Month: August 2018

The Sunflower : a short fiction as prose

he planted a sunflower
deep in the forest
one moonlit night
when he was sleepwalking,
it was a lucid
recurring dream of his
which troubled him
for several weeks
so much so
that he could no longer rest
and spent many a midnight
from there on in
searching in vain
for his lost bloom
unaware
that it had already withered
and died.

Head Lines

Mister Hit-Parade is dead
Senta Berger jumps for joy
there’s crumbs of Wordsworth in my bed
for rhymes I must employ.

So I spark a docker’s delight
and hope my ship comes in
as I dream it every night
I write it all down with a grin

The table turns and Stevie sings
Noël Coward drops to the floor
Jane wrote a line about apron strings
but alas I can’t write anymore.