Carpe Diem #301, Meigetsu (Harvest Moon, the full moon of September)

 Moon - One Night Past Full - 7/23/13

For the harvest moon, a lunar fairy tale in haiku form.

~~~

in the ripe field
under the bright harvest moon
the lunar fairy

~~~

rapt in her beauty
i reach out but she tells me
you are not the one

~~~

for four long weeks
i long for her return
clouds cover the moon

~~~

each full moon
i get a brief glimpse of her
as she departs

~~~

this exquisite pain
my love for the lost fairy
i take to my grave

~~~

Carpe Diem #301

Carpe Diem Special #38, Kyoshi Takahama's 'a gold bug'.

There will be episodes this Summer when posting will be 

spotty to non-existent.  

I managed to get in one more post

before the current hiatus.

I'll be back.

 Image Source

Inspirational haiku

kogane-mushi nageutsu yami no fukasa kana

a gold bug -
I hurl into the darkness
and feeling the depth of night

~~:~~:~~

little sparks from the depth of my night

~ 1 ~

fireflies dancing
little bits of bright stardust
when the sun goes down

~ 2 ~

old man smiles watching
his grandchildren chase fireflies
on a summer night

~ 3 ~

firefly swarm
draws an unsuspecting man
to the fairy queen

~ 4 ~

moose is dingy brown
goose [when clean] is a bright white
but lightning bug GLOWS

~ 5 ~

does spider revel
in the warm glow cast by a
firefly in the web

>(:)<

Carpe Diem Special #38

 

Carpe Diem # 110 - Verdant

Image Source

In the verdant meadow

She arrives on fairy wings

Blossoms in her hair

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

See the fairy queen

Clothed in leaves and soft fern fronds

Her eyes flashing green

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Verdant for a while

Learned things at a lawn party

Splendor in the grass.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

My verdant front yard

Strangely still green in Winter

Now Hides under snow

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Green fields are resting
Under a blanket of snow
To waken in Spring 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

UPDATE:

But wait - there's more!
I just learned here of the Fibonacci haiku derivative, or "Fib"

So, here is a shot at that form. 

A
Green
Field Grows
Rich and lush
Over the dark soil
Deep layers of organic dirt

Carpe Diem #110

Five Sentence Fiction - Inspire

I'm very late to this one.  Well, sometimes life aint easy.  But there are still over 13 hours left - so  .  .  .

INSPIRE

When she woke from the dream, Marci felt drawn to her easel.

Usually she would carefully strategize and then sketch out a drawing; this time the paints almost seemed to spontaneously fly to the canvas, as if the brush were guiding her hand.

Eventually, it dawned on her that he hadn't yet had breakfast, so she set the brush down and stepped back for a moment.

Yes - the likeness was almost perfect; she had captured the dreamy beauty of that long oval face, though her eyes weren't quite the exact shade of green.

Now - to get the angle just right on her wing  .  .  .

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Reduced to a haiku

Image from a dream
Brought to life on a canvas
With green eyes and wings 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Marci's Thread

100 WCGU #71

Somehow, I missed the 12/31 prompt until just now.

.  .  .  as midnight struck  .  .  .

I had already recast this FSF MIDNIGHT story as a haiku, but here is another take using the prompt, coming in at a very economical 13 words.

On midsummer's eve
As midnight struck she went out
To find a fairy

Source

Five Sentence Fiction - Midnight

A prompt with so many possibilities  .  .  .

It took me back a couple of decades to Marci's childhood, where I discovered this event.   The challenge was to tell of it in five only moderately run-on sentences.

MIDNIGHT

Like many 10-year-old girls, Marci believed in Fairies; and unlike most she had good reason to - so midnight at mid-summer seemed like the best time to go find one.

She sneaked out of the house and ran the five blocks to the little neighborhood park - the perfect place at the perfect time - and just then a connection to their world opened, and she stepped across.

Soon she came across a real fairy, the size of a grown woman with a wing-span at least twice her height, awesome and terrible in her austere beauty, who was not at all happy to see her.

She spoke strange words in her melodious voice, rippling like the fast water in a shallow brook*, but somehow Marci understood their meaning: "Go home child, you were not invited here - and you are not yet ready."

When Marci woke the next morning she thought it might just have been a dream, but years later she discovered it was all true.

