The Mitchell and May (Pre-)Show

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“You’re looking at the wrong camera.”

“No, you are, May. I’m looking at camera B.”

“Camera A’s on first. Get a grip, Mitchell!”

“Camera B, May. Why are you wearing brown? I told you I was wearing brown today.”

“This? It’s more maroon than brown! Do I have to get you a color wheel? And go easy on the makeup. Good grief! Is that blush, Mitchell?”

So? What’s wrong with a little color?”

“Just feels like you’re auditioning for the Moulin Rouge, that’s all.”

The producer sighed. “More like the Punch and Judy show,” he mumbled in the control booth.

100 words; Fiction
For Rochelle Wisooff-Fields' Friday Fictioneers
Click on the frog and join in!

An Incident

“Tweet me not weary in this whirligig of time.” She stabbed the Styrofoam cup with the stick end of a small American flag. “I’m homeless by design unmet by need. You need not apply.”

The politician’s flunkie grimaced. “Ma’am, we’ve been told to clear the area.”

“Nobody’s here. Starbucks brothers in the Amazon, sister’s Facebooking. Red Zone, Blue Zone, Ozone. Google it.”

“They’re armed,” he warned.

“Say, Moby Dick’s back from the dead. ‘Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy.’ Tell them Ambergris is worth a fortune.”

“Ma’am?”

“Eyes and pearls. My home’s on my back. Your bones are too light. ‘From hell’s heart, I stab . . . .’”

A shot rang out. The bag lady crumpled, fell.

“’Ye damned whale’,” said the flunkie, winking at the FBI agent. “’I don’t give reasons. I give orders!’”

Written for dVerse's Prosery: Bone Weary -- 144 words utilizing 
the line: "Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy."
All other quotes are from Moby Dick by Herman Melville.

A Common-Place Jotting: “A low dishonest decade”

Auden in 1939

Common-Place or “Locus Communis” — a place to remember

Anglo-American poet W. H. Auden wrote “September 1, 1939” at the outbreak of World War II in Europe. It’s a poem that’s often quoted during times of crises such as ours, and only seems to highlight the recurring cycles of political dissimulation and media exacerbated fury that escalates into tragedy. While battling a virus, we’ve “cancelled” each other and branded each other racists and bigots. We’ve listened to politicians and oligopolies wildly denounce opponents of their agendas as terrorists. We’ve been witness to unchecked brutality this past year as our cities burned with mob violence during which thirty people were murdered, and neighborhoods and livelihoods went up in smoke while governors and mayors watched.

Auden began the poem with these words:

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

In the penultimate stanza he cautions: “We must love one another or die.” The same holds true today.

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

excerpt from W. H. Auden’s September 1, 1939

Read the complete poem at poets.org. And hear the poet Dylan Thomas read it below.

Not a Mirror

Photo by Drigo Diniz from Pexels

This is not a mirror
Ground silica back-silvered
A labyrinth to unravel your soul
But splintered fragmentation
Of all your expectations
A story to re-glue and emboss.

This is not a mirror
Portal to another world
Left-handed universe
Turnabouts of phantoms
A touch on your shoulder
That welt on your cheek.

This is not a mirror
It is an owl’s feather
A rat’s tail, a torn page
Blood of jilted lover
The sigh of an empress
Dethroned by endless war.

This is not a mirror, a mirror, a mirror.

For Dverse, Mish's Poetics: Object Poems "This is not ..."
Click on Mr. Linky and join in!

Discovery

Written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
Click on the frog and join in the fun!
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Genre: horror; word count: 100

Discovery

“Did you bring the mirror?” Eli asked.

Lena rummaged through her backpack behind him. “Do we have to do this?”

Eli snorted impatiently at his best friend. “Don’t you want to know why kids from this school have gone missing? Mr. Drobkoni’s gotta be a vampire. I’ll stay here. You keep a lookout. Whistle when you see him coming.”

“Right-oh,” Lena said. “Here.”

Eli held the mirror so he could see over his shoulder.

Lena had already left.

She’s fast, he thought.

“What’s that?” asked Lena behind him.

He turned around quickly. “The dead travel fast,” he said, suddenly pale.

A Perfect Romance

Art by Zurab Martiashvili

“Am I loved?” she asked wonderingly,
throwing back hair, sultry under silken shawl
scrutinizing her groomed shimmering form.
He walked glancingly past a mirror
then stopped to take a more admiring look.
“Darling?” Reluctantly she turned from
her reflection against the dark sky;
he tore himself from his dashing figure.
“How asinine, dear heart,” he ejaculated.
“To love oneself is most divine!”
Embracing by mirror and window
they stood, idols with eyes of glass.

Jude's The Saturday Symphony #14: "Romance" 
Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt: use "Asinine" in prose or poem with exactly 74 words
Cyranny's Word of the Day Challenge: "sultry"

Inspiration

 

https://rochellewisoff.com/2020/08/19/21-august-2020/
18 September 2020, Rochelle Wissoff-Fields, Friday Fictioneers

img_20200801_121107

 



Inspiration

“You can’t be serious, Maude!”
“And just why can’t I, Fred? Twenty baby showers I’ve been to this August and I’m fed up!”
“But it’s your own niece’s, Maude!”
“Fred, we’ve spent a fortune on her already! Graduation from art school, and did you see the garbage that passed for modern art?! Then her birthday, bridal shower, now . . . .”
“Okay, okay! But a baby chair somebody threw out with the garbage, that’s going too far!”
(pause) “Is it garbage though? Or an art exhibit? Fred! Take a picture! Let’s take it all! Just the way it is!”

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
word count: 100 
written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers 
click on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields's hand-drawing of the frog for more 
tales of a hundred words or less. 
And join the fun!hand-drawing-animal-frog-wearing-face-medical-mask-covid-protection-methods-coronavirus-quarantine-warning-vector-178410566

Take A Look

Sammi’s WWP

“You can use any format or style you like; go wherever your inspiration takes you.”

9-12-2020

Overcrowded

Take a look, see, books everywhere!
Under my bed, over couches and chairs
Could they be breeding under the stairs?
I must rectify this untenable nightmare
Another book I’ll not buy, even on a dare!

Before You Go

I could feel her soft, wrinkled hand tightening on mine. I don’t know how long we stood before she finally spoke.

“I was looking out that window over the sign. I saw your grandfather’s mother kill mine. Just because she wasn’t the same color. It’s been seventy years now. It feels like just yesterday.”

I got my tongue working. “Grandma, how could you marry him?”

She turned, soft brown eyes wet with tears. “It wasn’t easy but love won. Hate lost. You’ll be going off to college soon. You won’t forget that, will you?”

“Like the sign says, Grandma, ‘NOPE’!”

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

word count: 100 
written for Rochelle's Friday Fictioneers
click on Rochelle Wisoff-Fields's hand-drawing of the frog 
for more tales of a hundred words or less.
And join the fun!hand-drawing-animal-frog-wearing-face-medical-mask-covid-protection-methods-coronavirus-quarantine-warning-vector-178410566