there are figs galore the smell, the taste is divine so much going on
we will eat and enjoy the day squirrels too
yes, that’s right they pick lots of them naughty ones
so open presents and sit outside, lovely, and a little champagne
~~~
Loved your quartet of American cinquains, Robbie, really fab – we’re only around the corner (kind of).
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #44 – 23 December 2025, where this week’s host, Robbie Cheadle’s invitation is to reflect on holiday Christmas celebrations and family gatherings, using one, some or all, of the five sensesas muses in a syllabic poem.
The red-headed woman mused while she tramped across the field on that farm, listening to everyone’s accents, she hadn’t really thought about that before, since all her friends sound pretty normal – mostly French, Paris in fact, although Scatty was originally from Ireland, and of course, she herself was from Liverpool, and there wasn’t much difference between the two of them the way they could speak together if they wanted to.
However, Inspector Clouseau was a completely different kettle of fish (as one might say), since he spoke very oddly indeed, was he really a Frenchman? she wondered, as she peered at him once again, as he marched along with his over-sized magnifying glass.
It was a long way to walk still, and the red-head woman continued to muse to herself; she thought all the things she had done in the past – breaking in, and breaking out, on various schemes, like that big safe, for example, and she and the two gargoyles had kind of helped – even thinking the three of them should have plotted a heist of their own.
She stopped… dead… as she pondered to herself, was she heartless? was she uncaring? even ruthless..?
‘Come on,’ grinned Scatty, ‘do you need a hand?’ as the two of them linked arms.
Just a few metres and all of them were there, as they crowded in that last shed -and yes, it was amazing… diamonds galore on that one shelf, as Inspector Clouseau said: ‘I am an Office of the Leu.’
The two boys had almost finished decorating the rather large Christmas tree. There were many baubles and lots of tiny lights. The two of them were trying to reach the very top of the tree to put the beautiful big star on it. They were becoming rather reckless until they decided to use a chair. And even then there had been a small squabble to decide who would stand up there.
Great Aunt Margot appeared from the kitchen. She inspected the tree. ‘Very nicely done. Have you wrapped all your presents?’ ‘We have, including that one which arrived earlier today. It said it was ‘post-haste’, and we were told to partly open the parcel, and then we had to rewrap it with some pretty paper.’ They looked to each other, and then to Great Aunt Margot. The two boys said in unison: ‘It’s for you, but we are foxed about that.’ ‘Fancy that,’ said Great Aunt Margot, as she craned over the various presents in the side table, spying that small object. She tilted her eyebrows up.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘everything’s ready, a lovely Christmas Eve dinner awaits. A fish feast!’
All three of them cleared everything away, then they sat around a couple of couches. Great Aunt Margot said: ‘we can open just one present this evening. We’ll choose.’ The two boys opened a big joint present. ‘More Lego!’ they yelled happily. Great Aunt Margot opened the intriguing present. ‘Ah, a book. It’s called ‘Pingo’. I’ll enjoy this immensely!’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted for The Unicorn Challenge, a magical challenge hosted by Jenne Gray and C E Ayr, where they provide a photo and we, in turn, provide up to 250 words.
As she walked along the beach. And on her own. So many memories. Some good, some bad, and some in-between. Believe the impossible. A small smile. Did she believe that anymore? She stopped. She looked out at the ocean. Always beautiful – fair weather or storm. There’s no telling beyond the seasons.
How many years had flown away? Is anyone left? The sands would know. Would they say?
She turned, but looked back again. Is it over, she wondered? Another story to break? So many broken hearts… Couldn’t it be happy – just once? But it’s time to move on. For her.
~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Fiction with a lot of Fact Word Count: 100
‘So here he is,’ grinned the red-headed woman, as all of them got out of that wonderful limo; she walked up to him, offering a firm handshake: ‘such a pleasure to meet-and-greet you, the amazing Inspector Clouseau,’ as she smiled radiantly.
The Inspector Clouseau was wearing his usual trenchcoat, it was very cold and he had been stomping around for a bit, but it was clear that he had been thinking thoughts though; although it seemed he wasn’t going to share much at the moment.