 Picture source

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku 

In search of fairies
A little girl at midnight
Is she just dreaming?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* It sounded more or less like this:  Mene kotiin lapsi, sinun ei kutsuttu tänne - ja et ole vielä valmis.


Marci's thread

The Lure of a Fairie

The challenge from dVerse poets is to cast a poem in second person.  I don't think the examples given quite fill the bill. Herrick's imperative "Gather Ye Rosebuds" is spoken at someone, not having them be the active center of the narrative.  In "City of Orgies" Whitman talks about Manhattan.   Am I picking too fine a nit?

An optional part of the request is to recast an original poem into 2nd person. I've done that here with a Five Sentence flash fiction story, which is really only a half step removed from poetry, anyway


THE LURE OF A FAIRIE

The Park draws you
It's so peaceful
Comforting at dusk

Among the trees
You see a glowing cloud
Fireflies perhaps

Curious you approach
Among the trees
Suddenly full dark

The world slips
And you see her
Amid the glow

A queen in her court
A legion of tiny glowing
Female figures

And her face
So strange and lovely
She turns

Her gaze on you
Moss green eyes
Turn emerald glowing

Choosing you
She beckons
And you come

~  ~  ~  ~  ~
 

I'm less than delighted with the result.  Maybe I forced something into the wrong shape.  Feel free to crit.

Friday Flash 55

I haven't tasted human flesh yet, but I have written a Friday Flash 55.

Source

A FAIRIE'S EYES

The green of fairie's eyes varies with lighting and mood -- yours and hers.

Emerald in sunlight or passion; moss or fern in winter, or low light.

Jade if angered or you hurt them badly.

Under filtered moonlight, or at dusk [if you are especially pensive] they can appear gray.

But that is an illusion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is reduced to 55 words from a comment I left at Jasmine Calyx.   It was rather stream of consciousness at the time, and doubly so now.

The Sunday Whirl - Wordle 86

On Tuesday.  As Ford Prefect once said, "Time is an illusion."  Link up here.

This array at first looked to be intractable, so I let it rest for a day.  Late last night I decided to compose a series of haiku with a common first line that illuminates the mythos of my developing story. In the Wikipedia article on Fairies there is a section heading "A Hidden People."  Five syllables and very close to what I needed.  After a little editing this morning, and arranging into what I think is the proper sequence, here they are.

The hidden people

Live in a magical space

Not so far from us.

The hidden people

Might coast overhead on their

Diaphanous Wings.

The hidden people

Have never forged steel weapons

Just obsidian.

The hidden people

Prefer bland climate; coats fit

Poorly over wings.

The hidden people

Know magic is old hat and

Weave spells from spirits.

The hidden people

Display the entire spectrum

Of green in their eyes.

The hidden people

Have innate eroticism;

They don't mate for life.

The hidden people

Will be relentless when they

Don't know what they seek.

The hidden people

seem delicate but can have

Power over us.

The hidden people,

Not fecund, tap into our

rampant fertility.

The hidden people

Can rejuvenate us with

The power of love

The hidden people

Suffer from stress and whither

If trapped in our world.

100 WCGU #68

This week's prompt is a sentence fragment: ….they worked when I put them away….

Here, in exactly 100 words, is a follow up to Uncle Albert's Desk.

I wanted to explore the desk further, but had no unused words.

Weird Cubby Holes

Marci decided that such a bulky piece of furniture needed to do more than just take up space.  The cubby holes behind the roll top were perfect for storing her transistor radio, tape player, and the watch Rob gave her.

Later, she replaced the batteries in the radio and tape player, but neither ever ran again.  She took the watch to a repair shop and paid more than the original purchase price for a new mechanism.  But afterward it always ran unpredictably either fast or slow.

“It’s weird,” she told her friend Amy, “they worked when I put them away.”

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a Haiku 

Why did that old desk

Cast aberrations on those

Mechanical things?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a six word story

What

Secrets does

That desk hold?

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Marci's thread

Found Fairie

A story in Haiku form

Picture found here

Impossibly thin,
That girl is a fairie with
Invisible wings.

It hurts them to be

Here with clandestine wings.

Their eyes turn jade green.

In our gravity

Invisible wings fail them

So they must walk home.

See a fairie more

Than once - be kind to her - she

Can't find her way back.

