What Time Was It?

What time was it when,

You first heard my name,

Was it just before dusk,

Or was it just after then,


What time was it when,

You first saw my face,

Was it then that you knew,

Did you feel it begin,


What time was it when,

You first touched my skin,

Was it then that you felt

The heat surge within,


What time was it when,

You first kissed my lips,

Was it then that you tasted,

What passion could bring.


What time was it when,

You first laid me down,

Was it then that you played,

The hand that would win.


What time was it when,

You walked out the door,

Did you ever once wonder,

What we could have been.

One Knight Is Enough

Another Sunday and another Sunday Photo Fiction, a weekly flash fiction prompt based on the photo  below. The idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 100-200 words.

Why not give it a go, just click on the link to add your story to the list.


Jenny had been sat on the banking for the last hour. The afternoon sun was trailing a blanket across her back and she’d taken her shoes off to feel the warm grass under her feet.  She’d been watching the tourists milling round the church, following the path to the old north wall and the beautiful stained glass up above.

The tourists thought of knights of old and maidens and dragons, Jenny thought of Tom. He once told her he was her knight in shining armour and she’d believed him. She’d also believed him the first time he’d cheated. She’d done the same the second and third time. But last night she finally accepted the truth.

She hadn’t even waited for his usual excuses. She’d read the texts, thrown his mobile back at him and left. Oh, she hadn’t been so strong that the pain hadn’t tore through her heart, but as any 300 year old witch will know, payback is a great healer. She looked up at the stained glass window and smiled. She wondered if any of the tourists realised that the window had an extra panel today…..

Who Are You?


How can I walk in the shoes of your past,

If I cannot remember what questions to ask,

How can I know which path I should take,

If the puzzle is missing the last piece to make.


How can I learn to know who you were,

If I only have echoes and shadows that blur,

How can I evolve into what I should be,

If my future is locked and you hold the key.


How can I live the life that was meant,

If my memory’s not real, it’s only been dreamt,

How can I honour the name I was given,

If reality is more than can ever be forgiven


How can I grow into who I should be,

If I never know you, then I never know me.

And how can I know the road I should follow,

If all of your yesterdays’ affect my tomorrow.

When The Rain Comes

Here we are again, time for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word photo prompt hosted by the creative talents of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Take a look over and read the 100 or so other addicted participants each week.


Photo : Copyright Erin Leary

She sat and reached for a stone on the path, picking it up with a handful of dirt. It was still damp from the early morning dew and yet another sign that summer was nearly over. There’d be no more bike rides or pony trails, daisy chains or apple hunts. No more nights when she could sleep outside. No more nights when she wasn’t home and he couldn’t come into her room smelling of cheap beer and cigarettes and all that nastiness and sweat.

She closed her eyes a little tighter, pulled her knees a little closer and tried to dream the rain away.

Living Life


Every day weaves a story,

Every night spins a tale,

Every memory is a shadow,

Every past leaves a trail.


Every walk is a journey,

Every route has a chart,

Every path is an option,

Every step just the start,


Every tear fills an ocean,

Every smile warms the sky,

Every truth grows a flower,

Every storms from a lie.


Every sinner has a future,

Every saint has a past,

Every life is a canvas,

Every chance may be last.

The Gift

I’m a sucker for a good prompt. Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly Flash Fiction prompt based on the photo supplied below. If you wish to take part, the idea is to write a piece of fiction of around 100-200 words  (flash fiction)

Once you have written your story, please click on this link to add your story to the list. If you see other people’s faces there, then take a peek at their story and pop them a like a bit of feedback. It’s always nice to hear what other people think of your stories.



Now she was at the gates, she felt her strength slipping. The late evening sun that had warmed her not ten minutes before had made a cowards retreat behind the clouds. Even the sun had forsaken her. A cold waft of air wove its way underneath her shawl and she shivered pulling it tighter. She put her hands on the cold iron fret work, the coarsely worn paintwork embedding into her skin. She barely noticed.

She rested her head against the gate and let her breathing slow. Her stomach flipped and she could almost taste the bile fighting for release. She waited for it to settle, it did, but only slightly. Moving one hand from the gate she gentle rubbed her palm over the life growing in her belly. The gates, and the life that were barred from her, would not be for her child. She could do this. She could give him up. In her heart she knew it would be a son. Another woman would love him, cherish him, make him the man he was destined to be. Make him the rightful heir to this vast estate.

She would give him this gift, it was all she had. 

Woman and Child


Are you the woman the child hoped to be,

The strong and the passionate, the wild and the free,

Did her dreams come alive, did she reach for the stars,

Did the laughter surround her, did she take what was ours.


Are you the dreams that she crafted each night,

The princess, the rescue, the shining white knight.

Did her hero come charging, did she wake with a kiss,

Did the wicked witch stumble, did our arrows not miss.


Are you the traveller who the maps were made for,

The searcher, the wanderer, the prints on the shore,

Did her journey enlighten, did she experience it all,

Did the pirates surrender to our sweet siren call.


Are you the answer to the prayers that she said,

The taker, the maker, the hopes in her head.

Did she climb her way up, was she caught when she fell

Did she reach all her dreams, are you able to tell.


For I know you’re the woman the child hoped to be,

Because I am that woman and that child was me.

One Night

You look and I weaken,

You smile and I forgive,

One look and I soften,

I need what you give.


You speak and I listen,

You touch and I burn,

One taste, I’m addicted,

Will I ever learn?


You touch and I shiver,

You move and I dance,

One song and I whisper,

Just give me a chance.


You take and I give,

You lead and I follow,

One kiss and I open,

Regret is tomorrow.


You leave and I falter,

You’re gone and I’m lost,

One night to remember,

What loving you cost.

Sometimes it Rains


Sometimes it rains,

Inside my head,

Pattering rainfall,

That feeling of dread,

Like raindrops on water,

That ripple out wide,

Echoes in darkness,

I’m trying to hide.


Sometimes it thunders,

Inside my head

Electrical static,

With the volume on red,

Like warriors advancing

To a battle field cry,

And cavalry charging,

A relentless reply.


But sometimes the rain,

And the thunder are gone,

Replaced by the warmth,

And the heat of the sun.

Where a rainbow of colour,

Disperses the storm,

And my head fills with hope,

Not the memories I mourn.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Well, it’s Wednesday again. “So soon” you ask and I excitedly reply “Yes, it’s Friday Fictioneers time again, wayhayyy”. Make sure one of your New Years resolutions is to give it a go, you’ll not be sorry…. Follow the link for all the info.


The air turned a little cooler as her hand reached out, trailing a finger through the sand. Each new line, a new question in her head.

Should she go or should she stay?

Would things change or stay the same?

He’d put her on a pedestal for so long; she couldn’t find her way down. She was just a structure, a form, a shape on a rock.

She’d ask him later if she should go. He’d been dead 3 weeks now but his eyes would tell her far more than his voice ever did.

Yes, she’d go into the basement and ask him..