gelastic by phil burns

gelastic by phil burns

The girls in summer dresses
Are strolling in the streets
The man you ask the questions
Hands out answers just like sweets

But he answers you in riddles
That don’t make any sense
And the girls all merge together
In colours so intense

You see her standing talking
You’ve waited seven thousand days
You call her name out wrongly
When she turns it’s not her face

You know it’s her striped jacket
You admired it for years
She looks at you and walks away
But the stripes have disappeared

Your friend who stands beside you
He is dating your lost child
He tells you it’s quite normal
To have your memories defiled

The house you live in isn’t yours
You don’t know the address
When your lover comes to breakfast
She can’t ignore the mess

There’s a lady showing people round
They don’t even see you there
They say that they are moving in
But you can live beneath the stairs

Your friends and lovers talk to you
You can’t understand a word
You tell them that it’s all a dream
They think you’re old and quite absurd

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Bench

AnElephantCant be an ornithologist
Although he does like to see pictures of birds
He is not sure whether
To discuss their feathers
When he only has 100 words

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
Top twitcher Rochelle watches while lakeside legendeers create magic in 100 words.
And AnElephant tries not to mess up the nest.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright- The Reclining Gentleman

Copyright- The Reclining Gentleman

The Bench

I know I am being watched.
I sit gazing across the water, wondering how close they are.
And if I have any chance of escape.
People stroll by, some pause to take in the view.
A cigarette packet is tossed, too casually, falls to the ground.
I scowl at his back, he is oblivious to my annoyance.
As I stand to leave, I stoop, and, with obvious irritation, push it into the bin.
I now have in my palm the last piece of the device.
I blow into my cold hands.
It fits perfectly.
And now they are too late.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Friday Fictioneer | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

Being a Mother – Haibun Thinking

AnElephantCant tell you how happy he is
There are days when his old grey heart just sings
The gigantic blue lobster
Is quite clearly an impostor
So he sends apologies to his dear friend MyBeautifulThings

AnElephant makes another inconsequential assault on this great weekly challenge hosted by his friend Al, who is doing great things with this site.
Please take a moment to check out this page to see some superb interpretations of the Japanese Haibun, a literary form which explores the relationship between the human experience and nature.
This week AnElephant chooses as his inspiration this superb piece of art by the lovely, and very talented, Anja.

Copyright Anja Partin

Copyright Anja Partin

Being a Mother

I remember, just, being sixteen years old.
I was a fairly normal, if perhaps slightly wild, teenager.
I played rugby and football, did a bit of boxing, got into scraps and scrapes.
Not in any way extraordinary, just a healthy, troublesome boy.
I had and, happily, still have a brother, six years younger.
So he was still at this time just a kid.
And he had a fall, caught his face on something – a tin bucket, if memory serves – and split his nose wide open across the bridge.
Now I had already broken the odd bone, had had my head stitched up to keep my brains in, some may say with limited success, had fallen out of innumerable trees, and been hit by a lorry.
But I was helpless, and useless, when I saw his blood-splattered features.
I called for my mother, wishing that my father was home.
She was a kind, easy-going woman, for whom the description scatter-brained could have been invented.
She handled the situation with calm authority, pacifying, cleaning, organising.
What could have been a crisis was a mere hiccup.
Perhaps all the practice had been good for her.

being a mother
is understanding
the needs of a child

Posted in Daft Rhymes, haibun | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Far Out – Sunday Photo Fiction

AnElephantCant keek through a telescope
To see things that are out of his range
He hasn’t got good eyes
He can’t scan the skies
But he has no pockets to carry his change

This is a weekly invitation to write a short piece of fiction (c. 150 words) based on a photo prompt (below) provided by Alastair.
Just click on the link to find some far-sighted sagas of searching simplicity in response to this week’s excellent image.
But please first cast an eye over AnElephant’s myopic musings!