And she will wither

In our place all addled with

Math, science, machines.

To help her get home;

Walk with her in moonlight and

Trees - Make love to her.

Then when you awake

She's gone but leaves a never

Fading memory.

Friday Flash 55

On Saturday.  I'm a day late, but have a dollar in my pocket.

Here are two entries, continuing the weird story that is building itself in a variety of flash formats.

CHERYL'S BABY

[continued from here]

Cheryl gazes at her new-born daughter’s beautiful face, not quite identical to hers – a variation on a theme.

Her wisps of blond hair are curly.

Her little dimpled knees, her fingers and toes are perfect.

Everything about her is perfect.  Everything.

She yawns and stretches the way babies do, and flutters her tiny diaphanous wings.  

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

LOVE AND MARRIAGE

[continued from here]

As Cheryl and Gil are preparing dinner, she says, " We haven’t cooked together for a while."

Gil catches her meaning.

Later that night, as they lay with their limbs entangled, Cheryl whispers, "I really do love you."

"Really?,” Gil wonders.  How much was she doubting herself?

"And I really do love you," he replies.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~ 

Friday Flash 55 discovered via Ann Pino

Cheryl's thread

Gil's thread

Five Sentence Fiction - Time

For reasons that should become abundantly clear quite soon, I am especially delighted that on today, of all days, our prompt is TIME.

TIME OUT

Marci met The Time Shifter at a small, out of the way club where he played magical jazz piano for tips he didn't need and drinks that seemed to sustain him.

He also worked real magic and, for a while, she thought he might be a god.

At midnight, after he finished off a set of odd-metered Brubeck tunes* with The Unsquare Dance - and she finished off her third glass of Pinot Noir - he walked a long way with her through shadow to a place where time slips along a different stream and the gibbous sun hung just past its zenith. 

They made love there on the soft grass by a waterfall under the sheltering boughs of a weirwood tree, slept entwined, then, as the russet sun stained the late afternoon sky magenta, made love again.

When they walked back into the club, only nine minutes had elapsed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a haiku

Time flies when you make

Love, but if the time is right,

Takes no time at all.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a six word story

Love

At times

Can be timeless

 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

* Dave Brubeck passed on yesterday.  He would have been 92 today.  He was a pioneer in taking jazz to times and places never before explored with tunes like TAKE FIVE, BLUE RONDO ALA TURK, and the simple but not simplistic UNSQUARE DANCE.

My brief paean to Dave Brubeck can be found here.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

This vignette, another part of Marci's back story, occurs several years before Marci and Gil reunite - in fact, before they even met for the first time.

Marci's thread

Sunday Whirl

Wordle 85.  On Monday.   I am not perfect.

This time, I'm exploring the strange and unexpected turn Cheryl's life has taken since the seduction by her not-quite-human paramour.  This story is developing in ways that are no more planned than Cheryl's pregnancy, so it all might seem a bit choppy.   As yet, there is only one glaring inconsistency, and so far nobody knows about it but me - and Cheryl's illicit lover, whoever or whatever he might be.

This is, I think, the 5th meme that I have used for inspiration among the 4 threads of this story.  The Wordle words are highlighted in this 144 word vignette.  For context, you can click the "Cheryl's thread" link at the end of the post or in the right hand frame.

SEPARATIONS

They parted at the footbridge.  Cheryl walked alone through the trees, then glanced back past the FORK in the path, but he was gone, as she knew he would be.  Her mood WAXED to MANIC joy at the thought of the new life taking form [though a strange form it would surely be] inside her, the by-blow of this weird and unexpected AFFAIR, then crashed to FORLORN despair.

Now she had a dual identity, with her life HEWN into mundane and eutre fragments that could never FUSE, nor even have anything to do with each other.  The worst of this CLASH was that Gil could never FIND out.

The SAND of the unpaved lot scrunched under her tires as she started the long DRIVE home.  She knew what Gil would DESIRE when she arrived, and had only a few short hours to compose herself.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku

 Now so wildly torn,
What can she make of her life
In two worlds apart?

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

As a Six Word Story*

 Cheryl
Walked back,
A changed woman.

