Family

Friday Fictioneers for July 29th 2022

I woke to a surprise this morning when I discovered that the Maven of freestyle, the Mistress of the breaststroke, and the Madam of fictioneering, Rochelle, had slipped in a prompt photo I took out in the wilds of my daughter and son-in-law’s west Texas grange.

Click on the remnants of the greenhouse to spread over to Rochelle’s blog camp so you can grow your own stories of 100-word micro-fiction.

Click on my prompt photo to go to Rochelle’s page with all the fixin’s.

Genre: Horticultural Fiction
Title: Greenman Phish-heads
Word Count: 100

***

What happened here?

The well-water went bad years back. The plants died. Now it’s only what grows naturally: mesquite, cactus, and other wild things. The Green Man makes his home in there now.

What’s over there?

That’s Uncle Billy’s Phish Camp. That’s Julie’s cat house over to the left, and that big building is the main house.

Green Man isn’t real.

He’s real. Come back next Spring and you’ll see his magic. It’s beautiful. Get in the truck and I’ll show you the business end of the Greenman rebirth. Maybe you’ll meet him. It’ll make you a believer forever.

***

Look both ways and learn to grow new beginnings.
Mind the gaps as you turn tragedy to treasure.
Greenman is all thumbs.
It’s never too late.

Click on Billy or Julie (in the current Greenman Nursery) to read other fantastic stories inspired by the prompt photo.

 

Click on the west Texas Green Man to learn more than you ever wanted to know about him.

Monday’s Rune: Code Red?

Patience Grasshopper

I don’t give a damn what
you think about what
I think I thought
that am entitled to,
or what is my business.
Motive matters. How are ya
means I fucking care
about you and your problems,
no matter how ya got ‘em.

When you shut me out,
when you will not talk,
when anyone close
informs me just
exactly what the fuck
is and is not my business,

Blood boils, tongues twist,
ears backen, and eyes redden.
Sir, the witness has rights!

Code fucking red. RED!
Read it right. No matter
WHAT! I’m on your side.
Hell, high water, thunder,
fucking flashes of lightning
or the end of my damn sidewalk.

Look both ways and see it as you must,
but I’ve been minding the gaps in this wall for more than 50 years.

 

I suppose it depends upon what it is applied to and how.

 

Sammi’s Weekender #268 (year)

Click the graphic for Sammi’s blog page and links to more 46-word applications of “year.”

Neverending

It’s how I remember the year that she died.
I watched for weeks while she suffered, and I cried.

It made a big impression on me although I was still a young man.
Her life was over—suffering ended. I still do the best I can.

Look both ways year after year.
Mind the gaps as we try to remember, and we try to forget.

My inspiration:

Friday Fictioneers for July 8th, 2022

Our Friday Fictioneers Mistress Rochelle has spun up her own spinning version photo for us to spin a yarn that cottons to your imagination. But fair warning, some songs stick like wax in your ear.

Click on Rochelle’s picture to wheel on over to her blog for the finger pricking principles of our weekly 100-word (or fewer) stories.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Genre: Musical Fiction
Title: Why Women Kill
Word Count: 100

***

Stop talking in circles.

I’m not. I’m making a point. You interrupted me.

If you don’t know, just say so.

If you see something, say something.

What? That has nothing to  do with it.

Spinning Wheel got to go ‘round. Ride a painted pony.

If you don’t stop this shit, I want a divorce.

Drop all your troubles by the river side, on the straight and narrow highway.
Okay, what’s your question again?

Where do you want to go for dinner? What movie do you want to see?

Let the spinning wheel spin.

(Frustrated) Fuck you. I’m out of here.

***

Look both ways on traffic circles and two-way roundabouts.
Mind the gaps when you buy mushrooms at the farmers’ market.

Click on the loving couple for more stories about spinning or something.

***

A little retro music for those who may not know the song.

Monday’s Rune: Pride Month Poetry

Looking Both Ways

There’s tragedy in America
and over the world today.
One that has always been there
brewing trouble bubbling,
either hidden or ignored.

Without love, honor, and respect
inside and out,
sans pity and pride, compassion, and sacrifice,
we are doomed
to be less than
the best of humanity’s history.

Let nature and nurture battle on,
let knowledge
and wisdom wrestle
with feeling and emotion.

Nature’s questions asked without fear,
safe for all, with courage
to face battles between
sweet dreams of hope
and nightmares of reality.

Ally with truth, with
compassion, without weakness or fear,
with hope to continue
standing with universal rightness.

Look both ways and try, try, try to understand, it’s not magic, man.
Mind the gaps in the human condition as you embrace its diversity.

Note: I will be reading this poem (and others) at the Lark & Owl Booksellers in Georgetown, TX, 30 June 2022 @ 7:30 PM.

Friday Fictioneers for June 24th 2022

Sliding off the summer solstice, now fully back in her Mistress role as maven of Friday Fictioneers, Rochelle has selected a photo of a suspicious looking senior gentleman entering a resale store, cane in hand. My fib-ulous 100 words follow the photo by John Nixon.

