birds in pairs

springtime in paradise by anelephantcant

springtime in paradise by anelephantcant

a silver moon a bright blue sky
the sea as dark as night
trees dressed up in verdant green
what colour are you inside

the waves whisper across the sand
the wind whispers a sigh
my heart whispers a thought of love
your heart whispers a lie

the flowers stretch and raise their heads
it’s springtime in Paradise
I watch the birds in pairs build nests
I watch as your love dies

a red sail flaps and disappears
across the curved horizon
your red lips now so rarely smile
when they curve it is surprising

the camera never lies they say
I don’t think that is true
I see the face you turn to me
I don’t think that is you

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Holiday – Flash Fiction

AnElephantCant forget his USA trip
He visits there just a year or two ago
Of all the wonderful places
Where he meets smiling faces
The old hippy best loves San Francisco

AnElephant is invited by the lovely, and Priceless, Joy to write a piece of Flash Fiction for her challenge, here.
The inspiration comes from the photo provided, below.

Copyright Vanessa Rodriguez

Copyright Vanessa Rodriguez

The Holiday

The whole city seems to be in a state of terror.
There have been five brutal and apparently unconnected murders in only three weeks.
The savagery of the killings is what most people find so horrific.
Three women and two men, their ages ranging from just nineteen through to forty six, stabbed, slashed and hacked to death.
Each attack appears more frenzied than the previous.
The police are struggling to find any link between the victims.
The local press is fanning the flames of panic, suggesting that the killer, christened the San Fran Slasher, will continue his butchery until he is caught.
This is not true.
I go back to France on Monday.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Other Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Band Night – Friday Fictioneers

AnElephantCant play any instrument
Not the bagpipes or a tuba or a drum
He can’t even trumpet
But like it or lump it
He can bash out the rhythm with his trunk on his bum

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
Our cute conductor Rochelle orchestrates an original opus from a philharmony of fictional fiddlers.
And AnElephant tries not to B Flat.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright David Stewart

Copyright David Stewart

Band Night

I love Saturday evening in the park.
The band draws a little crowd, young families as well as elderly folk.
The music is not very good, to be honest, and they always play the same program.
But people sit and chat, clap politely, and the children run wild.
The atmosphere is relaxed, friendly, although I don’t mix too well.
I tend to stay away from the groups, closer to the trees.
I find that knowing the tunes is really helpful.
I take my time, wait for each crescendo.
That is my favourite part.
That is when I torture the child.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Friday Fictioneer | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 39 Comments

The Dance – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant boogie woogie
He can’t skip the light fandango or turn cartwheels across the floor
When he tries to dance
Folk look at him askance
Take him by the trunk and politely show him the door

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Joe Owens.
Just click on the link to see a tumultuous tango of torrid tales in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please first cast an eye over AnElephant’s wobbly waltz.

Copyright Joe Owens

Copyright Joe Owens

The Dance

I don’t have a partner for the dance, of course.
I never have a partner for anything.
Girls don’t like me, because I am big and awkward and I don’t speak well.
Everyone says I am ugly.
I laugh, pretend I don’t care, but it hurts
But I go to the Christmas Ball anyway, just to see her.
I know she will be the most beautiful girl there, and that she will smile at me and say hello.
She always does.
I don’t ask her to dance, I can never speak to her, she is an angel.
And she is with Rodney.
I hate Rodney.
He is so smart, so rich, so smug.
I always want to punch him, but I never do.
That might upset her.
I watch her dancing, she is so graceful, so elegant, so wonderful.
I think he has been drinking, he upsets her.
She slaps his face, leaves in tears.
He runs after her, shouting.
Everyone is watching them, laughing and pointing.
No one sees me follow them.
She takes the path through the park, a short cut to her home.
He catches her there.
I hear them shouting, crying.
He is shaking her, so I hit him.
He falls down, does not move.
She starts to scream.
She calls me a monster, a beast, and other bad words.
I put my hand over her mouth to make her stop.
She stops.
I carry both of them into the woods.
Bury them.
Separately, of course.
He does not deserve to be with her.
She looks so pretty in her ball gown.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Other Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

over

over by anelephantcant

over by anelephantcant

you have always been so good to me
you are beautiful and kind
but your eyes no longer shine with joy
and I sadly am not blind

we both know that you don’t love me
I’m now not sure you ever did
any feelings you have left for me
are sadly too well hid

why can’t you tell me that it’s over
why not just once speak the truth please
free me from this misery
before my heart breaks into pieces

your smile has long since disappeared
I can’t remember your last touch
I miss your laughter every day
I love you angel far too much

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 14 Comments

The Wish – Friday Fictioneers

AnElephantCant find any inspiration
His problems this week are rapidly mounting
But he girds his loins
Finds some coins
And throws them into the fountain

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
Fairy Godmother Rochelle makes dreams come true for wistful weavers of fantastic fiction.
And AnElephant falls down the well.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright Rachel Bjerke

Copyright Rachel Bjerke

The Wish

He sits gently rubbing her stomach.
Look, Rab, he says, your new sister is getting restless in Mummy’s tummy.
The little boy clambers up, grinning happily.
Baby, he says, laying his face against his mother’s stomach.
Not long now, she says, stroking his hair, then Mummy can play again, we’ll have lots of fun.
She looks around their tiny bed-sit.
I wish we had more room, she says to her husband, I’d give absolutely anything for a little more space.

The doctor looks at them with tired eyes.
It is very advanced, he says.
Your son has only weeks to live.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Friday Fictioneer | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 69 Comments

The Photographer – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant walk a tight rope
The idea quite frankly appals
But squeeze him in a barrel
And with no hint of a quarrel
He happily plunges over the Falls

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Joe Owens, standing in for ol’ pal Al.
Just click on the link to see a  fabulous flood of soggy stories in response to this week’s excellent prompt.
But please first cast an eye over AnElephant’s damp squib.

Copyright Joe Owens

Copyright Joe Owens

The Photographer

They call me Snapper.
That is their little joke, but I know they admire and appreciate what I do.
I am the official photographer of Medville, and several other towns in Provence.
My ‘snaps’ appear in all the tourist guides and web-sites, and are widely sold on postcards, posters, and even t-shirts.
I normally wander around on foot.
I have an eye for a photo.
More than subject, composition and colour, I see a story.
I know it is a cliché, but it is also a truth.
Every picture tells one.
That is why I am here now.
I saw this superb villa, just visible now the leaves are falling.
I took some shots from the road.
I don’t know yet what they were doing, what I captured for eternity.
But when I saw them approaching from two sides I pressed transmit.
That is the reason I am still alive.
We are currently discussing my future.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Other Fiction | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments