Strawberry Memories


Woman With Red Lipstick Biting Strawberry

Photo by Oleg Magni from Pexels


She tasted like a memory sweet

Was that strawberry upon her lips?

Like the ripe fruit we shared while picking

The luscious juice from her chin drips

Teasingly removed by my tongue’s flicking

Was that strawberry upon her lips?

Or was it just a dream?




Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: “she tasted like memory” [used as a beginning rather than an ending]



Shooting Star: A Haibun (with double haiku)


Dark, Darkness, Meteor, Night

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

I drove past a quiet lay-by today.  It was the same one that a couple of years ago I went to with my wife to observe a meteor storm.  The ambient light in our little town made seeing the spectacle difficult so we drove a couple of miles out of town and parked to watch the light show.  It remains a memorable experience, and even more so since she is now gone.

A flash of brilliance
Streak of light lifting the heart
So swiftly passing

You too a life-light
Giving incredible joy
But you to have passed



Visiting the Past

Photo credit: ©

The past is open to us

It requires no machine

For in our memory

We can recall what we’ve seen


Our lives roll out before us

All that’s come a fore

With a smile we can remember

Events we adore


Our loves and fond encounters

To visit in our minds

Requiring just moment

Never leaving them behind


So time travel is a concept

Not made just for science fiction

But a reality to us all

With just a little reflection




Inspiration Call: Time Travel

Time travel was a genre of both literature and film that my wife, Dianne enjoyed.  She marveled at concept and adored Dr Who, Time Traveller’s Wife, Somewhere in Time, and so many more.  I am blessed now by the memory of having shared these with her, and as the poem suggests revisiting the life we had together.


Horse, Cob, Piebald, Animal, Equestrian, Equine, Mane

Image by Penstones from Pixabay 

It was late summer and a refreshing summer breeze gently blew. The Roma family sat near a clearing at the roadside, their piebald pony munching grass as they themselves ate breakfast.  They did not hear the approach of the SS patrol from the forest, nor expect the burst of automatic fire.  They could not know of the burning of their wagon home, or that their precious pony would become the property of a Ukrainian peasant after the beast had bolted. No more laughter or music would flow from their campfires, nor would any ever again lovingly call their names.

(99 Words)


Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Challenge