My Flash Fiction Story, Elsewhere, is at the Ekphrastic Review

Tags

amreading, amwriting, Annaliese Jakimides, autumn, Ekphrastic Challenge, Ekphrastic Fiction, Ekphrastic Review, Fiction, Flash Fiction, future, hope, loss, love, memories, microfiction, past, portals, present, publication, Time-Molt Tender, time-travel, writerscommunity

Time-Molt, Tender, by Annaliese Jakimides (USA) 2022

I’m honoured to have my flash fiction story, Elsewhere, at the Ekphrastic Review, along with many talented writers and poets. Many thanks to Annaliese Jakimides for her inspiring painting as the ekphrastic challenge and to Lorette C. Luzajic for her wonderful literary magazine.

Here’s the link:

https://www.ekphrastic.net/the-ekphrastic-challenges/ekphrastic-writing-responses-annaliese-jakimides?fbclid=IwAR1OQcHYxWX_WnCLWxjQllMNBLdFeetmSzcBDNYfvqM5OK26jNVA1pdNf4s

Thank you very much for reading. 🙂

Advertisement

My Story, Shadows, is live at SAVA, Subject and Verb Agreement Press

Tags

abduction, amreading, amwriting, CarpeArte Journal, child, cold case, dresses, Ekphrastic Fiction, Flash Fiction, grief, joy, jumping rope, loss, memories, pain, publications, remembrance, SAVA Press, seamstress, shadows, visual inspiration, writerscommunity

Many thanks to the Editor, Blaine Myers, my story, Shadows, is live at SAVA Press, Subject And Verb Agreement Press. This story was first published at CarpeArte Journal, many thanks to the Editor, the lovely Eva Wong Nava.

Here are the links:

https://savapress.blogspot.com/2022/04/shadows-by-sebnem-sanders.html?spref=fb&fbclid=IwAR3X8_L11x96IlaMdh6bcTXyt3dQXYKxaG-uG7iijVZDPxefJnZyipnY-kg

https://carpearte.wordpress.com/2018/10/30/shadows-by-sebnem-e-sanders/

And here is the photo that inspired it:

Innocent Shadow by Mark Slone

http://home.hiwaay.net/~slone/ishadow.html

Many thanks for reading. 🙂

Angel’s Cove- by Sebnem Sanders

Tags

amreading, amwriting, aromas, attraction, beach, blue, boat, dreams, Flash Fiction, loss, lost places, love, memories, nourishment, publications, sand, Sea, sea people, seafood, SickLit Magazine, soulmates, writerscommunity

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! Here ‘s a love story from me, first published at SickLit Magazine, then in my Anthology, Ripples on the Pond. Many thanks to the Editor, Kelly Coody for having faith in me. 🙂

https://sicklitmagazine.com/2016/07/23/angels-cove-by-sebnem-sanders/

Silhouette Sunset Dusk Beach Woman Looking

Inferno

Tags

amreading, amwriting, arson, blog post, ecosystem, fire, flora and fauna, Forest fire, heinous motives, inferno, livelihood, loss, Marmaris, Memoir, memories, Muğla, pine forests, True Story, Turkey, writers' community

Marmaris, Muğla ,Turkey 29 July, 2021

One never knows when one is safe in life. I’m sitting in my lounge, with the aircon on, while an inferno builds around me. Outside the temperature is 42+ C, inside, a comfortable 26C. But then it all depends on the electric company, doesn’t it? Once they decide it’s safer to cut my power, I’ll be immersed into the heat. Once the wind turns, from the east to the west, I’ll sit in the middle of the flames burning the pine tree covered hills around me.

Where would I go? Into the pool, I’m thinking, but would I have to stay underwater while the inferno takes me hostage? For how long? Will I survive? Who knows?

This is the fourth day of the fire. No, it’s not a bush fire. I know this for certain. I’ve lived here for the last 11 years, and never seen anything like this. Usually, the fires are local, and firefighters put them out in a few hours. This is different, deliberate, mean and calculated. Set ablaze in various spots. Mankind is the cruellest creature on the planet.

The villages are left on their own. Their livestock, greenhouses, homes, and fields at the mercy of the flames. There is no state, authority to protect them. The president visits the disaster sites in a convoy of hundreds of cars and throws tea bags out of the window. Not flowers, not water, but teabags…

Have I come here to die in an Inferno? I do not know. I miss my hometown, but I also got accustomed to this place which has given me hope. A fake hope, perhaps. Hope is a wish that keeps us going.

