A Pirate's Last Request

You wanted the last thing

I saw with human eyes

to be faces taking satisfaction

from gasps stilled

by the crack of my neck.

I'll look to the sea instead.

A pirate’s corpse

is unfit to lay

with land bound lambs

you reminded me,

unless I renounce myself.

Keep your dirt patch.

I look to the sea.

It holds my heart and soul

with a more tender

and honest cruelty

than any you ever gave.

I want no sterilized afterlife

filled with more like you.

That would truly be hell.

The sea and I suit each other.

I belong there. 

Song Choice: He's A Pirate from Pirates of the Caribbean 

Process Note: A few years ago I visited an exhibition about pirates at one of the local museums. I remember reading a blurb on one of the displays that said pirates were not allowed to be buried in graveyards among the respectable citizens. I immediately had a mental picture of a pirate scoffing at that, which was followed by an urge to write a poem. I actually didn't then, due to having to wrangle my then-young children past the gift shop. But the combination of the two prompts reminded me of what I wanted to write.

Frost on the Tombstone. Photo by Liz Young.

This flash fiction poetry was inspired by the photo prompt at this week's Friday Fictioneers and the prompt at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Outsider Art.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

In Samantha's Shoes

Dinner’s in the fridge.

Don’t forget Tabitha’s bedtime story.

Make sure Darren Jr does his homework.

I’ve laced up my take-no-prisoners,

Valkyrie-on-a-broomstick, hell-yes

you’ll-hear-me-roar boots.

You smiled at me,

while I decided between

belladonna or datura -

made me want to reach

for damania instead.

I love these boots.

But I also love the slippers

we’ve made of our love -

the warm, mmm-so-cozy,

love-rare-lazy-afternoons-with-you,

strong-enough-to-go-through-the-wash,

still-sturdy-after-so-many-years slippers.

But tonight, there are great, odiferous, pestilent

hydras to contain and a coven waiting for me to rise.

“The hydra doesn’t stand a chance,” you say

before we kiss and I fly.

Shoes and Books by Magaly Guerrero

Song Choice: Groovy Kind of Love covered by Phil Collins

Process notes: Belladonna and datura are poisonous plants while damania has a reputation for being an aphrodisiac. 

This poem was inspired by the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads: Poetry Through the Eyes of Carol Ann Duffey and the picture prompt given over at Friday Fictioneers. It is also linked up with Poets United: Poetry Pantry 350.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Unvanishing

Spaces between can be stretched, like shadows lengthening in the fading day. Strange magic tugs on atoms, bending and pulling objects until they vanish. She does not understand that it is herself she wishes to make gone when she says her words into the waiting air. She only speaks the words, “Make it go,” and mass, neither created nor destroyed, rearranges itself elsewhere. It is simpler to make things disappear instead of feelings.

Easy to banish

a bowl or a trinket, still

the shadows remain.

Song Choice: Smile by Nat King Cole

Photo by Jellico's Stationhouse

This story told in haibun came from a combination of the picture prompt given over at Friday Fictioneers and the prompt from Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Physics with Bjorn: Space time and the theory of special relativity. 

Circe

Fred flew towards the sound of her laughter. There was always food left whenever he heard it.

He swooped in through an open window of the boat, and landed on the table. Fred started gobbling the food down as his feet alighted, ignoring the gasping man.

“You bitch,” the man choked, before the arm reaching towards her shrank, growing feathers.

She strolled to the table. Fred stopped eating when she reached for a piece of bread. Instead he chased the new bird out. No matter how many she changed, he was still her first.  Fred flew to her waiting arm.

Photo by Fatima Fakier Deria

Song Choice: Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police

This short story was inspired by the photo prompt given by Friday Fictioneers. More flash fiction available at the link. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Memory Pressed Into A Journal

Dear Diary,

I dreamed of her again, but this time she wasn’t screaming.

I wondered if the dreams would return once I saw the sold sign on the old Williams house yesterday. I touched the wrought iron fence to see if I could feel anything besides cold metal. Nothing.

But I did hear hellos from some workmen cleaning things up before the new owners move in. I said hello, talked about the weather. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do. And kept walking.

I know she’ll be back. I just need to find a way to keep her from screaming.

Song Choice: Creep by Radiohead

Gateway, photo by J Hardy Carroll

This poem was inspired by the picture prompt given over at Friday Fictioneers. To see what the other Fictioneers based on this picture, just follow the link.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Beyond the Boundaries

“Get back here!” she said.

Danny looked from his teacher, gripping the boundary rope around what she thought was a simple park exhibit, to the security guard briskly advancing towards him. It didn’t matter. He had made it to the communication cog first.

Danny stroked the spot he knew would activate it. “This is D’ynveh 5. I survived the Rylor expedition but am stranded. Send help!” His words were cut off by the guard pulling him away, but he saw the fine lines of energy light up on the cog’s surface, sending a beacon towards his home world. Danny smiled.

Song Choice: Theme from Invader Zim

Photograph by Jennifer Pendergrass

This bit of Flash Fiction was inspired by the picture prompt given at Friday Fictioners

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Honored Guest

“Get that thing out of my garden before any of the guests see,” she said in a harsh whisper.

“But mom,” I started.

“Don’t. I’ve worked too hard to orchestrate this. You will remove that thing. You will come back down with your best manners. And you will get into Alexandre Academy.” She turned on her heel to rejoin her party.

I nudged Mephistopheles onto my arm. He’d probably be happier with the other insects in my room, the same way I’d be happier in public school.

“I can always get kicked out,” I told Mephistopheles. He nodded.    

Song Choice:  Reflection from Mulan

Yellow Bug, picture by Shaktiki Sharma

This flash fiction story was inspired by the picture prompt given at Friday Fictioners. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Recluse

The light came again, shrinking my circle of sanctuary. I shut my sun-scorched eyes and pressed my limbs into the safety of roots and earth, their presence steadying me.

You knew it would come again, and you know it will go again too, I whispered to myself, letting the pain ease before I opened my eyes again.

The light was still there, dimmer than it had been when I was pulled from my dark and tossed among these roots.

“You won’t last,” I hissed. “Night will come. I’ll see without pain, find better shelter and good hunting then. I’ll wait.”

Clouds Above the Trees, photo by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Song Choice: Boris the Spider by The Who

This bit of flash fiction was inspired by the photo prompt given at Friday Fictioneers. 

By Rommy Cortez-Driks

Cousins

Adi inhaled deeply from the mug of chamomile tea cradled in her hands. Its scent combined with the sigh of snowfall, was the perfect end to dinner.

“Penny for your thoughts, cuz?” Nina said.

“I haven’t had lomo saltado that good in ages.” Adi said, grinning.

“Stick around,” Nina replied, reclining on the couch they had used as a fort a decade ago. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Thank you, for dinner, for letting me stay so I don’t have to drive in this… and for having my back.”

“Someone had to teach that man a lesson. De nada.”

January Snowfall Nighttime, photo by Sarah Potter

Song Choice: Stand By Me performed by Prince Royce 

This bit of flash fiction was inspired by the photo prompt given for Friday Fictioners hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and is also linked to A Dash of Sunny's Prompt Nights: Come Chase Oh Fleeting Thoughts of the Moment.

By Rommy Cortez-Driks