Flash Fiction(3)


Talk's Cheap

A conversation between two people, one deaf the other mute.

Hello all. I'm trying something out here. It's an 'internal musing.' I think it's called? Most of my stories so far here have been about nostalgic-look-backs, so I thought who better to ref nostalgia, than an old person? So I wrote a first draft and sent it in pm to a good friend, who's a critic, who ran over it with a wagon, reversed back over it, then ran it over again just to make sure! I...Read On


One Door Closes . . .

The first steps taken to get out of a love-less marriage

One Door Closes. . . I spent the last six months in my failure-of-a-marriage, tying up loose ends. Divesting myself of all that I'd gained in twenty years. We all accumulate things, to keep under the banner of, “what-if ?” We'd had all our hurtful arguments. Each trying to score points off each other like a weird new X-box game. Except as far as I was concerned this was no game I...Read On


Doing a Few Lines

A term I heard and made into a poem and now this short tale

When I first started using the forums I'd been on another site and someone used a term that's in this piece. When I first wrote it, I did it in Hallmarked poetry. But the words came thick and fast and soon I had too much. So I made it bigger. And bigger. Till eventually you have the story you see here. I've based it on a reporter telling the newbies what it was like "In de old days." It uses...Read On



Bruised Fruit

A Twist in the Tale

Bruised Fruit I worked at Westoe Colliery in South Shields for almost twenty years. I was a fully fledged Powerloader, meaning I was on top earnings when this story happened. By mining standards, Westoe was a wet pit. Lots of water down there. But you didn't really worry about it, because the big Mackley Pumps used to draw water out at one million gallons a day, every day, for years...Read On


Thirty Forever

I remember . . .

Thirty Forever Back when I was in my thirties, after a particularly heavy snow-storm, I noticed the school-kids having snowball fights every day as they walked by my house on their way to school. I decided to have a little fun with them. I hid behind the hedgerow in my front garden. After stock-piling snowballs ready for the attack, the kids eventually started drifting past, in...Read On


The Coal Wagons

Journeys with friends

The Coal Wagons The coal trains ran behind our houses from morning to night, twenty four seven, thundering down from the pit to the staithes at the river, where the coal was transferred from the wagons to the ships.   Miles of seemingly endless coal wagons were pulled by a huge, blackly-chuffing locomotive. Our moms, on hearing the trains whistle, dashed to get their washing in...Read On



what it felt like, going to and descending into the mine

Coal-Miner Thirty year old powerloader Brian, stood amidst the crowd of jabbering miners as they waited to descend in the cage. His aching slightly overweight frame already fatigued with the stress of just getting there. He put his holdall down at his feet, then rested his arms on the guard-rail of the fence at the top of the steps leading to the bottom deck of the cage. Who wanted...Read On


Dear Doddsy

A letter to a friend

Dear Doddsy How you doing pal? Sorry to hear of your accident. Jan told me you were bored stupid and didn't have much to read, (to tell you the truth mate, I didn't know you could read). There being no telly till the kids programmes in the afternoons (bet you love those?) So I thought I'd keep you up-to-date on what's been happening at work. All the lads are asking after you....Read On


Geordie Martins Budgie

Coal miner memoir, humorous in places

Geordie Martin's Budgie We were all sitting in the Pit Canteen, at one thirty in the afternoon, half an hour from the time we have to go down. It was mid-summer as well, quite a hot day and the last thing we wanted, was to be down the hot smelly dark pit. We'd all rather be on the beach, with a few beers. But we were all trying to be positive. Laughing and joking, trying to keep...Read On


I Swear

This happened to me when I was a child

I Swear England. South Shields, 1967. I leaned against our back gate, acting the big man in front of the bloke next door. Mouthing off to him and swearing even though he'd already complained a couple of times to Ma about my bucket-mouth. Thinking I was so big and clever, the other kids looked on. They were keen to see what happened next. I should have realised something bad was coming...Read On



Lols to Tits

The absurdity of Words.

Lols to Tits I've noticed that I use the abbreviation 'lol' far too much when chatting online, typing stories, poems or texting. Even though what's being said is hardly funny at all. Sometimes I use it to take the sting out of an amusing or cutting comment that I've made, so the person on the other end doesn't feel slighted or possibly offended in any way. We all use 'lol' every time...Read On



Perilous Socks

girlfriends of mine asked me to buy em some boot-socks.

Perilous Socks Do you want me to buy you, girly-girl socks? For if I'm not careful, I'll start to buy frocks. Not that it matters or is of alarm, because guys in dresses don’t do any harm. You might think it weird to see me so dressed, but this is what I do to prevent getting stressed. Its never the garb, the dress or the skirt, the brassiere, the panties or even the shirt,...Read On


Journey Underground and the Men of the Mine

A re-working of a story into a poem.

