Nature’s Blossom Bounty – a short poem

What would our glorious gardens be?

If Nature’s beautiful blossom tree

had been made in a laboratory?

No wondrous eyes would ever see

it’s simple and heavenly symmetry.

Thank God for Nature’s brilliant hand

that’s seen across this glorious land.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 12/August/2018




A Withered Blossom – A Murder Mystery Continues

I started writing a murder mystery some time ago, this is the next instalment.

See here for the previous story in the chain.


A Withered Blossom

Sir Alfred Thorpe had pulled a few strings and managed to arrange an interview with Police Constable Jones. Constable Jones had a regular beat that incorporated Lorrimer Park Crescent, its surrounding streets and the small park itself. Lady Audrey Patterson lived on that particular street and it was her maid, Elsie, who was found murdered in the park one morning a couple of weeks before.

The official enquiry had not uncovered anything at all. There had been no witnesses and so the case had gone cold.

Continue reading A Withered Blossom – A Murder Mystery Continues

Multiple Word Prompt Poem – Being left alone.

A marriage, a vicar?

Get me some liquor,

I’d rather get drunk than get wed.


There are no photos to post

Of a wedding toast

I just stayed home and in bed.


No Bishop or priest

And no wedding feast

to enable our loved ones are fed.


My attitude stinks?

It’s more honest methinks,

And proof that I’m not easily lead.


Harmony and Love?

Good heavens above,

I’m sure I can do better than that.


The world’s end may come

But with less fuss than some,

I’ll just stay at home with my cat.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 11/August/2018


Inspired by the following word prompts.





Today’s things are: bishop, vicar, post

A Multiple Word Prompt Story – Her Little Precious One.

This story was inspired by the following word prompts.

FOWC with Fandango — Unknown

Today’s things are: mirror, submarine, octopus

Her Little Precious One

As she played with her little boy in his bath, she sang a song that her grandmother sang to her as a little girl. The origin of the song was unknown. She had tried to find out where it came from but couldn’t find it at all on the internet. Maybe her grandmother had invented it herself.

Her chubby little bubba was splashing around in the water, playing with his little submarine and the toy octopus, smiling and giggling away.

“My little precious one, so special and so small, one day when I am gone, you’ll be the handsomest one of all.” She changed it from prettiest one, that’s what her grandmother had sung to her.

Her baby boy was precious. She had tried so many times to have a baby. She’d had three miscarriages and one still birth. Then when she was forty-four and the doctors were worried that she’d be too old to carry full term, she had finally given birth to her little miracle. She had paid for artificial insemination and donated sperm. Who needed a man anyway? Her husband had left her for a younger woman who then proceeded to give birth to twins, just to rub it in. Well he was happy now with his new family. She didn’t need him anymore. She had her precious little baby and he was perfect.

She picked him up out of the bath and dried him off gently with a towel. His blue eyes found her face and he smiled up at her. She kissed his little tummy and made noises against it, making him giggle and laugh.

Carrying him over to the cot and laying him carefully on his back, she sang her little lullaby again.

“My little precious one, so special and so small, one day when I am gone, you’ll be the handsomest one of all.”

He yawned and closed his eyes and fell asleep as she looked down at his angelic little face.

It had turned out the doctors had been right. She couldn’t carry a baby at all but later, when she’d trained as a nurse and got a job in the maternity ward she’d found the perfect opportunity.

As she left the room, she caught her face in the Mirror. Her dark brown hair had more than a few grey hairs around her temples. The brown eyes looked at her and they reminded her so much of her Grandmothers. “Shhhh” she said in a whisper, at her own reflection “no one need ever know.”

The End.

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 29/July/2018

Picture from Pexels, the free wordpress picture library. 

Story in less than 100 words – Multiple Word Prompt.

Word of the Day: Expectation

FOWC with Fandango — Moment



It was one of those perfect moments that only come about once or twice in a lifetime. A moment of perfection before the storm clouds, black as night, gathered on the horizon.

For now the ship glided along calm seas, the sun shining on the decks full of stylish bodies drinking cocktails and lounging carefree by the pool. They had no expectation of the doom that was building on the horizon.

Sailing on board the cruise ship Poseidon, you’d have thought they would have known what was in store.

The End






A multiple Word prompt story – The Aesthetical Effete

This story was inspired by the following word prompts:

FOWC with Fandango — Essential

Today’s things are: space camp, toad, smell

The Aesthetical Effete

He thought of himself as a man of considerably advanced tastes. He was an aesthete, a lover of fine art and beauty. Other’s considered him as an Effete, overly affected and weak. He knew perfectly well what some people thought of him. He rather liked to exaggerate his natural manner just because he knew it irked them all the more. He lived in a world full of beautiful objects. He had a Faberge egg in his bedroom, which he called a boudoir. It wasn’t one of the really nice ones, with rubies, sapphires and diamonds, but it was still a beautiful egg.

