Dire Wolf
This rude and stupid man, truly fans my ire
Puts his wants foremost, ignoring real concerns so dire
He picks at fiddle, plucks at strings
Laughs while vultures preen their wings
Clings to the sullied torch, spreads his hateful fire
Some few believe these flames are great, flames that burn so cold
Fueled by unfettered hate, history untold.
The November 19, 2020, prompt from Charli Mills of Carrot Ranch is to “In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that glorifies a toilet. Capture the marvel and status and love for a contraption we’d rather not mention. Go where the prompt leads!”
If you only read the above prompt and not Charli’s posts, you miss out on context, on what prompts her prompts. When she posted this latest 99-word challenge it was World Toilet Day . Should you click on this link you will see that:
World Toilet Day is a United Nations Observance that celebrates toilets and raises awareness of the 4.2 billion people living without access to safely managed sanitation. It is about taking action to tackle the global sanitation crisis and achieve Sustainable Development Goal 6: water and sanitation for all by 2030.
That’s serious stuff. In her post Charli asks, “Would humanity solve toileting issues if we mentioned it more in literature? How often does a novelist mention toilets in a book? Do you? Well, now is your chance to practice writing about toilets.” (You have until Tuesday, December 1 on this one)
I am certainly capable of potty humor, but, well, you know… should I? I do try to behave in mixed company. And this is serious. I was somewhat stopped up by this prompt. And then I wondered if potty humor is universal, or a sign of privilege.
The prompt certainly had me remembering innovative solutions and desperate measures seen and done while camping or traveling, but those were limited runs, so to speak, and again, camping and travel speak of an advantaged life overall.
I did finally get things moving and one flash followed another but then realized that each features a flush toilet within a special private room in a house— luxury and opulence! This is not a universal experience by a long shot. Do check out World Toilet Day to learn more.
So, without further ado-do, here are three toilet tales that may or may not amuse, and that also reveal luxuries taken for granted. The third one I have also linked to Six Sentence Stories as “oasis” influenced this particular bathroom story.
Rumblings
Wally’s favorite room—his inner sanctum; throne room; library; oasis.
“Peace and quiet in return for my daily offering— priceless.”
After installing the colored motion lights in the bowl Wally became even more reverent. The ‘rumble seat’ became the porcelain oracle became his muse; a pad and pen were kept near the other scrolls.
I come to you more than time to pass
Show you the moon, my mirrored ass
Your waters soothe, shimmering votive candle
My sins absolved when I push the handle.
My poetry, people don’t care for it
To that matter, I don’t give a shit
Last Room Standing
“Really? I’m going to the bathroom!”
A euphemism. She’d already gone to the bathroom, was now in the bathroom and sitting on the toilet using it for its intended purpose.
Though originally she’d gone just to be away from him. Victor was getting carried away again. Another euphemism; he was out of control yelling and screaming. Not at her. Something about work. Still. And now he wanted her to unlock the door?
“No!”
Victor yelled a lot but had difficulties communicating clearly. He never stated why she should let him in…
The tornado carried him away. Not a euphemism.
Oasis Stasis
It was not a mirage, it was marriage, marriage all-inclusive, with children, pets, dishes, laundry, and working from home. It was enough to blur her vision and make her misty at times but there was an oasis, a peaceful place to recover, to take respite from the whirlwinds that swept through the house.
Gathering up clothes and other debris, flotsam wake of the twins, she paused and smiled at the picture book, Everybody Poops. It had been a hit with her older children too.
She shuddered with a sudden realization. Potty-trained twins would mean increased competition for her oasis!
a rare bird has made a landing
clucks and coos for our understanding
the dove of peace has come to town
with a white underbelly, other wise brown
it has traveled long and far, has always been near
this bird needs to be seen, it needs us to hear
to our pidgin ears it speaks of love
this long estranged long lost dove
with its mythic arrival, some visions shatter
but this messenger’s message truly matters
in plain sight, within our reach— we must try to understand
we need to open our hearts, give peace a place to land.
Crispina Kemp’s weekly creative challenge is “open to all—just for FUN, FUN, FUN.” This poem is what came to me on this Thanksgiving Day when I saw the picture of the brown pigeon. Go to Crispina’s site to see more responses and to leave a link to yours.
It’s Wednesday, or so I’m told, and that means that Denise of GirlieOntheEdge will be sharing the link for the Six Sentence Story blog hop.The word this week is “oasis”, the rules simple: six sentences to tell a tale.
