This is a response to writing prompt provided by WordPress,com


Have you ever had a random encounter or fleeting moment with a stranger that stuck with you?


by John Yeo

A tribute to a stranger, long gone,

Who brought pleasure to millions.

A man who lived life on the cusp,

Mingling with the theatre fraternity. 

His work shone with amazing brilliance.


Comedy, Drama, History and Tragedy.

A sweet pleasure to read and enjoy.

A man who followed his instincts

Using every trick in the book to employ       

The wonder of the written word.


His pen became a deadly sword

To ensure his voice would be heard 

Echoing through the centuries.

A man who was no stranger to intrigue

In the political world of the time.


A life tragically cut short with a knife,

A young life cruelly extinguished

By shadowy mysterious forces unknown

Robbing the world of a terrifying genius

Who dabbled in fictive reality.


While the glory went to the upstart crow

Who became the sweet swan of Stratford,

The world will never reject or forget 

The work of Christopher Marlowe.

Rest in peace, poet and playwright.


© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

Image courtesy of

Six days to go to the end of the USA Poetry Month




by John Yeo

Clyde was faced with a problem.

   ‘How do I rectify my stupid mistake and keep the romance alive?’

The problem was solved when the jilted Bonnie arrived and shot him dead.

‘Rectification achieved, my lover.’

(35 WORDS)



This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..


by John Yeo

   The luxury cruiser was kitted out and packed full with cargo to enable the passengers to lead a life of unadulterated comfort. At this moment the ship was stationary with nothing on the horizon. The view from the bridge was a perfectly calm sea stretching out in all four directions.

 The ship’s security officer, Mr Plumb, a well built gentleman, with long Elvis-style sideburns, sipped a glass of water and sat nodding at the news.  

 There had been a horrible murder on board overnight and Mr Plumb had drawn a picture on a menu of a familiar face to everyone on board. The Chefs face with its distinctive pair of slightly misaligned eyes and sharp beaky nose unmistakably grinned out from the picture.

  Captain Anderson was seated opposite him with a questioning look on his face.

 ‘How can you say you know he did it without even investigating the evidence?’

 Mr Plumb shrugged, saying nothing but everything, he picked up a small video-cassette, and handed it to the Captain. 

 ‘Everywhere on board is under surveillance at all times’.

© Written by John Yeo



This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..


by John Yeo

Josephine smiled and looked so divine

As she gave the court her explanation.

‘The fact is, I was his but he wasn’t mine.


The Judge smiled, his thoughts to confine

How could this girl kill without compunction? 

Josephine smiled and looked so divine


The lawyers pleaded a compassionate line 

Pleading a mental state, her sad Iteration 

‘The fact is, I was his but he wasn’t mine.


The jury concentrated, she seemed so benign,

The outcome was sure without complication 

Josephine smiled and looked so divine


Witnesses drew a portrait of a man so fine

Josephine had killed without rationalisation 

‘The fact is, I was his but he wasn’t mine.’


The judge gave his verdict a cell should confine 

Her to a life of internment and sad isolation 

Josephine smiled and looked so divine

‘The fact is, I was his but he wasn’t mine.’

© Written by John Yeo


A prompt response to ~

No.361. Detective: Write about a detective searching for clues or solving a mystery.


Image courtesy of


by John Yeo

  There they were!….. Dangling from the streetlamp a pair of the most frilly outrageous bloodstained knickers that PC Everard Dickens had ever seen. After the initial shockwave and the rush of blood to the head had worn off, the erstwhile Constable, called his superior officer; Detective Sergeant Winker.
“It looks like we have the first clue to this gruesome case here Sir!”

“OK! Stand aside Dickens we need a ladder and the usual equipment for recovering clues to avoid contamination.”
  DS Winker stood there pondering over the situation as it had unfurled from the time of the anonymous phone call that had led to the gruesome discovery of the two victims.
  ‘I wonder how they got up there, or indeed if they are connected to this case at all. We have the battered and broken bodies of two pensioners discovered, with their arms tied around each other. The forensic scientists are combing the entire area for clues, something doesn’t seem to add up here. My initial feeling is the garment in question is the wrong size for the deceased; now if they were a pair of outsized bloomers hanging up there logical connections could be made.’

   “Dickens!” He called loudly. “I am sure this is an amateurish sort of a red herring to lead us off the trail onto an illogical tangent. Get the garment off to the lab without delay.”

   “Yes Sir!”

   “Dickens; I want this whole area of scrubland around this path combed for clues.”

   At that moment an officer arrived with the news that a large quantity of ladies underwear had been found secreted in the bedroom of the apartment where the badly beaten man and woman had been discovered.

   “Underwear? Ladies underwear!” DS Winker exclaimed.

 “Yes Sir; in a wide variety of sizes and colours Sir!” replied PC Smithers.

    “Wow! This puts an entirely different light on the matter. I put this down as a revenge slaughter, Dickens. Someone found out the old pervert was nicking knickers off washing lines and took their revenge. I wager when that pair of soiled pants comes back from the lab the DNA in the blood will point the finger at the spouse of the culprit. Sadly we are unable to verify this without the evidence of matching DNA. Most people are averse to randomly surrendering their DNA, for any reason at all, particularly to rule them out of a murder inquiry.”

