Category Archives: Challenges and Writing Prompts

Suburbia

From Free Photos at Pixabay.com

“Did you hear about the new neighbors?”

“New neighbors? No! What did you hear?”

“Well…I heard that their name, Smith, is an alias. It seems they’re in the witness protection program. The guy was a key witness for the Bombino crime bust.”

“I heard about that trial. Cold blooded killers, they were. Money launderers too, but that case happened in New York. What makes you think the Smiths are from there?”

“Well, my Aunt Mabel’s husband’s coworker is friends with the prosecutor’s custodian and he heard that the key witness and his family were given new identities and moved to an old established neighborhood in Pennsylvania. A husband, his wife and two kids, a boy and a girl, school-aged. That description sure fits the Smiths. Husband, wife, two kids, except two boys, but hey, Aunt Mabel might have gotten that part wrong.”

“Certainly sounds like them. I hope they don’t bring criminals here!”

“I thought of that. Contacted the neighborhood association. There’s a special meeting tonight. You’re coming aren’t you?!”

“You bet I am.”

Meanwhile at the Smith’s house….

“So honey, have you met any of the neighbors?”

“Not yet. I saw a few of them at the park. I waved, but they looked away like they didn’t see me. Weird.”

“Give it time. My boss told me this was the best neighborhood to raise kids. Excellent schools. You remember it was a condition of my promotion and relocation. He knows how important you guys are to me.”

“I know. I hate moving. Hey, I overheard them talking about an association meeting tonight. We should go.”

“Great idea! Give me a minute to change and we’ll head over to the community center!”

“Perfect! Maybe it won’t be so awkward if we’re together.”

“You’re gonna love it here honey. You’ll see.”

~kat

Oh to be a fly in the wall at that community center when the Smiths arrive! I will let your imaginations finish this story, dear reader. 😉 This is a short 300 Word Story for Mind Love Misery’s Menageries Sunday Writing Prompt: Truth and Lies.


Boondock Baby

boondock

Boondock Baby

my heart and soul
feel it still, like a warm
wind blowing where
the one thing I know
about living, love, working
hard, having just enough…
this is who I am, no shame,
born on a Saturday night,
raised on five-card poker,
Sunday, say a prayer for me

~kat

A black out poem for Manic Monday’s Three-Way Prompt. Prompt Word: Boondocks; Photo (above); Song: Boondocks by Little Big Town (below). I took some liberty to make the poem work this week. The word raised was lifted from a previous section, but it worked for the second to last line.


Boondocks

I feel no shame
I’m proud of where I came from
I was born and raised in the boondocks
One thing I know
No matter where I go
I keep my heart and soul in the boondocks

And I can feel
That muddy water running through my veins
And I can hear that lullaby of a midnight train
It sings to me and it sounds familiar

I feel no shame
I’m proud of where I came from
I was born and raised in the boondocks
One thing I know
No matter where I go
I keep my heart and soul in the boondocks

And I can taste
That honeysuckle and it’s still so sweet
When it grows wild
On the banks down at old camp creek
Yeah, and it calls to me like a warm wind blowing

I feel no shame
I’m proud of where I came from
I was born and raised in the boondocks
One thing I know
No matter where I go
I keep my heart and soul in the boondocks

It’s where I learned about living
It’s where I learned about love
It’s where I learned about working hard
And having a little was just enough

It’s where I learned about Jesus
And knowing where I stand
You can take it or leave it, this is me
This is who I am

Give me a tin roof
A front porch and a gravel road
And that’s home to me
It feels like home to me

I feel no shame
I’m proud of where I came from
I was born and (raised) in the boondocks
One thing I know
No matter where I go
I keep my heart and soul in the boondocks

I keep my heart and soul in the boondocks

You get a line, I’ll get a pole
We’ll go fishing in the craw fish hole
Five-card poker on a Saturday night
Church on Sunday morning

You get a line, I’ll get a pole
We’ll go fishing in the craw fish hole
(Down in the boondocks)
Five-card poker on a Saturday night
Church on Sunday morning

You get a line, I’ll get a pole
We’ll go fishing in the craw fish hole
(Down in the boondocks)
Five-card poker on a Saturday night
Church on Sunday morning

Say a little prayer for me

Songwriters: James Lee Westbrook / Karen Fairchild / Kimberly Roads / Kimberly Schlapman / Kimberly B. Roads / Phillip Sweet / Wayne Kirkpatrick

Boondocks lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc, Downtown Music Publishing

 


September Poem #17

Slightly off topic, weatherly speaking…BUTTLOAD…because I rather like the word and because I need a diversion…and…because I can! Cheers! 😉😄😂🤣😘

From theqwietmuse.com

buttloads
barrels of booze
twice as voluminous as
a hogshead, measuring whiskey
or wine, full bodied, oaked

~kat


September Poem #16

purring
soft murmuring
healing stress; practitioner
of peace, zen master on my chest
reminding me to breathe

~kat


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 September 2018

Hello from soggy SW Virginia where the gray sky is hanging low, heavy with rain. We have seen a few surges of Florence’s bands. A tease of more to come. She’s a a femme fatale having claimed a dozen or so souls during her unwelcome visit to the south. Now her shadow looms at our door. Her intermittent tears flowing ever so lightly as if she wishes to convince us that she is not the heartless tempest others say she is.

We are not buying it though, as waves of fearful hosts strip the market shelves of batteries, bottled water and the ever popular milk and bread. Candles poised to spend their wicks in the darkness wait expectingly on mantels for their moment to shine. We are ready or not for her here in the valley; for raging downpours to saturate the mountains whose soil is already swollen from record breaking summer rains. It is expected that our shallow basins and sleepy rivers will fill to the brim or more between now and Tuesday when Florence exits to the north.

Such is the lot we have wrought with our ignorant glut for convenience and our unfettered exploitation of natural resources, expelling our noxious waste into the atmosphere, tearing asunder the fragile layer of protective ozone, causing the seas to simmer, the polar ices to melt, the shores to diminish and storms to swell in angry protest. We who survive must never forget the role we play in this drama and vow to do better; to tiptoe through life leaving nary a footprint. It’s the least we can do for our mother, nature, who blesses us with so much. It is the least we can do. But, for now, we wait for the storm to pass.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 September 2018

perfection can’t be perfected
the wind passes through
life in its magnificence
wanting, wanting more,
for only the now truly matters
morsel by sugar-sweet morsel
but I don’t want to keep you
bellowing counter-clockwise
unfulfilled, denouement,
with no rebuttal, no debate
provoking fear, unlucky
blue sky lull, sleepy denial
if you say so dear
…shallow roots clinging

~kat

A ReVerse poem is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.