As You Sleep


I watch you sleep,

And I do not care,

For when you breathe,

I know you’re there,

I watch your face,

Through shadows veil,

And I know each line,

Each small detail,

I watch you move,

In slumbers wake,

And let you dream,

While I’m awake,

I watch your hand,

Fall into mine,

I feel your warmth,

Your touch sublime,

I watch you turn,

My heart succumbs,

And I watch you sleep,

Until morning comes.

The Sound Of Music

Time again for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the fabulous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. A 100 word photo prompt, although you’re not shot if you go over a tad. After last weeks despair I’ve gone lighter this week, however my humour may be so bad that I still make you cry………


Photo Copyright : Bjorn Rudberg

Simeon felt the corrosion in his ears before the singing fully reached his shack. He pulled a pillow round his head, trying to muffle the impact.

“High on a hill lives a lonely goat herder”

Lifting the pillow slightly, he shouted back “Down at the bottom lives a bloody frightened goat, Peter”

It took a few minutes before he realised the singing had stopped. Then suddenly an almighty crash flew the doors wide open.

Peter stood, hands on hips; a 6’4 wall of solid muscle wearing a long black habit and a set of wooden beads.

“I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME MARIA” he screamed.

Haibun Thinking Challenge – Reflection

This is written for the very  first Haibun Thinking challenge.

I have used the prompt below – 

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

– Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

She looks in the mirror not recognising the face that stares back. Oh, there’s a familiarity alright, a sense of something or someone long gone, but there’s no real connection to the profile looking back. An echo of laughter plays in her head, she smiles. The face in the mirror smiles too, blood red lips that glisten in anticipation. They’re full and rounded, pumping with life; lips to be kissed, to be plundered with passion. And a smile so wide it reaches her eyes. Where blue orbs of mystery are so deep even the water nymphs would drown.

The laughter fades away, replaced by a gentle sway of rhythm. The blue orbs darken into something more, something wild and untamed. Music fills the air and the reflection begins to move, a slow burning flame that dances in the fire. She watches as hands glide over smooth unblemished skin, touching, teasing, and claiming. She sighs, the reflection stalls.

Shadows ebb across the glass, a mist tinged veil colours the edges of the reflection looking back. Her lips become thin and pale against a grey pallid skin and those blue eyes now faded are hidden by the deep lines of age. The reflection recoils at the face looking in. For the reflection is no stranger, but the woman she used to be.


Yesterday is gone,

Today will follow swiftly,

Then tomorrow comes.

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.