“Yes Sir this will probably finish up in the cold case file.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved




Image from the net

A Prompt Response for Flasher Friday

This is my response to a prompt from Our Write Side to their Friday Flasher prompt. A short story in no more than 500 Words using four elements.

  • Place: Japan

    Character: the new guy

    Object: an ashtray

    Weather: drifting snow



By John Yeo

   We are an exclusive club of travelers. Our writing fraternity has visited a different exotic venue each winter for the last ten years. We have been to the ends of the earth in search of inspiration. We explore an unusual destination, then write like crazy for a fortnight using our holiday destination as a backdrop.

    We decided to holiday this year in Japan, It was Harry, the new guy to our group. who had the idea of visiting Hokkaido, I can clearly remember when he addressed the group at our annual meeting.

 “Thanks to the prevailing cold winds from Russia: Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost and second-largest island usually gets a good dumping of snow. Sapporo, Japan’s fifth largest city, hosts a magical snow festival that attracts over two million people every year in February to see hundreds of snow statues and ice sculptures.”

There was a generally positive reaction to this idea.

Jim Trimble the chairman responded with, “Yes, I’ve heard of this massive unusual event, we ought to get some great inspiration from the displays and the atmosphere there.”

 Peter Drake our secretary and treasurer looked up from the laptop he had perched in front of him on the table. “Sapporo is within our budget and has some interesting features to visit whilst we are there. I can probably get a good deal if we book early,”

“Any questions, or alternative ideas?” asked the chairman.

Millicent Summers, then asked, “What is the temperature like there in February,?”

“Cold!” said Peter

The chairman then asked for a show of hands and the decision to visit Sapporo was carried unanimously.

That is the background to how we found ourselves marooned in a luxury hotel in Sapporo after a freak snowfall had dumped ten inches of snow on this part of the city causing widespread chaos. With devastating snowdrifts piling up, bringing delays to all transport, thousands of people were stranded at the airports.

 We were called together to be questioned by an officer of the Japanese police investigating the murder of one of our fellow guests, an Australian man who was traveling alone had been found dead in his hotel room with a severe wound to his head.

 The investigating officer arrived with two colleagues and began to question all of the hotel guests individually.

The police made an arrest and left with the suspect in handcuffs. We were shocked to discover that Harry, the new guy in our club was under arrest for murder.


Jim Trimble said the evidence was cast iron as the victim had been assaulted with one of the large heavy glass ashtrays that can be found in every room throughout the hotel. The only missing ashtray was from Harry’s room, this was almost incontrovertible evidence.

Millicent was soon on the case, and angrily cornered the night porter and questioned him vigorously, she hated to admit Harry had spent the night with her.

 Harry was quickly released from custody; an innocent bystander in a planned assassination.


(498 WORDS)


Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

Friday Flasher

Follow this link To comment:  Join in and have fun

Friday Flasher: Japan




Image from the Net

Writing Practice from a prompt by The Write Practice

The Prompt

Let’s twist things up. You show up to Mrs. White’s Tudor style mansion to meet with your writing critique group, as you do every week. You expect to have a fun time talking about writing and getting feedback, not to find one member of the group murdered in the drawing room. First, describe how you find the murder victim. Then, after the police lock you in a room with the rest of the guests, write about your suspicions of who-dun it as you look around the room at your fellow writers. (Set your timer for thirty minutes.)



by John Yeo

   It’s Tuesday evening once again, My favourite evening of the week. We are off to take part in our evening of literary congeniality together, at Madeleine White’s mansion at the top of the hill, overlooking the village. Gilbert White is a wealthy industrialist who likes to play at being a Lord of the manor.

 The drive up the steep hill is very pretty, with the estate farm and fields spreading out into the distant horizon. The huge ornamental gates with a statue of a horse’s head on each gatepost, are always left open on Tuesday to welcome the writing group.

   Mrs White opens the door herself, in response to the chimes of the doorbell that resounds hollowly through the rooms of the mansion. The butler is off-duty on Tuesdays. We always receive a welcome from our lady hostess. There are just six of us in the group at present. Annie, Dorothy, Jill, Richard, Margaret and I.

  We usually meet in the impressive library, where there are many leather bound books from floor to ceiling, and many comfortable chairs and tables. Tonight is no exception and we get ourselves comfortable as we wait for Jill, who has gone to fix her torn jeans in the drawing room full length mirror.

   We wait a good ten minutes before we begin to work, we all leave one after another to get drinks in the drawing room, and visit the toilets situated there. Jill still hasn’t got back after another five minutes, and Mrs White leaves us to find her. Suddenly there is a frightening high scream from the drawing room. We all rush in there at once to find a shocked Mrs White and the prone figure of Jill on the floor of the drawing room. There is a pool of blood seeping over the carpet under her body. “She’s dead,” gasps Mrs White. somebody call the police.”

