Rootless

Born in Atlanta —
To a Swedish mother
And a Welsh father.

Started speaking when in Moscow,
Set little steps in Morroco.

Landed in an Irish high-school,
Passed an English junior-high.

Built an American corporate,
Lived with a Canadian model —

Married to a Mex dancer,
Fathered a confused offspring —
And died rootless — the nomad.

rootless


My response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge. I didn’t want to go with anything serious, and so I came up with this little poem-story of a nomad to add to my collection of Flash Fiction. Also it’s National Blog Posting Month – #Day27

Career Conflict

“Code is poetry,” reads confused marketeer.


A 6 word story for my collection of Flash Fiction. In case “Code is poetry” sounded familiar – it is, here.

National Blog Posting Month – #Day20

The Love Letter

He pulled the book from the shelf and a letter slipped out of its pages and fell to the floor.

Picking it up, he saw it was an old postage letter, neatly sealed and addressed to someone he couldn’t recognize. The ink had been smudged with the lack of human touch, and the paper was light between his fingers.

He turned it over in gentle hands, wondering who Dearest Josephine was. As far as he knew, there had been no one by that name in his family. Who then, was Josephine?

After a moment’s quandary, curiosity forced him to tear the letter open. A white feather fell from within the folded letter. Picking it up with a smile on his lips, he placed the feather on his desk and sat down to read the letter.

There, in slanting tiny letters, was a note —

Dearest Josephine,

I know I should have told you earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to face you. Every time I saw into your blue eyes, my heart skipped a beat – or two. Words failed me. Your eyes drank in my youth, making my spine tingle with emotion.

I know I should have told you earlier, but you seemed beyond my reach. I was just your manservant, and though you treated me like the best of your friends, I couldn’t face myself to confess that I wanted more.

I know I should have told you earlier, at least when you prepared for your marriage with that wealthy weasel. I knew you didn’t want him, I knew of your tears, of those sleepless nights that led to your marriage. The coldness in your eyes, when you told me of your fate —

Oh, I know I should have told you earlier, not to woo you, but to offer freedom, from your father. I could have taken you, away to where you most desired.

I know I should have told you earlier — I could have saved you.

I’m sorry, Josephine. I love you.

X.

He folded the letter with a quizzical expression. “Dearest Josephine,” he whispered to himself. “What’s your story?”

Taking out a fresh notepad from his desk drawer, he began writing.

———–

“Welcome to Entertainment Now, and on top news today – renowned author breaks writing block! Mark Stephenson launches his latest novel, Dearest Josephine — A Life to Remember. Critics say, it’s his best work yet!”


For some time now, I’ve been following Today’s Author where they periodically give us one-line prompts. I’ve been wondering if I was in the writer’s block zone and so, when I opened my mail to this prompt, I decided to try it. This is the first time I’ve responded to one of their prompts – and it was just so spontaneous.

National Blog Posting Month – #Day19

If Only…

Even the unlikeliest people can change our perspectives. If only we’d listen.

Sylvia Plath

Found this on Pinterest – Sylvia Plath has a way with words. Could there be a better way of saying it?


National Blog Posting Month – #Day16

A Touch of Mystery

Since I already posted my warmth photo in different light, for mystery, I decided to take a new approach.

The most mysterious thing to me is the human mind. Nothing too technical; it just baffles me how people sometimes work and think. For instance, it’s Saturday – which is officially a holiday – but I see a lot of my colleagues working as they do on a warm Tuesday afternoon. There’s always work to do, yes, but it matters how you prioritize your work and personal life. But here they are, emerged in their daily tasks, as if working through the weekend will reduce the workload.

So here’s the mystery: why do people work throughout the weekend, when instead, they could be enjoying cold coffee on the beach?

mystery

I guess I’ll never see their logic.

Also, I’ve edited the photo to give it a touch of mystery – what do you think?


 National Blog Posting Month – #Day15