A peaceful night is ended
By the first light of morning
Before a bright Sun soaring
Over the edge of the ocean.
Inside, the tent has become a planetarium
Shining droplets of condensation-stars
Refracting rainbows of morning dew
Formed from the radiant body heat
Of weary pilgrims happily beat
Upon the Kumano Trail. Read more
Snow still sits atop the highest peaks
Like vanilla icing, dripping
From rocky road ice cream cones,
Shining, sleek with sweat
From its battle with the Sun.
Down by the lake,
playfully shimmering water
shines a halo around the pink tutu
Of Cherry Blossom ballerinas,
Dancing aloft with a woodwind breeze. Read more
Five more skewers are placed on the grill.
The sizzling smell of succulence pervades the air
As red hot, charcoal flames seer through chicken flesh.
A dash of seven spices and sprinkle of soy sauce
Spill into the coals which burst forth in flame
Hungrily dancing to the mouth-watering melody
Of the sizzle and pop of skewers
atop the blackened cast iron grill.
“Sister!” shouts a drunk chasing his chicken with liqour
As he deepens the debt he has taken from tomorrow:
A loan of happiness to be brutally collected
By the shark of a wife he left lurking the waters at home.
But for now the man pays no attention to debt,
Much prefering to let his drunk eyes rest
On the soft complexion of the young waitress
Who graciously enables his addiction to escape.
Another round goes down at the bar
Whose sole occupant slowly succumbs
To the fermented grapes of Bacchus pleasure
And the delerious thoughts as deep as his wine is red
Only to find a box of fanzia behind the bar.
Sweat slips down my chest.
The saunas heat swaddles meー
I dream amidst snow.
Thoughts while waiting for the train last night. Inspired by Ronovan Writes weekly Haiku Challenge: Sweat and Heat.
Cheers to the approaching end of winter!
Steady rain blankets the plaza
And shrouds late afternoon with early night.
A torrential downpour of fine droplets
That deceptively make no sound
Above the wind of the winter typhoon.
Only the plod of boots is heard
As they splash through frigid puddles.
The eyes of gods’ down trodden faces
Hover over their soaked leather soles,
Watching the light of street lamps
Dance through the watery explosions
Of each booming step.
Shoulders, as hunched as they are wet,
Desperately cling to the ear lobes
Of the now neck-less masses
Holding on to the remnants of heat
Yet to be drained away by the dreary winter storm.
The sonorous roar of the packed crowd reverberated through the soft koa wood of my guitar, harmonizing, amplifying, and prolonging the death of the final G still bravely holding its ground in the trenches of the third.
The reinforcement of voices wasn’t in time to save the note—who died glorious and pure—and I found myself caught on the banks of an emotional stream whose dam had suddenly, and violently, broke.
The warm spotlight left me with a final, radiant embrace as the house lights came up and I saw no more than a handful of close friends crammed into the shitty dive bar, cheering louder than Madison Square Garden at capacity.
Written for Week 55 of Three Line Tales. It’s been a while, but it’s nice to be back! please leave a like and a comment if you’re so inclined!
Photo by Edwin Andrade
For a similar flash fiction piece I wrote last year, check out Christmas Eve Concert
The other day I saw a man.
He was walking across the street and a few paces ahead of me, such that his face was shielded from my gaze. I wasn’t sure why, but something about the man attracted my wandering eyes. In voyeur, I viewed him at a distance. Read more