Tabanca

I have a tabanca.

I miss the warmth,

The sunshine,

The shade of green,

I miss the freedom that comes

With knowing exactly where you’re going

‘Cause is there you born and raise,

I miss the kiskadee song in the day

And the cricket chorus at night.

I miss the twelve hours of sun,

I miss the sno cone,

I miss the red mango.

I miss the soca

And the piccong,

I miss St James 

And the way it’s

Never at rest.

I miss the view

Of the city from

Lady Young Road,

I miss the renegade

Poui trees that decide

Now is the time to bloom,

I miss the hibiscus.

I miss the way

You know Christmas coming

Due to the smell of paint

And the new curtains,

I miss the sound of rain

On a galvanize roof,

I miss home.

Flash Fiction Friday #34: The Traveller

So i decided to play a lil ambitious with this one, i wanted to get an epic poem feel, then i kinda didn't feel like settling down to write, hence the delay. not sure if i'm completely satisfied with the end result, but i certainly don't hate it.
i could have gone subtle with the words but i decided against it.

fff#34: (choice of inclusion) ghost, roast, boast, toast, host.

The traveller had been warned against this route

Though it promised to be quicker.

Brave,

Strong,

Could survive anything

that was thrown at him,

Was his boast,

Though the weariness that licked his feet,

The hunger, his belly,

And the cold, his back,

Threatened to prove him wrong.

Before he could regret his pride,

In the distance appeared a light,

Luck was still at his side.

He made it to the door

and knocked thrice upon it.

It was opened to reveal

A kindly old widower

Who offered,

In return for his company,

Free lodging and even fare for the night.

Once inside and warm,

With promises of food to follow,

Our traveller settled to listen

To the old man’s yarn.

He spoke quite fondly

Of days that had been too long past,

And lovers long dead,

And the ways things 

Should have turned out instead.

When the traveller received

His warm meat

And cold ale,

He proposed a toast

To warm feet,

A good roast,

And goodwill to all men.

When our traveller awoke

By the light of the dawn,

His benevolent host

Was no where to be found.

The room was far less attractive

Without the light of the fire,

And the hearth seemed

Too cold for a flame

Only hours expired.

Nonetheless he gathered

His effects and dusted his coat,

And continued his journey

To where he was bound.

Only when he was

Well along his way

Did it occur for him to wonder,

That perhaps his host wasn’t human,

Perhaps his host was a ghost.

Chibi LeGreat?

Ok, this isn't writing, but I was so pleased with it, i decided i must post it here :)

i find it to be incredibly cute :3 ^_^

Deadly Sins (Cycle II)

You are the vice

That resides in my soul,

The lust and envy

That corrode it,

The temptation

That I yield to,

Again and again

Without fail.

Forgive me Father,

For I have sinned,

And I yearn for absolution.

Days Like This

Days like this are the worst.

Days where I stumble around

In states of undress;

Listlessness has made me hot.

Days like this I wish

I’d taken up smoking.

At least it would give me

Something to do

With my hands,

My mouth,

My lungs,

Least the Devil

Seeks to employ me

With his other idle souls,

While I wait

For the universe,

Fate,

Destiny,

To figure out what to do with me...

Days like this are the worst. 

Flash Fiction Friday #33: Rendez-vous S'il Vous Plait

clearly i am not stickin with this one :)

fff#33: (inclusion) wet, match, chain, trigger, rendezvous

She clutched her coat more tightly to her body in a futile effort to shut out the cold rain. It was assignments like these that made her long for home, or at least to be sent somewhere tropical. She crossed the empty street, careful not to slip on the slick cobblestones and entered a small tea parlor with dusty cakes in the window. She chose a seat in the corner of the shop and hung her wet coat on the back of the wrought-iron chair. She shivered slightly as she removed a bright red handkerchief from her bag and began to dry herself off with it. The waitress spotted her and brought extra napkins along with her pot of tea. She smiled gratefully and accepted them. Hopefully her show had been enough. 

 She sipped her tea gently, and soon a man with a watch with a band designed like a bicycle chain approached her table with a grin. “Maggie!” he exclaimed. “It’s been too long!”

Her trigger had worked and here was her contact, exactly as she had been told he would be.

 “Jonathan! I know!” She rose to embrace him. One of the first thing she had to do when she started out in this job was get over her fear of hugging strangers. “Have a seat,” she added, while taking her own. After they’d spent the next half hour trading made-up updates on their imaginary families, Jonathan looked his watch. “It’s getting a bit late, shall I escort you to the train station?”

 They left the parlor with linked arms and began their short stroll to the station, seeming to all the world like a pair of lovers. At the station he pulled a small box, about twice the size of a matchbox and thrust it into her hands. “Happy birthday,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. They hugged again, then she boarded her train. As the train started up she saw him whip out his phone to alert his superiors.

 On the train she sat alone and secured the box in a compartment of her bag. The rendezvous and collection had been a success. Though she still had the boarder to cross, she expected smooth sailing from then on. She made herself comfortable and looked out the window. She took a moment for self-satisfaction. She’d done well, career-wise. After all, she was being paid to take a free trip half way across the world to drink tea and fetch a matchbox. It had even stopped raining.