   Soon after the police arrive to investigate and to the horror of everyone, we are all locked up in the library by the police.

  Looking around at our fellow writers, I try to work out who is capable of the killing and why? Presumably we are locked up here because the police suspect one of us.

  I immediately rule out Margaret and myself. This leaves Annie, Dorothy, and Richard and of course Mrs White. I think my suspicions lie with Dorothy, she has always held a competitive grudge against Jill.

   Sometime later we are all interviewed by the investigating officer, who is still without a suspect, not a single clue has been revealed during the questioning.

   Then after a search of the pantry, a man with blood on his clothes, found hiding there, is led out handcuffed by the police. Mrs White is in a state of shock as she identifies her butler.

    The sensational twist in the tale  occurred a week later when Madeleine White was arrested for the murder of Jill Dyson who was blackmailing her, for an alleged affair she had with her father. Jill claimed Mrs White was her Mother who had abandoned her to marry Gilbert White.

   The butler was released after admitting smearing himself with blood to protect Mrs White.

   Gilbert White is moving away soon. Sadly our literary group is no more.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.



This is the latest Picture it and Write prompt from Ermilia’s blog


As usual the image is supplied and credited by Ermilia.


by John Yeo

     The very wealthy man had a vision, he approached the local authorities with a large sum of money, to be used for the good of the local people who still lived in the town where he grew up as a lad.

     The plan was for a green space, with flowerbeds, pretty shrubs, and trees where wild birds were able to perch and nest. Many benches were to be strategically set up, to allow elderly folk or mothers to rest while their children were at play. Waterfowl were to be encouraged to swim on the stream, flowing through this oasis of rest and tranquility and a yearly annuity would be set aside for the upkeep and maintenance of his dream.

    His plan was welcomed with open arms by the grateful folk, who served on the town council, and an agreement was quickly reached. The Mayor named the park after this very generous benefactor, and a statue of him was erected in a small enclosed garden in the centre of this beautiful green, open space, in memorium of his generosity.

     Ten years later there was an extraordinarily brutal killing in the town, and the news media were congregating at an overgrown, neglected, little-used open space set in the middle of an urban conurbation. A young lady was standing alone with tears streaming down her cheeks, amid the littered open area, in the centre of this rundown little park. Empty beer cans and plastic bags were everywhere under the rusted broken seats and carelessly tossed into a stream that was flowing through. A moss-covered, chipped and broken, unrecognisable statue had been overturned and upended into the water.

           “Why are you crying Miss?” Asked a hard-bitten seen-it-all news reporter.

      “I cry for the love of my Grandfather who had a dream that is now shattered and smashed by unthinking unashamed vandals. I cry for the visible drop in the standards of living, that allows the memory of a very caring man to be ground into the dirt and detritus of drink-sodden ne’er-do wells. Above all I cry for justice to be meted out to the killers of my beloved sister who was abused and murdered here in the very place where his dream came to fruition. God may have mercy on their vicious souls! “

Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers ~ Writing challenge.

Hosted by Priceless Joy.

The goal is to write a story between 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) based on the provided photo.


Photo provided by Sonya, author of the blog, “Only 100 Words.” 


by John Yeo 

The magical mystery cruise aboard “Deutshland” was due to to set sail.
The passengers were all aboard. The only person who was totally aware of the destination was Captain Klaus.
Lord and Lady Rochester were travelling with their own personal butler. Many other members of the blue-blooded aristocracy from all over Europe were taking this mystery voyage. The Count and the Countess of Bravaria were also on board.
The celebrated, Frau Marples of fictional fame came aboard alone. The order to cast off was given by the Captain and the mystery cruise got underway. Two days later a body was discovered hidden in a lifeboat and Frau Marples was quickly summoned by Captain Klaus to help. Meanwhile his lordship identified the body as his butler. Several hours later, Frau Marples identified the murderer as Lord Rochester, who was arrested and placed under armed guard. Her ladyship was heartbroken at the death of the butler, as Frau Marples had predicted, when she proclaimed. “This time the butler was unable to do it!”

(172 WORDS)

Copyright (c) Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers-

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a new weekly fiction writing challenge. The goal is to write a story between 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) based on the provided photo.



by John Yeo

This is the place where the dream was created, deep in Arden forest. A beautiful peaceful sight in daylight with this tree-lined path running through the middle. There are fairies and many little people living here, only visible after dark. The biggest puzzle is the man with the head of an Ass, who is rumoured to have been magically transformed here. The fact is debatable, as there are many Ass-headed beings in the real world, visible wearing the heads of ordinary folk. The tree-lined avenue pictured is haunted by the Lady Arabella who was murdered by her husband after she was caught having an affair with an Ass-headed farmer. The tenant farmer was ostracised and thrown off his land. Now he wanders the woods after dark, broken-hearted looking for revenge, with a pack of hounds ready to tear the foxy killer apart. His Lordship only hunts and walks by day.

(150 Words)


Image © pricelessjoy

Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

This is in response to a challenge hosted by Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. If you would like to participate in this challenge or need more information, please click the following link: