August 6, 2019 – wall, tall, call, nail, dial, hollow

Four Fridays

Four of the Fridays that
I waited for a call,
presaged the times
my emotions took a fall.

Wait, wait some more but
unwilling to dial,
That person in my life

Wait, with a stomach feeling hollow,
Wait some more, unable to swallow.

From side to side
I rocked and swayed down a hall,
Promised myself this time I exit
not walk into a wall.

Mike Duree

July 30, 2019 – Prompt – Broken Glass

  There was no more room for coffee cups, too many were crammed into an already full cupboard. Jessie sighed and set her newest acquisition on the counter, promising herself that she’d sort through and find room for it later.

 The doorbell rang just as her coffeepot dripped out the last drops into the 12 cup carafe.

  Jessie opened her front door to the county sheriff.

 “Hey Denton, come on in. What can I do for you today?”

“Mornin’ MS. Jessie.”The smell of coffee caught Denton’s attention, he looked in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Coffee, Denton?” Jessie asked.

 “Sure, thanks.

  Denton ambled in behind Jessie and waited while she poured two cups. The cup she handed the sheriff was large and black and had a slogan from the Red Pony Saloon.

 Denton’s cell rang as he took his first sip. His reaction to the caller was immediate.

  “Jessie, I gotta go.”

 Denton took off out the door—coffee cup in hand.

 Karen Hydock

July 23, 2019 – Prompt – Street Corner

Street Corner
I was standing on the street corner watching the cars go by. A gust of wind swooshed my skirt into the air. Holding it down, I saw a $20.00 bill land at my feet. I picked up the money and walked away. Wow, being paid makes me finally, a professional street walker.

Ellynore Seybold

July 16, 2019 -Prompt-The Blue Stone

The Blue Stone Retrospection

I hate jewelry.

I’ve always hated jewelry. Ever since I was a child watching my mother’s six sisters haggling around the dining room table on which was a pile of worthless garish bling shortly after she died. They sparred, connived and bargained over every nauseating adornment as if their very lives depended upon which ugly piece each could cajole from the others. And each ornament seemed so revered, as if each indefensible amulet would make its owner prettier, brighter, wiser, appealing, magnetic. Each hideous bauble would, no doubt, earn the prospective owner the love of an admiring suitor for several lifetimes. It was nauseating. That started it, my disdain for jewelry. Good grief. The stuff was beyond awful.

And, what a waste of money each ornament is these days. What will a bucket full of turquoise rocks get you? You can’t depend upon any appreciation in value – most of the time this costume stuff depreciates to nothing in no time flat. Every time I see a woman waltzing by loaded up with bling, I say to myself, “Lord, please save me from that one.” If I ever had the misfortune to have a relationship with one of them, I can see myself living a dismal life beholden to her undying attachment to these diminishing treasures.

Really, who would rather store stones than money? Who would rather hoard intrinsically worthless metalized rocks than something of intrinsic value (like, property, buildings, or, horrors, cash)?” These people would be better off buying barrels of oil!

But then, one day I was confronted by one of my friends who, upon listening to me rant about my disdain for jewelry, ventured, “So Lloyd, what makes you happy? What possessions give you joy in life?”

Well, I did think about it for a while. And I answered, somewhat sheepishly, postulating what was forthcoming, “Books. My books. Oh, and my model aircraft. And, I guess, my couple of antique cars (if I ever get them refurbished).  My collection of photographs, many of them now fifty years old. And, I suppose, my dogs.”

“So, how much would all those things be worth if you sold them tomorrow?”

Well,” stroking by beard, “Probably not much. Probably near nothing.”

“You heard it first here, Lloyd. Better step down off that high horse of yours.”

Lloyd Rain

July 9, 2019 – Prompt- shadow, candle, footprints

My candle threw strange shadows on the wall, some monster-like. I remember as a while we would make shadow puppets on our bedroom wall, my brother and I.

My forms were always the same benign bunnies or quacking ducks, but Roger managed each time to create something unusual: witches, bats, giant grotesque looking men.

He did it to scare me, and it worked. I would end up under the covers afraid to peek out and she a shadowy creature coming toward me.

Roger died two years ago, or I should say he was murdered and the culprit has never been found. Today was the anniversary of his death.

“Is he sending me those monsters as a message? I wonder?”

The wind blew a ferocious gust rattling the windows, and I thought I heard a voice outside. I went to the door and opened it. The light from the candle spilled out. There in the snow were footprints leading away into the night.

Christine Howard



July 2, 2019 – Prompt – Associated with Black

(This weeks prompt was to write what you associate with black, be it black magic, licorice or . . .)

