Weekend Writing Prompt #236 – Billie’s Blues

Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt Blue (38 words)



Gardenia in her hair
Silver gown shimmering
The lady sings: Am I Blue?

Sorry, love, you’re black
You can’t sit there
Or use that entrance.

She’s gotta right to sing the blues
But belts out Strange Fruit instead

WDYS: The Key to Her Heart

Image credit: Photomix company @ Pixabay

He comes for his things
But pauses at the door
Forced to ring the bell

My key doesn’t work, he says
I changed the lock, she replies

He gives her a boyish grin
How about a cup of tea?
All right, she says

They sit in the kitchen
He reaches for her hand

I’m sorry I hurt you
Can we try again?
Let me make amends

She sighs, and hope dies
Can I have a biscuit, then?

The tin is slid towards him
They’re all broken, he scowls
She raises her head and smiles

Written in response to Sadje‘s What Do You See #108 photo prompt.

Three Things Challenge #779 – Lest We Forget

Welcome to the 3TC hosted by Pensitivity101.
Today’s words: REMEMBRANCE, RESPECT, POPPY
Click HERE for the rules and to play along.


Image source: Peter Macdiarmid/Getty Images/File

World War I veterans (from left) Henry Allingham, Harry Patch, and Bill Stone, all over 100 years old, gathered for Armistice Day commemorations in London in November 2008.


Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

#21 Keeping Body and Soul Together

Image Source: sciencefocus.com

Duncan MacDougall performed some experiments
With dying men wrapped up in their cerements
And the conclusion of this morbid goal
21 grams does weigh the human soul!

#18: Welcome to Adulthood

Image credit: www.yourtango.com

On the day Clare reached her majority
She went drinking with her sorority
When she met a new man
Things didn’t go to plan
Now a doctor is a priority