
Michael O’Brien

Michael O’Brien
He stopped the car to check a sat nav malfunction. He heard a pulsating sound. Through the trees he saw a strange, rotating, multi-coloured light. “A UFO!” he exclaimed.
Recalling accounts of radiation burns from such things, he grabbed the aluminium foil from the camping box, and wrapped himself in it. Then, he crept quietly into the woods, with only the occasional metallic rustle.
There, in a clearing, he saw a group of them, standing around the object, which hovered several feet from the ground. They looked at him with their huge eyes. He stopped in front of the UFO in amazement. It dangled from a tree branch, twirling, a bright coloured triangular object, about 18 cm high. Near the base, an inscription: “LED triangle mood light.”
hazy moon
my optician sends
a reminder
Martha Magenta
This is the e-book version of a coming “real” book
The Room / Værelset – haibun by Johannes S. H. Bjerg on Scribd

heels clack down the nave—
just one more Hollywood whore
with a heart of gold.
Bob Haynes

Angelee Deodhar
He has hair all over his face and hands. Red and yellow. Three eyes and teeth sharp as kitchen knives.
Really? And aren’t you scared of this . . . Bog . . . Boglomo?
Bogloomu, Dad! His name is Bogloomu. Boglomo would be such a stupid name for a monster.
Yeah. Right. So aren’t you scared of him? To me he does seem like a scary fella.
Naah, he is my friend. Besides he loves milk. And bananas too. And I always have some to share.
Well at least now we know why we seem to be running out of both.
Little Bear . . .
letting go
the stringed balloon
Paresh Tiwari
Alegria Imperial
I still have a trunkload of stuff to deal with. Still blunder back and forth like a baby me. Only now instead of wrinkly and cute I’m middle-aged. And shrinking. And I’m in too deep to say goodbye to her circus. Try as I might I’m unable to leave this cage.
new brand day
easy to take as
the one before
Helen Buckingham
High in the mountains, breathing a winter sun . . . the wind is light-footed here like a monk going through the narrow lanes of mundane. Nothing except the prayer flags move as I follow the tabby cat who moonlights as a Zen master on her less busy days.
‘Lots of space, nothing holy,’ she finally breaks the silence ‘that’s what enlightenment is.’
I am a bit baffled with her mongrel diction, but then she does have nine lives over me.
‘Isn’t every vacancy filled in by something else? Create a vacuum and the universe rushes to fill it.’ I say ‘So by extension wouldn’t a renunciation be replenished by the holy?’
‘Too many question. Far too many.’ She chastises snapping at an imaginary sparrow, then adds ‘And that might just be the reason, why you would find enlightenment a bit out of reach. But then probably you are better off. Enlightenment is the ultimate disappointment.’
empty spaces
the wind too
howls in protest
Paresh Tiwari