Black. The absence of color.

Dark, dismal, dreary.

Red. Ripe red apples.

Sweet juicy berries. Blood.

Yellow. Canaries, Bananas,

Crookneck squash.

Orange. Juice. Pumpkins.

Construction vests.

Green. Grass. Leaves in summer.

Rolling hills. Forests.

Blue. Sky blue. Navy blue.

My favorite color

Rose Anne Faulkner

June 25, 2019 – Prompt – “What do you mean you don’t hear that?”

Bill sat in his easy chair watching the Broncos game.

“Do you think you have the volume turned up high enough, Bill?” she asked.


“The volume…is it loud enough for you?” she repeated.

“Yeah just right…great game.”

“Bill, the neighbors can hear the game next door!”

“No honey, I’ll go to the store at half time.”

“Good lord Bill, turn the volume down!”

“I didn’t get what you meant to say honey.”

“Good grief! The man is deaf! Miracle Ear here we come.”

“I heard that!”

Kip Scott

June 18, 2019 -Prompt – Jack and Jill Went . . .

A New Take on an Old Nursery Rhyme

Jack and Jill went . . . . Well not climbing up that dumb hill, they went into business together.  Their business Hillside Plumbing after years of carrying buckets up and down that damn HILL, both had bad knees and even poorer attitudes.

One day Jill had an epiphany when she saw a man cleaning out the ditch with and excavator, Why couldn’t they dig through the hill put in a pipe to the water source and have all the water they needed at the bottom of it, instead of climbing up the  high slope which their knees complained about.

Once they had the pipe the village was amazed, and one day a customer coming for his daily quota of water remarked, “it would sure be nice if I could have water piped right to my house.’

After he left, Jack looked at Jill. “Why not!” and Hillside Plumbing was born.

Now Jack and Jill are rich, and they have a butler who brings them a glass of water whenever they ask.

Christine Howard



June 11, 2019 – Prompt- Push Button to Reset

Torie hadn’t counted on the whole universe being against her when she woke up that morning. She had hoped for a quiet day in which she could get some work done on her book and then maybe do a little gardening. It wasn’t meant to be. She had rolled out of bed and jumped when she stepped on what she thought was her cat’s tail. It wasn’t. It turned out to be the tie for her fuzzy robe. She had banged her knee into her nightstand when she jumped, and so she spent her first half hour awake cleaning up blood and bandaging her knee.

Hoping some coffee would help, she started the machine, not noticing the pot wasn’t all the way under the basket. A few minutes later, when she should have been filling her cup, she was instead, cleaning up coffee grounds and water from the counter and mopping the floor while hopping around favoring her wounded knee.

Torie decided she needed to push the reset button on her day, so she ditched her plans to write and garden and decided instead to go fishing in her pond. She had just stepped off her porch when the lightning bolt hit.

Karen Hydock

June 4, 2019 – Prompt – Fog, Smoke, Haze


A true story

The weather report from Nantucket promised ‘early morning patches of fog.’  My husband and I weighed anchor from Nantucket harbor and motored our sailboat in rough seas with no wind. By three in the afternoon we we were still in the ‘patch of fog’ navigating by dead reckoning. Electronic navigation equipment was just starting to come on the market, but we did not even have a ship-to-shore radio aboard.

Eight hours of motoring in an area of rocks and shoals in fog thick enough to barely see the bow, made us feel like we were the only people left in the world. In the distance we heard the tingling of a bell. Following the sound we finally located a buoy. I could almost touch it before I could read the number. A quick search of the chart pinpointed our location. We were near Block Island, but on the wrong side.

Another hour of cautious groping and we found the jetty that channeled us into the Great Salt Pond of Block Island. It was a relief to be able to drop the hook and settle down. A glass of wine helped set the anchor.

Ellynore Seybold


Prompt; smoke, fog or haze


Traveling the dusty back roads of the Olympic mountain range in Washington, I saw a “vee” formation of Canadian geese flying southward. This was unseasonal for a hot summer day. I drove over a ridge and saw a plume of black smoke emanating from the wooded valley below. With the high winds today, I could understand why the birds were racing away from the plume. I stopped my car in order to get a better look. It worried me that the direction of my single-lane road would take me directly towards trouble. Suddenly, I saw orange flames erupt and leap skywards. I best get the heck out of here! I turned my car around and raced for safety. The blare of a siren screamed from around the curve ahead, and a fire truck sped towards me, almost running me off the road. Once passed, I felt relief and was heartened to know that the firemen were on their way to save this bucolic preserve of natural beauty.

Tom Rutherford