Mistletoe and Secrets – A Christmas Poem

Mistletoe and Secrets

I remember when I was small

The mistletoe hung in the hall,

I didn’t know what it was for,

But I recall clearly what I saw.

The family, gathered In fancy dress

Would all kiss each other, and to my distress,

Would give a secretive, furtive look,

when Santa gave me a colouring book,

and to this day, I remember still,

thinking he looked like Uncle Phil.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 19/December/2018

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 🙂





50 Word Thursday #41 – Memories of Venice


And the words:

“How could I forget?” Mrs Judkin’s said.   – Otherwise Engaged – Amanda Quick


They stood together on the bridge in Venice watching the traffic of boats and gondola navigate the grand canal.

It had been many years since their divorce and here they were face to face again. Venice held happy memories of times together on their honeymoon.

He looked at her, just as he had when they were young, a longing in his clear blue eyes. Gone was his brown hair, the man was no longer the slim guy she had once loved. She too had changed. She still had blonde hair, but that came out of a bottle now. She wasn’t quite as lithe and laughter lines and crow’s feet bedecked her face.

They laughed about old times.

“Did you marry again, after?” he asked nervously.

“Yes, I’m Mrs Judkins now” she replied.

“Oh, is your husband with you?” he responded, cautiously.

“No, he died two years ago.”

“You know, I never stopped loving you?” he said boldly.

“Really?” she said, moving closer.

“I can’t justify what I did, the affair I mean. You remember what happened?”

She smiled, in a winsome manner, then pushed him over the stone railing into the canal below.

“How could I forget?” Mrs Judkins said.

[200 Words]


This story was written for the 50 Word Thursday challenge which this week is hosted by Deb Whittam. Click below if you would like to take part, it’s not too late:



I have also included the following word prompts:

FOWC with Fandango — Manner




50 Word Thursday #36 – How many Roads?


He travelled alone, his pack on his back,

stumbling along the dusty old track,

though he’d naught to his name,

he felt glad, all the same,

for he had some things he’d sure hate to lose,

A tune in his head and a good pair of shoes.

Promises of youth had turned traitor and fled,

Replaced by the certainty of another road to tread.

He built his fires in a thousand places

and remembered the love on a good many faces,

and slept on the banks of rivers.

wrapped in a coat to hold back his shivers,

 The grass grew over his tracks,

time took its toll leaving no time to relax,

 but he knew where they were when he came again

his memories sharp, with feelings of pain,

And though he’d travelled,  long and far,

he stopped by the roadside and took out his guitar.

And strummed, his voice clear, his face gave a frown,

and sang, “How many roads must a man walk down?”

His tenor tones rang out as he grimaced and grinned,

but found no answer at all blowing in the wind.

How many roads to forget what he saw?

How many roads?

Always one more.

[200 Words]

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 10th September 2019


This poem was written for the 50 Word Thursday Challenge which ends Wednesday afternoon, so you still have time to take part if you want to. Click on the link below:



I have also included the following word prompts:









Life’s Restless River – A thoughtful poem.


Sometimes Life is rather like
Clutching a splinter of wood
To stop yourself drowning
In a river of your own
The Iron shoes of regrets
Pulling you down,
While you remain ever hopeful
Your meagre splinter,
Will carry you onwards,
To your dreams.

The journey is instrumental
To appreciate the final destination.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/January/2019



FOWC with Fandango — Instrumental



100 Word Story – Friday Fictioneers – Old things remembered.


“Mummy, what are those things?” Sofie asked her Mother in the Museum of Ancient Artifacts.

“I think they were something to do with Cars. Grandpa would know.” Then a doleful expression came over her face. Her father had died two weeks before, but she was still adjusting to it. She kept thinking he would call on the videophone and ask her where he put his spectacles. He’d been a veteran of World War Three and had known so much about what the world had been like before the war had swept so much aside, like a third of the population.

[100 words]

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 30/November/2018

This was written for Friday Fictioneers Challenge, see the link:



Manic Monday’s Three Way Challenge and other Word Prompts – Fire is Cleansing.

This Story was written in response to Laura M Bailey’s challenge, I am aware that Monday is but a dim and distant memory, but better late than never. 😉

See Link:


You may also wish to read my previous entry for the 3-way challenge:


Screenshot_20180625-190039_Samsung Internet-01

The Word: Reverence

Other word prompts include:




FOWC with Fandango — Repress


He stood gazing in reverence as the golden light bathed his face.

