The Smears of a Clown

Welcome to Wednesday (again)!  It ‘s time for Friday Fictioneers.

Here’s this weeks 100-word story inspiration picture by Janet Webb over at  This, That and the Other Thing:

janet-webbs-sangria
Copyright Janet Webb

The Smears of a Clown

Penelope Snoots was the talk of the town

When she married a man from the circus (a clown)

Who thought himself clever at messing around

With oil paints, charcoals and color crans (brown)

 

His  pockets were empty – he was really quite vain

(Though his face was Picasso on drugs when it rained)

Yet Penelope loved him in ways unexplained

Cause her wine limit was . . . shall we say . . .  unconstrained?

 

One day he took fruit and chopped it up nicely

Combined strawberries, wine and cantaloupes thricely

He killed her and placed her on ice cubes concisely

Then he painted Penelope’s portrait precisely

 

"See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?"
“See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?  I know you can’t answer that.  It was rhetorical.”

Of course Wednesday means it’s time for 100-words of fun hosted every week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple.  Pop over and join us.  The more the merrier!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Poetry Barn: The Bad Decisions of Beatrice Crumb

Beatrice Crumb
Beatrice Crumb, what are we going to do with you?

The Progressively Bad Decisions of Beatrice Crumb

Beatrice Crumb she was into her rum

And tequila and chocolate spumoni

Beatrice Crumb fell in love with a bum

On her way to Morocco with Tony

They drug him along, he regaled them with song

And smoked all their Kent cigarettes

He wore Tony’s pants (they were those of his aunt’s)

And ran up a mountain of debts

Beatrice Crumb, well she murdered the bum

On the road to Istanbul Turkey

Then Tony and her they both did concur

To sink him in waters quite murky

They went to the sea with explicit decree

To shove him to regions uncharted

But police waiting there — they arrested the pair

Before evidence could be discarded

Now Beatrice Crumb is foregoing her rum

And tequila and chocolate spumoni

Because in her venue, it’s not on the menu

It seems prison’s plumb  full o’ baloney

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

33-Word Trifecta Writing Challenge: Shades of Clayton

Welcome Dear Readers!  This weekend’s 33-word Trifecta Writing Challenge is as follows:  Give us a thirty-three word piece that has a color in it. Use the color to describe anything you like, or use anything you like to describe your color, but keep it creative and keep it short. 

I chose this colorful picture of my grandson, Clayton, to write about today.

colors!

Shades of Clayton

Propeller’s blue, steering’s green

With shades of Mickey in-between

Here’s a fellow, who likes yellow

A mellow little yellow fellow

But his pants this poem will sabotage

Cause there ain’t no color camouflage

Friday Fictioneers: Fly Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

Welcome Dear Readers!  My philosophy of life can be summed up by Lou Grant from the old Mary Tyler Moore show when he said, “You’re born, you die and everything in between is filler.” 

And I can’t think of a more fun “filler” than writing a hundred words inspired by  Friday Fictioneers  picture prompt hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields at Addicted to Purple.

This week’s picture is provided by Douglas M. McIlroy over at Ironwoodwind.

maui-from-mauna-kea

Fly like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee  

 If I had an apparatus

To keep me in the misty stratus

If I could hang out in the air

With the billowy things that live up there

 I think, at first, it would be fun

I’d be best friends with everyone

I’d say I like you!  Yes I do!

You are my best friends, brave and true

But then before my very eyes

You’d change into some apple pies

You’d switch it up

 (You’d be so wiley)

You’re Cher! . . .  No wait! . . . Charles Nelson Riley?

 Who could keep up? Who could cope?

I’d become Muhammad’s rope a dope

* * * 

Until next time . . . I love you

Trifecta Writing Challenge: On The Internal Organ Fortitude of Writing

Hello Dear Readers!  It’s time for the weekly Trifecta Challenge and this week we are being prompted by the third definition of  word:  anticipation:

On The Internal Organ Fortitude of Writing

In anticipation of participation concerning this week’s Trifecta dissertation

I thought it wise to compromise with this small negotiation:

Certain words I will not use

Like “whatever” and “ginormous”

Those words I think we all abuse

In word salad’s bord of Smorgas

 

And then there’s times when nothing rhymes

And spelling’s out the door

We feel just like we might become

Vice President Al Gore!

 

When all seems lost and at any cost

We cannot buy a vowel

We think our wrists to slit, we will!

But we only have a trowel . . .

 

Well that is life

And we struggle through

Its ups and then it’s downs

Even though it makes us feel like awkward nauseous clowns

 

And so I beg you writers all

Not to tremble nor to quiver

For to live life as twas meant to be

You have to be a live-r.

"I'm a liver and I'm livin' it up!  Woooooohoooooo!"
 I’m livin’ it up! Woooooohoooooo!”

Until next time . . . I love you