Journey Underground and The Men of the Mine Grumpy old men on the 4am shift. Would mumble and grumble, till given short shrift. But jokers and jesters and pranksters would then follow, making bitter pills of work, more easier to swallow. We'd cram in the cage like fish in a tin, until they couldn't jam, any more of us in. You’d feel the chocks clunk, away from the keps, ...Read On


Three Uses of the 'F' Word

After suffering years of racial abuse, I surmised that I'd be better off dead, so planned my suicide

Three uses of the 'F' word Downward looking I faced the floor, I'd really had enough I couldn't take any more. Colour of my skin was "colouring" my life. I decided that day I'd take my life. Not a decision taken lightly, I'd thought on it daily, my life to take, I'll do it for my own sake. (thinks) . . . rope . . . ? Son of dubiously chaste mother. Cast-off from a...Read On


'Doing' Words

I like to play about with words, some of them work, some of them don't

'Doing' Words Superlatives and adjectives, are words that do describe. A verb-ing word is a doing term, behind which I can hide. Full stops and commas - I infuse, with words to halt or pause. Without such things, I'd soon be seen writing un-verbose ? I get so tired of trying to be, thought of inter-est-ing, I use the words upon my page to try to say some-thing. ...Read On


The Trees are Weeping

I watched a news story concerning the decline in Europe of the Ash trees last Autumn

The Trees are Weeping The trees are quietly crying today. They weep for the Ashes, or so they say. From Denmark it was sighted, English Counties have been blighted, It's cursed, they said on the news. Their tears are falling to the ground. Waterfalls of leaves, russett and brown. Who cares for them, or even gives a hoot? Why, we do, of course. They're under our boots. ...Read On


Steve in the Canteen

My Friend Steve and I on a lunch break

Steve in the Canteen Steve when he's eating doesn't make a sound, for his teeth are in a bag, on the table or ground. He sucks the filling through his bread and the butter, he makes no sound, except the words that he mutters. “ Mfwmf!" I'll hear him trying to say, as I dodge the bits of sandwich heading my way. I'll tell him some jokes, and when he starts to choke, ...Read On


My Old Boots

I wore my boots down till they were held together with bits of string

My Old Boots My 'monkey boots' when I was growing up were like two of my own best friends. Hardly a day did we spend apart, wherever we'd walk or wend. Two rugged bits of cobbled leather with scuffed up toes and laces, with cardboard inside from the wear of the slide, on the ice or the gravelly traces It's with a sad heart when dad gave a start as he saw the state of my boots. He packed...Read On


Scrabble Champ

Messing about with words while playing Scrabble

Scrabble Champ I want to be, a Scrabble Champ, I want to pass the test. But words like 'it,' with 'and' or 'dog,' will never beat the best. Obscurity in wordiary, that seems the way to be, but wugahumf and neuxzily, are double-dutch to me. Although I try, to keep up with, all the high-score- words, I never seem to get beyond, 'dog' or 'cat' or 'bird.' Swearing words...Read On



I used to take my kids to the fair every weekend.

Bingo-Lingo “ Come-on-now-ladees-n-gents, one-or-two-more-players-before-we-start. Up-down-side-to-side-corner-to-corner-your-four-corners. Slope-to-the-left, slope-to-the-right. Take-a-seat, rest-your-feet, and-have-a-game-of-Bingo!” Toddlers in tow, holding hands, hours to kill, fairground bound. Beach to splash, gulls will cry, chips on knees, cherry pops. Swing and...Read On


My Beach

A walk along the shore-line of my youth

This one is in this format, because if I put it in the line by line way, it would be huge. I did this as an homage to the beach, within walking distance of where I lived, all of my life. Because it's a British Beach, there may be ref's you won't get? If this is so then feel free to ask. Resp,Bri. My Beach The sound of the water gaining and receding, the beach, my beach, beckoning...Read On


Parental Mistakes

My first foray into Hallmarked poems

Parental Mistakes My Mother was called Miriam, but mostly just “Mim,” I didn't know my real Dad, knew nothing, about him. Ma had a fancy, upon a mad whim, I was the result of their passion and sin. I dont blame either for their brief little fling, for without it, I'd never have known life, and what it can bring. It was great good luck, that Ma's hubby Peter, driver of trucks,...Read On


Her Life in Colour

A Loving Tribute to my youngest Daughter attending University

Her Life in Colour Sketches and doodles. Soups and pot noodles, these are the things of her day. Artistic licence is what she most craves, doing "her stuff" in her very own way. She won't reside in the shadows, I fear, why, if she has her way, she'll graduate next year. Fingerpaints paved the way a long time ago, Her dreams were all coloured in. Little Pink...Read On


the Jet-Set

A different aspect of something by another name

The Jet-Set Nestled in the valley, in the Bay of the Beacon. Hidden in vaults where visuals display. Blackened bountiful tear-drops suspended, for hungry eyes an optic delight. Oh vision. Oh wonder, dark-light in our lives, seeking, craving, wanting and purchased. Ex-miners became, the new artisans of beauty, fashioned and carved the tillings away. A monkey-puzzle tree washed up on...Read On



Just me messin around with words and terms

No Title Yet Superlatives and adjectives, are words to describe. A verb-ing word is a doing term, behind which I can hide. Full stops and commas, I infuse, with words to halt or pause. Without such things, I'd soon be seen, writing, un-verbose ? I get so tired of trying to be, thought of inter-est-ing, I use the words upon my page to try to say some-thing. Anything...Read On


The Carpet-Train

Fatherhood, loss, reminiscing,

The Carpet Train Oh how I miss my Daughters and Me, playing in the garden, the cemetery or sea. The colouring in, the chalk on the path, their friends staying over, or games in the bath. What is it really, I'm trying to say? I wish they'd both visit or maybe even stay. I want to sit down and put them on my knee, but that would be weird, cos one’s now Twenty Three. ...Read On