humor – Poetry, Short Prose and Walking

Remote—Six Sentence Story

While on vacation Willard and Matilda visited a notorious, but remote, congregation their pastor warned held services “too indecent for decent worship” so they could report back a few good words of condemnation against them.

With the service having gone on for hours and with no end in sight, Matilda told Willard, “Tell that girl behind us to stop giggling so much so I can hear the heresies the preacher is preaching.”

Willard said that for the past God knows how long the preacher hasn’t said anything worth noting but merely wandered up and down the rows of people touching some, here and there, who’d fall back laughing like idiots too dumb to stop.

“I have a mind to give him a piece of my mind before it’s too late,” Matilda said.

Willard wanted to say something, perhaps that it might already be too late, as Matilda, with eyes and mouth wide open, watched her husband giggle uncontrollably. Then, sensing the heavy ashes of mourning she didn’t know she was carrying transform into beautiful garments of praise, she herself began to laugh with tears flowing down her cheeks grateful that even she was loved enough to be anointed with the oil of gladness.

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Denise offers the prompt word “remote” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.

Isaiah 61: “…beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning…”

Heart—Six Sentence Story

Joe thought and thought about what to write as a six sentence story, but nothing came to mind and so he asked his wife if she had any ideas but his wife had better things to do and gave him a look and so he asked his daughter if she had any ideas for a six sentence story, but his daughter was practicing becoming a teenager and so he got nothing from her but another look and so he asked his son if he had any ideas for a six sentence story and just then his son spoke his first word saying, “Dada”, which annoyed his wife who hoped at least one of their children would have the heart to say, “Mama”, first and so Joe decided to come up with an idea on his own, but nothing came to mind.

“What did you think of my six sentence story?” Joe asked his family.

“That’s only one sentence,” his wife said.

“It sounded like twenty sentences to me,” his daughter said.

“I didn’t understand a word of it,” his son said.

So he posted it.

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Denise offers the prompt word “heart” for this week’s Six Sentence Story.

Power—Six Sentence Story

Matilda had a problem with her right hand that prevented her from closing her five fingers into a fist to pound it against the side table signaling the power of her displeasure when watching the news on TV. Her husband took her to doctors who listened to her give them a piece of her mind because they clearly had no clue what was wrong with her and one even discretely slipped her husband the name of an exorcist.

When a healer visited a local church her husband figured that a healer was a good enough proxy for an exorcist and encouraged Matilda to stand in line with others needing something or other. Since there were many in line the healer had time to only touch her forehead, as he did all the rest, and move on which annoyed Matilda because she expected a bit more than that. Besides, those on either side of her were jumping with joy that their ailments, likely candy-induced toothaches or well-deserved headaches, were suddenly gone while she was no better off than before.

Mumbling she left the church raising her hand against her husband with a fully clenched fist and letting him have it as he noticed, “Matilda, you’re hand is healed!” which would have been a happy ending to this tale except by the time they got home to test her recovery by giving the table a good wallop she could no longer clench her fist.

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Denise offers the prompt word “power” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.

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Breakthrough – A Follow-up Six Sentence Story

Some may be concerned about Matilda.

After her failed healing, after her hand refused to clench into a fist, she began to laugh. Her husband laughed as well. Suddenly she had no desire to clench her fists. As the power of the breakthrough fell upon her she wondered why she ever did.

She and her husband were healed.

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Unexpected Call – A Very Short Tale

After a decade Bill called. He reached a level of intoxication where lunacy required an audience. He also had a list of unforgivable people and wanted to go over it with me. Admittedly I’ve messed things up, plenty, but I was surprised to find my name on his list.

After an hour I told Bill I could hook him up with a good shrink or an exorcist if he preferred. That worked. He hung up.

A week later I called him back. Bill was sober and I was tactful. We joked some before I brought up the exorcist.

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This story originally appeared in Whispers and Echoes.

Strike – Six Sentence Story

Miriam’s mother, Jennifer, answered the doorbell to find Snaky, a dragon from the Land of Wormy Delights disguised in a tailored suit, asking her if he could borrow her daughter as a sacrifice. In a loud voice Jennifer called to Miriam, “There’s a nice-looking, young man here who would like to borrow you as a sacrifice to his lord of the 33rd something-or-other (degree) degree…lucywoosi (Illuminatus) illuminatus…?… (Illuminati) latiwhati…(palm slap)”.

