Writing Ideas - "Exercise 30"

A couple of writing prompts posted to the group ...

By: D.A., and Sue

Writing Ideas - "Exercise 30"

In the photo below, what are the women doing? What are they saying to passers-by? What are they saying to one another? What are they thinking inside themselves?

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In the photo below, what are the women doing? Protesting the Iraq War

What are they saying to passers-by? Please contact your Senator and give him your thoughts on the war

What are they saying to one another? I hope that someone listens to us.

What are they thinking inside themselves? If only this would bring back our loved ones.

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"I am not a Slave! I will never Shave!" the Hirsute Harem loudly proclaimed.
(Pictured above, from left to right: Shannon Dungas, Esther Labum, Gertie Gerard, Harriot Funkelstein, and Georgette Kuntey)

Gertie was quiet vehement when planning their afternoon's protest. Despite Esther's objections, Gertie had convinced them all the pose au natural for their protest signs. "We are a work of beauty, with our braided underarm hair, and our sasquatch like legs. We will not conform to some ill-perceived notion of beauty!"

"... but Gertie ... everyone can see my Hoo-ha." Esther stammered nervously.

Shannon shrugged as she continued to paint slogans. She could really care less about the whole group, she was here only for the pot. Primo-killer stuff that Georgette grew on her acreage. (Georgette was actually growing it for the hemp to make clothes for the cities stray cats). She even had a nice little side-line selling it to her parents friends, and had turned a nice little profit.

Harriot wrapped her arms around Esther, "Oh hush dear. It's a beautiful vagina. The birthplace of all life. Nothing to be ashamed of." Harriot was the soul of their group. While Gertie may be the drive and the brains, with her anger against the 'Opressive Patriarchial Society'; Harriot would often with a small nod, and her gentle smile, and the knowing look in her eye remind them why they were all here.

....

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Writing Ideas - "Exercise 18"

A couple of writing prompts posted to the group ...

By: D.A., Sue, Doghouse, and Marie

Writing Ideas - "Exercise 18"

Imagine that you are lying in a hammock, gazing up the trunk of tree that holds the hammock. You are profoundly relaxed; summer is almost over. Your mind drifts with the slow rocking of the hammock. Your spirit soars toward the top of the great white pine. Suddenly....

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1 .

... a bird poops on my chest. Angry and disgusted, I jump up from the hammock, only to have my feet tangled in it. I twist around and fall to the ground. As I lay there, my cat comes over to investigate what I am doing on the ground. His whiskers tickle my face and makes me laugh.

"Oh Malkie! Stop that!" He defused the situation again so I wouldn't get angry (No one Likes me when I'm Angry!). A God-send really this cat. I can barely remember the darkness before he came. The devastation, the destruction. With those dark thoughts, I gathered myself and went to change.

------------------------------------------------

2.

... a low rumble blots out all noise. BANG! it sounds as if a shot rings out. I jump up and look around. Where did that sound come from?

Just then I smelled an all too familiar smell and remembered what I had for dinner last night. I must have dozed off and when I relaxed . . . oh, curse those onions! I think maybe I'd better go in and take a shower because if I'm not ready at 6:30, then . . .

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3.

... my neighbor appears in her living room window naked as the day she was born and from what I can tell with half-closed eyes she seems to be looking directly at me as I slowly rock side to side. Her hands aren't visible below the window sill, but she's rocking at the same speed I am. Do I pretend to be asleep or do I move my head and let her know I see her. I wonder what would happen if...

.. her husband caught me watching her. My mind drifts to his shotgun collection and his "prize" animal heads mounted as trophies on the wall. My fear of her husband is stronger than my desire to watch her. I gently roll off the hammock and move out of the way so I cannot see her anymore. I smile as I know that I have done my good deed for the day.

I walk back to the porch and my smile turns to a sneer when I stop and think about all the times I've heard my neighbor, Mr. NRA himself, screaming at his wife in the middle of the night. Calling her names that made even me blush. No one deserves to be spoken to like that and she certainly doesn't seem the type to rouse that type of anger from anyone. Not to mention the kids who are even closer to it than I am. Maybe this is why it seems like over half of his reclying is beer cans every Tuesday. Yeah, so it's not up to me, but if it were . . .

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4.

