Silenced #hiroshima #poetry #poem


Captive in the frame
Captive in the frame

Awakened from deafening noises

pushing away this long night mare

unsuccesful I rub my dark eyes

trying to look through a dusty cloud

I shake cob webs that I wear

Looking in a mirror

I lay back on the floor

 fear grabs me as I  curl up

knowing that this dream must end

or destruction has claimed my world


 Poet’s United Wednesday Motif is reflecting on the 69th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima or A-Bomb Day. We are prompted to write from the point of view of a character then or now.


No Time for Love #Tanrenga #poetry #art #photography

this dark autumn night
the bright stars of milky way
cries of geese above

(c) Lothar (Rheumatologe)

long lonely days we fly away

no time to stop dream of love

© mdw

This dark autumn night

the bright stars of milky way

cries of geese above

long lonely days we fly away

no time to stop dream of love

Photograph and drawing  ©L. Moon

We continue the Carpe Diem Tan Renga challenge in the month of November. Today the haiku prompt is by Lothar of Rhematologe.

Memories in a box #haiku #photography


All that remained

she lived in another time

memories in a box


memories in a box

one night set free

no holding back ghosts

reminders not needed

the world could see

The prompt at Verse First (hosted by Kim Nelson) is Ghosts, Spirits, Scares. I hope you feel the presence of a ghost  in my verse today.

We were instructed to write in 31 words or 31 lines in honor of October 31st. I chose using the haiku and tanka to write 31 lines.

Tanka:  is written by one poet and not by two (as is the echo form of the Tan Renga) the syllables count is: 5-7-5-7-7

Ghost Koi #Flashfiction #amwriting


*plunk” another pebble fell from my hand.

She’s gone. slipped right through my fingers like the stone.

I remember when she told me, “Honey, I’m a ghost. We have to find my killer before I  lose my potency.”

“Ghosts have potency levels?”

(The little things I didn’t know about my wife.)

“He killed you for your family’s BBQ recipe?”

” Best in the west” she grinned as she quoted the label.

I fell in love all over again, chasing down her killer.

They found him in a vat of the family recipe.


Now I hold her memory and aimlessly watch ghost  koi.


Today’s Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt is the photograph of the Koi taken by Douglas Macilroy.

The Ghost Rides #flashfiction

anelephantcant“That bicycle has been waiting for its owner for 50 years…”

“…That’s what a local told me.”

“Truth be told. That mangled piece of metal belonged to Sid from when he was a boy.”

“They looked for his body for months…. ”

“His ghost rides the bike through town on moonless nights.” A tourist stated. “We booked a room three extra nights –  in case he rides.”

“I like to sniff out a good story,” the journalist told the shopkeeper.

“I won’t let the reporter know I concocted the ghost story…”

“It’s been good for business.” The city council members shook their heads.

Take Two: I wanted there to be more mystery so this is ending #2:

“I promise I won’t tell my white lie to that nosy guy writing the story.”

“It’s been good for business though.” The city council members shook their heads.

Okay would love your feedback. Take One or Take Two???

The velocipede is a photo prompt (provided by anelephant can’t) for this week’s Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Join the other flash fictioneers in constructing a fictional story in 100 words.

No Kidding #newcago #noir #flashfiction


As I was hanging on the endless ladder, I heard a sound

“Sam you have had some interesting things cross your path but a goat?”

Somehow it gave me the incentive to climb faster.

There it was like a shoebox diorama of a distant past: a woman reading a book, a kid trotting about an untended grave site, peaceful death.

In angst I sighed.  “The people in NewCago have sacrificed so much for the sake of power and a few coin.”

There was no longer peace in Newcago streets even death was noisy as the ghostly victims could tell you.

Thanks to Rochelle our Fictioneer extraordinaire for the weekly prompts and for Randy Maize and the photo prompt for this week.

This is my final Newcago episode for Friday Fictioneers. I have decided to create a weekly series that will pull some of the elements from these stories and expand on them.

Go to page 2 to read last week’s Newcago serial and access the entire series

All Rung Up #flashfiction #noir #newcago



I was through the guarded door.

I realized it was more like a portal to…

The bleeding woman was gone.

Curious, the place seemed somewhat familiar.

I was precariously perched on a ladder with no top and no bottom – just endless rungs.

I could taste the sepia colored air – thick and dank like fires were always ablaze.

From somewhere and nowhere, I heard a bloodcurdling scream.

The scream reverberated in the ladder’s metal.

I knew this was not Newcago.

Tho it seems wherever I go there is mayhem.

For a moment I looked down, considering.

“Climb I must,” I smirked.

NewCago is a noir, metropolitan area that is plagued with a string of perhaps para normal bad guys. Sam (a private detective) seems to be the only one who can stay alive long enough to protect the citizens. How long can his luck last???

Follow Sam as he leaves Newcago and enters another world.

these are the previous “episodes” of the New Cago series:

Week 13 Holographic Deception

Here’s a list of the previous stories (the clues were week 11 & 12)

Week 10 in Newcago Serial No Dial Tone

Week 9 in Newcago serial Gathering Bodies

Week 8 in Newcago serial No place to hide

Week 7 in Newcago serial They were Pink

Week 6 In Newcago Serial You poison filled wasps

Week 5 in Newcago Serial The Doom Cycle

Week 4 in Newcago Serial Helpless

Week 3 in Newcago Serial When the Lights Go On

week 2 in Newcago Serial  Can’t Kill The Thirst

Week 1 in Newcago Serial Secret Weapon

Girl Ghost #NWCU #photography

Captive in the frame

Welcome to Wednesday Wake Up Call. I’m hosting today. Hope you enjoy the prompt.

I can’t tell you how long ago it was.

