Tag Archives: Dichtung

Dreaming of Hollywood

This week I have posted a piece of poetry, a villanelle.

It reminds me of sitting in a hot, dark bar in San Salvador wondering why was I there. At the time, the country was in turmoil with rumours of a civil war.

Cottonbro – Pexel.com

Dreaming of Hollywood

When we met in September’s heat one lonely night.
They were playing soft Jazz in the Bertolt Brecht bar
Where she was sipping mojitos under a flickering light.

She licked her sulky red lips, her dress smooth and white
She asked me to drive her somewhere, anywhere not far
When we met in September’s heat one lonely night.

The jazz switched to Latin and couples were holding tight
I said let’s Salsa and away from drinking at the bar
Where she was sipping mojitos under a flickering light.

She uncrossed her legs, her bare thighs flashing in the light
What happened here? And she caressed my facial scar
When we met in the September’s heat one lonely night

I said, it’s a reminder over a woman I lost in a fight
We could go to a room, she smiled and I lit up my cigar
Where she was sipping mojitos under a flickering light.

She purred, and asked me politely to pay for her flight
As she spoke of her dreams of being a Hollywood star
When we met in September’s heat one lonely night
Where she was sipping mojitos under a flickering light.

Cherry Blossom

Thanks once again to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for leading us in another:

Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Cherry Blossom

Bravo, encore, applause.
I soak my handkerchief from the emotional turmoil as I realise the beautiful cherry orchard will no longer blossom.
Society’s Axe of change has turned us away from the sweet taste of Kirsch.
Instead, liberation from feudalism offers the poor an alternative brutal taste of vodka and rally cries of revolution.
Lost is their appetite for a ripe, delicate life since they wish to gorge on blood in a drunken fratricide.
What if their future becomes trapped in years of hunger and social poverty?
Perhaps Anya will think back and talk about the beauty of cherry blossom.

Piano For Sale

Friday Fictioneers – Read other stories here.

Hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Piano for Sale.

‘It’s in the cellar. Each flat has a storage cage.’
She moved the boxes and we squeezed past towards the piano.
Our noses touched. I felt her heat; she brushed against me to open the lid.
‘You should get it tuned.’
As I played “Liebestruam”, I felt her breath in my ear.
‘You play so perfectly.’
She wrapped herself onto me, her chin on my shoulder.
I played on; my knees quavered, my heart in tremolo and I ached for her.
Poco a poco, our breathing accelerando.
‘You must stay.’
We were strangers, in love with music.
Ci baciamo adagio.

**
(We kiss slowly)

Forked Tongue – James McEwan

Forked Tongue

The good people at Literally Stories have picked my contribution – Forked Tongue – as their Sunday read. They have included some background information on what inspired me to write the story from my time living in Berlin.

Please read the story here: Literally Stories – Forked Tongue – James McEwan

Let the Literally Stories team know if you enjoyed the reading experience by leaving a brief comment on their page.

Many thanks to Leila Allison for selecting my work as a re-read on their site.

 

Tinker Tailor Fashion–Spy

I really like this picture as my daughter has a similar pin cushion and there are other items which are recognisable and nostalgic; indeed.

Friday Fictioneers – Go and read their stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Tinker Tailor Fashion Spy 

Caroline was just an ordinary seamstress, sewing to earn a few pennies.
She was under arrest; her background being scrutinised.
No comment was all she mumbled to the fashion police. They beat her.
She was a fool: the pin cushion from Hong Kong and the military buttons pointed to her Intelligence role in the Far East.
That was years ago. She was a civilian now and it was commercial espionage.
She had stolen Valantino’s top secret pattern for the Princess’s ballroom dress. Everyone would love a copy, like Cinderella.
Caroline was tight lipped, as an army veteran her pension meant poverty.

Mind Control

 

Read the other ‘100 word stories’ at Friday Fictioneers 

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Mind Control

People were enthralled with the street art of halo-lights, it was fun.
Over time, their interest waned and slowly their minds sunk into abject docility.
Did anyone notice their robotic behaviour, their blank stare and repetitive monotone exchanges?
Professor Katrina Mayne knew why.
The Overlords had hijacked her pioneering medical research; Egon waves to pacify disturbed patients and help them recover from mentally impaired brains.
She knew how the system worked and had to stop the Higher Council enacting their citizen control policy. The human right of free expression was being subdued.
Katrina struggled and bit at the straight-jacket straps.

A Warning Anagram

Friday Fictioneers – inlinkz

PHOTO PROMPT © Randy Mazie

A Warning Anagram

‘Whoever created time.’ Holmes mumbled as sweat dripped from his chin. ‘Must control the universe.’
I sprinted to catch up. ‘It’s abandoned. You were wrong Holmes.’
‘No, Watson, those walls conceal the Tardis.’ He wiped his brow. ‘See, a warning; Transgression S – S for Sherlock.’
I stared at his intellectual smugness forming laughter lines by his eyes. The dust burned in my lungs, and Holmes’s grin prompted me to draw my pistol. If I shot him, I’d be free from this mad quest?
‘Yes, let’s be careful,’ Holmes said. ‘We may have overstepped the Time Lord’s patience.’

Book Trailers – Do they work?

I gave a short presentation in the Waterstones Book shop in Glasgow last Sunday. It was part of an ‘open mic’ session hosted by Indie Authors World.

In the five minutes, (actually lasted more like an agonising ten minutes), allocated I had the opportunity to present my book, MISSING, to the captivated audience.

I started with my trrailer and heard a few gasps – I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. However everyone enjoyed the talk and said they found the book interesting. The response was honest from the peer group of budding authors, they are all nice friends.

Have a look at the ‘Book Trailer’ and tell me what you think.

MISSING – The trailer

Are these short promotional clips worth the effort?

Infatuation

 

Friday Fictioneers – Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

Infatuation

The draft wafted a fragrance of jasmine across the counter: I looked up.
‘Carmen!’
‘Hello Joe, can I have one for the matinee?’ She fumbled in her handbag. ‘Usual seat, please.’
‘One? What’s happened to John?’
‘Please, I am in a hurry.’ She passed over the ten-dollar bill and grabbed the ticket. A silver ring rolled from her purse and fell behind the counter.
‘I’ll get that.’ I held it up as she walked away. ‘Carmen, your ring.’
‘Keep it, throw it. I don’t care.’
She slammed the door as she rushed out.
Yes! Tomorrow, I’ll ask her to dinner.

 

______________________________

This week I prepared a basic book trailer for my novel MISSING. It is on my author page, if you would like to watch it..

Author Page- James McEwan

 

Grandma’s Home

Friday Fictioneers – ttps://rochellewisoff.com/2019/06/12/14-june-2019/#like-8927

PHOTO PROMPT © Valerie J. Barrett

Grandma’s Home

My Grandma’s cottage is a museum now; clean and full of curiosities that visitors point at. Her blackened kettle and the old iron shine as if new.

She was a small woman, but resilient, strong and religiously devout. Like my grandfather and father, I would shake in terror when she called us for dinner.

She rapped our knuckles with the spoon if any hands, faces or finger nails showed traces of lead dust. We prayed, thankful for our cleanliness and our daily bread.

Grandma believed that personal pride was above poverty, and every home in our community washed their steps.

***

This week’s photograph remined me of my visits to Wanlockhead – now a tourist/museum site.

https://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/wanlockhead/wanlockhead/index.html