I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

KISSING THE FISH TANK (a.k.a. Some Flash Fiction Romance)

      He might have said, 'are you in love with a koi fish?' or just 'a koi fish?'. His bottom lip had a tendency to tremble.
            She might have said, 'I'm a koi mistress' or 'I am your mistress'. Her face was mostly obscured by the water due to the way she pressed up against the tank.
            He definitely asked, 'why are you kissing the fish tank?'
            She definitely answered, 'I'm not'. My guess was she was mimicking the koi fish.
            He laid a hand on her, saying either 'then you're leading them on' or 'then you're leaving me'.
            She touched his hand, saying either 'not just them' or 'not right now'. The refraction caused by the ripples of the koi fish's movements made it almost impossible to tell.
            I never once moved from my seat. I couldn't.

RICH WHITEHEAD IS A TWAT (a.k.a. The High Art of Circumstantial Graffiti Meets the Low Art of My Poetic Interpretation)

I despair but I'm not Rich.
Not Richard.
Not Dick.
How could you miss Dick?
Or zit?
A white head's a zit,
basically you missed zit dick
or rather dick zit.
A twat's far too lovely.
Lady genitalia.
You though,
wall scribbler,
graffiti person,
chalk mis-handler;
you're something else.