Flash Fiction Fridays

So this just occurred to me. Since I have all the fff triggers, i could share them with my readers! (readers oui.... sometimes i amuse myself).
if one choses to do so, you can link back to me, and you should link back to Elisha's blog sweet trini's urban folk tales, since she's the lovely lady who instigates these particular fffs and it's nice to know people paying attention.


here they are in all their reverse-chronological glory:

fff#33: (inclusion) wet, match, chain, trigger, rendezvous

fff#32: (starter) i/he/she/it/we/they took everything

fff#31: (idea inclusion) egg(s), witch, cave.

fff#30: (idea inclusion) snakecharmer, citrus, book(s)

fff#29: (starter) as much/little as...

fff#28: (inclusion) rebellion, fox, strange, mirror, pleasure

fff#27: (inclusion) lush, plush, brush, hush, gush

fff#26: (inclusion) rack, pack, track, crack, slack

fff#25: (inclusion) those who mind don't matter; those who matter don't mind

fff#24: (inclusion) earlobe, wrist, lip, knuckle, eye

fff#23: (inclusion) wrinkle, heavy, space, light, time

fff#22: (starter) when I drink

fff#21: (starter) it wasn't how fresh

fff#20: (inclusion) sunny, sandy, wet, warm, limp

fff#19: (inclusion) pleasure, pain, sweet, dark, trouble

fff#18: (inclusion) dance, glance, trance, prance, pants

fff#17: (starter) the rules of engagement

fff#16: (inclusion) smoke, joke, broke, folk, yolk

fff#15: (Inclusion) mind, find, blind, kind, dined

fff#14: (starter) no current

fff#13: (starter) sweating profusely

fff#12: (inclusion) prick, flick, trick, slick, thick

fff#11: (inclusion) block, clock, frock, rock, flock

fff#10: (inclusion) dirtier, messier, sloppier, wetter, read

fff#9: (Inclusion) all that was left was/were 

fff#8: (inclusion) gun, tonne, fun, plum, drum

fff#7: (inclusion) the only word the voice on the phone said was

fff#6: (inclusion) It was the eighth deadly

fff#5: (inclusion) flake, rake, break, stake, snake

fff#4: (starter) Freakishly large hands reached out toward

fff#3: (Starter) They never could get that right

fff#2: (inclusion) crumb, bum, thumb, rum, dumb

fff#1: (starter) it was the smell of cinnamon

sweet trini's rules are thus:

rules of engagement:
you will send in your suggestions for flash fiction friday triggers (starter sentences/phrases, closers, titles, inclusions, etc.) anytime during the week up to 11.55a.m. friday, trinbago timezone; i will post the new fff trigger by noon friday trinbago timezone.*
if your trigger is not chosen and you think it is too brilliant not to be chosen, you will send it in again the next week.
you will write an anecdote, short story, or novel length prose poem using the trigger provided.
you will add comments and appropriate linkage to my trigger-post indicating your desire to participate and the completion of your piece (don't need a blogger/gmail account to comment on my blog).
you may join in at any time prior to the deadline.*
you will display your piece as a post on your own blog (or as a comment on my trigger-post or fasbook note or whatever, once we can all read it- please make sure we can all access the link to read it, not just those who are your friends on fasbook; there's a way to create public links for that, right?).
you will be done by monday noon trinbago timezone.*[in light of collective busyness and my general mentality, i not pressed about these deadlines 'cause i'd rather have fun reading late than never, so if you want to fff past deadline, go through hard, just make sure you comment on the appropriate trigger-post so we know which it belongs to, and if is a real old trigger, comment on the most recent post as well so we know something new to back-back+read...if nobody fffs i'll leave the same trigger up until at least 1person other than myself writes a piece]*

nicesness. now everybody can write some :)

have fun!

Flash Fiction Friday #32: Teacher's Pet

eugh. finally. this one did not want to be written at all, and hence, i don't like it very much. but it's the only way i can get fff#33. 
(and for those who catch on.... ahem... doh make it out please :P)

fff#32: (starter) i/he/she/it/we/they took everything

 She took everything mundane about our classes and spritzed it with her flowery perfume. Most of the boys where enthralled by Ms Bell. The ones in the upper classes attempted to wow her with their newfound charms. Us younger ones just blushed when she asked us questions and tried to impress her by either being very bad, or very good.

 She rolled her Rs beautifully, and once she sang us a Spanish lullaby in her sweet, lilting voice. For me, she was an angel in my history of all male teachers and she begun my transition from boy to man. 

 She left after a year, not because she was a bad teacher, but because she was going back to school. My next Spanish teacher was the very old, very wrinkled, very surly Mrs Jones, but my love of the language had been very securely cemented and not even Mrs Jones’ perpetual grouchiness could waver it.

 I hadn’t given Ms Bell much thought for years when one day while I was in the office with a class mate I saw her. I went up to her and stumbled out a quick introduction.

 “You mightn’t remember me Miss, but I was in your form one class and-” I rattled.

She interrupted me. “Of course I remember you Jason.” I was twelve again, knees shaking and blushing like mad just from her words and her charming smile. Some things never changed.