Author: Sally

poetry

A Motionless Bird

Sally10 Comments

What would you do?
He picked up the bird, threw it high
What would you do?
’twas only stunned but now it flew!
And as it climbed into the sky
My friend breathed out a little sigh
What would you do?

This is my response to the W3 prompt. It’s based on a story a friend told me. He had seen the bird crash into something and was motionless in a field. He could see it was still alive though.

The challenge was to write a rondelet. The rondelet contains a single septet (a verse of seven lines); a refrain; a strict rhyme scheme; and a distinct meter pattern. This is the basic structure:

  • Line 1: A—four syllables (refrain)
  • Line 2: b—eight syllables
  • Line 3: A—repeat of line one (refrain)
  • Line 4: a—eight syllables
  • Line 5: b—eight syllables
  • Line 6: b—eight syllables
  • Line 7: A—repeat of line one (refrain)

The refrained lines should contain the same words, however substitution or different use of punctuation on the lines has been common.

fiction

The Morning Walk

Sally12 Comments

“Come ON,” insisted Mrs. McMeen. “No time to dilly-dally on your daily constitutional.”

“Why?” he asked. He had stopped to peek through the gate at the children.

She stopped short. “Why what?” she snapped.

Geordie had a bunch of whys swirling in his head. Why can’t they stop a moment? Why can’t he watch the girls? Why is Mrs. McMeen so mean?

When they got back to the house, Geordie ran to find Granma. Mrs. McMeen called after him, but he pretended not to hear. Granma was where he thought she’d be, in the parlor, knitting.

The light sifting through the curtains, the quiet click of the knitting needles, and the sight of his Granma made him smile.

Granma looked up and her whole face smiled at him.

“The girls were jump-roping today,” he said, “but Mrs. McMeen wouldn’t let me stop again!”

A cloud passed over Granma’s face. She set down her knitting and extended her arms toward the boy. He went to her and was engulfed.

“Which house?” she asked.

He told her.

“Two girls?” she asked.

He nodded.

She went to the desk and pulled a photo of a family out of the drawer.

“Are these the girls?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “Yes. That’s Ma and Da,” he said, pointing to the parents. “You’ve shown me them.”

“And that’s you,” she said, pointing to the baby.

“But…” he puzzled.

“They all died in the fire, Geordie,” she said. “That’s when you came to live with us.”

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is easy: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

poetry

What to Be When You Grow Up

Sally9 Comments

From
All your
Ev’ry day
Experience –
Choose that which you love
Or that thing which inspires
More than mediocrity.
You have your own unique talent
Lurking, waiting for discovery
From all your ev’ry day experience

This is my response to the W3 prompt this week. The challenge was to write a Dectina Refrain, a poem which, syllable-wise goes 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, but that last line is the first four lines put together in one line. Got it?

Oh — and the theme was “free” in any form. I went with free as in autonomy.

I’ve been thinking a lot about jobs and careers and that sort of thing. I’m so proud of all my children. I encouraged them individually to pursue that which they love. That way work is work but it isn’t really work because you mostly love it, right?

Autonomy in the workplace can be the key to truly loving a job. When you can do what you do, without someone breathing down your neck, micromanaging everything you do — well, THAT is amazing. Then work really isn’t work, just passion and, ultimately, a job well done.

fiction

Maggots

Sally14 Comments

“Have you ever seen just two maggots?” she asked.

He turned toward her. “Maggots?” he asked.

“You know what they are, right?” she said. “Fly larvae that eat rotting flesh.”

“I am not tracking on this conversation,” he said, shaking his head.

“Two maggots,” she repeated. “There are usually disgusting piles of them, spilling out of dead things in horror movies.”

He stared at her.

She continued, “All squirmy, white, gross. Coming out of eye-sockets or cheeks or pouring out of ripped-open stomaches.”

He shook his head. “Why are you talking about this?” he asked. “Halloween was so last month.”

“Two. Maggots,” she said.

He stared.

“Two maggots. Twomaggots. Twomaggots. C’mon TWO MAGGOTS,” she said, and pointed at the cafe sign.

“Les Deux Magots,” he read, and started laughing.

“What??” she asked.

He took a deep breath. He had only just met her through the dating app and wanted to be careful not to offend.

“Les Deux,” he said, “IS two or both.”