Damn, a bear must have eaten me after I fell asleep. What a bloody mess down there. So much for my relaxing day in the hammock....

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Poetry.Com - Idea

Poetry.com - Submission Ideas
by: Susan, Sue, and D.A.

After much laughter and ridicule of Poetry.com on the BBB-S list, we decided to try and make a poem on the EC-S list to submit as a group. Though participation was lacking, and a little splintered with several "Starts" to poems ...

Broken.
See the broken dreams by the side of the road.
Discarded and abandoned, my soul about to implode
I sigh as I reach down to pick up a piece of my life.

***

Food.
"Why does it torture me?" I sigh as I eat another piece of cake.
"Stop" I implore, as I continue to partake.
I seem to keep eating putting on pound after pound.

***

(or I'm giving you a hard time ...)

Or maybe it is I giving you a hard time..
The least you could do it write in a rhyme!

I guess that wouldn't be a crime
Perhaps we'll create something that's purely sublime?

I think it's possible... it could be fine!
I hope everyone will submit a line

A Poem - June 2008

A Poem - June 2008
by: Susan, D.A., Marie, and Doghouse

To get the group moving, Susan started a poem for everyone to contribute to.

I saw you take your last breath,
You last breath while looking at me.
You told me you were blind,
But I know that you could see.


Especially when you flinched,
Everytime you turned your head towards me.
You saw what I had become,
I couldn't live by your decree.


In search of more honest love,
To greener pastures I did flee.
But it alerted the police,
When I shouted for glee


Then I fled like the wind,
I ran so far, so fast so free,
Leaving you and our life,
Like so much cluttered debris


Uninvited, you followed me
Unwelcomed, unwanted, and so lovely
That I didn't think twice,

when I gripped the end of the knife.



Do I listen or do I turn the knife to myself?
But Wait! There is arsenic on the shelf!
A gun in the drawer!
A bullet in silver, ever so pure!
Should I stab, should I shoot,
Or is poison the cure?


My beautiful devil
Do you see me now?
You go ahead and deny it,
You little cow!


"I see you" she exclaimed
"Come home to me"
And I knew I could bear to stay,
She could suck the soul from a flea.

Zombie Story - Back from the Dead - Conclusion

Zombie Story - Back from the Dead - Part 1

or The Cows Ate the World (?)

And here's the conclusion to this project (one person picked two words to be used, the writer writes something using those words. They then 'tag' the next person with two words tehy must use, and so on and so on)

By (so far): Qbryzan, Sue, Doghouse, Garvis, D.A. and Susan

WORDS: RAGLAN and OSSIFY

"Yes, dear, I love you, too, and I'll meet you at the airport on Friday when your plane lands."

Dr. Frank Sponforth smiled as he set the phone down and thought to himself. "Ah, my wife the journalist lives the life. Last month a trip to the Grand Canyon and now she's off researching Mt Karioi in Raglan, New Zealand. And here I sit in a lab waiting for this bacteria sample to ossify."

Sponforth turned on the radio as he waited.

" . . . from Iowa of uncontrolled zombie activity. No further . . . authorities . . . this time . . . l stay on the air as long as. . . "

Static took the signal and despite his frantic attempts Sponforth was unable to get it back.

"Iowa", he thought. "That's where my brother Randy is. Damn this radio!".

The bell on the agitating dri-bath brought him back to the lab.

"Wait a minute. The bacteria sample in the dri-bath. Could it be? But no, it couldn't. They told me this was a top-level government test to assess developments into treatment for the common cold. Hmm, there's nothing common here at all."

Sponforth grabbed the blood samples just as the lights went and the lab's alarm system came to life.

=====

WORDS: LANA TURNER and BABBLE

"Damn Alarms! They scared me half to death. Any second now I'm going to start to babble like Lana Turner!" Sponforth fumed.

=====

WORDS: BLUDGEON and HIRSUTE

Sponforth ran into his colleagues office. Dr. Malcolm was a highly regarded expert on bacteria, zombies,Iowa and for some unfathomable reason, fishie treats. Malcolm was also short. Very short. And hirsute as well.
"Dr. Malcolm, we have to leave. The alarm is going off, there are zombies in Iowa, I'm babbling like Lana Turner or Tina Turner and dammit I forgot to set the Tivo for Heroes. We have to hurry."

