Microfiction Monday #72: Disgruntled

Never an easy moment on this job

Always hidden under the pillow, teeth are

Let’s see how the wee brats

 appreciate it when I hide their coins

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Sunday 160: Dream #2 - Keeping Secrets

fearing her secrets would soon be discovered

she worked diligently to hide bottles of wine

and private mementos from her past

along the roller coaster’s wild path 

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I'm participating in Monkey Man's weekly meme 

where the point is to write a piece

in exactly 160 characters (spaces included) 

I am finding this is the perfect platform 

to share bits and snippets of my dreams

as I walk my life's journey.  

Alphabe-Thursday: T is for Temptation

temptation tickles,

taunts...

terminally teases

tentacles thrust forth,

tethers heart...

thy tourniquet squeezes

transfused...tender toxins 

trickle, temper, 

tamper self will

titillates,

intoxicates

with transient thrills

taken, entrapped,

thy tenacious grip,

though tight, enchants

tantalized, I tremble,

my testimony

to thy every glance

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Microfiction Monday #71: The Cleanse

Warning: The following Micro-Fiction contains 

uncharacteristic "potty humor".

Proceed at your own risk,

and please forgive me!

The hospital had no choice but to call a "Code Brown"

for there is NOTHING like

a pharmaceutical grade colon cleanse

to clear out the place!

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Sunday 160: Winter's Respite

1st spring like day

after winter’s chill

sunshine’s warmth

upon the flesh

gentle breezes

scented with fragrance

of budding dogwoods

ice cream

heralds

promise of spring

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For more monkey-shines please visit my friend the Monkey Man! 

Saturday Centus: After the Silence

Ms. Jenny's prompt this week is from the Bruno Mars song, "Grenade". My 100 word prose is wrapped around the prompt, bolded and highlighted in green, below. Please feel free to critique in your comments below...how else am I going to learn? Enjoy.

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Once upon

this life of mine

there was his promise.

Promises of love,

of hope spoken

in soft gentle voice,

of dreams yet to be fulfilled.

I laughed through tears

when he burst out in song

and sang sweetly to me,

“I’d even catch a grenade for ya!”

I believed him.

Reality set in.

The silence is deafening.

Soundless shouts erupt

from my heart,

loudly, clearly.

I listen to inner truth.

Wisdom gained

through epiphany

that no one,

not even him,

can catch that grenade

while wandering through

personal minefields

battling demons of their own.

My first step towards healing.

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Flash Friday 55: The Apology

Poetry is what it is.

Word play

eliciting emotions:

some pleasant,

some not.

Is every prose truth?

Possibly.

Possibly not.

Doesn’t matter.

Maybe, just maybe,

those string of words,

that particular phrase

are therapy for both

poet and reader.

Regardless,

the direction

of yesterday’s

composition,

the sensitive subject matter,

offended some.

For that I apologize.

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Alphabe-Thursday: S is for Surrender

(Warning: the following contains subject matter that may be sensitive to some)


surrendering unto silence

in stillness of night…

slowly stepping

into room

my room 
sanctuary no more

he sits upon my bed

staring at my small frame

I feign sleep

he begins

stroking my hair

shutting, squeezing

eyes ever tighter

using his strength

to subdue me

into submission

tears streaming down

these cheeks

scarcely giving solace

to muffled screams of shame

scolding

blaming

seductress at six

then shushing me

saying that this

shall be our little secret

the little secret

ever since

stretching, swelling, spreading

enslaving me

unto its strangled hold

until now

seeds sowed so long ago

slowly rising

as snowy snippets

in dreams

and hazy memories

buying freedom as I am

...surrendering unto silence

in stillness of night

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Microfiction Monday #70:

You, sir, are no gentleman

Why do you say that?

Your linen shirt and waistcoat

cannot conceal the fact that

you forgot to remove

your corset

Darn

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Can you write a short story or prose

to a photo prompt

in only 140 characters? 

Please click on the link above 

to view other entries 

in Stony River's weekly meme.