At dusk, the scenery resembles an apocalypse, a blood red sky, smell of burning, and the death of the forest. Hot winds blow ash and burnt pine needles everywhere.

In daytime, driving through the once thick woodland, the ghosts of pine trees lament their lost glory. No more the rich green against the azure sky. Only carcasses in brown, dead and dying, weeping. I weep for them, and all the creatures who have lost their homes and perished. It seems it takes 50-60 years for a forest to recover its ecosystem. The flora and the fauna that provide livelihood to the locals. I won’t be around then, but I have seen the best. No one can burn my memories.

So, I wait for fate to turn its wheels. As far as my view and binoculars allow, I watch the forest day and night, to spot intruders with heinous motives. Will the wind change, the power cut, or will I be saved, redeemed, and perhaps understand what I’ve come to learn in this life.

Marmaris, Muğla, Turkey 29 July, 2021

Muğla, Marmaris, İçmeler, then and now, before and after 29 July, 2021

Muğla, Marmaris, villages, forest fire, despair…

Light Beams

Tags

amreading, amwriting, art, BosphorusReview of Books, children, colours, Flash Fiction, flowers, grandchildren, hospital, illness, images, light, light beams, loneliness, memories, muteness, nursing home, old age, paintings, paralysis, publication, scents, writerscommunity, yearning

My flash fiction story, Light Beams , is in the May Issue of The Bosphorus Review of Books. Many thanks to the Editor-in-Chief, Luke Frostic.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Thanks for reading! 🙂

https://bosphorusreview.com/light-beams

“Our cover this month is by our returning artist Dj Nio – Mammaliturki. find more of his work here https://www.djnio.net and listen to his latest music here https://soundcloud.com/nio_zeroplastica or here https://open.spotify.com/artist/0nKgLLvnDxOqzmxmBLrAl6…“

Loss

Tags

despair, friendship, hope, loss, memories, support

Loss

Loss is like something torn out of one’s soul. Something strong grabs hold of it and takes it away. Never to be replaced in this life.

I’ve lived through loss. Of parents, lovers, and relatives, but this is the first time I’ve faced the loss of a very good friend, the only male one. We had been friends for life, he was a month or so younger than me. Our grandmothers were friends, our mothers, and us.

I keep thinking of England, when he came to my wedding party in Warwick. He and his wife were the only Turks there, besides another friend Mehmet, and his English wife. Azmi and his wife gave me a silver tray as a wedding gift. That tray has been sitting on my coffee table for a while, waiting to be put away. You know how one forgets things, after a recent event.  I wonder if that was a sign. It is still there and now I cannot put it back in the dresser. Another gift he gave me, sits among the small silver knicknacks. A milk pitcher with a ladle. I love it and polish it, thinking of him.

After our school days, we were apart. He got married and moved to England, while I got married and began to work. We had no contact during the time I lived in the Far East. When I returned to London, we were both separated from our spouses. It was a difficult time for both of us. We stuck together, supporting each other and shared things. Going out at night, to shows, dinner with friends, and countryside rides.

During my miserable days in London, he was the only beacon of light that kept me going. I hope I was the same for him, for his losses.

He used to take me to a night club called The Escapade in South Kensington, very close to the Bibenium. That was the only venue open until the early hours of the morning, after the Pubs closed. South American owners, Argentinian steak, music, and dancing, and Londoners from all walks of life. Then, he’d drive his classic Lancia along Park Lane, breaks and tyres screecing, taking me back to my flat. He was a gentleman, generous, courteous, intelligent, and kind. Despite his excellent education and high qualifications, I don’t think he found the dream job of his life. But he tried, through thick and thin, he tried, to his last day, always…

Then we’d have Fish&Chips at Notting Hill, watch the Talking Heads movie at the ICA, go to Sunday lunch with his friends, or mine at my flat.  

I returned to Istanbul after two years, he followed a couple of years later. Being an engineer, he had turned his skills to IT. He became a programmer, an international one. He worked in Beirut, in the UK, and wherever his services were required.

Then life happened. Companies closed, he had the big C. He never ever gave up, until the last moment.

Wherever you are, my friend, may you rest in peace. I have thousands of memories to cherish, once I can deal with your loss.

Dedicated to Azmi Tenikalp, 1950-2020, Istanbul.

