I think its good someone FINALLY has printed the truth or rather alternative facts about the inauguration.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when I read the following article in The Washington Post. I can just imagine how much fun the journalist had while writing it.
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This week’s words: Bed Pupa (An insect in the non-feeding, usually immobile, transformation stage between the larva and the imago.) Pleonasm (Noun- The use of more words than are necessary to express an idea; redundancy.) Image Nose Sear Mice Collect Grab Ward Triptych (Fine Arts. a set of three panels or compartments side by side, bearing pictures, carvings, or the like. A hinged, three-leaved tablet, written on, in ancient times, with a stylus.) Pin
The triptych in itself was the story of his life. There was of course the irony noted by so many that whilst the triptych worked so well hinged as it was to open into the revelation we all admired the fact that he as an artist was unhinged said a lot about where he was coming from.
The work was call “Pleonasm” and suggested to us the audience that he considered his life somewhat redundant if not necessary. After all he worked most nights after 9pm in the evening even when during summer the heat coming from his hot stove must have made the room unbearable.
His bed was also in that same heated space and it was in later years that he was moved forcibly, I have to say, to the psychiatric ward at the local mental asylum where with fellow inmates of a similar disposition he did create some interesting art works.
He had a nose you might say for small things. Mice fascinating him and so often appeared in his work. They held a place of prominence in his triptych featuring in all three sections enough to grab your attention when you entered his art space at the gallery.
He also had a collection of pupae pinned to his wall, the image confrontational and seared upon your brain for all eternity so gross and repulsive was it.
The exhibition highlighted a life that was indeed troubled and full of worry to all who knew him. The images within the triptych, the thought that so many mice suffered for his creation and the collection of pupae illustrated his perverse if not demented view of the world. The exhibition ran for some weeks and was lauded as a collection to grab you and make you think, reassess art and understand the power of the alternative fact.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/23/wordle-139-january-23rd-2016/
You lookin’ at me?
you ain’t pulling no wool over my eyes
This is the face of a thousand fleeces.
You better believe it.
So read my lips.
Baa!
Written for: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/35316920/posts/1310277945
Its five thirty and the day looms ahead. Summer in Australia is about days like this, one’s we call stinking hot. The prospect of 42C/107F is not something I look forward to. Already the day is challenging in anticipation of the searing heat, enough to feel your skin being slapped over and over. The plants are all closed, the leaves protecting themselves from loss of moisture, the birds usually so boisterous in the mornings are quiet now. The sunrise and the penetrating rays herald the days expected forecast. So now the waiting begins. We have faith in the weather man because he has forecast a cool change in the evening. So we will wait, close up the house, pray the air con works all day and await that evening sound of the cooling breeze rushing to us from the south.
a moments coolness
expectations of the dawn
tiring in the heat
Written for: https://dversepoets.com/2017/01/23/haibun-monday-29/
1 A fifty/fifty split: write a piece of flash in 50 words using one word from each column; you can alter the form of the word – responded; deliciously
noun verb modifier (verb/noun)
cistern undulate careful
artisan respond inquisitive
sphinx attach ultramarine
rabbit peruse opaque
courtesan vibrate delicious
The artisan careful not to upset his critics responded with a piece that stopped them in their tracks. He had been subject to the inquisitiveness of people who thought they knew about art but in reality knew nothing. His new work, vibrating and undulating, suggestively, was delicious in its attraction. (50 words)
2. And in 25 words or less, an image for your perusal and penmanship:
Grandma lived her life in a house stuck in a meadow. The front steps descended to nowhere. She’d say she had no place to go.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/21/saturday-mix-lorraine/
Image: phylor aka Lorraine
Footsteps echoed eerily in the fog. Over my shoulder I couldn’t see anything. They seemed to be getting closer. When I stopped walking so did the steps.
I stopped near the entrance where a light shone and looked back. There was someone there. A tall man, dark coat, hat pulled down low. He stopped when he saw me. Startled that I was watching him.
Standing there he turned and walked away.
I continued on my way. I thought I’d shaken him. Then I heard the steps again. Before long I could hear his heavy breathing.
Closer and closer he came. I walked quicker. So did he. Finally, I couldn’t stand it another second. I turned to face him.
“Thank goodness,” he said puffing into my face, “I think this wallet is yours.”
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/20/finish-off-friday-6-footsteps-in-the-fog/
January 19, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a about a quarry. It can be a place or include the by-product. The quarry can be operational, abandoned, it can be in real-tie or mentioned from another time. Where will the quarry take you? Go where the prompt leads.