She put her hand on her hip and said, quite sassily, “I KNOW. I took French in high school.”

“But magot is NOT the same as maggot,” he continued. “Magots is loot or a jackpot.”

She looked disappointed.

“I can show you some maggots, though,” he offered.

“Really?” she asked.

He thought about the newly vacated room in his dungeon. Yeah, the maggots were probably pouring out his recent carcass. But she would be a lovely addition to his tenants.

“Yes,” he said.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge, and also something more than a nod to C.E.Ayr’s rather horrifying tales that he contributes to it.

I usually write a mundane parent-child conversation as a response to the photo prompt. CE writes stories — in 250 words or less — that respond to the photo, but that leave me with nightmares.

So — I tip my hat to you, C.E. Ayr.

poetry

Stains

Sally9 Comments

Boy! Mustard,
Oil, gum, grease, tar. I’m flustered!
Nothing can remove this shirt
Dirt

It’s the W3 challenge. The PoW challenged us to write an Acrostic Poem using the word “BOND”. As a theme, she wanted the poem to be about something or someone we are bound to or share a bond with. Alternatively, we could write about two or more things that are bound together.

Can you think of a tighter bond than stains and fabric? Okay, okay — I’m sure there are lots, but still, a stain has quite a bond, right?

This is yet another Deibide Baise Fri Toin, an Irish form with an aabb rhyme scheme and syllable count of 3-7-7-1 for each stanza. The first two lines rhyme on a 2 syllable word and the last two lines rhyme on one syllable.

Honestly, I put my poem in the same category as the following poem which appeared in an old Adventures in Odyssey episode about a boy who was struggling with poetry assignments in school — you know, all that symbolism and metaphor nonsense. He was a brick and mortar type kid. He wrote the following poem about pants.

 I put on pants every day.
To go to school or to play.
I like pants.

Sometimes I wear pants of blue,
Or brown to go with my shoe.
I like pants.

Sometimes I feel sorry for ants.
Because they can’t wear pants.
I like pants.

Pants cover my legs so that I can go.
Without them I would be cold I know.
I like pants.
I like them so.

fiction

Nekkid

Sally20 Comments

“Mom, why is that kid nekkid?” Marco asked.

His mother looked at him, startled. “Nekkid? Do you mean naked?” She stressed the long A.

“Jeremy says ‘nekkid,’ and he knows,” Marco replied.

She paused and thought about how to answer. Should she tackle the why question? Or should she pursue the Jeremy angle and his vocabulary?

Marco watched her think. “You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you? You know, parents don’t like to talk about stuff like that.”

“Did Jeremy tell you that, too?” she asked.

“Jeremy knows a lot,” he replied. “He’s twelve.”

“You realize that I am three times older than Jeremy,” she said.

“Mom,” Marco said, rolling his eyes, “I KNOW you’re old. That doesn’t make you cool.”

“Cool?” she asked.

“Jeremy is the coolest kid in my class,” he said. “He knows lots of words.”

“I’m not sure I want to know the words Jeremy is telling you,” she said.

“They’re not bad words!” Marco proclaimed. “He’s from Chicago. They have better words there.”

“Like?”

“Like when he’s excited, he says he’s amped.”

“Okay,” she said.

“When Sarah came to school in those fancy ripped jeans,” Marco said.

His mom interrupted. “Ripped jeans are NOT fancy.”

He smirked. “When Sarah came to school in ripped jeans, Jeremy said she was boujie.”

“Boujie? I think that’s short for bourgeois, a French word for…”

Jeremy interrupted, “I don’t care where it came from. I want to know why that boy is nekkid.”

His mom looked at the statue and said,

Dang that 250 word limit!

This is my contribution to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s a simple challenge: write 250 words (no more than that!) and base it on the photo.

I have no dead bodies or psychopaths. Just a mom and her son.

poetry

Strength

Sally2 Comments

Line: Point A to B
≠ strength. Conversely
Circle: pointless and centered

The W3 challenge this week was to write either 1) a haiku, 2) a tanka, or 3) a senryu and use the word “strength” in it.

I looked up senryu because I didn’t know what it was. “The senryu is a three-line Japanese poetic form that focuses on human nature, generally with an ironic or darkly comedic edge.” (from Masterclass) It has 17 syllables, like a haiku, but I gave up on 5-7-5. Also, I decided that ≠ is one syllable. Of course, it’s not.

