Three small things

I looked for you there
Amongst the broken pieces
My fingers bleed still

A poem
Poetry isn’t something I have any particular interest in or aspirations for. I think Bo Burnham’s Egghead poems might be the only poetry I’ve deliberately read in decades. That said, this ‘haiku’ (?) woke me up last night and I jotted it down ‘as is’.

New knowledge
Reading other blogs is fun and informative. Yesterday I learned that the things I have been calling ‘bites’ of fiction are generally called Flash Fiction. I might change, but I do like the more visceral imagery of a bite (chomp chomp).

Photo shoot(ing)
I uploaded a profile picture yesterday, me and a shotgun, taken on a shooting range. I’m hoping that people will take this as a tongue-in-cheek homage to Hemingway, and not as an endorsement of any particular NRA viewpoint. I’m Australian, so this may well be the last gun I ever handle, and that’s fine with me.

As always, your comments are welcome. I’m particularly interested on thoughts of the poetry, as it’s so far outside my norm.



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