Sailboat

 

I was a sailboat drifting upon your seas.

Navigating towards distant places,

behind the mists of your horizon.

Sun-beat, fresh varnish,

maiden voyage.

 

You were the ocean rippling

beneath me, reflecting infinities of overhanging skies.

Bahamas blue, glassy calm and

endless.

 

You became the tumultous waves

crashing on my bow,

ripping apart my sails.

Stinging saltwater seeping into my cracked hull.

Midnight blue, marbled through

with froth.

 

Sunken anchor.

Placid seas.

 

You spoke of love.

I hid my fear.

 

*****

 

Shared with dVerse Poets Pub in a poetry challenge using metaphors.

DSC_0493

 

 

 

photo: my own

Image from pinterest.

Digging for 21st-century gold

PHOTO PROMPT © Na’ama Yehuda

 

The article stated it was the worst drought in decades, quoting researcher-facts and interspersed with images of wildlife writhing on cracked mud. The last time Lake Ngami dried up was in the eighties.

The sun burned the backs of Kgosi and his men as they dug a hole, deep and wide enough, for underground water to seep into it. A man-made water hole. It wouldn’t last long. Wild animals would travel far in search of water. Next Saturday they would dig another one a few kilometers east of this hole.

Kgosi hoped the rains would come soon.

97 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less, click the frog to share your flash fiction and read what others have written.

Fresh water will one day be the wealth of future nations.

bigfred

Out of reach

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

It was too high up. The colander mocked him from above, dangling from a suspended cord. What was wrong with storing things in cupboards?

The pasta boiled on the stove. Getting too soft.

He was getting too impatient. With his legs, limp and useless, in the wheelchair. With the stupid colander in the dumbest place.

He should have gotten it down before he started cooking. Prepare beforehand. He took a deep breath. All that was needed was some slight adjustments to the way he usually goes about things. That’s all.

Grabbing a broomstick, he gently coaxed it off  the hook.

100 words

***********

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Click the frog to submit your story or read others’.

bigfred

friday-fictioneers-and-poppy

The littlest storyteller

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

Will you tell me a bedtime story?

Maybe tomorrow.

Tired, daddy?

Just a little.

From slaying dragons? You have dragon blood on your coat again.

Dragons?

That green shiny stuff there, and there. There’s another spot and here too.

Oh…It must have sprayed onto me when…

You can tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. Cross my heart. Hope to die. Oh, don’t worry I won’t really die. It’s just how Jamie and I make promises. So we know for sure.

I was going to say, it must have sprayed onto me when we were making slime.

99 words

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Write a story in 100 words or less. Click the frog to submit your flash fiction or read others’.

bigfred