Click the PHOTO PROMPT © John Nixon to trip on over to la belle Rochelle’s purple tent-blog to get the script on how to jump in and play.

Genre: Old Fart Fiction
Title: Secondhand Security
Word Count: 100

***

I didn’t think they would need security. It was a fun gig that beat boring-ass Wally world.

The text, 4 guns @ seconds, meant four armed robbers at the secondhand store.

It was close.

There’s no fool like an old fool, but younger is dumber.

I smiled as I walked in.

I cane-zapped one guy as I ‘tripped.’ The owner shot another.

Number three went down when he shot himself in the foot. The fourth man just gave up and started to cry hysterically.

As we were cleaning up the owner said, “Just like the good old days, right, Dad?”

***

Look both ways when taking on more responsibility.
Mind the gaps, walk slowly, and carry a stun gun walking stick.

Click on the stun gun for more takes on the photo prompt.

This is one of my favorite old-fart Texas guy scenes from the movie, Secondhand Lions.

Memorial Day

I’ve decided to kick the Monday Rune a week down the road because today is Memorial Day in the USA.

My mother still called it Decoration Day even long after 1971, when Memorial Day was declared a national holiday. If you want some good information and background on the day, click HERE.

On this and every Memorial Day, I hope Americans remember what it’s factually all about. It is a day of memorial, a day to honor and remember people who died in service to the country.

Saying happy Memorial Day is inappropriate, but curbing that gets more difficult every year as more people lose sight of the purpose, which I consider unfortunate, if not sad. While it may never be incorrect to thank a veteran for their service, this day is about the dead, not the living. Veterans Day in on November 11th each year and it is totally correct to say happy Veterans Day, which is also a national holiday.

There are entire vet organizations set up for exactly this purpose: to get it right on Memorial Day. While there is a lot of hoopla, sales, and military prominence on this day, the purpose is still to memorialize the dead. I hope we don’t forget that.

 

I realize it’s Veterans Day (no apostrophe), but it is not my meme and it gets them message across.

Monday’s Rune: Standing Down

It was unthinkable, back when
my without-resumé or bona fide
job was Dad: our father,
leader, wizard, fixer of all
things and people broken,
savior of my tribe; shaman,
vet, and driver out of all demons.

Despite my foibles,
hidden as many were—
we managed to cope.

Burdened with adversity and misguided history
we owned our piece of the world,
we held the keys that controlled the universe,
wherein I was (am?) suddenly
no longer the center to which they would turn.

Call it what is, that’s life, dismissing
whenever shit happens, when I’m forced
to admit I don’t know why. To say
I was wrong about so much.
I think and think again about it all,
the ultimatum. It wasn’t you. It’s me.

Look both ways when seeking the mysterious purpose of life,
or finding of the true self, or taking on the vocation mantle of service.
Mind the gaps for the distractions of relief are dear.

Friday Fictioneers for April 22, 2022

Mistress Rochelle, the colorful manager and FF maven of artistic madness, prompts us today, with the aid of a Carole Erdman-Grant photo of an abandoned building with a marvelous paint job.

PHOTO PROMPT © Carole Erdman-Grant Click on the picture to zip on over to Rochelle’s page for all the news and graphic rules.

Genre: Family Fiction
Title: Overheard Gen Art
Word Count: 99

“Mom! Look at that! It’s beautiful. Let’s get dad to buy it.

Julie, that is junk. It’s sad—the worst of gang graffiti. It’s ugly.

Mother, you have no taste. That rocks—it is the fucking bomb. That’s great urban art.

Sweetheart, that is not art. It’s gang turf tagging and watch your language. This was once a nice place to eat. Now look at it: a concrete canvas for bored morons.

It’s metaphorical, Mom. You’re so shallow. If dad doesn’t buy it, I’ll kill myself.

And if he does you won’t have to because I’ll kill you both.”

Look both ways for all that is seen and felt.
Mind gaps and don’t touch the wet paint.

Click on Mels (sic) drive-in from the American Graffiti movie to find more fictioneering.

NaPoWriMo April 2022 (Day 19)

Click the graphic for the prompt page and more poems by other participants.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem that starts with a command.

I wrote my poem as a more respectful, loving plea rather than a command, but the words suit the prompt’s intent well, as far as I’m concerned. My inspiration was the Peter, Paul, and Mary song, Day Is Done.

Our Day Undone

Tell me why you are sad, my son.
Let me hold your hand and listen
as you speak of woe. Call me
to your side as we talk, and we walk.
Stay near me. Tell me your regrets,
intone unknowns we both fear.

Is it wise for us to ask why, sadness
so deep we must cry? Tell me,
my son. I’ll be right here
until my last day is done. Burden my
purpose of commitment. I ask no easement,
but for your silence to clear.

Allow me to share this distress and bother
just as I’ve carried you before. I rejoiced
in your life, now let me suffer with you
the worst of your troubles. Let us be
like some small support
as we lean upon each other
and lift this load
until the healing is done
and sadness has passed.

Look both ways mindful of love’s burden.
Let compassion fill the gaps,
allow time and love to ease the pain until the day is done.

If you’re not familiar with the tune: