Today’s writing prompt at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie is Opposing Forces. We must use the following antitheses in our writing:
– whisper and shout
– humid and dry
yet, you whisper them sweetly
— those cruel, ugly words —
that shout at
the tender places of my heart
too often
your hateful ways make me
wish I were deaf
Our love, once sublime
has sublimated like dry ice
on a humid day.
It’s First Line Friday over at the MindLoveMisery Menagerie Blog.
Here is this week’s first line: The sun simmered red as it slunk towards the jagged horizon.
The sun simmered red as it slunk towards the jagged horizon.
“Dang-a-kangaroo, Earl. Don’t that sun look hot ’nuff to fry up some ‘possum patties on?”
“Heck yeah, Earl,” Nimrod agreed. “An it’s slinkin’ down slower’n a snake in a snowstorm.”
“Huh?” Earl scratched his head. “I don’t follow yer analogy.”
“I dunno.” Nimrod shrugged as his chubby cheeks turned crimson. “Couldn’t think o’ nuttin’ else.”
“Yep, been there myself,” Earl sighed. “When it happens to me though, I keep my mouth shut.”
“Now there’s a thought…”
“And, lookit that jagged horizon yonder.” Earl changed the subject. “What’s it remind you of?”
Nimrod mulled it over in his mind. “You really want me to tell ya?”
“Well, yeah! That’s why I asked the question in the first place!”
“Promise you ain’t gonna laugh or think bad o’ me?”
“Now you know I can’t promise nuttin’ like that. Ain’t heard what you got to say yet, so I can’t know one way or ‘nother.”
Nimrod was silent for a few minutes. “Well, okay,” he began. “That there jagged horizon reminds me of the love scene from my all-time favorite movie.”
“A love scene?” Earl marveled. “Who’da thunk ya had it in ya’!”
Nimrod’s cheeks reddened again and he shrugged and kicked at the Georgia clay with his boot. “I dunno.”
“Well what movie was it?”
“Deliverance,” Nimrod grinned. “My favorite movie, ever!”
“Ain’t no love scene in Deliverance! What the hell you talkin’ ’bout?”
“They is too!”
“Ain’t neither.”
“Is too.”
“Okay, Nimrod,” Earl sighed. “What love scene? Describe it to me.”
“Okay, smarty-pants!” Nimrod’s chin jutted out and he put his hands on his hips. “It’s the part where the mountain folk make ol’ Ned Beatty squ—”
“Hold it right there, ya sick pile o’ entrails!” Earl interrupted. “Two things. One: that ain’t no love scene. Two: this is one o’ those times when you oughtta have kept yer mouth shut.”
“But I thought y—”
Just then the warden announced to the chain gang that it was quitting time.
Today at the MindLoveMisery Menagerie blog, we have Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille. The visual prompt is the image below, and the theme is Morning Dew.
Baby spiders wade
through morning dewdrops under
Mom’s eight watchful eyes.
Today’s visual prompt at MindLoveMisery Blog is the image below.
I don’t know about this. Wish I’d gotten my usual strawberry. All of a sudden tomato ice cream doesn’t sound so good. Doesn’t smell good either.
Wait. There’s something in there! I swear to God it moved.
Well, maybe not.
There it is again! What the hell?
Looks like a… frostbitten tomato worm?
I certainly can’t eat it now!
I wonder if I can make it home before this melts, and put the tomato worm in my garden. But will the worm last that long?
And how am I gonna ride my bike with only one hand?
Totally poor planning on my part, but who could’ve anticipated such a thing?
According to Jainism, does this qualify an emergency? I think it does. What if The Universe is testing me? That’s gotta be it!
Okay. I’m calling 911. Who want’s something as vile as this on their Akashic record?
Today is Wordle Day at the MindLoveMisery Menagerie Blog. Our task is to use at least ten words from the list below to create a story or poem
Calescent ((adj.) growing warm; increasing in heat)
Sheets
Paroxysm ((n.) any sudden, violent outburst; a fit of violent action or emotion: a severe attack or a sudden increase in intensity of a disease)
Temperature
Tea Kettle
Window
Breeze
Kneel
Forehead
Dizzy
Damp
Comfort
A chilly Transylvanian breeze wafting through the open window had awakened Barnabas that morning. His sheets and pink blankie were soaked with sweat.
“Thees eez vhat I get for leaving open my coffin,” he muttered to himself.
He climbed out and stumbled across the room. “Oy, how deezy I feel!” He slammed the window shut and leaned against the wall. Barnabas became nauseous and felt his forehead; warm and damp.
“Better I take it zee temperature.”
He wandered down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Now vhere I put temperature-taker?” He rummaged through the junk drawers until he found the meat thermometer. He wiped it off and jammed it under his tongue.
He left the thermometer in his mouth for a good half hour, thinking the longer he left it in, the more accurate it would be.
“Hmmph! Two point two two two degreeze Celsius,” Barnabas lamented. “No vonder I feel febrile. Maybe I make zee lemongrass tisane, like my mama used to make when I no feel so good.”
Barnabas rifled through the cabinets until he found an old tea kettle. It was a little rusty from centuries of non-use, but at least there were no holes in it. He filled it up with water, tossed in some lemongrass leaves and put the kettle on the fire.
As he waited for the water to boil, Barnabas scanned the Times New Roman in case there was anything new in the ‘hood he should know about. His eyes were unable to focus on the small print in the newspaper. This caused him to become dizzy again, which brought on a paroxysmal attack. His stomach churned one way while his intestinal tract churned another. Barnabas’ head began to pound as if someone were hammering a hot railroad spike through the top of his skull.
He shuffled to the bathroom, but couldn’t decide whether to kneel in front of the commode, or sit on it.
“Eeder vay, eez going to make big, big mess all over zee place.”
Fortunately, Barnabas figured things out and had just finished cleaning up when the tea kettle began to whistle.
He grabbed the kettle off the fire and poured the boiling lemongrass tisane down his throat. Why bother with a cup?
“Aaah!” Barnabas exclaimed. “Eez mozt zoothing!”
Barnabas finished up the tea and climbed the stairs back to his coffin-room. This time, he remembered to close the lid.
Ergo, the Ogre 