Friday Fictioneers for 8/07/2020 (Pancho and Cisco)

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for again distance-herding us through another Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt, today by Jennifer Pendergast.

My challenge was to write a complete story (beginning, middle, and end) in 100 words or less. The photo prompt led me to the American West. That triggered an old TV show (western genre). I then found some inspiration in songs by Eric Clapton and Willie Nelson.

I added videos at the end in case you want to see what I’m talking about. The complete TV show is there. It’s too long to watch it all, but the intro is informative.

PHOTO PROMPT – © Jennifer Pendergast

Title: Caballero Revenge
Genre: (Copycat – Hysterical) Fiction
Wordcount: 100

***

Loco was in full gallop when Pancho yelled, “Santa Mierda, Cisco. A coal train. What we gunna do now?”

“Diablo says we jump between the cars. The posse will never catch us.”

“Loco say you both loco. We go around. Ride to the rear.”

“No, Pancho. To the front. We’ll shoot the engineers and take the train.”

“But Cisco, we are the good ones. We don’t kill and steal trains.”

“Ah, but Pancho, we do now since you shot the deputy.”

“Oh, Cisco, I only did that because you shot the sheriff.”

Thusly, the Cisco Kid and Pancho became outlaws.

***


Look both ways, especially if you shoot the sheriff.
Mind the gaps in trains, but ride to the front.

Click blue frogs for link to inlinkz

Poetry: dVerse Poets Pub 8/4/2020 (window)

Today’s dVerse Poet’s Pub prompt for poetics is Looking out the window, provided by Peter Frankis. While the challenge was to take a picture, post it, and write about it. I adjusted time a bit. I used a picture I searched for and found that my wife took of me through a window, 48 years ago. This idea came to me quickly and I could not let it go.


Circa 1972, through front window of house I grew up in.

The Window Behind Me

A window from the parlor to the covered front porch
of my parents’ home, a memory of chewing paint off the sill,
of watching adults sit and talk and wave as neighbors walked by.
For eighteen years, my view of the world outside
where wind blew, rain fell, thunder clapped, people sang,
cars passed and honked. Life beckoned me to the stage,
through that window.

What was I thinking 48 years ago? My young wife and new son
in the window behind me. Our future? Was I talking or listening to
a passerby? Was I thinking of losing that hair as it turned gray?
Four-years military—done! College degree, done! Responsibility
branded me an armed man. Was I up to it? Did I have life,
or had it taken me?

Would the photographer still be my wife after 54 years? Would I have two
more children and would they be in their forties with more kids?
Would I build two careers and retire? Would I write poetry?
I had time. I knew I would live forever. I did not even know what I didn’t know.
Now, I know. Some I wish I didn’t discover. A window from the past
reflecting the future. The present me, right here, right now, today.
I want to say, relax, you’ll be fine.


Look both ways through every window.
Mind the gaps and cracks.

Friday Fictioneers 7/31/2020

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for herding us through Friday Fictioneers, even while on a vacation visit. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt, today by Jean L. Hays.

With fewer than 101 words we are challenged to contrive a beginning, middle, and an end.

Photo prompt © Jean L. Hays

Title: Whisperer Bay
Genre: Animal Fiction (Allegory)
Word count: 100


I rowed my skiff into the bay and leaned against the seat to vegetate under the stars.

There was a nearby splash. Something bumped the boat. Then again.

Then a voice. “Relax. Don’t talk. Just make sounds.”

I could barely see the head of a dolphin looking at me.

I spoke. “You can talk?”

Again, “Don’t talk. Make sounds. I don’t understand speech. I cannot talk.”

I thought, I must be dreaming.

“No. Some humans understand echolocation sounds. You do.”

I thought, I understand you and you me.

“Come back this time tomorrow. Plan to stay longer. I’ll explain then.”


Relaxed attention sees both ways and perceives concealed secrets.
Mind mental gaps.

Click blue frogs for link to inlinkz

Poetry: dVerse Open Link Night #270 (my first)

Thanks to Mish and the folks at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, for Open Link Night #270 (click for link). This poem messes with where my head’s been lately.

***


Combatant

It could have been me.
A nod, a blink, an okay
and the next forty-five
years …

had I not been killed, maimed
or driven insane
(as many of us were)

… would not have been anything
like what I look back to today,
fifty-six long years hence,
with contrition, feeling the loss;

Personal, hidden, illogical
survivor syndrome. I can’t
make sense of it. The feeling
of a warrior who wasn’t.