*Discovered

Via Link

At Jasmine Calyx

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Cheryl's thread

Flash Fiction Exercise -- Uncle Albert's Desk

For good or for ill, I've discovered a new flash fiction meme - or at least an exercise, since this might be a one-off.   Following Lillie's FSF links, I visited Laura McHale Holland, and found her flash fiction challenge.  She writes an opening sentence, and this is the prompt for a fiction element of 500 words or less.  My initial reaction to the prompt was that there wasn't much I could do with it, but then something creative kicked in and I'm very pleased with the result -- most especially so, since it illuminates a bit of Marci's back-story that I was totally unaware of.  I love it when things like that happen.  In this vignette, Marci is a recent college graduate, ready to set the course for her life.

Here it is in 347 words.

UNCLE ALBERT'S DESK

She knew right away the stamps were no good — no good for mailing anyway.  They were, if anything, Marci thought, even stranger than the other weird artifacts in the oversized roll-top desk that crazy old great-uncle Albert had bequeathed to her.  He had disposed of most of the detritus of his picaresque life before his final illness laid him low.  But either he never got around to the contents of this desk, or they were things he simply couldn’t bear to part with. 

There was the quill he used as a writing pen, that he claimed was a hippogriff feather, and a vicious-looking, foot-long bony spike he said was a manticore's sting.  Marci unrolled the tattered scrap of what looked like starched silk, but felt like a rubbery membrane.  Uncle Albert claimed it was a torn remnant of a fairie's wing. The only time Marci had ever seen him break down in tears was when he told her that story.

With a sigh, she rerolled what was left of the wing and returned to the strip of stamps.  Each was the size of a playing card, and as she touched each one, its picture seemed to come to life for a brief instant.  The sad-eyed fairy fluttered her wings and hid her face in her hands.  The threatening-looking unicorn aggressively stomped a fore-hoof.  The lascivious faun satyr, strutting in full tumescence, winked and thrust himself at her.

Suddenly aroused, Marci shuddered and, blushing, put the stamps away and closed the desk.  Here in uncle Albert's study was not the place to explore those kinds of ideas.  Before Rob moved off to Lansing, she'd have him and his friends move the desk to her apartment.

There she could explore the many oddities of this old desk, and ponder the things she found there at her leisure.  Most specially those stamps.  Maybe that shy fairy had a sad tale to share.  Maybe the faun satyr could teach her about pleasure in ways she hadn't yet imagined.  And maybe that unicorn could transport her to adventures in a strange new world.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Reduced to a haiku

Desk full of relics:

Dust of a life, portal to

Some strange adventure

Marci's thread

Triple Visual Dare

Following FSF links, at Sarah's place I learned of Angela Goff's Visual Dare.

This gave me an opportunity to explore another aspect of the increasingly complex story I'm discovering, and have been revealing through my Five Sentence Fiction entries.  Here, for the first time, Gil's wife [who's name is Cheryl, as it turns out] is the protagonist.

I had no clear image of her, but the first visual prompt clicked - that is Cheryl!  [Photo credits at the Dare link.]

Source

Source

Source

After that, working the other two in was a snap.  The hard part was hitting the word count.  My first shot had me at 101, and only half finished.  So I put on my minimalist hat.  Indeed, this would all be a lot less enigmatic if I had a richer word budget, but this clocks in at exactly 100.

I'm not participating in NaNoWriMo, so, alas, that's a bonus point I can't qualify for.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Of Cheryl, a Tower, and Trees

Cheryl was devastated to discover she was pregnant.

One slip, one time, and this?

She found him waiting where they first met, at the footbridge in the park. 

Silently, they strolled down the long tree-lined lane to a place not of this earth.

Up the spiral staircase of the ancient tower then - yes - where she had been so willingly seduced - that was the very place to share this awful news.

But he, craving a son, was elated. 

She could have her baby – his baby – here, where the time slip was different, and her husband Gil need never know.

Five Sentence Fiction - Character

This week's prompt made me stop and think.  I've been jumping on Thursdays the last few weeks with a story in my pocket, in hopes that the prompt would fit - and have been pretty lucky.  Of course, with 2 1/2 story lines in progress, I do have some options.

This time, I had a vignette taking form in the dark reaches of my fevered brain, but just now got it set down in print.  I also have two other candidates that fit the prompt in not quite the same way, so this choice was difficult.  Ultimately, it came down to this, because I think the story fits the prompt in a layered fashion, it's freshest in my mind, and I really wanted to stay with Rob a while longer.  Let me know if you think it works.

