Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

The feathers they left
were collected together
and used to dust dreams.

Ships made of dreams - wow!! What an image :D

She abandons day
for a raven feather cloak
and clandestine dreams.

He packed his bags, flew
to Sumatra, swore off Day,
turned up Sinatra.

Over the rainbow
his halcyon flight, brought him
to lazuline skies

where cups of Java
the color of night, woke joy
in his old blue eyes.

Was Al then a writer dreaming she was a pirate, or is she now a pirate, dreaming she is a writer?

Lol!

Eyes are the windows
To long forgotten secrets,
better left alone

Well, this is an attempt to follow Nadia’s.

“How the lonely calls
of distant freight trains haunted
winter nights!” Her clothes

were faded, antique,
her eyes like Gothic windows
with old, wavy panes.

She spoke, in the way
an evening wanes before ghosts
wander bare corn rows,

of rusting barbed wire,
late-autumn’s crows, and elm-lined,
wagon-rutted lanes.

The salesman who eyed
Mrs. Purvis snickered, suave
and well anointed:

“Don’t ever expect
good service and you’ll never
be disappointed.”

Thank you, Alex! I’ve perfected 5-7-5’s that are thread killers.

LOL!

Well, lets see if I can create a Haiku zombie.


Mrs. Purvis stood
at the centre of her store
in a black g-string.
Her grey eyes with fifty shades
left him wanting to leave her.

Slyly she murmured,
“Lager or Bach?” but her words
were like a bee sting.

Muzak’s “Crocodile
Rock” echoed dismally, then
“Air on the G String.”

Lol! Very funny M. Great continuation.

Thank you, Guy! Yours was fun to follow.

Music no longer
is what I remember it.
The days have gone by
They leave us with naught
music is quite surely dead
or just really ill.

Very nice, Nadia! And I concur.

He thought of the fear
in her face, of her drab gown,
the number she’d scrawled

on a torn matchbook--
a seedy place south of town,
where scorpions crawled.

Hers were nights of chips
and Rotel, worn-out old songs,
a fleabag motel.

The flea's bag was small
And in it was to be found
Little but enough.

He could do the Raid
Six Step in three. On the horn,
he played “Wonder Flea.”

Lol!

A war on humans
shall ensue this very night
Fleas will die no more.

“A Black Plague outbreak?”
he spluttered. “That’s--” He stubbed out
his cigar. “Well, rats.”

This rat liked stogies
While he waited in back lanes,
His fedora dark,
His clients nervous and few,
But very tall and pretty.

“His clients nervous and few . . .” What a memorable line! This little verse is like an engraving, the images are so sharp.

Come one and come all,
Money spent on circus tent,
Be thee big or small.

M wrote: "“His clients nervous and few . . .” What a memorable line! This little verse is like an engraving, the images are so sharp."

Thank you, M! So glad you liked it. Re-reading it, I'm scratching my head as to where in me the ideas for it arose.

.

She took the money
even with knowing its source,
a tiny big man.

She made a strange sound,
choked, glottal. The little man
dwelled in a bottle!

But was he fauna
or flora? Homunculus
or mandragora?

Very very clever M! And a serious challenge to follow!

Thank you, Guy!

on black satin sheets
she gave herself to the moon,
rose petals and thorns

Where we dance on pointe,
without blisters or tutus,
lift with strength and grace.

She knew his murmurs
in midnight’s blur came from dreams
of other than her.

She was troubled,
sitting awake listening to
his 'adventures'.

Nicely followed, Lee-lette!

Thanks M :)

Nice one, Lee-lette! Such a great one to follow.


The sound of silence
Rests uneasily again
between sweat wet sheets,
beneath this cold starry night,
its unseen darkness and dawn.

I tried to write dawn
and how I love you; some things
are far beyond words

A glimmer, a glance,
But these are words unspoken,
Still, he took a chance.

She peered from dice dots,
from cards’ pips, the evening’s haze
exhaled through her lips.

These are awesome guys!!! I don't think I can follow this!

[Thank you Lee-lette. Jump in! Your writing is fine.]

Her breath moved the trees,
Lent truth to what wasn't said,
Cooled her lover's dreams.

His dreams were wild,
but took a turn at
the mere thought of her.

That's beautiful, Lee-lette! Nicely done :)

[Yes, very nicely done!]

Asleep in a dream
His thoughts are not what they seem
And she is his meme.

She waited for him
in autumn’s halls, by white-oak-
shadowed waterfalls.

Her life is nigh done,
her now short hair grey and thin,
her lonely tears spent.

She thought, “Had I to
do it over, I’d have bought
and new Land Rover.”