Poetry: A Pantoum


Morning Cat

Sometimes, in the morning I stretch like a cat.
It feels good to expand my arms into the air,
to feel my body push against itself,
to feel my life physically trigger another day.

It feels good to stretch my arms into the air,
quietly announcing my arrival before dawn upstages me.
I want to physically trigger another day in my life.
before dawn steals my self-awareness, that “I’m alive” feeling.

I enjoy quietly announcing my arrival while
admiring the cobalt blue and sunny pink sky colors,
as sunrise steals my awareness, an “I’m alive” feeling
that makes me want to make the best of the day to come.

I admire the cobalt blue and sunny pink morning skies
and I want to feel my body push against itself,
as I hope to make the best of the day to come.
Sometimes, in the morning I stretch like a cat.


Look both ways when you’re feeling a bit catty.
Mind the gaps. Especially the ones behind the eyes.

Sammi’s Weekender #198 (kitsch)

 

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What’s Cool?

Is kitsch quality or poor taste?
Are minimalists monotonous?
Are sandal’s socks courageous?

Do pink Flamingos
promulgate plastic?

Is Bahama Mama racist?
Are Brazilian Beauties sexist?
Is bland better than spice?
Is culture copy complimentary?

No fuzzy dice on mirrors,
but the green turtle on my dash
and a little yellow rubber duckie love me,
without some good god’s crucifix
or prayer beads.
I admit. I’m a bit kitschy.


Look both ways with taste and preference.
Human nature dictates, human nurture personificates.
Mind the gaps between and among us.

Poetry: Bless My Nurses


They want my brain snot,
and why not? Rosie Rhona Corona
all around, and my blood, IV
goes in and out, needles
in this arm then that. Ouch!

Pressure checked, too high,
stand up and it’s too low.
Count to bloody fourteen,
“pee or we’ll drill for it”—
to prove I’m a well man.

Testing, testing, testing.
Looking good but bend over
butt rush hose to the glory hole.
They’ll fix me man, if they
don’t kill me first.
More blood? Ouches.


Look both ways.
The well-traveled road is the smoothest.
Mind the gaps or no discharge.

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

Sammi’s Weekender #166 (hinterland)


Lannan banished him to Marfa, city of minimalist art,
in the hinterlands high-plains desert, a Trans-Pecos cowboy patch
in far west Texas. Controversial, wrangled, and angry (bless his heart),
Bloodaxe English poet Peter Reading endured being sacked

For having gallish cheek, remaining ununiformed 22 years,
being poet, For the municipality’s elderly,
as a mindless weighbridge operator and lover
of fine wine and birds, with gruesomely ironic humor.

Peter and I were born on the same Saturday,
he in Liverpool, I was not.
His revenge – Marfan and Shitheads.


Look both ways for hammering truthful humor
and light romantic comedy.
Mind the gap, said the man to the day tripper.

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.

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: Sammi’s Weekender #163 (unwelcome)


Unwanted Help

Invited to the Inspector General’s team
following years of experience,
known as the dreaded, unwelcome, I.G.,
our evil trope: “We’re here to help.”

Hated and despised, our team
of untrusted inquisitors and fault finders
were greeted with feigned welcomes,
red carpets covering fire and brimstone.

Treated well with subtle urgings, indirect bribes,
kindly disguised distractions and rarely,
outright hostility; like emotionless automatons,
“We are only here to help you do better.”

Fear and respect swam in the same swill.
We were as pleased to leave as they
to see us go.


Look both ways for the best and the worst.
Mind the gaps, therein are found hidden weakness.