CHARACTER

I haven't seen Marci in over a month, but when she greets me at the door with a warm kiss and a cold glass of Chardonnay I know it's going to be a good night.

Then, in her living room, I see the picture over her couch, and yes, I also see that it is where that enigmatic half-memory came from - I had seen it unfinished, in her studio several months earlier.

Her use of light and shadow is masterful*, the scene and setting excitingly familiar: those are indeed tiny glowing winged female creatures, and the diaphanous wings and the haunting beauty of that other-worldly face are evocative of, but not quite identical to the one I know so well.

Marci is rightfully very proud of her handiwork; she leans against me and asks, "Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes," I tell her, slipping my arm around her narrow waist, "I like it very much, indeed."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reduced to a Haiku

Fairy in the frame
So like the one I lust for:
My lady friend's art

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

* I have in my mind an image of this picture that is at once both vague and vivid.  It is in a style very reminiscent of the late Frank Kelly Frease.

Source

  Source

Source

Five Sentence Fiction

CANDIDATE 

Something unseen had drawn me there; I was feeling strung-out and more than a little lonely as I wandered through the deserted park at dusk. 

Off the path, in a cluster of trees to the right, I saw a glowing cloud - maybe an unlikely gathering of fireflies. 

Curious, I approached, and as I passed between a pair of soldier pines it suddenly fell full dark, the world seemed to turn on an unseen axis, and she appeared there in their midst. 

A queen in her court, surrounded by legions of fireflies, maybe, or tiny glowing winged women - I really couldn't tell; and the eutre beauty of her other-worldly face was hauntingly familiar, like something from a half-remembered dream. 

Then she turned to look majestically upon me, and in the piercing gaze of those moss-green eyes I knew with a sudden certainty that she had selected me, out of all the thousands of men in this city for some fell purpose of her own dark design, and that my only choice was to comply. 


The first person protagonist is Rob, Marci's occasional boy friend.  Things are getting convoluted.  Today's little vignette is prequel to 1) FAERIES and 2) FLAWED.

This week's prompt.

Five Sentence Fiction

Last week I was happy to get a prompt that allowed me to continue a story that wouldn't let me go.  This week, I have the same good fortune with the other story that stayed with me.

FLAWED

Not often - once in two or three months - I'll encounter a man who has the mark.

As our eyes meet, his hand goes up to his cheek, and I find myself mimicking the motion; then, knowing, he turns and hurries off.

Some of these men must be married - what stories do they tell their wives?

[I don't have that problem - Marci is just an occasional girl friend, with her own dark, unexplained secrets.]

Two or three months - that's how long the mark lasts from those pointy, piercing teeth, and as it fades the yearning gets stronger, deeper, more urgent for another tryst with my inhuman paramour.


Update, 10/18, just before midnight:  Since first posting, I've made a couple of slight editorial changes so that it will be clear [I hope] that Marci is the protagonist's occasional human lover, and not the antecedent of the final sentence.

Update II, 11/19, mid afternoon:

FLAWED II

Behold all of our greatest achievements.

Bask in the aural glory of our symphonies.

Delight your eyes with visions of our art, architecture and sculpture.

Gaze in wonder at the sophistication of our technical accomplishments.

Every bit of it is the work of human hands.

Five Sentence Fiction

UPDATE 10/09 -- And, Behind the Curtain Flash Fiction Contest.  Scroll past the story and the FSF Badge, below the fold. 

Source: assets.flavorwire.com via Anna on Pinterest

This week marks the first anniversary of FSF, and Lilly invites us to chose any word from the past year's prompts. I chose --

FAERIES

Now that she is naked, I can she how different she is, with her over-long, lithe limbs and a narrow waistline that would be impossible on a human girl.

But everything important is there, in the right place, and wonderfully functional; it's the extra things that make her so - not just different, but special.

Her wings flutter as she hovers so close above me, her slender hips undulating in an exquisite defiance of gravity.

Yes, now I am so close, as her face leans into mine; eyes the green of spring grass, long narrow nose, delicate elven ears, thin lips in a conquering smile - and her teeth, glistening white, pointed, sharp.

Oh, sweet Jesus, so very, very sharp .  .  .


Link to FSF Central