Copyright Al Forbes

Copyright Al Forbes

Far Out

There are fewer swimmers in the Mediterranean now.
At this time of year, late October, the holiday season is over, and the weather is cooler.
Where I swim, far out past the end of the jetty, I rarely see anyone.
From here the few people on the beach look tiny, and to them my head is just a minute black dot.
So, when I see a figure floating in the choppy waves, I am curious.
As I approach it I determine it is a lady, grey-haired, somebody’s grandmother, no doubt.
She appears to be unperturbed by the blustery conditions.
She is relaxed, on her back, gazing at the sky.
She has not noticed me.
I slip under the water, find her hair.
A quick jerk and she is under, floundering, gasping, swallowing.
I pull her downwards, just long enough, then kick for the next bay, at the other side of the pier.
That was fun.

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

other girls

other girls by anelephantcant

other girls by anelephantcant

Other girls have arms to hold me
Other girls have legs so long
Only your legs make my head turn
Only your arms make me strong

Other girls have smiles that dazzle
Other girls have lips to kiss
Only your smile brightens my life
Only your lips bring me bliss

Other girls can sing sweet love songs
Other girls have hands to hold
Only your song has a melody
Only your hands are so cold

Other girls have eyes that sparkle
Other girls have hearts so true
Only your heart holds me captive
Only your eyes make me blue

Other girls have feet so dainty
Other girls have words to say
Only your words bring me heartache
Only your feet walked away

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

Time – Friday Fictioneers

AnElephantCant always behave sensibly
This may come as a bit of a shock
He likes to let his hair down
Go out on the town
AnElephant rocks around the clock

Once again it is Friday Fictioneer time.
Timekeeper Rochelle watches while ticking tale-tellers create a minute masterpiece in 100 words.
And ABelatedElephant tries not to be second best.
The idea is to write a very short story, circa 100 words, based on this picture prompt (below).
That’s it.

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy

Copyright – Douglas M. MacIlroy


They are afraid to execute me.
The law says they must, but these petty fools are in awe of my power.
So I have to spend eternity sealed in here, with no sustenance, no water, no air.
I am the greatest sorcerer in the land.
The others trapped me with their combined magic.
But, as they squabble for the crumbs, I am eliminating them one by one.
And now I can walk free whenever I choose.
In the meantime I have been amusing myself.
In the king’s palace they have just started to notice.
I know how to melt time.

Posted in Daft Rhymes, Friday Fictioneer | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

Childhood – Haibun Thinking

AnElephantCant hide a dark secret
He feels that at this point it must be revealed
Michael’s photo is super
But AnElephant makes a blooper
He just cannot find a good rhyme for field

AnElephant makes another illiterate assault on this great weekly challenge hosted by his friend Al.
And he again thanks Al for his ongoing efforts with this site.
Please take a moment to check out this page to see some superb interpretations of the Japanese Haibun, a literary form which explores the relationship between the human experience and nature.

This week he chooses this quote as his inspiration:
“Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do.
It is much easier to skip it
and go from one childhood to another.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald

the teacher by anelephantcant

the teacher by anelephantcant


When my daughter told me she was about to produce my first grandchild, I was pleased but not overly excited.
An absent and, sadly, too often uninvolved father, I did not expect to dally overmuch with the next generation.
Well, as it turned out, for a variety of reasons, I spent literally hundreds of hours in his company, mostly just one on one.
And he taught me more than anyone else in my life.
About puddles and trees.
And tadpoles and dinosaurs.
And big trucks and silly songs.
About Puff and frozen ponds.
About wobbly sticks and ice cream.
About trees and birds, museums and unmatched socks.
Double-decker buses and giraffes.
About magic and about laughter.
He taught me how to look at the world afresh again.
And to love life.
In short, (okay, not very!) he taught me to be a  child again.
So now, when I walk knee deep with rolled up trousers in the winter Mediterranean and people ask me if it is cold, I see his laughing face.
I smile, shake my head, and thank him for my life.

there is no cold
for a child
who is having fun

Posted in Daft Rhymes, haibun | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments