Barbed Wire

Like barbed wires…

they come between you and that of which you dream.

You may not mount and ride, nor be one with stallion and wind;

Yet you can’t but reach for that one tantalizing touch of what could be.

photo by Marian Oleksyn via Unsplash

In response to Three Line Tales 247


I lie scattered,

like an old toy that has been used, abused and outlived its value.

My kohl-sodden tears etch the tumultuous journey of my life across my withered face.

Somewhere in the recess of my foggy mind the wail of a siren gets louder.

photo by Nareeta Martin via Unsplash


In response to Three Line Tales 246



purposeful strides leading somewhere…

A somewhere that could very well be nowhere…

Yet even a purpose to nowhere is better than no purpose at all.

photo by Zac Ong via Unsplash

Written for Week 245 of Three Line Tales

When waters flow

“It’s supposed to be our honeymoon. You wanted a romantic place. You wanted a surprise. I’m not asking you to swim, just walk across a few bridges.”

The brochure he waved before my face did nothing to reduce my panic or dislodge my frozen feet.

Somehow my desperate shaky hands managed to open Google and type “Potamophobia.”

In response to Week 241 of Three Line Tales.

Photo by Sam Mouat via Unsplash

Note: Potamophobia is the irrational fear of rivers or running water. Suddenly I wondered ‘what if a Venetian actually feared water?’ and thus sprang this tale.