How Big?

I’m once more attempting Al’s fabulous prompts. I’ve missed a couple of the Haibun Thinking Challenges, but here is this weeks. Haibun is a Japanese literary form that combines one or more paragraphs of your written narrative (prose) with a concentrated (short) poem – the haiku. Hai stands for haiku, bun stands for prose. It’s a great way of getting your creative juices flowing, why don’t you follow the link and have a go. There is a literary prompt or a photo prompt, this week I’ve gone for the photo. I may have gone a bit off slant this week, but I’m still practicing, so please excuse me.


Mavis’s eyes scanned the water, “Beryl, are you sure that’s him”

“Oh yes, I’d know him anywhere” she replied,

Waves rose out ahead of them, the salty brine of seaweed and fish leaving a taste of something almost forbidden in their mouths. Beryl watched as Mavis traced a thin layer of saliva across her lips. It was almost indecent.

“But you said he was so, so ….” she hesitated not sure how to say it out loud.

“So what?” asked Beryl

“So… mmm…big” she almost whispered.

“OH YES” Beryl’s voice hit a sudden high.

“But it doesn’t seem THAT big to me” said Mavis without moving her eyes from the water.

Beryl reached for her reading glasses in the ruck sack “Well it HAS been a while”

She rubbed the glasses with her hankie and set them in place,

Her mouth opened agape “Oh”

Before adding quickly “Well it is April Mavis, the water must be freezing”

Beryl raised an eyebrow “Huh, huh”

“And you know how the cold can effects things”

“Not that much” said a somewhat deflated Beryl.

The spell was broken as the silver sheen of the dolphin’s hump cut through the swell and disappeared into the grey, blue azure below. Both women turned towards the pier and said in unison,

“Fancy a coffee in Moby Dick’s?”


Memory is often,

So much more than we have seen,

Cold affects us all.



It’s Never Enough


I love to live,

And live to love,

But something is missing,

It’s never enough,


I love to give,

And give too much,

But the larder is empty,

It’s never enough,


I love to hold,

And capture the warmth,

But the heat ebbs away,

It’s never enough,


I love to dream,

And imagine much more,

But then I awake,

It’s never enough,


I love to hope,

And know it’s not much,

But I pray for the day,

When hope is enough.


Buried Truth

Time again for Al’s Sunday Photo Fiction. A weekly photo prompt to generate 100 – 200 words of creative fiction based on each weeks photo. Another of the prompts that’s easily addictive. Get yourself over and have a go.


The first pebble represented wealth; Jenny rolled it in her palm running her thumb and forefinger over the smooth patena.

The second represented truth; she clutched it in her palm and sealed her fingers tightly round the stone.

The third was knowledge; knowing too much was what had brought her on this holiday.

The fourth was compassion; she skimmed over it without picking it up.

The fifth was forgiveness; she hesitated but skimmed past that one as well.

The sixth was renewal; she picked it up and passed it back and forth between each hand.

The seventh was the future; it sat in her outstretched palm, the rough edges seeming to burn into her skin. She dropped it back into the sand as if it had been on fire.

“What a load of crap” she blistered, pushing past the others and the strange little monk who’d been showing them around. She went back to the coach muttering about a waste of money and time. A tiny bead of sweat slipped down her forehead, then another and another. She opened her hand to scratch the itch that was driving her mad, and a faint hint of orange spread across her palm. Letters slowly formed in her skin,                                  K    I    L    L    E    R.

She thought of her husband Jeff, buried under the patio with a 10inch steak knife in his back. Her hand got suddenly warmer.

I Knew

A funny thing happened,

On the way to today,

A hint of tomorrow,

I glimpsed yesterday,

A feeling of knowing,

What was to be said,

A sense of foreboding,

A suspicion of dread,

A shadow that stayed,

Too close to the wall,

A suggestion of menace,

That was too close to call,

And the sun didn’t shine,

As bright as it should,

The breeze didn’t weave,

As light as it could,

The rain didn’t soothe,

The heat on the ground,

The wind didn’t rise,

It ne’r made a sound,


It was a funny thing really,

But I knew it would come,

I knew you would leave,

I knew we were done.

Love in Disguise

Why does love,

Have so many disguises,

So many questions,

So many surprises,

Like the one on the plane,

Or the one on the bus,

The one on the train,

Or the one in a rush,

The one with the earring,

The one with the beard,

The one with the eye patch,

I particularly feared,

The one with the right leg,

Shorter than his left,

The one with the fur coat,

His mother was bereft,

The one with the moustache,

That ran ear to ear,

And the one with the toupee,

With his cross eyeing leer,


Maybe I should get a dog.

I Want To Be Me

I’m not the person,

You think that I am,

No longer the woman,

Who won’t give a damn,

I’m not the stranger,

You take to one side,

I’m not the innocent,

So easily beguiled,

I’m not the shadow,

Who sits at your table,

That feeds on your lie,

Or your storybook fable,

I’m not the harmless,

The weak and naïve,

I’m not the muse,

Your passions deceive,

And I’m not the reason,

You’ve opened the door,

The fault is your own,

I won’t give anymore.


No, I am the woman,

That I want to be,

And I’m walking away,

So I can always be me.

I Promise

Whenever you’re alone,

You’re scared or afraid,

Remember me then,

And the promise I made,

That I’d always be with you,

Forever as one,

I’d still be beside you,

I’d not really gone,


For I am your shadow,

That falls on the ground,

I am your lantern,

When it’s dark all around,

I am your strength,

When the burdens too great,

And I am your reason,

Your hope and your fate.


So think of me often,

I’ll come when you call,

To pick you up softly,

If you stumble and fall,

I’ll hold out my arms,

And banish your fear,

I’ll be right beside you,

And you’ll know I am here.


The Window Sill


Look through the window,

Into a miniature world,

Collected momentoes,

And stories unfurled,

A church with a steeple,

And windows so bright,

A house and a rocker,

A fence painted white,

A candle that sits,

In a silver filigree,

With flowers and vines,

That twist beautifully,

And a lantern that holds,

A scented tea light,

Wick that is scorched,

As it burns in the night,

And a gilded gold frame,

That holds a child’s face,

The smile of a young girl,

With eyes full of grace,

There’s a vase and a pebble,

A china figurine,

All miniature memories,

To be loved and be seen.

I Don’t Want A Fairy Tale

I’m not looking for power,

For worship or praise,

I’m not looking for wealth,

Or grandeus displays,

I’ve no need for honour,

Nor approval or thanks,

And I think all the heroes,

Are comic book cranks,

I don’t want adventure,

Or some mystery tour,

I don’t need to travel,

To a far hidden shore,

I don’t want a fairy tale,

That ends in a rescue,

And I don’t want a fable,

That’s merely to test you,

I don’t want a sonnet,

Of parchment and ink,

Nor a play to be written,

On how I should think,


For I just want a life,

That’s transparently clear,

And I just want to love,

The one I have here.



If I could walk forward,

Without losing the past,

Would the hopes,

That I carried,

Be still in my grasp,

Would the dreams,

That I dreamt,

And the prayers,

That I said,

Stay with me always,

Where ever I tread,

Would the resilience,

Of youth,

And the knowledge of time,

Learn to appreciate,

To unite and combine,

Would tomorrow’s forgiveness,

Be my remedy for today,

Would life become clearer,

If I knew what to say.