Strange Things (Fiery Verse)

Strange things
Play beneath
Cover of darkness
In unsuspecting minds;
Their footsteps
Missing memories merely
When light arrives.


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Another "Fiery Verse" micropoem.  The prompt for this one was "strange things".

Ghost of Myself (Mad Verse)

Slightly more than see through,
Less now than opaque,
Ghosts of selves wander;
Separated illusions,
Seeking solidity.
My eyes; they see yet
Those who think themselves
Reduced to slivers of wraith.


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Written for the "Mad Verse" micropoetry prompt - this one refused to fit itself into a Tweet sized entry, so I'm posting it here instead.  The actual prompt was "ghost of myself", which I played with a little, to produce something - hopefully different - from.

The Crescent Quarters (Angry Hourglass)

Photo courtesy of Ashwin Rao (via The Angry Hourglass)


The Crescent Quarters

They will take you to the Crescent Quarters on dark, moonless nights, if you know where to find them.  That is Test One.  Do you see them yet?  Those shadow silhouettes with painted faces, casting themselves as chameleon; as tricks of the light?  They are there to locate, once you know how; in the hidden spaces.  Once spotted, they show themselves immediately to the sharp eyed.  Such is the bargain they made, though no one knows with who or how it was arrived at.  The details remain shrouded; lost in time’s passing.  Perhaps they too will be rediscovered, though not today; not by you.  They are not your task.  You are already upon it. 

Will you take them by the hand, to let them lead you where they will?  That is Test Two, though none can say whether yes or no means pass or fail.  All stay silent on that score.  The decision is yours alone for the making.  You have taken it already. 

The way lies above ground, through the Long Ages; that you gather, as the white gloved hand leads on and into the dark.  You fancy their cries beat upon you, as the long, carved staff hits the ground; it’s constant click the audible companion to your own footsteps.  Your guide keeps his counsel, face forwards, dark eyes averted.  What do you hear?  What calls to you?  Is it the jolt towards justice?  The sound of sympathy?  What do you feel stir beneath your bones?  Is it the burn of revenge?  That is Test Three.  Multiple choice.  You have your answer ready.

The top hat bobs beside you, leading you further in.  Deeper; still deeper.  The shaded city is side to side now, its buildings all around you; its shadows upon you.  You hear them now, around you.  The souls stirring to meet you.  They hear you breathe; feel your heat amidst their chill.   

Your heart jolts as you realise it is you and them now.  Your guide has stolen silent from the scene, somehow; somewhere.  Now you have no choice.  You must find your own way back or remain amongst them.  It is your final test.

Comment

For some reason this picture prompt started me thinking about New Orleans and tours of the Quarter, which led me eventually to this little tale.  I might even try to expand on it, time allowing...

Ran Red (Fiery Verse)

They ran as
Red descended,
Raging,
Into head and heart;
Displacing
Human occupants
With something clearly
Other.


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Another "Fiery Verse" word prompt effort.  The prompt this time was "ran red".  This was what I came up with - a slight slant on the prompt as a result of a conscious decision to split the words to try and produce something different.

Dangerous Angel (Captured Hearts)

Serene sighted,
They stalk silent
In their angels' flight;
Dangerous aspect revealed
When closing on their prey.


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This stems from the "Captured Hearts" poetry prompt on Twitter, which was "dangerous angel" for the particular day.  I didn't get chance to post my entry and so thought I'd bring it to the blog instead.

3Line Thursday (Week Three)

Perfectly poised
Waters sway,
Hanging in the balance.


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The photograph which inspired this micropoem (and all of the other entries) are here.  I kept this one short this week.

Wifely Wisdom (Angry Hourglass)

Photo courtesy of Ashwin Rao (via The Angry Hourglass)

Wifely Wisdom

All Hallows Eve was the night Will lost his head.  Literally.  Fortunately, his wife had some insight, being versed in witchcraft, as she was.

“Not to worry, darling,” she said, as the body crawled over the threshold, “though you might want to wait there for a minute whilst we work something out – the blood’s staining the floors and I don’t want to have to worry about castings on top of this one.  We need the energies.”  The stump assented, as far as Cara could tell.  At least, it was dipping and swaying the right way.

“D’we know where and when you lost it?” she asked.  “A point in the general direction would save time in the searching, that’s all.”  Will’s finger hit the air aimlessly.  “I’ll take that as no,” Cara surmised.  “Guess that’s not so surprising, considering.”

Cara sighed.  “You know we’ll have to work quickly, given we don’t know where to look yet?”  Her husband’s neck waggled at her.  “No need to get tetchy!” Cara exclaimed.  “I’m not the one who got careless with my bodily bits on my travels.  Plus, I’m doing my best here, under pressure I might add!”  The stump subsided in its movements.

“Better.  Now, we need a substitute ‘til we find the real one.  I know just the thing.  Have it here.  Lucky it’s still intact.  Hadn’t gotten around to carving it.”  Cara moved towards the stove, placing both hands on the rounded orange object on the work surface.  “Might be a bit heavy,” she said, doubtfully.  “We’ll have to see.  Bend down, there’s a dear.”  Will’s body obliged, stumbling to kneeling.  “There we go!”

Cara thought for a moment, whilst the newly assembled body remained motionless.  “Nose and eyes,” she said, decisively.  “This might sting,” she warned, as she inserted the knife’s point into the pumpkin’s surface.  “Stay still.”  Will did, as she carved.  “Mouth will have to wait,” she said, after.  “I can only do so much magic at once and shedloads went into animating the head.  You can wait ‘til tomorrow, sweetheart, can’t you?” 