Life choices often made
thoughtlessly, in a blink.
I could be dead. Change the past?
Not on your life or mine.


***

Look both ways at guilt for life: fortune or folly.
Mind the gaps in the mindless wars with reality.

Friday Fictioneers 7/24/2020

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt (today she gets extra credit for providing the photo, as well). With fewer than 101 words we are challenged to contrive a beginning, middle, and an end.

Credit @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

***

Title: Pleasure Palettes
Genre: Romance (autobiographical) Fiction
Word count: 99


I was at my easel trying for a loose, semiabstract, colorful urban cityscape.
Conjetti walked in.
“Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“It was your boyfriend. He’ll call back later.”
She cleared her throat.
“Okay. It was Julie. We discussed art. She said watercolor is a metaphor for letting go.”
“And you said?”

“I told her it was like herding wet, angry cats of different colors that don’t mix well.”

She reached around and grabbed me, biting my neck.
“Follow me,” she said with a sultry gaze.
I smiled, “At your service m’lady.”
“You’d better be.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”


***

Look both ways as
“Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life” (Oscar Wilde).
Mind the gaps of romantic truth.

Click blue frogs for link to the party @ inlinkz

Friday Fictioneers 7/17/2020

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt (and thanks to Jean L. Hays for that), with a beginning, middle, and an end in fewer than 101 words. This is my third venture.


 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

Genre: Ironic (flash) Fiction
Word count: 100

***

Lobo and Robin met and married at the University of New Mexico following his return from Vietnam in 1970. He was from the Atchafalaya Swamp region of Louisiana, she from Montana ranch country.

Doc Robin, as she was called, was an internationally known infectious disease specialist. Lobo, a highly sought after free-lance journalist.

Their 50th anniversary party was planned for Saturday night on their rancho near Albuquerque.

“What’s in the box, Robin?”

“Designer surgical masks for the party.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“Not really, Babe. But it would not do for our quests to go home with COVID-19.”

Lobo howled.

***


Click blue frogs for link to inlinkz

Look both ways to plan a party.
Mind the gaps of the ironic mind in a literal world.

Poetry: Love Sounds

Thorns are in gardens,
And colors from pretty flowers,
Rose pedal jellies are sweet.

This world of sounds,
Voices heard, long before birth—
Mother, father, sister, brother.

Sounds of nature,
So sweet and quiet,
Some warn of danger,
Others safe passage,
Voices of friends,
A love,
Some grumpy old men.

In time,
Life’s pleasures wane and wither,
Music comes not as before,
Beautiful sounds are
Nothing to waste.

Disallow atrophy
Of lust
For a wondrous life.
Be alert.
Sounds. Enjoy them.
Be aroused
By smiles and touches
Of troubadour drums.

Surround yourself with pleasures.
Hear every note
With silences between.
Waste nothing.
Mind our gifts.

Take care,
my love.
Some things shall not
Always be there.


Look both ways with eyes and ears.
Mind the gaps between notes and words.

Friday Fictioneers 7/10/2020

Many thanks to Rochelle @ Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple for orchestrating Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story based upon a photo prompt, with a beginning, middle, and an end in fewer than 101 words. This is my second time at bat.

Photo prompt @ A. Noni Mouse (anonymous)

Genre: (Flash) Fiction: Romantic Drama
Word count: 100


Steven looked through the window at the next building as he washed dishes. His back was toward her.

Karen quietly picked up the butcher knife from the counter-top and walked toward him, the sharp tip pointed directly at his naked back.

When the point touched his skin, he turned around to face her, carefully took the knife, and slid it into the water.

Karen asked, “I didn’t frighten you?”

“I saw your reflection in the window.”

She slid into his arms. They kissed.

“Besides,” he whispered, “it’s a well-known fact, no man has ever been murdered while doing the dishes.”


Look both ways while doing dishes. Wouldn’t want to miss something.
Mind the gaps and sharp objects.

Here’s the link to inlinkz to join the party and read other stories.

Poetry: End Times

You spoke, and I awoke,
yet I fear
the time is near
when the dark depressing truth
of humanity
will take root on its tail
and then devour itself to
end it all
forever. Maybe
that’s our difference.

You claim
god so wants it,
I say let’s ask
him
or her
or it
whatever.


Look both ways.
Because you were alive yesterday does not prove you will be tomorrow.
Mind the gaps in thought and deed.