The abandoned quarry was once the source of clay for the brick works. Today it’s a swimming hole but fraught with danger. Lots of stuff has been thrown into the quarry over the years. Now filled with water it conceals a multitude of dangers.
Every now and then a kid disappears. Sucked into the middle of the quarry never to be seen again. My mate Brian went that way. We were playing on his dad’s old inner tubes when he splashed once and down he went.
We searched for weeks but found nothing. None of us swam there again.
Written for: https://carrotranch.com/2017/01/20/january-19-flash-fiction-challenge/
Aunt Betty kept it burning. For years after the war had ended she kept the lamp lit in hope she said, always in hope.
The long years of war had ended. For Aunt Betty those were years of agony, of inner turmoil as she waited for her husband to return.
While around her news arrived daily of the death of a neighbour’s loved one she held steadfastly to the belief that her man would come home.
As long as there was no word to say otherwise she hung on to the hope of him coming one day back to her.
In the years after the war there was hope that he might have been captured and would soon to home. Then she thought maybe he was injured and has lost his mind. Maybe she thought he has been so badly hurt he couldn’t face coming home to her. There were men she had heard who preferred to live in obscurity rather than face their families since they had been so badly damaged.
So my Aunt kept the lamp alight, hope like the light shone out into the darkened sky.
One night she answered a knock on the door. There before her stood her husband. He was thin, looked ten years older and appeared unsure if she would even know who he was.
They stared at one another and the tears flowed. She embraced him and took him in. She couldn’t believe he had returned. His journey had been long and over the next week he recounted to her his war experience and his journey home via hospitals in a country where he didn’t speak the language and where communication was all but non-existent.
It was on that first night home when she had washed and bathed him and put him into her bed that for the first time in so long she turned out the lamp.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2017/01/19/thursday-photo-prompt-lantern-writephoto/
This week’s task from Lorraine: weave a tale from the perspective of a child – your inner child, or someone else’s (as always not necessarily human). Use age appropriate thought patterns, reasoning and language. Don’t impose adult rationalities (or irrationalities) upon your child or your tale.
Our neighbour Mr Rum is a strange man. He lives alone at the end of our street. He walks past my house and nods to me as he goes.
I hear mummy and daddy talking about him. I like to listen to their conversations. They think Mr Rum is odd too.
After I am sent to bed I sneak out and listen at the top of the stairs to what mummy and daddy are talking about.
They think Mr Rum is dangerous as they don’t know anything about him.
One day I hid behind the fence at the back of Mr Rum’s. He came out of his house and sat in one of the two chairs he has set up in his yard. Mummy says there are two chairs but he never has any visitors. Then she rolled her eyes and looked at daddy and said, “Except for Mildred Thrup.” They both laughed at this. I don’t know why as Miss Thrup is a nice old lady.
So I was hiding and keeping very quiet when Mr Rum came out and sat in one of his chairs. He was very comfortable I could tell as he started to drift off to sleep. Then he sat up and looked at the other chair and began talking to it.
But he stopped after a few minutes and looked towards where I was hiding. Then I hear him say, “Alice come out and join me for some afternoon tea.”
I was so scared I bolted. I ran into my room and lay on my bed. I kept thinking of what mummy and daddy had said that I wasn’t to go near Mr Rum’s house as they didn’t know what he might get up to.
I stayed home all the next day. I kept thinking Mr Rum might come and tell mum about me spying on him.
But he didn’t.
A week later he came to the door to ask if I was alright. Mum said yes and why was he asking. Mr Rum said he hadn’t seen me playing in the street and thought I may have been ill. Then he gave mum a cake. He said it was angel cake ideal for making an unwell girl feel better in no time.
Mum said thank you as cake wasn’t something we had very often as we were poor and cake mum considered was a luxury.
Mum cut us both a slice for morning tea and it was the best cake we’d ever had. I don’t know what was in that cake but mum smiled all day and I found myself at Mr Rum’s door saying thanks for the cake.
He nodded a “You’re welcome” before I left for home. As I turned to leave out of the corner of my eye I was certain I saw feathers on Mr Rum’s back.
Silly I thought, that angel cake was making me see things.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/19/tale-weaver-103-through-a-childs-eyes-19-01-17/
Anything else?
Butter?
Check!
Flour?
Check!
Beakthwistle powder?
One kilo?
Yes.
Mangle towjamer?
Left handed?
Yes.
All set?
Wanna watch?
Yes please.
Good. (140 characters)
Written for: https://kmmyrman.wordpress.com/2017/01/17/twittering-tale-13-17-january-2017/
Morpethroad 