The farmer appeared, he was wearing his work jacket blues, with his beret up top and his wellington boots, as he mumbled to himself, ‘such a shame, such a devastating calamity, even though I’m often shunned, since not many people like to look after snails, but what a waste… and money, so much money.’
‘We mustn’t give up yet,’ said Francis, ‘since those jewels must be somewhere, and you, Monsieur Farmer, you shouldn’t succumb with despair yet; I’m sure these things are connected, don’t we think?’ – all of them agreed, as they began to walk around the place, especially all those sheds.
‘See that channel,’ said one of the gargoyles, ‘no, not that way, look the other way, over there,’ – ‘oh, I see, I can see a dip,’ – ‘okay, lets go have a little look,’ – so both of them set out across the last shed, while bickering a bit, as usual.
‘Hey, everyone come here, look what we have found, you’ll be stunned at this!’
‘Beach time,’ she shouted as she grinned happily. ‘It’s so warm, it’s so pleasant.’ She grabs her sunglasses – so funky, a tangerine colour, so bright. She pops her floppy hat which is decorated with little hearts and butterflies – very cool. She started to sing to herself as she went to get sunscreen – she knows she should be wise since she wouldn’t want to burn. ‘It’s going to be blazing by the beach,’ as she jumped into her snazzy car. ‘Broom, broom!’ and off she goes.
she’ll run down the beach she’ll potter around the sea she’ll take some shells back
~~~~~
Image credit: Amera Pawlik@Unsplash
This image shows an embroidery frame, coloured pens, a pair of child’s plastic glasses and tic tock signs. In the embroidery frame- different emojis are embroidered.
The two boys were laden with presents as they grinned to each other. Great Aunt Margotwas chatting to stallholders while holding her huge basket. ‘It’s a lovely atmosphere when it’s Christmas,’ she said.
‘We can sit down by that useful bench, and we can have a little unprompted picnic. I assume you’re both hungry?’ ‘Always,’ they chortled. ‘We’ve crispy baguette, some creamy butter and some pâté.’ They munched for a bit.
Then Great Aunt Margot said, ‘that’s enough for now. All we need is a smallish tree and we can hoist it back home.’ And that’s what they did.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers Genre: Historical Fiction Word Count: 100
our lovely fat Budai he loves to chuckle and grin he throws happiness and joy here’s a gift, petals!
~~~~~
The Dodoitsu is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin and is often about love or humour.
The name, Budai, literally means ‘cloth sack’, and refers to the bag he is usually depicted carrying as he wanders aimlessly. His jolly nature, humorous personality, and eccentric lifestyle distinguish him from most Buddhist masters or figures. He is almost always shown smiling or laughing, hence his nickname in Chinese, the Laughing Buddha. Budai is traditionally depicted as overweight and having a huge stomach (possibly a symbol of abundance or forgiveness) and many stories surrounding Budai involve his love of food and drink – perfect for us too!
For Colleen Chesebro’s #TankaTuesday #42 – 9 December 2025 where this week’s host Yvette Calleiro’s invitation is to focus on the word gift/gifting, as a noun or verb and to write a syllabic poem.
They had been singing for ages and loudly too, the songs, the lyrics and the melodies were all off key, but none of them cared, since this was a great outing; they hadn’t been all together for such a long time, more than half a year, but time is a strange idea if some of this lot are immortal.
Mr Cushing was driving, as always, in his purring limousine, and The Old One sat next to him; they had both been living in the south of France – very clement and useful too, since they both love going to the Cannes Festival and hang out with the hoi polloi (not).
Francis was sitting in the middle row, he had been reading the newspapers avidly, almost desperately to find anymore news about those jewels which had been stolen from the Louvre; it was only he who wouldn’t sing, while his wife, Joan, and her best friend Scatty, were clapping their hands on the other side and singing their hearts out.
The two gargoyles sat in the back and looked out in the rear of the car, eager to see a particular police car, since Inspector Clouseau could be just behind them.
The red-headed woman had been moving around in that gorgeous long car, talking to all her lovely friends; she was very keen to see what would occur, and she shouted: ‘we must be almost there at that farm.’
And a moment later she grinned: ‘it’s that it… all those big sheds.’
luna's on line 