Malcolm stared at him and at the blood samples in Sponforth's hand. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eight o'clock. If they were going to set that Tivo they would have to leave now. The alarm continued to sound. Malcolm started to hop down off his stool when he remembered something. He grabbed a large hammer he just happened to have sitting by his workstation.

"Follow me," Malcolm yelled to Sponforth as he dashed for the locked cabinet on the other side of the lab. He had kept the hammer close by just in case he ever had to bludgeon a zombie with it, but right now there was a more important task. He swung the hammer, shattering the cheap lock that barred the cabinet doors. He swung open the cabinet and stared at a dwindling supply of fishie treats. "Quick gather these up," he barked.

Sponforth was taken aback by the animalistic tone in Malcolm's voice and stared at him blankly. Malcolm looked back at him and sighed. Sponforth would never be as brilliant as Malcolm was. Malcolm shook his head and looked up at Sponforth. "Don't you understand? Save the fishie treats, save the world."

=====

WORDS: POSTULATE and PRESTIDIGITATION

As I began this story the human race was exhaling its last breath. For awhile there was a spark of hope, a thought that maybe, after all, we'd have the knowledge and wherewithal to band together and pull though. Dr. Malcolm was our last hope as his genius in this area was unequaled. He was close to a cure and hope sprang, but his love for fishie treats was his undoing when he was taken one night three months past as he reached blindly into the cabinet for a fresh box to satisfy his late-night craving.
His last gift to us was that the Roamers not only remain active by night, but can logic and anticipate our actions. I can postulate all night, but to what end? Will anyone remain to read these memoirs? Will the memoirs themselves survive what might be planet earth's final apocalypse? Will I be the last person to utter a rhetorical question? I can only hope, but really, what is hope?

A few of us remain and we camp in the rolling hills of West Virginia. It's not ideal, but the sheep are friendly and what remains of the US Postal Service runs on time. There are hardships for sure as fresh water is scarce and dry cleaners are all but extinct. Last week we lost one of our small band when he demanded that someone take his designer DiGitation shirt to the dry cleaners. "I want my DiGitation shirt cleaned and laundered.", he screamed. He was clearly delusional and we wondered secretly if it wasn't the fever taking him, but we humored him nonetheless while keeping our distance just in case.

"Relax, Julius, the laundries have all been abandoned or burned."
"No. It's not true. I know it's not true."
"I'm sorry."
"But I need them. I need to look good. I have to go into the office and I can't look messy in front of Pam. I need someone to launder and press da Digitation."

He ran off screaming and waving the precious DiGitation over his head and the last we heard from him were his agonized screams echoing off the unforgiving Appalachian foothills.

Things haven't improved in the last few months and we hear them moving closer with each passing day. The sheep have fled and we keep our fires small and try and limit our movements to the night hours, but none of us are hopeful. My only fear now is that when they finally come for me there will be no one left to speak out.

=====

WORDS: THE and END

But then suddenly, as if appearing from no where, a swirl of dust on the road... I swear I could hear some music. Could it be? Are there others? Is this what we have been hoping for? As the swirl of dust got closer.. the music louder... the lyrics more pronounced.

"Well, we live in a trailer
at the edge of town
You never see us
'cause we don't come around.
We got twenty five rifles
just to keep
the population down."

I realized that this might not be the saving grace I had hoped for.

"But we need you now,
and that's why
I'm hangin' 'round.
So you be good to me
and I'll be good to you,"

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the driver. Orange. Orange!

"And in this land of conditions
I'm not above suspicion
I won't attack you,
but I won't back you."

It Was! He was Alive! Orange! Cat Hair flying out the window! Dr Malcolm! I couldn't believe it was him! Alive! And Here!

"Yes, that was me with the doves,
setting them free
near the factory
Where you built your computer,
love.
I hope you get the connection,
'cause I can't take the rejection"

He was driving a jeep. As he came out of the dust cloud I could see him better. His vehicle was filled in the back to the top! Oddly it looked like Christmas Ornaments! Could it be! Had be put together the most awesome form of retaliation!

"Well, I'm a barrel of laughs,
with my carbine on
I keep 'em hoppin',
till my ammunition's gone.
But I'm still not happy,
I feel like
there's something wrong."