There was a pause before Will's body moved violently.  “That’s a yes, then,” Cara responded, placid.

Comment

I couldn't resist writing a slightly tongue in cheek entry for this week's photo prompt - this being the result.  This placed as one of the runners up for the week.

Exercise of the Heart (Flash! Friday)

Circus clowns visit sick boy.  CC public photo Boston Public Library (via Flash! Friday)


Exercise of the Heart

He is there in the morning, when passing.  Heather shudders at the painted grin-stroke-grimace, frozen in place.  She can take living statues.  Clowns, she dislikes.  His hand stretches towards her.  She quickens her pace, leaving him standing.

Random route or no, he is there – muted - the next day; silver replacing carnival colouring, save a specific cluster of pink.  Looking more closely, lingering, she spots it clutched between metallic fingertips – the crimson paper fluttering with the wind.  His arm reaches, mutely.  Brown eyes look into hers.  A single black tear drop hangs mid cheek.  Then there is a quirk of the mouth; an eyebrow raised; suggestive.

Despite herself, Heather is smiling slightly.  She knows what will be on the cut out he holds.  It mirrors the make -up marks drawn onto his chest.  An excised heart; painstakingly precise in the drawing.  Digits marked across its length.  Silently proffered.  Despite questionable taste in dress, perhaps she’ll give this joker a chance.  

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My second effort for Flash! Friday this last week.  I deliberately took this one in a completely different direction, given I'd gone "dark" for the original entry.  Funnily enough, the dark one got more comments!

The Guessing Game (Flash! Friday)

 Circus clowns visit sick boy.  CC Boston Public Library. (via Flash! Friday)

The Guessing Game

Clown Face laughs, the sound muffled by the latex mask hiding his features.  “We’re going to play a game,” he says.  “You want to play, don’t you?  We want to play with you.”

Cal shakes his head – or tries.  His body is uncooperative, though he is conscious now.  That’s a start, he thinks, twitching muscles at the corner of his eyes.  His limbs remain leaden.  For now, Cal surmises.  

“Play time!” Clown Face says, clapping gloved hands together.  “You can meet my friends now.  We’ll play guessing games.”  Cal hears a click as, presumably, a door opens.  His head is angled so he can’t see.

“Which first?”  Clown Face asks, red lips passing Cal’s eye line.  Silence, before he speaks again.  “Too slow!  For that, you’ll miss part of the fun.”   

Suddenly, Cal can’t see.  He thinks he, too, is masked.  “It’s called Operation!” Clown Face says.  “Let’s play together!”

Cal doesn’t need to see to know what comes next.

Comment

One of this week's entries for Flash! Friday - couldn't resist adding a reference to "Operation" into it in a different context, given the word prompt was "surgery"...

3Line Thursday (Week Two)

Speared by your shackles, link upon lengthening link;
Their weight a chain of heavy obligation,
Fashioned too strongly for simplistic breakage.


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The photo prompt which inspired this micropoem is here, along with the other entries for the week.

Sleepwalking (Heart Soup)

Morning sees them shuffling;
Those sleepwalking shufflers,
Moving inexorably,
Autopilot on,
Whilst walking wanderers,
Sometime freed,
Seek a path
Amidst their tide.


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This micropoem stems from the "Heart Soup" prompt on Twitter, which was "sleepwalking" on the given date.  I missed posting on the day and so thought I'd post my effort here instead.

Fight The Fear (Publication Announcement)

So - my short story "Fight The Fear" is now live in the October issue of The Opening Line Literary 'Zine!

Flash-Lit Fiction 2014 (Flash Fiction)

So, I participated in Flash-Lit Fiction 2014 this year via Twitter (see entries below), which was good fun.  To my surprise, I was shortlisted with the first of the flash fiction pieces posted below!

They meet at colour shifts in dreams; sleep their nightly rendezvous – confronting shades’ shadow disguises & dissipating confusion.

***

Sentences seed into sentience; taking root in slow suggestion. Mapping minds; synaptic symbiosis. Brought into being, they are boundless.

***

Waking to silence, she seeks solace in searching.  She refuses to believe herself sole oblivious survivor.  Someone is here somewhere.

***

Their ride rages night’s skies sleepless, slumbering snores below them ; specks of stardust in their wake.

3LineThursday

An inexorable fall;
Crimson clad dancing breaks, leaving skeletal remains;
Colour hewed brittle by the shadow season's beguiling.



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As the title suggests, this micropoem was written for the Three Line Thursday challenge - newly launched - which asks you to produce a three line response to a photo prompt (see here for the photo which inspired the poem above and to check out all of the other responses).

My effort received an Honourable Mention for the week and was deemed to use "excellent imagery" to quote the judge's response.  Definitely not expected, so a nice surprise!

Hidden From View (Fiery Verse)

Hidden from view,
Beneath darkness' cover
She hears them.
Creeping.
Closer.
Steps shuffling,
They are with her.
Now.



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Something a little different here.  On occasion, I write micropoetry (published on Twitter at @FallIntoFiction) for various prompt accounts, which generally post on a daily basis.  I wanted to keep track of them, save for via my profile and so thought I'd share them here on an ad hoc, as and when, basis.  This one was written for the "Fiery Verse" account (#FieryVerse, for those who want to check the many and various responses to the daily prompts) and the prompt was "hidden from view".