Click on the dunk graphic to discover other 78-word writings that include the word dunk.
Popularity
Sweatpants and fifteen-dollar
Wally-world slip-ons do the job
when I’m home alone and happy.
A child, I believed them
when they said I’d
run faster and jump higher
In them Keds,
for a tenth of what they pay
for fly higher and faster
Nike Dunks, which tell me
things and give me thoughts
they don’t want to hear or know.
Now you must love me. Ima woke.
I spent a week’s pay for
these kicks. Now kiss them.
I look both ways and wonder, am I the person I think I am?
Or am I a slave to popular marketing?
Mind the gaps before falling into a mentality where popularity trumps all things practical.
This week our magical Mistress Rochelle pulled a mare’s nest from order to muddle my muse and trigger my call to organization.
Texans might say I’ve been feeling puny (ill) for a few days, so I was uninspired until today (Friday – imagine that).
It’s all Rochelle this week as she scattered a photo of her own randomly into the blogosphere. If you think you’d like to push a stormy story of fewer than 101 words, find your way to join the free-for-all by clicking on her photo and seeking order at her purple patterned blog page. Click >here< to read other chaotic stories.
Genre: Therapeutic Fiction
Title: Bollix Minds Word Count: 100
***
Why did you bring me here?
I wanted you to see this metaphor for your mind.
Ridiculous. I’m neat. I hang-up clothes, organize socks, and straighten art. My OCD would organize this fast.
Bill, you were arrested for tampering with a murder investigation. The judge ordered counseling as part of your plea deal.
I simply organized and cleaned up blood. The detectives got upset.
This chaos is how you see the world. Do you understand?
Not true. I do have leads on jobs.
Tell me more.
Stores want me to follow customers around and straighten things up after they pass.
***
Look both ways for all sorts of metaphors.
Mind the gaps and try to understand, things will never be perfect.
This musical bit (If the youtube will not play for you, try this imbedded link.) brought a chuckle to my mind and almost a bit of relating to the song.
A 76-word, first-word, acrostic poem, using alcazar, meaning a Spanish fortress, palace, or castle.
I did not use the prompt word as a theme.
Click this graphic to read more writings of alcazar,
Wind, Rain, and Life
All I ask are a few good poems and stories and to have
Lived and loved my seventy-six years as me. My
Children and my children’s children brought me to heavenly happiness
As rain brought new life later claimed by the dry range and the breezes of soft
Zephyrus gently passing us by, like time-forgotten memories
Around our lives with now-shortened horizons pointing to sunsets
Restoring my faith in the discovered purposes of life and humanity.
Look both ways to protect your citadel from plunder and attack.
Mind the gaps of your castle walls which may be vulnerable to the darkness of passing time.
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.
Click this graphic to link to Sammi’s blog page and links to more 86-word works of jamboree.
Tanta Belleza
En la ciudad Mexicana de San Antonio, Texas,
Fiesta: eleven April days and nights of wild jamboree
fiestas where diversity is celebrated with parades galore,
like the Battle of the Flowers with royalty;
titled Queen of the Alamo, the Charro Queen,
King Antonio, or King El Rey Feo in his royal ugliness of medieval rivalry,
there’s a Queen of Soul, and La Reina de la Feria de las Flores,
everywhere you’ll find dancing and music, muchos happy people,
if large crowds are your taza de tequila.
Look at crowds both ways for the fun within the melee.
Mind the gaps for the light-fingered chaps.
A fun time. Take the bus. It is always packed. Click the pic if you want to know more.
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.
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.
Sometimes I don’t understand, or
(and it’s not the same thing)
I misunderstand, hoping
somehow to be brought
to correction and truth,
by way of clarification,
minus animosity.
Like one day
writing to prompts.
A young lady made clear
her (pre-pandemic) intention
to complete
the several months long hike
of the Appalachian Trail,
Georgia to Maine.
Starting in February,
finishing in May (unlikely),
by hiking
twenty-seven miles
every day for months.
She had done eighteen miles in one day,
no more; none
during March or July
on a rocky or muddy ascending trail.
I wanted to say, that’s a marathon a day,
every day, for at least three months (more like five to seven) bearing a pack, food, and water.
But I didn’t. Is it for me to say?
Lest I dash her dream with reality.
Is it for each person to discover
our dreams? To defeat challenging demons?
Not with wisdom but with grit.
Each of us must, on life’s long wander,
one day, one step at a time, take the risk.
Look both ways on every trail.
Watch where you step and mind the gaps lest you find a limp.
Follow your dreams.
Wisely.
Click on the photo of my favorite trail bench for more info on the Appalachian Trail.
Brenda Cox threw in with the ever-mystical mistress of purple, Rochelle our belle, who took time from the pool to deliver this refreshingly cool love shack photo to inspire one hundred words of well mused Friday Fictionary to charm and warm all readers.
Genre: Twisty Memoir
Title: Escape
Word Count: 100
***
I walked up to the bar and told my lady, “I’ll have a piña colada, please.”
She smiled and said,
“If you like piña coladas
And gettin’ caught in the rain
If you’re not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you like makin’ love at midnight
In the dunes on the cape
Then I’m the love that you’ve looked for
Let’s plan our escape.”
I replied, “I never knew. Meet me tomorrow noon, At a bar called O’Malley’s.”
Me and my old lady been on the run since then, never fallen into the same old dull routine.
***
Look both ways and love the love
of musical tunes and magical lyrics, especially 70s tunes.
Mind the gaps and put a wedge of pineapple with the rum, coconut, coco lopez,
and suck it through a fat straw.
***
Click on the 19-year-old love birds (now [27 May 1966] married 56 years) to read a bunch of other inspired stories.
***
If you’re not familiar with the piña colada song (Escape), here it is with lyrics. Hopefully, this works for everyone. Cheers, y’all.
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.
Our Literary Journey 