Tag Archive: writing

Why did she neglect to write the poem

about the poem that bored her sister?

The same poem that contained few words

but had enough to drone a dull ache

into her best friend’s frigid head.

The poem that referenced another poem

forgotten and refused by her mother

and a woman who ignored poems when

given any opportunity.

The poem that condensed a short poem

and elongated a briefer one

that discussed an eclogue and an ode

and depicted a bitter argument about


She skipped it all instead and in its stead

wrote another treatise on monotony and bread.


Crustbuk the Clown slammed his tumbler of Scotch onto the table.

“Bring me my rust wig,” he growled.

Ofcrust the Clownmaid obediently started to search through the giant walk-in closet full of well-used clown paraphernalia. As a High Clown of the Clownsortium, Crustbuk had a massive collection of the highest quality wigs, floppy shoes, and vividly colored plastic noses all heaped up along with the other required accouterments of a well-rounded clown in his expansive closet.

“What’s taking you so long?” Crustbuk barked.

Continued: https://geeks.media/the-clownmaid-s-tale

A dimly lit Taco Bell.

Wrapped in a thick flour shell it includes ground beef and sour cream.



What’s your order?



Yes, in the form of a question.


Are you okay, homes?



Time’s up. We were looking for ‘What is a chalupa?’


I’m getting security.


margarita who She was the woman who drank margaritas. Whether it was mid-morning or early afternoon or that dreary, gray hour sometime just before dinnertime in late September, she could be found with a frosty margarita in hand.

She didn’t let anyone get to her when it came to the recurrent margarita commentary. The sardonic comments from those who would appoint themselves the margarita police. The risk of margarita-shaming was just part of the hand you were dealt when you were the woman who drank margaritas.

Continued: https://proof.media/the-woman-who-drank-margaritas

The Dornstadt home. A storm rages outside.


You have brought the chicken cupcakes?



Why would I bring cupcakes to a chicken?



No, the chicken-flavored cupcakes, numb brain.



Oh, they were sold out.


Always. Always they are sold out.



The Punk Pumpkin was the angriest pumpkin in the entire patch. He was constantly making efforts to cause mayhem and disruption, ruining the peaceful and otherwise sedate lives of the general run of pumpkins in the patch.  Continued: https://bit.ly/2EeQdne

Punk Pumpkin

Therese throws down a large steak knife.




Why do you stare at me so, Alphonse?



It’s just as my father always said.



Machine wash warm?


Never love a pumpkin hater.


Alphonse takes his pumpkin away.



Trude holds up the prize pumpkin.


How long was you planning to keep this pumpkin hid?


Until sich time as you’d treat it proper.

A real man don’t hide his pumpkins!


That’s why I never saw daddy’s vegetation.

Lisette plays with a cracked baby doll.



I have bad news, Lisette.


Is it about my dead hamster?



I will no longer ready you those Pippi Longstocking tales.

(stares out the window)

It is all coming true.



And it came to pass that the Coffee God came to a strange foreign land and this land was known to those who dwelt there as the Hazelnut Valley. And in this land the people did walk and sing beneath strange trees, called the tree of the hazelnut. And the nut of this tree they did pick and verily place the nectar from this nut in the mugs of their coffee. And they mixed the nut nectar with the coffee and would quaff this beverage on a regular basis in great quantities and were very satisfied and pleased with themselves thereby, and they did have a great amount of pleased talk about this ‘hazelnut coffee.’

Continued: https://bit.ly/2MILMop