Rāmere Shorts

Phantom in the night, listening to the damn nasal purr. Global definition of not amusing. Hubby brags, ‘damn that was a good sleep.’ #arse


(Inspiration: Your six words are: global, phantom, nasal, amusing, damn, brag)



Before her spread the vast golden sand, the sea slathered across the bones of the earth, breathing in and out in a hypnotic trance. She drank in the view greedily, jealous that anyone else should savour a taste of this concoction of paradise and heaven. The sneakers came off, lying discarded, tongues lolling in the basking sun. Her brother and friend stood by the shore, ballooning pants dwarfing their skinny legs. Their kingdom lay at their feet, surrounded by a salt water moat. The castles crumbled, the seashell windows barely clinging to the sand walls. Sticks in long straight lines showed the boundaries of the town, rudimentary fences that marked out farms populated by rock animals.

(Inspiration: a snippet from a longer piece I’m writing)


Sprinkled over the deep-blue blanket, crisp-white triangles floated serenely. A cool breeze curled its fingers around her hair, sending it flying in various directions. She attempted to tame it, encaging it with a thick elastic band…


(A snippet from my story, Radiance, which was published in Speaking of Love. Compiled and edited by B.A. Llewellyn. Purchase here: http://www.brightlightmultimedia.com/SOL-Ovrvw.htm . I’m sick today and just, can’t. )


Standing in the mirror she did not like what she saw. Long, crooked toes. Fat, white thighs that wobbled when she breathed. A stomach that looked as though the only thing she ate was beer. Tiny, little mole hills, “no way they could sustain life”, she mused. Turkey-skin arms. Big, brown freckles splotched wherever they felt the need to congregate. Pasty white skin. Uneven lips. Mousey-brown, lank hair. Heaving the pretty fabric over her head, she wished the image that would stare back at her would metamorph into someone like on the TV. Some one perfect. She tugged at the dress, pulling it over her hips, and smoothing it down.

(A snippet of my story originally published in Speaking of Love, compiled and edited by B.A Llewellyn. Available here: http://www.brightlightmultimedia.com/SOL-Ovrvw.htm. I’m sick today and my brain is a fuzz and I just can’t write)

A birth

“Heartbeat is below 70 and dropping. Fluttering. This is serious. I need help. Now!”

“You need to push and you need to push now. If you don’t, your baby…. your baby won’t make it.”

“I. Can’t. Just cut her out. Just. Cut. Her. Out”.

“You’re too far along.”

“Drugs. Any drugs. I can’t!”

“I can’t give you anything. I’m sorry, it’s too dangerous. She’s close, so close. But her heart. Her heart is dangerously, dangerously low. You can do it. You are strong. Push.”

“What’s going on. I can’t lose them. I need them both. We have a baby at home too, I can’t go home without them. I need them. I need them.”

“We need the infant re-suss team here now. And get the other obstetrician here. Wake him up. Now. Now! And the chopper, life flight. One of them. On standby.”

“Push. You can do to. You can. You are strong. Even if there’s no contractions. Push. Push until I tell you to stop.”

“You can do it babe. You can. I love you.”

“I’m sorry you can’t come in. You need to wait outside. Only her husband can come in. I know you’re her Mum but I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“The kit is here. Set up. Ready for re-suss. Dr is walking through front door. We are……”

“Yes! Yes! She’s ok, she’s here. You’re ok. You did it. I’m so proud. Look Daddy, she did it! Congratulations! Every thing is ok. Tihei wa Mauri ora, welcome little one.”

(Inspiration: http://wp.me/p23sd-13YX Triumph prompt, and the birth of my second child retold in the snippets of conversations I remember)

Summer time

Sand under our fingernails, skin freckled and flaking from constant hours spent under the sun.

The water pools around our feet, we sink into the sludge. The smell of salt is bright and fresh, bird wheel overhead.

Rusty tins filled with stones, flax woven in strips. A tiny hook topped with last night’s left-over sausages. Dangled seductively into the river.

The eel watches us. Beedy eyes peer out from under the reeds. He is fast. He is swift. Like an arrow, splicing the water.

A tease. A taunt. Back to his hole. Plan foiled again. We share the sausage between us.