He pulled up.. and then it became obvious. He had traveled the world, collecting christmas ornaments off the bottoms of peoples christmas trees. He hid them under chairs, all the while redesigning their purpose. Making them in to the ultimate weapon.

"I got the revolution blues,
I see bloody fountains,
And ten million dune buggies
comin' down the mountains.
Well, I hear that Laurel Canyon
is full of famous stars,
But I hate them worse than lepers
and I'll kill them
in their cars. "

We would prevail! We would win! We would bring back humanity!

The End.

Limerick Anyone?

Limerick Anyone?
by: Celt, Sue, D.A., Doghouse, Misty, Garvis
Spinning out from our “Roses Are Red” discussion/project – We changed gears and attempted Limericks.
This turned into a game which most of the list joined in on.

There once was a group of Hell bent
Doggerel writers whose efforts they sent
To Exquisite Corpse Spoilers
Instead of Pot Boilers
Blame Susan, but she won't repent

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who chanced to meet Hyacinth Bucket
But she said, "It's 'Bouquet',
You must say it that way"
Then he sighed, rolled his eyes
And said "F*** it!"

There once was a group dedicated to prose
Who spent all day goofing on the rose
When that went awry
Celt said "Why don't I
switch to limericks to see where it goes."

There once was a group that existed
For crafting new stories assisted
Not just by sobriety
But by common society
They flourished becoming quite twisted

They once were enticed into writing
Rose poems by Susan, inciting
A marathon session
Of cures for depression
That most of us found quite delighting

Then along came a witch on a mission
This CELT sought to cause a transition
Into limerick writing
But no one was biting
It seems it's hard breaking tradition

So if you still seek to inspire
Or otherwise to light a fire
Under literate butts
If you have the guts
Maybe puns is what you require?

There once was a farm-girl with a dream
Everynight she'd lay awake and scheme
Then one day
We heard her exclaim
These mailing lists will make me scream

I would've responded much sooner
But our internet here seemed to go lunar
I was stuck offline
Listen to me whine
Now it's time to go home for a nooner

Did someone say puns are a'needed?
That thought makes my mind sprout up seeded.
For puns I do love,
beyond and above,
but my mind's blank, have those sprouts all been weeded?

There once was a girl on a farm,
who had two cows both filled with charm.
Both bottle fed calves,
soon their size doubled in half,
they're just healthy, no cause for alarm.

A nooner? You're one lucky guy!
Are the details something you'll supply?
Whether it's noontime or morning or dark
whenever I try lighting a spark,
my luck, well, I've just been bone dry.

There was a gal working in dental
The car she drove was a rental
After reading a while
The EC posts made her smile
And she ended up not going mental

Dear Doghouse if it's not a hastle
You can come to my house for White Castles
We will have fun and play
Forget nooners with DA
Turning pickles into sexy tassels!

Alas there was none to be had
Nooner was only a rhyme, tis sad
Unfortunately it's true
been a while for me too,
If it weren't for my hand I'd go mad

Why D.A. takes "matters" in hand
Is something we all understand
It is such a strain
Mastering our domain
Unless double entendres are banned

Reminds me of a comic I once saw
Who told a Star Wars joke and made me guffaw
He said when Luke lost his hand
He sighed and deadpanned
That he needed a girlfriend now, Ha!

If double entendres are banned
Because of DA's love of the hand
I don't know what I'll do
Cause I use them too
The double entendres not the hands understand.

Hmmm, onion bits strategically placed
suddenly other thoughts now are replaced
with one little bit here
and one on her rear
Oh gosh, now all my thoughts are debased.

Too bad it's been such a slow time.
Going solo some think is a crime.
But you've carried that load
(or maybe let it explode?)
so I'll toast one to you saying L'Chaim! *

There's some stuff you really can't shirk it
And in D.A.'s case he just had to work it
TMI for your brain?
Well then think of the strain
Too much pressure and he might postal clerk it.

There once was a man named DA
who shared "too much" one fine day
bout his need to explode
their mindes in the comode
Did write limericks about it all day.

