I’ll Love You Till..

 

I’ll love you till,

The stars above,

No longer light the sky,

I’ll love you till,

The moon smiles back,

And never question why,

*

I’ll love you till,

The ocean weeps,

No tears upon the shore,

I’ll love you till,

The mermaids sing,

And never ask for more,

*

I’ll love you till,

The seasons pass,

No summer, rain or shine,

I’ll love you till,

 The end of time,

Just knowing you are mine.

Tonight

I’m holding on by a whisper,

To a love that I’ve barely known,

A feeling that grows as I linger,

And a sense I’m no longer alone,

There’s a touch of sinful intention,

And a breath of seductive intent,

A heat that thrives on invention,

And a flame that delivers consent,

For passion is born of belonging,

And desire is fed by assent,

Hope is ignoring the warning,

That goodbye is tomorrow’s torment.

The Bar

Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. The addictive weekly photo prompt to write 100 words of flash to beguile and entertain. I don’t always win my objective but the fun is in the taking part. Get yourselves over and join in with Rochelle Wisoff -Fields merry band of fiddlers.

 

bjc3b6rn-15

Photo : Bjorn Rudberg

She sat in the corner, part of the crowd but always alone. A heady elixir of age and regret, memories and time, seeped up from the floorboards and a fragrant patina of whisky and rye layered the oak that ran across the bar. She teased her fingers over the grain as the soft lilt of laughter and a long forgotten melody floated in the air.

She turned. It was almost a taste, a scent, a touch to hold onto. Alas, the mist swiftly fell, and she moved back into the shadows. No more than an echo from some other time, some other life.

 

 

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.

16-c2a9-sally-my-beautiful-things

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.