True Colours: the Story behind No Sympathy …

When people ask me, did you have any inkling in all that time you knew him, I say, not really, then I think of the incident in the restaurant,the one that slipped beneath my notice in what was meant to be a piece of devilish fluff in ‘No Sympathy ….’

It began in the third line: Hey! Is that a glass of water you threw over me? That’s when autobiography took over and followed us out onto the sidewalk where I was shoved to the ground when my back was turned and my mate who had turned rogue did a runner.

So did I know? Did I suspect? I sure did: in those moments he unleashed diminutive, haiku-sized bursts of anger, I could feel the embers of a conflagration 18 years before that the forensic squad, armed with new evidence and methods of detection, were sifting through and building a case.

His mate, Dale , who let him stay on his property at Second Valley in a caravan while he got his life together, fell victim to Adrian’s wrath.

All that time Adrian proclaimed his innocence, He was the only suspect. He lived at my place for a while, He rode a bike, did the gardening, spoke to the kids, Everyone loved him. A top bloke, they said. Then the night ….

Once my friend was charged with the cold case and sentenced, he finally admitted to us: Just think, he said, 15 years for five seconds of madness.

That little haiku of a revelation warned me that of all the affairs we have to manage in life, our temper comes first.

Red

799px-Miami_traffic_jam,_I-95_North_rush_hour

the prompt was to choose a color and make a three-line poem out of it:

 

There’s a traffic jam inside my head

thoughts blaring to be said

but the traffic light’s stuck on red

 

* can you choose a color and write a three-line poem, perhaps a haiku, on that color? have a go; post your poem in the comments section

Mingling with the Miniatures

bonsai-tree

I saw it advertised in the local rag.

‘Bonsai Show’, it said.

It was a tiny notice. I had to squint to read the details.

The hall was rather tiny.

I squeezed through the entrance almost knocking my head

against several light fittings on my way in.

It looked like a huddle of hobbits around the bonsai which

were unusually tiny.

“They’re not fully grown yet,” a volunteer offered.

Like many of you, I felt like saying but bit my tongue.

The Club President gave a haiku-sized speech for which

we were all grateful.

I mingled for half an hour indulging in the small talk until

refreshments were served.

There were pies, pasties and muffins from the ovens of Lilliput.

“Would you like a short black?” the serving lady asked.

“Any chance of some wine ?” I said.

“Sorry,” she answered, “It’s in very short supply.”

I had had about enough of pint-sized jokes.

I couldn’t wait to get outside in the big, bold world.