Roses are Red - Part 2

Roses are Red - Part 2
by: Susan, D.A., Celt, Misty, Garvis, Sue, Doghouse, Elizabeth, Marie, Jo, Marie, Semaht

Part 2 of the "Roses Are Red" project for the group - everyone was supposed to email Susan a poem using the "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue" rhyming scheme. After waiting a week for submissions she started off with a simple reminder to the list about sending her their submissions. This turned into a game which most of the list joined in on. (We're still waiting for Susan to publish what was actually submitted.)

Roses are red, the thorns are mean
I just spit my drink, all over my screen....

Roses are Red, And I just can't sew,
You spit on the screen, But didn't say "No".

Roses are red, you guys are the SH#$,
Your poems have caused, me quite a coughing fit!!!!
Roses are red, DA's been bad
He used the F word, And Yahoo didn't get mad!

Roses are red, Flowers get trimmed
Why can't these list members. Trim these darn messages!!!

Roses are Red, Colds cause a fever
You may not be able to sew, But you can't spell either!

Roses are Red, Bunnies are floppy
What can I say, We just got sloppy

Roses are Red, And typo's are caused
When brain goes so fast, And your fingers get paused

Roses are Red, Yahoo Spam blocker is off
Now we can all swear, And none of you scoff.

Roses are Red, Curse words may pass
We use too many, Susan will kick our A$$

Roses are Red, EC Spoilers is Rockin'
While these poems abound, Soon everyone will flock-in
Susan from Iowa, From Canada, D.A.
There's Lissa and Doghouse, and Misty fights tooth decay
Elizabeth digs in dirt, In IT, Brian with a Q
Anne and Colleen, And we can't forget Sue
Garvis collects, Jo has two cows,
Celt is a witch, With Jeff we carouse
Roses are Red, Members are listed
These poems sure proved, That we're definitely twisted

Roses are Red, And we have a new member,
Welcome to Semaht, She joined in November

Roses are red, taffy is sticky
trimming messages? picky, Picky, PICKY!

Roses are red, in apology we bow
but we just got distracted, by Sue's Mau Mau's.

Roses are red, and you just gave me cause
to give you a round of, cyber applause!

Roses were red, the flowers are dead
please get my butt, out of your head!

Roses are read, violets are blue
let's discuss other things, except body parts of Sue

Roses are red, Sorry you made a mess
So does that mean, The answer was yes?

Roses are red, I don't believe the hype
DA can spell, but when horny, His fingers can't type

Roses are red, I wish he'd warned us sooner
We might have changed the convo, so he didn't need a nooner.

Roses are red, welcome Semaht!
Your name sounds familiar, what type of poem have you brought?

Roses are red, OK, the discussion will move on
to various body parts of, Mistymonbon

Roses are red, This topic is hot,
Oh no whoops, It prematurely shot*

Roses are Red, I have a slight cough
After reading these posts, I am laughing my ass off

Roses are Red, I need to go cry
I forgot all about trimming, And keep hitting reply

Roses are Red, DA came sooner
You’da thought he had some staying time, After his quickie nooner!

Roses are Red, Another new Member
Pave a beach for Marie, And, you she'll remember

Roses are red, I am blue
Thank You for inviting me, My dream has come true
This is just what i need, A quick pick me up
Where are the dirty limericks, They would sure rock
Instead everything look tame, what did I expect?
The members list shows me, who here and who is not
Judging from that, I expect more
Lets see the words fly, I want to see more

Roses are red, Marie wants dirty
but I haven't thought like that, Since I was thirty.

Roses are red, Don't cry in your soup
You weren't the only one, Who sent me for a loop.

Roses are Red, And who are you kidding
You led us into the gutter so fast, We keep bumping and skidding

Roses are red, I'd try the "small t"
but it doesn't make sense, To an innocent such as me.

Roses are red, I am tired of Scrolling
But this has been fun, LOLing!!!

Roses are red, My favorite fruit is a peach
Two "exquisite" new members? Here's a "Welcome" for each

Roses are red, But are writing ain't blue
But if that'll cheer you up, I know just what to do.
Let me first post a warning, Adult Content Ahead
Then I'll work up a poem, About "Tales From The Bed".
The poor girl at the seaside, In bed with a dwarf
Who thought the man asked, If she'd go down on the wharf.
Or the bold little girl, Who asked the boy "what's a penis?"
And so he asked his dad, Who he thought was a genius.
The man took his out, and said "Son, you're in luck.
This is the world's perfect penis, I know you're awestruck."
The boy went back to the girl, and said he'd explain for a quarter.
He then said his would be the world's perfect penis, If like his dad's it was just two inches shorter.

