Gymkhana
Green balloon plummets
Petrified screeches
Thud, thud, thud, whoosh, bang
We ran toward it
The scene unfolded
Before we knew it
The horse had bolted
Grimbeau
Scroodles
Category: flash fiction
July 31, 2016
Revelations
‘…there he was sat, bold as brass, plain as day,
stone deadpan serious, as if he was my judge.
I ask you!
Bulling on about ‘the great doings & dones’
sounding like a brat bragging about
the darning of the sacred
socks of Nemesis… ‘
In short, one may conclude,
a blow by blow account
of how wind gets out the bag:
why the turtle turns turtle,
and the attributes of the perfect carrot.
It was to his credit that he chose
to demean himself to
the baying hordedlavishers
that dwelt upon every word ,
as if, perhaps, they were his last,
and,
that they would get a mention in the will,
despatches, or the mind of God,
his father,
who was in heaven-by-the sea.
‘…By gum, though, he sported lovely, kind, peepers
and one of those whimsical smiles
that always give you a tingle in the dingle.
Herdsman, craftsman…
View original post 50 more words
July 31, 2016
Helios
Showered the bloated, glabrous, noisome oxen;
descended, short of breath, to a cleaner pit
to heft pots of beans, defrost a halved slab
of gauche bread, fainted in a serviette, came
to in a perfumed tea tree enveloped in tune
to Donne claiming he’d also given the sun
a run for its money through a wrought iron gate
July 31, 2016
Sweeties
Twinkle, tinkle
Brittle Jar
Far too full
That’s what you are
Sat up haughty
On the shelf
Playing with
My mental health
…
July 31, 2016
Strides
When I left my trousers
In your heart of hearts
I never expected
Pleats as sharp as these
July 28, 2016
Lucky Little Lady
The Tamarind dropped anchor and despatched a
purple emissary
who announced the fate of the sweet, eyed,
lovely Maiden
from the coast of Malibar
to the swelling throng on the quay.
It appeared that, for once, the trades had been kind:
the Pirates of Somali
were vacationing in Bali
July 28, 2016
Beachcombing
Tefal
Lopsided head, dead on the sloping strand.
Smooth, sea polished shingle sizzles around
The victim of a mindless, callous hunt.
Transparently, he was born a mutant runt
Misfortune dogged him from his strangled birth
Until annihilation put an end to Bert
When it came the blow was random
His assailants worked in tandem
And cornered him beneath the pier
And despatched him swift without a care
The denounement was not so smooth
As they kicked him in the ocean crude
Tefal sank but not to the bottom
His killers thought he was forgotten
But he was borne by longshore and by rip
And in Pevensey he rested in deep silt
That is until a passing fisher digging for lug
His preserved remains out he dug
‘What’s up’ said Tefal examining his head
‘You’ with saline brevity the fisher said
‘These twenty years I have been there
Dead and happy…
View original post 134 more words
July 27, 2016
Tempes Fugit
Hilda Hogg bit the bullet and set herself to flog her figurine of ole King Zog bequeathed by her fabled auntie Dora who held a candle for the old despot. Times was hard, there was a duck at the door with a hat on, Bailiff Bernard dunning a bill.
‘Adieu, old chum’ she whispered through a final lucky lick on the pate of the china chappie in her trembling hands. If she had really had a candle she would have lit it and muttered a homily to tractor production in Albania.
July 27, 2016
One for my Baby and one more for the Toad
‘Wassup, Cecille? Have you got a problem with Nigel’
‘He’s such a slimeball, Don.’
‘He’s a natterjack, honey. That’s just the way it is!’
‘ And he’s so toady’
‘That’s because he is a toad.’
‘ You’re kidding. Toads are sexier.’
Grimbeau 