Oasis by D. Avery
She couldn’t be certain when the guide had appeared, for time was an endless succession of broiling yellow sun and shivering silver stars, footprints filling with sand as soon as they were formed.
“The literature, as you should know,” she said again to the guide, “indicates that the oasis I seek should be just over there,” and she pointed to a formidable dune. “It also states that there one can have anything one wants, riches and luxuries beyond the imagination.”
They summited the dune but the oasis evaporated before their eyes, so they continued, on and on, until she beseeched the guide to just get her to some place where she could get a cool drink of water; that oasis also proved to be a mirage.
Finally, when after many more miles she told her guide that she wanted for nothing, that the sun, the stars, and the trackless sand were plenty, they stopped. Without hunger or thirst, she had arrived at the oasis.
Here is a second take on Frank J. Tassone’s Meeting the Bar prompt at the Pub for Poets, d’Verse. We were to try our hands at writing a Jisei, or Japanes Death Poems. In my first take I tried a gembun, and went with the poem that came to me, but do not feel that met the bar for a traditional death poem. Perhaps this one is more in keeping with the genre, though I would like to postpone the trek for a good number of years.
trekking west at last
satchel contents in the wind
autumn flowers nod
At the Pub for Poets, d’Verse, Frank J. Tassone is revisiting Jisei, or Japanes Death Poems. How delightful! Just the other day I mentioned a book entitled Japanese Death Poems, compiled by Yoel Hoffman, as an all time favorite book of poetry. Today Frank mentioned a form for the genre I am not familiar with, gembun, which he defined as a one-sentence haibun; a little digging showed me that some restrict it to ten words. I tried it for today’s prompt, and covered bases by having the prose part of my haibun be one American sentence (17 syllables) of ten words. This piece is a might dark for the genre but it’s where the prompt led. Go to d’Verse for more.
Behind the veil, just beyond reach, multitudes of isolated ghosts.
such a cold embrace;
winter’s unmasking reveals
spring as long held myth
Okay, De Jackson (aka whimsygizmo), I’m in, just for fun. Thank you for the fun prompt at d’Verse Pub for Poets. With the only restriction being the 44 word limit, there are infinite possibilities with this prompt. I just did a little word play, not much of a poem, though it’s possible inspiration will strike later.
BLOPSIES
From a PILE of letters, eight SLIP.
SO BE it, a challenge
I S’POSE, to BuiLd
a port or a portal.
LIBS POSE license
allow BLIPS
so letters I LOP, for
how else
to achieve BLISS?
Asking Y brings solution, possibility—
all is POSSIBLE.
There’s some good stuff in the latest issue of Boston Literary Magazine. A rather grim piece, Pictographs can be seen on page 18. If you prefer to view on facebook click HERE. I’m the one that doesn’t do Facebook, but maybe you’ll circle back and let me know what you think. Either way it was a thrill to have my story accepted.
The editor for BLM, by the way, was incredible. The original submission was rejected (okay, the second too). But I received very specific feedback on each submission; rejected with reasonable reasons that made improvement foolproof. Now my only problem is that I don’t care for dystopia, but that’s what I wrote.
As Rochelle tweeted, how can one resist when it’s only 33 words? The prompt word is “wrangle”, the word count 33, the host of the Weekend Writing Prompt is Sammi.
Often prompts linger and dangle;
I struggle with plot, character, angle.
Every word must count, every sentence stand out…
Impossible when I don’t know what the story’s about—
writing’s too wild to wrangle.
That’s right, avocado toast. That’s the November 12 2020, prompt from Carrot Ranch this week, to: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that includes avocado toast. How can this be a story or a prop to a story? Use your senses and imagination. Go where the prompt leads! Here’s my 99 words of fiction. Click over to the Ranch to leave a story of your own, to read others, or to read the post that led to this prompt.
Stuck by D. Avery
In the beginning we both adored avocado toast for breakfast. Together we peeled and pitted. We ate avocado toast out of each other’s hands.
In the end of the beginning I suggested other breakfast foods, reminisced about eggs. Oatmeal even, with raisins. Surely an avocado aficionado would also appreciate raisins and oats. But you insisted on only, always, avocado on toast.
In the beginning of the end I slumped at the counter slurping oatmeal while you crunched overdone toast smeared with over-ripe avocado.
In the end I let you rush to that meeting with avocado stuck in your mustache.
