Friday Fictioneers microfiction: Roman holiday

This is for Rochelle’s photo prompt challenge. It was rather longer than requested so I’ve cut it back to 100 (105 in truth) words.

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson


Feet were sore from walking historic cobbles. Necks ached from staring up at historic ceilings. Rome in August was too hot and there was no air conditioning in the hotel. At least it was cheap and nobody minded if they ate in their room.

She peered down into the early morning street through the green slats of the blind. It was already hot, but mercifully quiet. She turned. The room looked squalid in the dim light with the remains of last night’s meal on the table. She wondered how long it would be before the holiday became a memory, as unappetising as a congealed pizza.


Love and swans

Another day’s twitter poems that seemed to follow the same theme.



From the otherworld you come,

mist-wrapped, blue-eyed, smiling,

and in your hands

all the love that ever grew

in either world.


Thrill of the sun on my skin,

your eyes in mine,

and the sky above.

Waves lap about our feet,

while the gull carries our song.


In the sky above the shadows,

swallows swoop

in the last light,

before the dark inks in the blue

and their wild dance

bows out before

the stately minuet

of the stars.


Is there poison in this sweet honey

that drips so slow from your red lips?

Take it away, and I am left lonely,

longing to be the bloom

where the bee sips.


The touch of your hand enthralls,

your soft words enchant,

but when you kiss,

the sun stands still,

and no shadows grow.


Gulls, waves, sun,

glint and shift,

and in the bright air,

stolen from the dusk,

we rise, swans enlaced,

to follow the path of dreams.