As soon as Miriam heard the word “sacrifice” she grabbed the can of Dra-Gone! dragon repellant, the brand with the slogan You never know when you’ll never need it, and rushed to protect her mother shaking the can to charge it for a direct strike onto Snaky’s snout. As soon as Snaky saw the can he ran.

That stuff must really work, thought Jennifer, wondering if they might squirt just an itsy-bitsy bit of it as a test in the street in spite of multiple warnings on the can to never – ever – even think of doing something like that. After the two adventurous experimenters took deep breaths and Miriam gingerly touched the sprayer to release an itsy-bitsy bit they ran back inside gagging, bolting the door, sealing the frame with duct tape while the neighborhood dogs went bananas.

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Denise offers the prompt word “strike” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories. This story is a continuation of Eruption – Six Sentence Story.

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I am grateful to Sammi Cox, editor of Whispers and Echoes, for accepting my very short story Confusing Confetti.

Confused Confetti – Six Sentence Story

The puzzle looked like confused confetti so I jumped right in to set things straight. No piece was totally benighted because each had a right side though some of them displayed their wrong sides up. I was grateful for those few that had edges.

With all pieces properly placed (except for those the dog ate) the puzzle displayed an image of white puzzle pieces scattered on a dark table waiting for someone to jump in and straighten them out.

And that’s all there is to this confused tale. I’m still wondering why I jumped into that mess of confetti.

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Denise offers the word “confetti” to be used in this week’s Six Sentence Stories.

Bad Driver – Terrible Poetry Contest (WINNER!)

I am grateful to Chel Owens for selecting my free verse poem as the winner of the most recent Terrible Poetry Contest. The award winning poem and my attempt to explain it are below.

Also a new Terrible Poetry Contest has started. You may be the next winner!

Bad Driver

I told my shrink that the cops brought me here because of my bad driving and he said I had no record of ever driving a car in my life and I told him, not car, spaceship, S-P-A-C-E-S-H-I-P, and he said I had no spaceship and wasn’t an alien because my DNA test, D-N-A, showed I’m human enough and I told him, well, then why am I in that padded cell and he said I wasn’t in any cell and I asked him if he was trying to drive me crazy and if he was he wasn’t doing a good job of it and then he said I was brought in because I was scaring the neighborhood kids and the judge assigned me to him and I told him that I had a lot of fun turning my head 360 degrees like an owl and he said I couldn’t do stuff like that and I asked him whether he ever saw me and he said no and so I asked him if he wanted to see me turn my head 360 degrees and he said, “Sure, Marvin, go ahead turn your head 360 degrees like an owl, go on show me” and so I turned my head 360 degrees like an owl and he called the exorcist.

This poem is in imitation of Gerald Stern’s American Sonnets. These “sonnets” have no rhyme nor meter (and often no sense that I could detect). They are mostly one sentence long allowing the reader to put in line breaks or not. I would call them terrible American sonnets, but he won some award for them and they are occasionally entertaining.

And now I’ve won an award for one as well!

Chel Owens' Terrible Poetry Contest Winner Award

Splashy

Busy folk in the city paid no attention to the clouds splashing through the sky. The clouds got darker. They dropped thick, beautiful snow. The busy folk couldn’t get to work. The snow was so deep the snow plow driver didn’t see the sign to raise the plow in time. That made a mess.

People blamed the politicians who promised global warming. The politicians blamed the scientists. The scientists blamed Gaia. Since Gaia doesn’t exist, she couldn’t care less.

The clouds couldn’t care less either, because that’s not what clouds do. They splash through the sky dropping rain and snow.

Eugenia offers “splashy” for this week’s prompt. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields offers the photo below for her Friday Fictioneers prompt. With thanks to Oneta Hayes for reminding me of Friday Fictioneers.

I am grateful to the editor, Sammi Cox, for accepting this story for Whispers and Echoes.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictionneers Photo Prompt by © Roger Bultot — Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt by © Roger Bultot

Thirteen Demons Sitting on the Wall

Lucky this or lucky that,
Luck as bad as that black cat
Cuddling, purring by my side,
Unlikely place for luck to hide.

Thirteen demons looking mean
Pretending that I haven't seen
Them cackling when they watch me frown.
Too bored to laugh, I stare them down.

It's not bad luck that made them fall.
They jumped like Humpty from the wall
And then they cracked.  Oops.  Breakfast time!
You're lucky. That's my final rhyme.

Linked to Chel Owens’ A Mused Poetry Contest where the theme is “bad luck” used humorously.