It is finished. 16 short prose pieces – or are they poems? I don’t know, but I have received great praise at open mic readings. Numbers 1 to 5 have been posted here. Now the entire collection is available through Amazon, as a beautiful chapbook or full colour eBook. But if you would like anContinue reading “I heard the river laugh”
Category Archives: Flash Fiction
Giraffes, or Mansplaining
When a bloke tries too hard…
Does it count if there are no marks?
Both suffer during domestic abuse. Picture by Markesia Adjani – Flickr.com
No room for heroes.
Flash fiction time. Devinia, would describe herself as a country girl – horses, dogs, hunting, polo and cold showers in summer. That was her sort of thing. She was larger than life in other ways, too. No male could claim not to notice her hour-glass shape when pressured by jodhpurs and riding britches. I madeContinue reading “No room for heroes.”
Socialist Art. Really?
Mindfulness not only comes in useful to determine what we thought at the moment, but eighty words might reveal what the model was thinking. Who knows? Damned artists! I sit here, in the altogether, pretending to be a wronged goddess. Thank goodness he agreed to put in the animal parts, later. The smell was somethingContinue reading “Socialist Art. Really?”
Lockdown musings about the hetero spectrum.
Scams during lockdown are rife. Here is a contrast between women at either end of the honesty spectrum.
Doors of your mind – an old tale.
Newlyweds analyse each other. He has a past that can’t be revealed. She can’t stop picking at the scab.
The day I met Elvis.
Elvis hadn’t left the house.
Flash Fiction 1 – Sweet Dementia
The key slid in the lock with its usual slight resistance – or did it? Wasn’t there a different feel to his apartment door? How would he be able to decide that? He knew he imagined things and then often had to admit they were unverifiable. That was to be expected at his age, butContinue reading “Flash Fiction 1 – Sweet Dementia”
Flash Fiction 2 – Sweet Nostalgia
My dad asked me to take him to France, one last time, to buy his cigars. ‘They are cheaper in Calais,’ he assured me. Long grey waves, white topped, sway us. The captain says, ‘Force 7 Beaufort,’ in a matter-of-fact way. ‘It won’t be moved,’ I assure my dad. ‘65000 tons, rock solid and rockContinue reading “Flash Fiction 2 – Sweet Nostalgia”