The holy virgin by JR Holmsbook
In my world there are many holy virgins and dwarfs with twitchy eyes; and so, here's a story about one of them... On the altar where the Holy Virgin used to stand was a dark ruin that still smoked hours
The singing icemen
This is a double story and could be mistaken for something else... A government spy dressed up as an ice man and who’d been delivering bags of ice to the same address for the last five years groaned and
Enough of extremes
In a hot sauna with number 5... “How many times can you get into heaven?” asked number 5 going through her regimented panic stations, virally speaking, yet not moving an inch on her hot seat. “As many
On the bus going south
This is one of my bus stories and is not what you think... Days went by like moments; smiling faces pushed through my dreams into what couldn’t be had; something was burning, and no-one would say what
Sitting in a Thai bus station waiting for a bus
I wrote this one while sitting in a Thai bus stop station in Bangkok after the sun had gone down... Zen: “A scandal of rarebits, ascended masters, and 5 blue tits were not in a church on Sunday. So, I
Nude mustard in the lilac stream
If you're going to ask me what this one is about, don't bother... Of course things change, but don’t they take forever to do so; anyway, Kafka’s shoe was lying in the corner over by the saddest part of
The lotto ticket
This one came along unexpectedly and hung around for a while until I wrote it down... "You can't, and that's that, so you may as well stop crying," said God. But the man didn't hear, he was crying
You don't say
And here's one on its way to bed... Tangles… There is a special name for it, I’m sure, but I can’t think what it is. So I will call it after midnight, wherever I am; tangled up again in all this wine that
Somewhere else
This is about somewhere else... And then they wrote me a notice to say that I had to appear before them forthwith or else a heavy fine would be placed on my head and spread about on the fake news that
Damning facts
The day grows dark as I sit in this cell not even waiting any more, or hoping. He is out there free, the real murderer, while I am left here to rot. I protested my innocence right from the start, but the
A turning of you
I wished for a last smoke as I was guided by the patterns of old requests that there’s room inside this flame, why don’t you be my guest, break down the walls, let my sentence be this open book, each page
By a hot and dusty road
“Now let me tell you a story,” said the ghost of lost dreams to his secretary: “Long were the days and longer were the nights of Rumi as he travelled around the land looking for something to do until he