Sunday 160: Basement Dream #1

The basement was cold

Barefoot, I stepped

onto the damp, dusty, dirt floor

There she was

back by the washing machines

in the darkened corner

hanging dolls up to dry

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I'm participating in Monkey Man's "Sunday 160" where the point is to write a piece in exactly 160 characters (spaces included). This week I've decided to use the platform to document a snippet of a dream I had last summer. 

Saturday Centus: Be My Valentine

Oh my! Our dear Ms. Jenny decided today's Centus should have a twist. In honor of Valentine's Day, we are to compose, in 50 words or less, a Hallmark card style post based upon the photo prompt. Oh dear, I don't know about this. Regardless, here's my attempt. Please be kind.

Let me be your wonder woman

Let me be your girl

Allow me to sniff your butt

Let’s give love a whirl!

I promise not to nibble

Slippers or your shoes

Nor eat from the litter box

Upon your love I’ll chew!

(42 words)

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To view much better works than this, please click on the link above.

Alphabe-Thursday-Flash Friday 55: R is for Rebirth

Reflecting,

remembrances 

slowly revealed

Rough, 

ragged,

rancorous,

filled with rage

Reaching back further…

recalling those 

long repressed

Without remorse,

resistance,

or urge to run,

memories are resurrected

Whether real or revised

doesn’t matter, 

really,

for the resentments 

reign,

restrain,

hold me ransom

Relief…

not through retaliation,

but through resolve:

recognizing,

releasing,

refusing

bondage’s grip

Rebirth

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Microfiction Monday #69: The Time Turner

2:33

Perfect

The time-turner placed

Harry & Hermione

back to the beginning of their

magical adventure at

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

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Sunday 160: The Burning Bush

Rounding the corner

we came upon what was once

a burning bush

Sparks still arise

from the smoldering embers.

I watched in awe

as my friend

retrieved the garden hose. 

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I've been writing my dream snippets as part of my daily Facebook status. Last night's dream made for a perfect 160. For more 160 fun, please visit my pal, The Monkey Man for more entries and rules to this weekly micro-writing exercise. 

Saturday Centus: Two for One!

Last week I was at work when our dear Ms. Jenny posted a wonderful story prompt. She was heavy in my thoughts as I penned this little100 word story (taking place FAR into the future). The prompt is in red. 

The elderly woman shuffled towards the old shed she used for storage. She was grateful that she needn’t worry about inclement weather destroying her possessions as the hot Arizona sun beat down upon her bent frame.  She stepped through the creaky door into the stuffy interior. She spied the trunk. Fumbling with the old skeleton key on a chain around her neck she unlocked and raised its lid. There they were. She lifted the stack of letters from the ancient chest. Smiling she began to read:  “A is for…”

And that is where her children found her the next day. 

(In no way was this meant to be morbid but rather an honor to the woman whose memes helped me find my inner voice and strength through the alphabet!)

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And the following is this week’s essay. Consider it my little 100 word public service announcement. The prompt is in blue. 

She knew she needed to leave it alone, let it go its course, but she couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t help herself. She had a date that night and didn’t want that monstrosity remaining on the tip of her nose. So she did what any naive 17 year old would do. She squeezed and picked at the darn thing.  Unfortunately for her, this was no ordinary pimple. It was infected. MRSA to be exact.  It was growing bigger by the minute. She missed out on that date as she was rushed to the hospital with a severe case of cellulitis. 

I am sorry for the "Ewww" factor of this particular story. Please, however, visit the following links for further information on MRSA or cellulitis.

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Alphabe-Thursday: Q is for Quarrel

Quarrel

quickly ignites

fueled by quarried mem’ries.

Queasy with fear, querulous, they

squirm with qualm beneath weight of status quo

finding themselves in quandary:

continue healing quest

or quell inner

quarrel?

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I am in the process of some very personal and difficult work encompassing the physical, emotional, and spiritual aspects of my life. As I am changing, relationship dynamics cannot help but change as well, be it with family or friends. Sometimes, when things appear particularly difficult, I think it would be so simple, so easy to just go back to "how I was" or "how it was". But I know I cannot. For I have had glimpses of the fruit of this labor. Even though this work is hard and fraught with fear, as long as I continue to grab the hand of God, allowing His will to be done, the healing will come. This poem is how doubt, ever cunning, can creep in stirring internal anxiety. 

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