Flash Literature, Poetry, Art and Photography!

Two From Nik Perring



A Poem About Fairies 


They danced when the earth was young

and as fresh and bright and pure

as them.

With their wings

tissue thin

and songs, like whispers, or winds.

And minds of magic.


They were here for those who believed.

And the world did.

For a time.

Used as science

and forgotten by it.

And people.


They still dance in the summer

and flutter; the browns, reds, golds of autumn.

They fall, star white in winter

and wake, stretching in the spring.


They remain:

In the flower that opens, thirsty in your garden.

The leaf or moth that catches your eye;


In the seeds of a dandelion clock.

In the whistle of the thrush,

the ripple of a pond’s skin,

or the dropping of an acorn.

They remain.    







At The Tip Of A Nib



At the tip of a nib are clouds

the colour of damsons.

There are clowns, seventy-three of them

skipping in time to a mariachi band.

There are heroines and villains.

Worlds made of cream

and jam

and stars made of lemons.


At the tip of a nib

there are myths and deceptions.


white lies.

Things part made-up.


There are men and monsters,

three-eyed horses

and flies the size of



At the tip of a nib are seagulls.

Well researched opinions.

Killer opticians.

A warren in the moon.

Killer bees and snowmen singing opera.


At the tip of a nib there are spaceships

flying beyond the stars.

Camp fires and song

and little girls with orange hair.


There are beasts who feast on the flesh of men

and beauties and horrors and treasure chests.

Filth, sludge, sleet,

snow and sun

and deserts.


At the tip of a nib are mountains and seas of aquamarine.

There’s fear and forgiveness

and hope

And everything.


NIK PERRING shares...







NIK PERRING is a writer and workshop leader from the north west of England.


He writes all sorts. He really does. Most of it tends to be a little bit odd, or dark or weird. NIK  writes short stories and poems as well as the occasional feature. And a children’s novel.


If you’d like to find out more about him, his work, or where he’s going to be then you can do so at his blog, (where he promises he doesn’t write about himself in the third person) which can be found at or his website: .







I think the motivation for this poem came from a thought I had about what happens to things that are forgotten or things we’re unaware of, or merely suspect exist or existed. People would say they didn’t exist, there’s no proof; but, you know, maybe...





The motivation (I should probably call it inspiration) for the Nib poem is very straight forward. I decided a little while ago that, being as I was a writer, I really ought to use a fountain pen (it would only be proper!). So I bought one. I sat at my desk and I thought: what can I write with it? The poem, I think, is the beginning of the answer.