The Song of Spring by Sebnem E. Sanders

Tags

addiction, daughter, death, Flash Fiction, grief, loss, love, memories, mother, murder, publications, Punk Noir Magazine, regret, relationships, violence

My Story, The Song of Spring is at Punk Noir Magazine. Many thanks to the Editor-in-Chief and author, Paul D. Brazill. 🙂

Punk Noir Magazine

The Song of Spring

Belma

Belma watched over the crowd gathering in the courtyard of the mosque. On the altar, stood a coffin. Draped over its raised head, a muslin scarf with a crocheted edge, and a small wreath of white and purple freesias placed upon it. Her favourite flowers. The men were lined up before the altar and the women, their heads covered, assembled on both sides. Belma scanned their faces. They all had tears in their eyes. She recognized most of them. Friends, relatives, colleagues. Someone must have died, a woman. She saw her mother, her best mate, and her cousins. Her eyes searched the congregation. Where’s Aila? She jabbed a finger at her mother’s shoulder and whispered in her ear.

The sweet aroma of the freesias reminded her of the Song of Spring she used to sing to Aila when she was a little girl, and how…

View original post 1,002 more words

The Hill, inspired by Gabriele Munter’s Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908 #HappyWomensDay

Tags

amreading, amwriting, change, equality, Flash Poesy, love, memories, perseverance, persistance, war, women, Women's Day, women's rights

Gabriele Munter, Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908

 

 

I have always been inspired by Gabriele Munter’s paintings, especially this particular one, Jawlensky and Werefkin, 1908, which tells me a story.

Gabriele Munter , one of the few women artists in early 20th century, who were recognised by the male-dominated art world. I have great respect for her.

I thought I’d written a flash fiction story inspired by this painting, a while ago. It turns out to be a poem. I’m no poet, this probably needs editing, but perhaps that was the only way I could express my feelings.

 

The Hill

(1908-1948)

 

 

We sit at the top of the hill,

under the cosy spring sun,

and watch the world below

 

The bouquet of flowers you pick on the way up,

I fix to the ribbon around my plain straw hat,

and feel like a member of the nobility.

 

My eyes shifting to the puffy, white clouds,

I dream a bright future for us

You observe the movements of the ants,

and say, we must be so well-organized

 

 

I still remember that day, my love,

though I lost you to the insidious war.

Left with two young children,

in the shambles of our dream house,

I had to work to support them.

 

It’s been forty years since that day,

with another war claiming lives.

Grateful that our children have survived it,

I’m now a retired grandmother looking after theirs

 

The world has changed so much,

you wouldn’t believe it

We don’t have to wear fancy hats and long dresses,

even gloves have gone out of style.

 

Women can vote, go to universities,

and become professionals.

Life is easy with telephones, radio,

automobiles, electric trains, and airplanes,

so thoroughly organized.

 

I still live in our restored dream house,

and go up the hill to celebrate our anniversary each year.

Though much has changed,

spring flowers decorating my straw hat,

the puffy, white clouds above, and the village

have stayed the same.

 

 

Sometimes I miss the elegance of the past,

though life is much simpler now.

But I miss you most of all,

and have never found anything

to replace your love.

 

Happy Women’s Day!

 

Thank you for reading. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

My story, House of Detachment, is in the September Issue of The Bosphorus Review of Books

Tags

addiction, apathy, attachment, Bosphorus Review of Books, dependence, detachment, elimination, erasure, Flash Fiction, happiness, memories, neutrality, pain, past, publications, remembrance, September Issue, sorrow

 

Many thanks to the Editor, Luke Frostic, for publishing my story, House of Detachment, from  Ripples on the Pond ,in the September Issue of  The Bosphorus Review of Books  .

Here’s the link to the story:

https://bosphorusreview.com/house-of-detachment?fbclid=IwAR22dgYkEM18QfyPjUAhPRDlVGI84csiUWS2ORhpWi5y-1PO9UoU00ActyA

And the link to the contents of the September Issue of  The Bosphorus Review of Books , full of interesting articles and selections of fiction and poetry:

https://bosphorusreview.com/new-page-70

 

Many thanks for reading. 🙂

 

Sebnem

 

Shadows by Sebnem E. Sanders

Tags

CarpeArte Journal, children, Flash Fiction, grief, loss, memories, publication, shadows

Many thanks to Eva Wong Nava and the beautiful CarpeArte Journal for publishing my story, Shadows. I’m honoured and delighted to contribute to this wonderful magazine.

via Shadows by Sebnem E. Sanders