feelings

Friday Fictioneers for September 23rd, 2022

For the last full day of global top-half summer, our waving but unwavering maven of history’s mysteries, Rochelle, has boxed-up a deal with Alicia Jamtaas. That duet has flat-out challenged our fictioneer muses to contrive artful `songs or stories of fewer than 101 words. I don’t think titles or postscripts count, lest she DQ’s me.

Click any box, bike, or item in Alicia’s photo and UPS will pick you up and creatively deliver you to Rochelle’s post of purple passions to open the what-ifs and where-how’s of joining the fray.

PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas

Genre: Murderous Mystery
Title: Friends in Low Places
Word Count: 100

***

“You didn’t have to shoot him, Bill.”

“His last bad joke. My gun’s in the blue-handled box.”

“Nothing’s priced. What’s up behind the curtain?”

“Porno auditions. You should try out.”

“Focus, Bill. We need that damn gun. This shooting people over jokes needs to stop.”

“It wasn’t the joke. He was an asshole and an organ donor. I made the world a better place with one shot.”

“Oh? HE was now? Okay. We’ll pick up what’s left at the morgue tomorrow. She wants a grand for the box. She must know.”

“Well, crap! Ask her if she’s an organ donor.”

Look both ways to make your world better.
Mind the gaps, especially in murder plots.
“Remember what the dormouse said, feed your head.”

Click on the man with a gun to read more boxes of fun. Was that the punch line?

Sammi’s Weekender #275 (avian)

Click the graphic to fly to Sammi’s blog page to submit and to read other’s prose or poems.

Got My Six

His name was Jay.
We called him Jay Bird
due to his avian-like
looks and behavior.
Callsigns were
seldom complimentary,
like Maverick or Viper.
Jay Bird was my friend.

Look both ways in life but memories are treasures of the mind.
And mind the ever-present gaps as you connect the dots and wonder why.

Monday’s Rune: Special Times

Photo by and © Dale Rogerson

Candlelight Creates Memories.

It happens
like this
it all comes together
too seldom,
so brief
but when
it comes,
we feel it
forever.
It’s more
than love,
family,
sisterhood;
life has enough
pain and suffering
and sadness.

Forget that—
remember this—
time always was
always will be
just because when
it’s like this
it’s cosmic.

No
everyday thing.
That wouldn’t work.

The right people,
the right time and place
discovering high levels
of special happiness.

We need to do that
more often—
again soon.

One bottle passed through
snifters near dripping candles
lighting empty chairs
reflections
light and dark
happy and sad
yin and yang
simultaneous synergy
of family energy.

Look both ways to find soul in family.
Mind the gaps. Set the stage. Live the love.

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 1st 2022

To kick off the lyrical month of July in the year twenty twenty-two, Mistress Rochelle stayed close to home again by drafting from hubby and sending us a photo of a 1960 International Harvester pickup truck, credit to her musical goy-boy-toy, Jan Wayne Fields.

Some folks name their cars and trucks, even the ones used to earn some extra college moolah in the mid-1960s.

Click on the flower truck for a ride to Rochelle’s page to see the root cause of Friday Fictioneers. (PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields)

Genre: Flowerchild Fiction
Title: Poppy Redux
Word Count: 100

***

I paid little attention to my surroundings as I picked out flowers.

I heard, “Hey asshole. Long time, no see. How’s it hangin’?”

“Poppy?” I looked closer at the pickup.

“Holy shit. You must be over fifty.”

“Sixty-two. I’m haulin’ flowers now. No more runnin’ grass like with you guys back when.”

I said, “Sorry, man.”

“No worries, Bill. I’m the new chick magnet.”

The flower farm guy walked up.

“Hey man, how much you want for this rust-bucket, farm boy, pick ‘em up?”

“She ain’t for sale.”

I smiled, “He. Poppy is he or him. Now, what’s it gunna take?”

***

Look both ways when you hear familiar voices.
Mind the gaps, but buy it, build it, make it, or take it.
Whatever gets your ride to roll.

Click on brother Bert’s smile to be picked up and driven to other wonderful 100-word (or fewer) stories.

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.

Monday’s Rune: A Metamorphosis

When does it happen, if it happens at all?
The innocent child becomes a troubled teen,
Then a vicious young man with an M-sixteen,
Or a rivetted young woman focused on his fall.

Is this the formula of a coming dystopia?
Is the excitement of the fight so much greater
Than desire for tranquility and gods’ opium?
Is power over people the dark masturbator?

Some change. Many don’t. Over time
We all morph and grow to some degree
For better or worse, but will I ever be free?
Human life’s permanent paradox of paradigm.

Look both ways with conscious contemplation of then and now.
Mind the gaps for lessons of fortitude,
not the comfort of fear.
You can only die once, Bukowski notwithstanding.

Friday Fictioneers for May 20th 2022

To shed light on her creative corner, Mistress Rochelle, our lady of many talents, has cast upon us a home-grown photo of her own, to be transformed into no more than 100 gifted words with which we tell a fictioneer’s story for Friday, 20th of May, when we celebrate the 76th birthday of another lady of wonder and many gifts, Cher.

 

Click on Rochelle’s corner to be whisked over to her page for the why and wherefore of FFs. If you decide to cop her picture, she asks that you tell her how you used it. All FF pics are owned by the contributor, in this case, Rochelle herself.

Genre: Autobiographical Fiction
Title: Secret Friends
Word Count: 100

***

Home alone at last. No one to say no.

To the dark, dark, dramatic cellar. The one dim light bulb cast eerie shadows over dark corners. The crypt like odor. What mysteries? What hidden fears and excitement?

A wet dirt floor crunched as I searched. I found him hiding behind the old coal furnace. He swore to protect me if I never told.

Now in my office I write about him. I sketch and paint him. Is he still there? Does he remember? Will I see him again? Will anyone believe me?

I was his friend; he was my protector.

***

Look both ways for what was then and what lives now in many memories,
be they fact or fiction.
Mind the gaps to be filled for the pleasure of the picture.

Click on your favorite Cher decade to find the squares and more magnificent stories.

Monday’s Rune: Hurry & Wait

Call Alice or Jody Call

Hurry up! and then wait
might be a cliché to some.
Army’s GI Joes claim it
as their own,
but we’ve all been rushed
and rushed, hurried along,
forced into quick-step like
anthropomorphic white rabbits
through Alice’s wonderland story
(not Arlo’s restaurant one)
and Grace’s slick psyche-song.

Rushed to somewhere
only there to wait,
and wait some more,
and then wait longer.
(‘twas no rarity, either.)
On top of that,
just like the mad hat,
they’d (we) add five minutes,
early
plus five,
and then five more,
(if not ten) minutes early.
A military obsession
greater than want of
any weapon
or crazy-ass war.

Embrace the suck
if it makes it
better how ya feel,
about it all,
been there,
done that,
was not late,
but had to wait.
We’ll all be early
for our own
funerals, unless
it’s Oxford
(not Tulsa) time,
when late is just fine.

Look both ways if you’ve had “some kind of mushroom.”
Mind the gaps and “remember what the dormouse said, feed your head.”