He had done something he had been meaning to do for many years.

He had finally cleared away the dust of the past. He had been meaning to renovate that dingy old house. It was full of memories that he no longer wanted to repress, but they were part and parcel of who he was.

Instead, he’d decided to torch the place.

He couldn’t help admire the beauty of that wonderful bonfire as it engulfed his past and delivered him from his own private hell.

The policeman put an arm around his shoulders and lead him back to the car with its blue flashing lights. He wasn’t afraid of the consequences, his memories had held more fear than anything he was likely to face and he was free of them now.

Fire is cleansing.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 06/November/2018



50 Word Thursday #24 – A trip to the Sea.

Debbie Whittam has set a challenge to write a poem or story in 50 words, or multiples of 50 up to a maximum of 250 words, inspired by a picture and include some particular lines.


I missed it last week because I was on holiday/vacation, so this is the last one I wrote:


Here is this weeks picture.



Here are the words:

The fishing boats had returned from their morning runs; sea creatures of every sort lay atop the metal tables along the ports eastern flank.

Daniel Silva’s The Heist

A Trip to the Sea

As a child, I had always wanted to see the sea. We lived in the mountains, far away, so I had never seen it.

When it was my eighth birthday my parents asked me what I wanted.

“I want to see the sea,” I replied, having no concept of what this would cost.

My parents scrimped and saved and that summer took me on a trip to the nearest port.

The journey took us three days and at that age, it felt like a lifetime, but I will never forget my first sight of that ocean.

I remember staring at the sun glittered on the water like thousands of jewels.

As we drove down to the wharf, the smell of the fish was so pungent in the air, you don’t get smells like that in the mountains.

The fishing boats had returned from their morning runs; sea creatures of every sort lay atop the metal tables along the ports eastern flank.

I gazed fascinated at all the fish and other animals. Then I stopped, stunned and awed at an amazing creature, all rubbery with lots of legs with suckers on them.

“Papa? What on earth is that?” I cried.

My father looked at the expression on my face and burst out laughing.

“That’s an octopus, Son. Don’t you remember we used to read to you ‘Ollie the Octopus’ when you were little?”

“Yeah, But I didn’t know they were so… gory!

My parents laughed about that all the way home.


[250 words]

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 25/October/2018


I have also included Sheryl’s Your Daily Word Prompt: Gory



Only A Memory – A Multiple Word Prompt Story

This story is inspired by the following word prompts:



FOWC with Fandango — Bound


Today’s things are: cobra, goose, cherry pie


I still remember it to this day. It used to scare the hell out of me as a child. A stuffed Indian Cobra, with its neck flattened, as though ready to strike, used to sit bound to its wooden stand, next to the fireplace in my Grandfathers house.

I had a strange fascination with it, but it used to give me nightmares that it suddenly came alive and started chasing me. That never happened, of course.

Grandfather used to find it very amusing, he would lift me up on his lap and tell me pithy tales of growing up in India. The snake was a memento of his childhood.

“Did you kill it, Grandpa?” I once asked him. I remember his face creasing up and he laughed a great belly laugh.

“Goodness me! No. It used to belong to my Father. He bought it in the marketplace in Bombay.”

My Grandfather always had a huge fondness for India although he’d left behind that life as a young man and came to England for work. Something else he brought with him was a love of Mango chutney. At Christmas, we always had a Goose and he used to smother his in Mango chutney.

I don’t have goose anymore, it’s not easy to come by, but after Christmas, I use up any leftover turkey by making sandwiches with mango chutney. The smell and the taste always remind me of my Grandfather, he may be absent, but he’ll always be with me.

Another memory from childhood was visiting my other living grandparent. Both my father’s mother and my mother’s father died before I was born. When I was small I used to think, ‘Why doesn’t Grandfather marry Granny then they could live in the same house and look after each other and we’d only have to visit the one place’. I never voiced that opinion, which is just as well because I can hear both my Grandfather and my Granny laughing their heads off at the thought of it.

Granny had cherry trees growing in her garden and we always used to visit her in September and she’d bake the best cherry pie I’d ever eaten. I have searched high and low ever since, but I can never find a cherry pie to match it. If only she’d written down the recipe or showed one of us how she made it, but she didn’t. The recipe is lost to the mists of time. It’s only a memory now, along with Grandfather, Granny and that horrible Cobra.

I wonder what ever happened to that horrible thing?

The End


Kristian Fogarty 31/August/2018