This may not seem human nature-ish, and it isn’t funny, but I had read something the other day that said Jesus drew circles, not lines. It stuck with me.

A bully draws lines in the sand and taunts those on the other side. Love includes them. There’s my human nature angle. (Angle — sheesh — I’ve got geometry on the brain!)

Note to David: I’m not submitting this to the W3 because it’s really not in keeping with the rules of the challenge. It was inspired by the challenge, but not a senryu.

fiction

Twelve Steps

Sally12 Comments

He stood on the top step. “Spiritual awakenings are a bunch of sh*t,” he said.

He took a step down and mis-recited, “Prayer and meditation are also bullsh*t. There is no God.”

Next step, “I KNOW when I make mistakes. Why do I have to tell the rest of the world?”

Down again. “People are frickin’ unforgiving.”

Another step. “Make a list? Make amends? No. Way. In. Hell.”

Step down again. “There is no God. Nobody is listening.”

Down. “If there is a God, He sure as hell made me defective.”

Another. “My life is an open book. I have f–ed it up.”

Four steps from the bottom. “Moral inventory. That’s a laugh.”

Three. “I am not turning my life over to anybody but me. I can take care of myself.”

Two. “There is no hope.”

One. “I am powerless over alcohol. Give me a drink.”

He looked up at the man waiting with a shot of whisky poured for him. He could see the rest of the bottle in the man’s other hand.

He reached out to take the drink and his granddaughter stepped out from behind the man with the whisky.

“Grampa?” she said.

This is my response to the Unicorn Challenge. It’s such a simple challenge: write no more than 250 words and use the photo as a prompt.

I counted the steps in the photo — twelve of them — and decided to do the twelve steps of AA in reverse.

poetry

Reflections on the Moon

Sally11 Comments

That crescent
Half-hidden, luminescent
Resting on clouds in un-stark
Dark

Moon inspires
Because it only requires
Mass gravity sun to be
Free

It’s waxing
Now – growing, growing. Maxing
At full. Sun reflected bright
Light

Such beauty
The moon is never snooty!
It brings delight to the sky
[sigh]

My desire —
Be like the moon and conspire
To make people smile when they see
Me

This is my contribution to the W3 prompt this week. This week’s Poet of the Week, Sheila Bair, challenged us to write a poem exactly 64 words in length that incorporates the words “light” and “dark”.

Done. This is a Celtic forms, Deibide Baise Fri Toin (don’t ask me to pronounce it), an Irish form with an aabb rhyme scheme and syllable count of 3-7-7-1 for each stanza. The first two lines rhyme on a 2 syllable word and the last two lines rhyme on one syllable..

I LOVE the moon. I really do. More than once I have thought about the fact that when we see the moon, we are actually seeing the sun’s reflection. Of course that begs the question — what am I reflecting? Dear God, let me reflect things that bring joy to others.

fiction

The Trip Home

Sally11 Comments

When the bag holding the box came through the security scan at the airport, she quickly retrieved it. She was so relieved that nobody had questioned the contents.

As she walked the concourse to find her gate, another traveler had bumped hard against the bag. She quickly stopped and checked to make sure the contents were still secure.

After boarding, she held the bag on her lap.

“Would you like me to put that in the overhead compartment?” the stewardess asked.

She shook her head. “I’d prefer to hold it,” she said.

“You can’t have it on your lap during take-off or landing,” the stewardess said, “but you can put it on the floor if it will fit under the seat ahead of you.”

She folded the excess bag over the box and it neatly fit in the prescribed spot. After take0ff and before landing, she held the box on her lap again, cradling it protectively.

When the plane landed, she retrieved her checked suitcase. She wheeled the suitcase and carried the bag to a City Cab which drove her to the house.

She found the key under the mat where it always was and went inside. Leaving the suitcase in the kitchen, she carefully removed the box from the bag and headed outside.

The rocky shoreline was just how she remembered it. She found a place to sit and opened the box.

As the wind lifted ashes from the open box, she whispered, “I brought you home, Mom.”

This is my submission for the Unicorn Challenge. The challenge is simple if you’re a person of few words. Write no more than 250 words using the photo as a prompt. I could easily have used at least 100 more this time.