Roses are red, And I can't keep up with these listings
But maybe tonight, I'll pen a poem about fisting.

Roses are red, and try as he can
D.A. doesn't want the reputation, as a minute man!

Roses are red, A poem about fisting?
Is something we hope, You keep resisting!!!

Roses are red, Shriners wear a fez
just please stay away from, Dirty Sanchez!

Roses are red, What Celt said lemme repeat
I don't need any poems, about things going up that one-way street.

A little tiny dwarf! That could be fun!
As long as his...um hands are as big as the sun!

Roses are red, I just got in from work
And I see the requests, Not to rhyme 'bout this quirk.
But when I read doghouse saying, About one-way streets
I feel I must point out, Fists are better than feets.
And please keep in mind, The one way street may not apply
When you're talking of a girl, And not of a guy.
Just watch Chasing Amy, Where the act is discussed
As a lesbian love act, With a partner you trust.
And I would be so remiss, To not mention Rockbitch
Who perform the act on stage while they're singing, Without the slightest hitch.
The act may sound painful, And I know some may scoff
But their are people who do it, Cause it gets their rocks off.
Well this is my poem, Not quite what I planned
But I bet you think twice, Next time someone asks for a hand.

Roses are red, in the autumn leaves fall
I hated Chasing Amy, and would recommend Annie Hall.

Just bothering to see this now.
You've sucked me in - I'm not sure how!

Roses are red, I agree on both points
Smith rarely does anything for me, But Allen seldomly disappoints.

Roses are red, I beg to disagree
Woody Allen movies, make me want to decree
Woody Allen should stop, and leave it to the pros
the real moviemakers, are the Coen Bros.

Roses are red, It's a matter of Taste.
I could do without Curse of the Jade Scorpion, But Match Point was certainly not a waste.
Roses are red, The Coen Brothers are great,
Fargo was a prize, O Brother will never be out of date.

Roses are red, All those directors are swell
I personally find, Kevin Smith funny as hell.
But I also love Woody, And have since nearly 6 grade
I've enjoyed Sleeper, Manhatten, Most every film that he's made
The Coens are also, Quite good I must say
But I need to sit down, And watch Blood Simple some day.
And what about Mel Brooks, Back in his prime?
I can watch Blazing Saddles, And laugh every time.
I also like Landis, And the Z A Z team
Airplane was so funny, I thought I would scream.
I only hope some day in the future, That people will indeed
Speak as flatteringly of the comedy, Of Garvis M Reed.

Roses are red, Some see Smith's work as gold
but to me his humor, is aimed at a ten-year old.

Roses are red, dead leaves are brown
the Coen brothers and I, share the same hometown.
Roses are red, for a rhyme I'm at a loss
but check out this story, for a Coen idol named Mike Zoss.
Roses are red, tell me what you think
after you read the article, you'll find by clicking on this link:

http://www.startribune.com/106/story/1540798.html

Roses are red, Alaska has Nome
but the drugstore referenced above, was two miles from my home.
Roses are red, and I try not to swear
but gosh darnit, I'll tell 'ya, I used to shop there.
Roses are red, getting back now on topic
do you not like Woody Allen, because with glasses he looks myopic?
Roses are red, the directors you mention
are good, no doubt, but it's the oldies, that really get my attention.
Roses are red, Screwball comedies with Cary Grant
are some of my favorites, like the one with his crazy aunt.

Roses are red, I don't mean to annoy
but my first job, was at that grocery store as a carry out boy.
Roses are red, this thought will always be unknown
but could I have bagged groceries, that fed J & E Coen?

Rose are red, The Coen Bros. are smart
To honor a man, Who seemed to have such heart.

Rose are red, You might have cracked their eggs
Their bread you did smoosh, While staring at some chicks legs.

Roses are red, when a woman got in her car
if she was wearing a skirt, you could really see far!
Roses are red, there's really no in between
getting a view like that, was a treat at sixteen.

Roses are red, these rhymes make me snicker
if we had a new topic, i think they'd come a lot quicker