotions and ideas trickling inside my skull at the moment, and I feel that these small contributions to this challenge are somewhat coloured by my sub-conscious, emotional percolations! 

Magpie Tales 234: Captured Moments


Captured moments,

pigmented fragments of thought coalesce,


irresistible to one another

through force of will,

yet they resist the patterned constraint of canvas,

as it is not enough for this imagination.

The bleak space in his Art screams for




as the insatiable night devours:

fevered thoughts, paint, hope, Truth, breath,

life, sex, being, soul, palette and brush,

until there is nothing left, save the stars

and a fevered ache of spent passion, now dissipated.

So he rests.

Not justified, and certainly not satisfied,

but, ultimately, he is pacified

by release’s comforting place.

His canvas is the sky,

she, his Earth,

and the tension between them both,

is where he stands.


For Magpie Tales:

Moving On, a poem. Dedicated to Alice Douse.

Moving On


He came for her this morning,

my Granddad,

for my Nan, and

she was already waiting for him.


There was no talk of the bus or time tables,

nor was there inconsequentiality to be said,

(for words are an irrelevancy when the heart speaks,

and – when it speaks loud – then that conversation

becomes self- proclamation, becomes a window,

then becomes us all, every one.)


She stood up, because she could,

my Nana,

(without help at last),

and they went into the  garden.


The beauty there surpassed all thought, Archetypal

in Purity and Serenity, and it fitted neatly about her,

enfolding both in a relaxed haven of green that was

more symbolic than actual, but nonetheless,

pleasing, and she enjoyed it completely, (although

she noticed the Gooseberries were in need of a prune.)


She left, her hand held,


my grandparents,

because they had places to go.


We wanted to watch them go, marvel

at the timing, the incomparable moment

that made a pause of our lives and the realisation

this was forever and that we were transitional,

that we were merely the observers of life, and

she had lived more than us and still had more to do!



He came for her this morning,

my Granddad,

for my Nan, and

she was already waiting for him.



Saturday 23rd August, 2014, 6:30 am

My Nana passed away at the age of 101 ¾ . Wow.


Carpe Diem Tan Renga challenge 47: ‘How rare the sight.”



My 7-7 contribution lies below the first three lines, and I am trying to maintain an atmosphere of ethereality, taking the reader further into the sky, the blooms becoming birds…


How rare the sight-

yellow blossoms brushing

the sky with light (MMT)

while blue heavens frame the world:

a portrait of life in flight. (KCW)