MMWUC - Flash Fiction Sounding Not Like Me
Owe That Dog a Bone
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even before i pull down the black bag Fluffy knows i am
going he would shred it but he fears it
the black suitcase masters me
a neighborly wave i am gone wishin i had time for one
more cup of joe one more cinnimon roll one more warm embrace one more walk
around the place but the cold air smacks me awake and the crossroads of america
beckon
i waved at someone on another bus opposite heading
could we switch rides for the joys of coming home
i unpack black bag and a hard rubber chew bone drops out
guess he figured an offering to the black bag might keep me home
i owe that dog a bone
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Your wake up call is to write out of your style, your comfort zone. To boldly go where your pen has never gone before.
- - -
WALT WHITMAN TURNS OVER IN HIS LEAVES
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There was an old man from New Jersey
Who thought that writing so easy
He sat on his bed
and emptied his head
But all his poems turned out sleazy
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2 comments:
Okay Rick the posting bug is back snatching my posts. I commented yesterday and if I could remember what it was I'd re-post. I think it was some kind of compliment for your cleverness. Oh well. I wrote this last night because you inspired me:
On a frosty Miami morning Mama calls me.
My clothes hang from a chair
backed against the open oven door.
Is that flash fiction or glibberish?
Sounds like Household Hints from Heloise. :-)
I don't know. I'm not a poet and flash fiction seems to have few if any rules except arbitrary publishing lengths. If you feel it conveys, than it does. And that's the most important thing.
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