Sometimes it seems like yesterday – the first time I saw her face.

There was something so familiar, though I could not quite define it.

She looks so alone that girl frozen in the mirror.

What was it she saw that caused such terror?

Her eyes are like magnets I can’t look away.

Please tell me your story. I implored on this day.

An icy hand grasped mine and took me to a place behind the staircase.

Things too horrible to be told were there. A place that was beyond cold.

A smile of knowing was glazed on a horrible eyed half face. “you are us now” he grinned.

Now there is a new face in the mirror. I have taken her place.

Please set me free!!!!!

Photograph “Ghostly Image” L. Moon copyright 2011

I took a picture of this painting at a B&B. The mansion had a long history. I wondered if there was a girl captured in a frame.  I think the reflection of the staircase makes the picture more complicated. Would love to know what this inspires in others…

Woman in the Mirror #shortstory

It was a wet rainy day. I really was not intending to browse in the musty antique store but at that moment I was passing  there was a fierce downpour which forced me indoors. I tried to take a deep breath but the dust clogged my nostrils;  I forced myself to breath as little as necessary.

“Welcome” the old shopkeeper smiled an aged, toothless smile. I gathered she was as old as some of the pieces. “Please tell me if I can be of assistance deary”.

I walked around the cluttered rows of dingy furniture.  “Ah light,” I gasped as I took the stairs two at a time. ” Maybe there will be something worth looking at up there and perhaps less dust.” I said in a hushed voice realizing her hearing was also ancient.   “Squeek, clop, clop” I sounded like a horse  on wooden slats.

At last I was upstairs. I turned around in a room that seemed so airy and springlike. I could almost hear birds chirping. The sun was streaming in from a skylight. “How is that possible?” I shook my head as if in a fairy tale.  I minded little the time I might spend here. I looked at item after item – each “one of a kind” in my estimation. Then I felt warmth as if a hand touched mine. I looked down and my hand was resting on a beautiful yellowing mirror. The lines from the elephant tusk were obvious as I ran my hand over the smooth  ivory. I felt the need to see if the mirror was cracked so I turned it over. As I gazed at myself, I was shocked at what I saw.

“I dont own a brocade, three-quarter sleeve gown. What am I thinking? I dont own any gowns.”  I heard a whisper from behind me. It must be an open window. Then I heard it clearly.

” Come close let me look at you.”

” Who are you, ” I asked trying to keep the trembling in my voice down.

“My name is Janille Constantine.”

” My name is Malina.”

” I  like that name Malina. I have never heard that name before. Have you seen him today?” she asked in a beautiful lyrical voice.

“Have I seen whom?”

” My lover of course. We are supposed to meet here so that my intended would not see us.” Janille giggled with mirth.

” No I am sorry what does he look like? ”

“He is very handsome. He rides the blackest of stallions and his blue eyes carry mischief  and love.”

” I’m sure if I saw him I would remember him.” I had to look again into the mirror as I was certain that I could not be carrying on this conversation with myself.

“Yes he always wears a bowler hat and carries a smart cane.”

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Why on Jersey shore of course my dear. I am from the Constantine family; we live in a darling home on the sea-shore in the summer and we return to our plantation in the fall once the disease has left the lowlands.”

“My what an exciting life you must lead. I would love to see your home. ”

“Yes alas I believe once papa knows about Roland he will send me away to my aunt’s.” her r rolled in a perfect southern drawl.

“What about your intended?”

“Oh Joseph. He is a good boy but he is not a man who knows the world. He is protected by his mama.”

“Oh” I started to smile. I had dated someone like that and was glad the “love of my life” lived on the edge.

“Then why don’t you break it up with Joseph? ”

“Well I have discussed it with Roland he always tells me no and tells me to shush.”

Just then I heard the sound of a gun shot.

” Oh my what am I to do? What is it?”

“A man has been shot outside of the shop. You must hide – please hide.”

“Where? ”

“Under a bureau!”

“Yes I will.”  I held my breath waiting as I heard the pounding of footsteps on the stairs as suddenly as they came up they went back down.

“No one is here. That scoundrel Roland.”

” He’s dead.”  I heard a mouse like  voice.

” Murielle your husband was a cheat and a gambler. It is better this way come home with your older brother.”

I heard crying as a face came back into view. “They killed him my Roland. Who was the woman? Oh my I guess he was married. I never knew.”

“But you are safe Janille.”

“Yes I am I will return to my papa’s home in South Carolina. I will never return here again.” She tried to sound brave but her voice could not countain the soft cries.

“Goodbye Malina.” a sweet voice said and then the mirror went dark.

When I went home I googled the name of Constantine. There it was the picture of the beautiful, young woman I had spoken with. She had unexpectedly died by gunshot in the street in New Jersey on her way home.

I looked up the name of Roland and found several who lived in the area then I saw him. The most daring and compelling blue eyes and I knew why she had loved that captivating man.

I went back to the antique store on another rainy day. I was curious to see whom I might meet…

This short story was inspired by the elephant tusk mirror that was an heirloom and an archived poem I wrote.

Photograph: “Gradma’s Mirror”  L. Moon copyright 2011

A Rained on Ghost (Guest Poet – Spotlight)

The rain little more than a dull

trickling, I huddle. I peer over

the curb’s edge.

The puddle of dreams, my mirror

of desire. My fairytale reflection.

I gasp.

I am not there. I am invisible. I

am little more than a shadow. A


A rained on ghost.

© Catt Turner 2010

Inspiration hits at all sorts of strange moments. I can be cooking, cleaning, reading, working, when bang! It’s there and it won’t go away until I stop what I am doing and use it. With this, I was reading poetry when suddenly the idea of being invisible, or not having a reflection hit, and this is what appeared on the page.