A few words…

for Friday Fictioneers

 

lihataja.brush

 

They agreed to meet at the signpost in the park. After months of slowly drifting apart, they’d reached a crossroads.  Which way to go? 

Walking slowly, heads bowed, the only sound was the swishing of grass beneath their feet. 

He picked her a flower, she pushed it away. He tickling her nose with it and saw a hint of a smile.

He held her arm as they descended some steps then they strolled hand in hand towards the lake.  Still, not a word passed between them.

They sat in silence watching two swans, then slowly turned to face each other. 

The signpost became a distant memory.

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dales-field

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Dale Rogerson for the photo.

Prod the frogs to join in the fun.

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Poetry, but not as we know it!

 

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I’d love to write some poems,

poems of my own.

Ones which people love to read,

so I’d become well known.

 

I sit with pen and pad in hand,

the words just fail to flow.

I scratch my head and bite my nails,

a poem just won’t grow.

 

The other day a line appeared

inside my fuzzy head.

But could I find some words to rhyme?

I wrote some prose instead.

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If they can do it why can’t I?

It’s not for want of trying.

My friends can do it, it’s not fair.

Sometimes I feel like crying.

 

I really need to practice,

invest a bit of time.

And try my very very best

to find some words wot rhyme.

 

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That didn’t help, at least I tried

I don’t know what to do.

But wait a minute, something stirred,

A feeling that’s quite new!

 

Here goes

 

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Oh poo!

 

I guess I’ll never make the grade

I’ll never be a bard.

Poetry is not my thing,

it’s far too bloody hard!

 

 

  • nothing rhymes with silver…or month or orange or purple or pint or wolf……..

 

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A shortish story …

For Sunday Photo Fiction

 

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Jolly Polly, Smooth Sam, and Ditsy Mitsy were relaxing at Posh Pete’s place. His sudden suggestion of a mini-cruise on his bateau was received with considerable glee so armed with copious quantities of wine and nibbly-bits they headed for the water. 

Pete piped them all aboard, except Mitsy who clambered onto an adjacent blow-up flamingo whilst holding aloft a crystal glass of Chateau de’Plonke ‘98. 

“Mitsy darling, I’d rather you didn’t” pleaded Pete.  But his request went unheeded as she stood triumphantly though somewhat unsteadily upon the wobbling inflatable. They heard a muffled pop and gurgling.  Polly spotted the problem,  one of Mitsy’s Jimmy Choo stilettos had pierced the flamingo’s pink plastic plumage. 

“Mitsy sweetheart, you really should have removed them, they’ll be ruined,” she said as the flamingo mournfully lowered its head. 

After a titanic rescue mission they got her ashore.  “My kiddy-winks will be heartbroken” spluttered Pete.

“I’ve an idea,” said Mitsy.  “Where’s my emergency kit?”

She produced a bag and rummaged through aspirins, a sewing kit, miniature vodkas, a spanner, a whistle and … Elastoplast! 

“I’ll seal the hole, Sam can blow into its beak and….”

They all shook their heads.

Eventually, they set sail. Minutes downstream Mitsy shouted, “I’ve an idea!”

“No” they shouted in unison.

 

 

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Thanks to Donna for hosting. The picture is by P Allman.

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Sixty-two words…

for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt where the given word is Ultimatum which we have to use along with sixty-one others!

 

 

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349-3493871_person-thinking-cartoon-clipart (1)Jonny flung his school bag on the floor.

“What’s up?”  his sister asked.

“We had to write a story using this stupid word”.  ‘Ultimatum’ was scribbled on a scrunched-up scrap of paper.

“So?”

“I wrote about a robot”.

“That’s an automaton” she giggled!

“So, what’s it mean then?  I’ve gotta  write it again or get detention”

That’s an ultimatum” chuckled his sister!

 

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One hundred words..

for Friday Fictioneers

 

hello-fhillya.regular

 

ae2937600d94251617ac54237d0898f8I love queues! The longer the better. Why? Because I make money from them!   I sing and I dance, I hold out my hand and collect cash!

I worked a massive queue today.  It was the wettest day for ages so I wore my suit and hat, clutched an umbrella and performed my party piece over and over again – Singing in the Rain.

Leaping in puddles Gene Kelly style was not appreciated by everybody, but I had fun and made a bob or two.

It’ll be hot and sunny tomorrow.   I’ll dig out my mankini, grab my ironing board and sing Surfin’ USA!

 

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line-naama-yehuda

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and Na’ama Yehuda for the photo.

 

Prod the frog to join in the fun!

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A short story …

for Sunday Photo Fiction

 

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Farmer Fred was fed up with losing so much of his crop each year to birds and other greedy creatures.  He’d tried using one of those scarers that go bang every now and again, but it caused him too many sleepless nights.

Mrs. Fred suggested he try using a scarecrow.  He’d never had one, though someone once stopped their car beside his field and photographed him thinking he was a scarecrow, which you’d fully understand if you saw him having one of his stand-still-and-think moments.

He thought he’d give it a go.  He made a wooden cross, stuck a football on top and dressed it in clothes he’d grown too fat for many years ago but kept in case he ever went on a diet.  He raked through his wife’s drawers and found the blonde wig she wears at Halloween to scare the kids away, then planted his creation in the middle of his freshly sown field. 

It looked like a cross between Donald Trump and Boris Johnson!

Fast forward six months and the scarecrow was a success!  The field was full of tall bushy blonde things.  Time to retrieve the wife’s wig, soon be October the thirty-first!  Just a matter of finding it.

 

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Many thanks to Donna for hosting Sunday Photo fiction. 

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Photo from Morguefile

A short story….

for Friday Fictioneers

 

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Just look at the sky.  So blue.  The sun’s playing hide-and-seek with fluffy white clouds. See?

Yesterday it was grey.  Just… grey.  Raindrops bounced off the glass.  Pitter-patter, pitter…patter. 

When it snows, I don’t see the sky.  Just a sparkly white blanket.  A freezing cold blanket.  Not like this nice one. Brrr.

Sometimes I see pigeons. Look, there’s one now.  A butterfly sat up there this morning, wings outstretched.  It was beautiful. So…beautiful.

I’d love to go outside.  But I can’t.  Not on my own.  My friend’s coming tomorrow….I hope.  She’ll take me out.  If the sky’s blue.  Like now.

 

 

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and to J Hardy Carroll for the picture.

Prod the frog to see what others have written.

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