dVerse – Five Minutes

You know that moment.

You’re in Iceland. Its July. You’re flying to the States from Europe, stopping at Reykjavík, Iceland. Its snowing. You wander into the airport, and order a Polar Bear beer at the bar, and ask the beguilingly beautiful barmaid what she does in Iceland.

“I try to leave,” she says.

“I see,” you manage.

She smiles.

You glance at her, and see her eyes briefly sparkled in that smile.

Then you remember you are travelling, on a journey, and now is not the time for standing and smiling, for journeys and meetings are magical, and neither must slip from us due to our inattention, our indecision, or desire to stay rooted where we are and not take an undiscovered path to our dreams.

“What would make you leave?” you ask.

“Someone like you asking me to,” she answers.

You hesitate. Fatally, for a full five minutes. The moment starts to slide. She asks your name, and tells you hers. You look outside at the plane on the tarmac in the July snow.

“You got your toothbrush?” you smile, finding the right words at last.

“It will take me only a short time to get it!” she says. She has given keys to her colleague, and smiles one last time, and walks quickly to the car park.

Twelve years later she tells you she did come back, just five minutes after you had boarded again. In the half hour she is gone, with the air stewardess telling you for the third time you had to board, you begin to think she had realised what she was doing and changed her mind.

I boarded the plane, July snowflakes drifting about me as I climbed the steps, the air stewardess holding the door.

“I wrote this song for you,” she told me, twelve years later, when I sat in the front row.

a magic meeting
on a journey
her voice melts







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Carpe Diem Haiku

Carpe Diem Haiku, Greed (Mongolian Mythology)


The grasslands lose their magic when the wolves are hunted in view of reducing their numbers or even removing them. Without wolves the marmots, rabbits and other small animals create burrows which weaken the natural firm surface, and create situations where horses can easily break their legs.

The wolf is a formidable opponent, and a hunter, but no animal is more caring of its babies than the female wolf. The bite of a wolf is much more powerful than that of a dog though, and the wolf knows where to bite. Still, man must learn to live in the grasslands and not be greedy, wanting it for himself. He must remember what his father and grandfather told him about the years when nearly all the wolves were killed, and how the grasslands suffered. The wolves keep the grasslands clean.

if the wolf is gone
from the grasslands
the moon cannot rise





Flash Fiction

Dear Ma & Pa…


Hey Ma, and Pa

Thanks for bringing me up understanding the pain of the belt and hand. I learnt  from that. And forcing me away from the only girl who understood me.  Hell you told me I sinned so often that I am sin.

Guess that’s why I got pa’s guns. Loaded. Don’t worry. I’ll only start shooting if you call, or if the principal or anyone comes running into the class, cause it’ll mean you read this goodbye note – or if the biology teacher says anything that reminds me of me. We’re dissecting rats today, so…

Anyway. See you in hell.

Jeremiah, your ex-son.



FF run by Rochelle Wisoff.Fields - thankyou – photo prompt by Jennifer Pendergast

Try a weekly Haibun writing challenge! Click here http://www.gunns-cabinfever.pw/l298go-ha298bun#.U4WnE3KSzaU

or here http://managuagunntoday.wordpress.com/2014/05/26/ligo-haibun-challenge-visual-prompt-week/




Originally posted on Cutting to the chase:

Ligo Haibun Challenge – word prompt – CONNECTED

Having just moved away from a place I knew well, I sometimes feel disconnected from the environment around me. Rudderless, I flounder through days of busyness, nights of reality TV shows and another bowl of miso soup.  Waking early my head is still a blur of weird dreams.  Did I really spend half the night seeing images of computer screens, WordPress tabs and inane Facebook comments?

Outside my window I see piles of coloured clouds – whimsical confections of fairytale castles.   By the time I’m out the door the colours have faded.  I walk past the still shuttered houses to the track behind the dunes.  It is here that I find my connection.  Half way between earth and sky,  hovering between land and sea I see a bridge of light.  Coming in, streaming down, flowing up – earth energy, spirit light –…

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Flash Fiction

Friday Fictioneers 100W – A Last Glance


He observed the frontier; his frontier, with scanning eyes, tired gloves holding the reins, but a heart still burning a fire of pride. With his back arched straight, muscles taut, he turned his horse gently. Just then he thought he heard a sound, and hand on saddle, twisted and glanced across into the mist. Not a troublesome sound. Not a clearly definable sound, more of a ‘twang!’ and a slight ‘woosh!’ And only once, no more. He relaxed. The arrow sped across the prairie, grass blades neatly carved in split seconds by glinting tip, before thudding, hard, into his chest.








This story is 99W exactly.

Thanks to Rochelle! Picture this week by Erin Leary


Magpie Tales

new york restaurant 1922 edward hopper

new york restaurant 1922 edward hopper

in a charming old bistrot
in the time it took to taste my tea
whirl the leaves
a newspaper in front of me
and find out
Ghandi’s son raped his eight
year old girl

its fashionable to not talk about such things
at a restaurant with such fine trimmings
such richness of discussion
coy eye blinks, a-flutter above tilted cup
but I saw his letter to his son
where he talked about what horror had been done
and the pain of an eight year old daughter

so in the time it took
to put down my tea
my faith in the world dissolved around me
and my sympathy for various vagrancies
became undone

I became a murderer in my heart
and passed you the milk
I ordered you a cupcake
and pondered on fate
for if Ghandi’s son can commit such a murder
of faith
then anyone can do asunder to another
and most likely will


for magpie tales

Carpe Diem Haiku

Carpe Diem Haiku Distillation, John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields”

As Chevrefeuille says, the goal of this CD-Distillation is to “distil” a haiku from the long-poem in this case “In Flanders Fields”. It’s a challenge of course, but even the classical haiku-poets used parts of other poems in their haiku … so it’s a classic way of writing haiku to distil haiku from a long poem. Why don’t you join in, dear reader, if you haven’t yet!  http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.fi/


In Flanders Field

 by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

on the crosses sit the birds
that watch over the fallen of Flanders
from where the poppies grow