Appreciation of beauty was ingrained in him. It was an essential part of his nature. His Mother, a beautiful creature who looked so much like a Greek statue of Aphrodite that she had never been without a horde of lovers, had taught him from the cradle of the importance of beauty.

Of course beauty wasn’t just about feasting the eyes alone; the other senses had to be equally stimulated. Around his house he kept bottles of scent, Chanel, Givenchy, Elizabeth Taylor. What an Icon that woman was, the epitome of glamour and beauty, she even created one of his favourite perfumes of all, he adored the smell.

Spraying himself all over with ‘Passion’ by Elizabeth Taylor, he was ready to face the world.

The Cab pulled up outside the apartment block and a man in a purple suit with an orange scarf got it.

“Take me to Foyle’s my good man” he said.

The driver quickly wound his window down to let in some fresh air.
Despite the usual traffic issues in London, it wasn’t long before the Cab pulled up at Charing Cross outside Foyle’s.

“Thank you, keep the change” Said the fancy fellow handing over a twenty pound note.

The man then strode purposefully into the building. People stared a bit, but he was not only used to it, he rather revelled in it. Even in London, a place full of odd characters and amazing diversity, he still had what it took to stand out from the crowd.

He walked up to the front counter and spoke to the rather ugly lady behind the front desk.

“I have come for my book that you kindly put by for me” he said, trying not to look at the Sales assistant too much. She reminded him of a toad. Really with today’s marvellous range of make-ups and the talented hair-stylists, there really was no excuse for appearing in public in such a disgraceful state.

“I have a copy of the Space Camp by Robert Aldrin. Is that the one?” She responded.

“No I should say not. I detest Science Fiction with a passion. No mine was a book called ‘Aesthetics for the modern age’; I can’t remember the author’s name”

“Oh yes, here we are. We had trouble with its classification. We’ve put it under miscellaneous. You know, you’re the first customer to ask for that book” The sales assistant said, handing over a large coffee table book with a bright pink cover.

“You don’t say? Well I’m sure now I’ve bought one they’ll be a rush. Ta ta” He handed over the money and grasping the large pink book, made a speedy departure.

He hoped it would generate a rush as he’d written the book himself.

He’d been disappointed that it hadn’t become an instant bestseller but after all, the world was full of philistines.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 22/July/2018

Multiple Word Prompt Challenge – Dystopian Possibilities – Short Story

Swimmers One-Word Prompt — letter
Word of the Day Challenge — possibility
Fandango’s One Word Challenge — artifact
Three Things Challenge — carpenter, honey bee, dystopian


When I was younger, I was told that I could be anything I wanted to be, if I worked hard enough at it. That was all very nice, it’s always nicer to be encouraged than talked down, but it was a lie all the same. At least, that I what I had come to believe. 

I had worked hard at school. I busied away like a busy honey bee and I managed to get good marks on my exams. In this dystopian society I lived in, I still couldn’t get a decent job. All the jobs went to those people dedicated to the Party in power. The friends of the great leader. The system was so corrupt but it would surely crumble eventually because the best people were overlooked in favour of the party faithful regardless of their ability. 

Continue reading Multiple Word Prompt Challenge – Dystopian Possibilities – Short Story

Cloud Gazing


Clouds are so ephemeral and intangible and yet they are so important.

A sky without clouds just looks so naked and bare.

The clouds bring the promise of a change in the weather. They bring the much needed rain to areas that need it so desperately you could say they bring life to dying lands.

I remember as a young lad, idling away precious hours just laying on my back on a grassy lawn and looking up at white clouds as they drifted across the sky. They made shapes in the sky and it was fun to imagine the animals, people and countries that these shapes resembled as they split and broke up into smaller parts. A moiety of the cloud, a smaller, lesser fragment would drift and form something else or eventually just evaporate into nothingness.

I don’t have time for those simple moments of idleness. Time gets shorter the older you get and somehow life is too precious now to just lay and look at formless clouds.

A moment of cloud gazing is a precious moment indeed.


On the train – A poem of obsession.

The Word Prompt: Limerence

Limerence – #WordoftheDay

I admit it, I had to look it up. See my link to Wikipedia below.

So it means and obsessive love.

This is also in response to the word prompt: Author, see link below.

Here is my attempt. I am the Author of this poem, but it isn’t about me.


It only took a moment,

Just one look, just one smile,

I was hooked, line and sinkered.

I’d go an extra mile,

just to see that smile.


Continue reading On the train – A poem of obsession.