Heady Wine

 

heady wine

the springtime breezes

feasting with sinners

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This poem was written in response to Carpe Diem #1190 spring wind (supuringu waindo), another great prompt from Chèvrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai. All of the poems in the link-up can be read here. And, to finish, here’s the Black Crowes –

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bookscover2cover – Two short stories

Another Two short stories of mine have been posted at bookscover2cover, called ‘Resume circa 800 B.C.’ and ‘Hype’ The first story was written out of sympathy for the devil, the second story written out of sympathy for Jesus. They both got pretty raw deals, I think, always taking the blame for all this nonsense.

To finish, here’s Skip James –
 

 

Hype

water

When I walked across the water it was a mistake, it was hype.  And hype is like a virus, it eats up everything else.  But water is only molecules, like the ground is only molecules; the difference is irrelevant.

Life isn’t molecules, whatever the evidence says.  And the message wasn’t irrelevant, whatever the evidence says.

I wanted to talk about simple things, things that anyone can influence.  But people flinch at that.  They cling to hype because it seems unattainable, so then there’s no pressure to attain it.  I should’ve let myself drown that day.  The cross was hype, too.

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This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday.  Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is at the top of this post, copyright The Reclining Gentleman.

From Aquileana’s wonderful posts about Greek mythology, I’ve read a lot about hubris, lately – and so… a reboot of the saviour of mankind.  Meanwhile, to maintain the cosmic balance, here’s a quick word from Richard Hell.

Oslo, 1056

Oslo, 1056 – In my boyhood, long ago, I sat and saw longboats streak along the fjords, like spears flung by All-Father Odin.  Odin’s one-eyed face shone with joy, brighter than the sun, as he saw our longboats flung to destinations far and near, for raids or trade.  Then Christians arrived and we learned we were wrong.  All-Father is called Yahweh, Jesus his son.  But when black clouds roll over, burying the sky, and thunder goes growling along the fjord, it’s still Thor’s face I see watching over us.  I still shake with pride as jagged sparks fly from his hammer.

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This piece of flash fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers: a story in 100 words prompted by a picture that Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts every Wednesday. Here’s the link to the stories and this week’s picture is below (originally there were rooftops visible in the photo, but I only needed the sky and so I cropped it a little).

roiling-cloud-1