Stretched at a fire with crackling log
Brimful saucers of creamy eggnog
Treats under the table
Perhaps a catnip mouse
Joy and laughter fill up the house
Coloured ribbons for me to chase
Beaming smiles on every face
Fur-stroking pats
From hands old and new
Yes, cats love Christmas too
Mia Yow is a writer, artist and animal lover (especially cats). Her present cat was a stray which arrived at her door on Boxing Day (The Feast of St Stephen) many years ago.
Cutting flesh was not as easy as he had thought it would be. It dragged. But there was another hand guiding his, and a voice
whispering; telling him what to do. He listened carefully to that other as the rain dripped from the rafters of the warehouse
onto his sins.
Anya Carpzov read English Literature and Drama at Exeter University. She also has a degree in Law from London University. Her first novel, The Mental Hospital, was published in 2008. She writes for Ether Books and has recently produced a book of short stories entitled Ten Minute Tales. She is a member of the Society of Authors.
You turn away; my lips brush your hair. It’s like reaching for the moon and falling into its watery reflection instead.
You sneer; your songs become grumbles.
See the full moon rising? It’s your face: my fingers touch you, and I am turned upside-down in the water: I’m waiting; drowning.
Rachel Rose Teferet enjoys designing websites, creative writing, and goat herding. Her website is lettersandfeathers.wordpress.com.
Describe HER:
A gentle breeze of pure virtue blowing tenaciously.
An epitome of unconditional and humane love.
A devotee to service of the weakest and meekest.
Unconditional worker without expectations.
An Angel in human form.
A Saint who has totally surrendered to God’s will.
That is our Beloved Mother Teresa.
Vaidya Shankar is an Engineer by profession with an interest in writing.
In Shastonbury children weep
for want of food and lack of sleep.
They drink the rain and talk to sheep
in the ancient town of Shastonbury.
Shastonbury, I’ve heard tell,
is like a wetter form of Hell.
They rue the clouds and curse the smell,
the shepherd boys of Shastonbury.
“No, sir,” said she, sincere as can be, “I never did ignite this fire!”
“Listen well, girl,” answered Inspector Earl, “I half suspect you are a liar!”
“Suspicions of arson?” inquired the parson, obsequious, timid, subdued.
“Indeed,” replied Earl, “though, no, not the girl… The arsonist, sir; it was you!”
This poem was based on the prompt “this fire” at TypeTrigger.
Hear the tale of the infamous Captain Paul,
Whose ship was sunk by a lucky cannonball
However, just before the ship started sinking,
Captain Paul took the rum and went down drinking.
It’s said of the great pirate, God bless his bones,
that he is now drinking with Davy Jones.
Austin is a new writer who enjoys writing short (tiny) stories… and occasionally prose stories.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if life
had handlebars?
A simple way to steer;
Something to hold
for balance;
A little bell,
to let people know
we were coming;
And a headlight
to help us see
the road in front of us.
Come to think of it,
how about some brakes?
This story was based on the prompt “handlebar” at TypeTrigger.
There’s a valley in the mountains
where the blue grass grows,
where the blue wind blows,
where the blue sky glows.
There’s a shepherd in the valley
searching wide and deep
for his lost blue sheep;
never stops for sleep.
There’s a valley in the mountains,
bluest place I’ve seen.
This story is based on a title suggested by Larissa via Facebook.
Water is my favourite drink
I sure find it delicious
If some old bad guy stole it all
I’d find it quite malicious
What would we do?
Where would we go?
We’d get so dehydrated
That’s why I built this reservoir
And sat down here
And waited
My lifestyle’s underrated