Photo: Mick Haupt on Unsplash
Madam Toole
Had a rule:
No one sitting
On her stool.
That chair
Was her
Jewel.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of “rule” in 16 words
Madam Toole
Silly
Laid-Back Lizzie
(Photo: Circe Denyer on Unsplash)
Laid-back Lizzie
Would not be pressed
Into a tizzy.
She left herself
With ample
Time,
To saunter to and
From her
Crime.
She kept pace
When sirens blared
And ambled on
As others stared.
She did not hold
With running
Fast.
But strolling was what
Caught up with her
At last.
For Sammy’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Saunter in 51 words
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All Wants
(Photo: Jim Moore)
He now possesses
Every want:
A hat, a sweet
Face coat.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Possess in 11 words
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Not Rolling With It
“No way I’m doing that!” Ming shook his head.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a wimpy dimpy!”
Ming narrowed his green eyes at Mei-Mei, whose body was swishing in what he knew was part-dare, part-enticement, part-mockery.
“Not happening,” he turned to leave.
“Ha! I knew it! Told General Tso you’d be too chicken to give it a whirl.”
Ming hissed. That hurt. Mei-Mei was beautiful, but mostly on the outside.
He swished his tail at her. “You wanna ride the toilet paper? Go ahead. Roll with it. Be my guest. I’m not falling into that bowl.”
Again … Once was enough.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Trish Nankivell
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Ice Cream Tim
Photo: Brendan Church on Unsplash
Tim had a serious thing
For
Ice cream.
No matter the flavor
It was something
He’d favor.
His mama thought it
Extreme
To hold a lone food
Supreme,
So she came up with
A scheme
That worked wonders on
Tim:
Every new food she’d
Mix right into the
Ice cream.
So she fixed it with okra
And kale
And some beans,
And added an olive
And handfuls of
Greens,
And for his dessert
Even mashed in
Sardines.
And the boy ate the lot
Smiling full to the
Brim.
It was not until college
He caught on to the
Theme.
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Small Fry
Photo prompt: Todd Foltz
“Are you sure it will work?”
Tim’s chin bobbed up and down enthusiastically.
A bit too enthusiastically. It looked suspiciously like an I’m-clueless-but-want-to-pretend-I’m-not kind of nod.
Benny frowned. He had a bad feeling about the whole plan. “I still think we should have brought a proper pan.”
“Nah,” Tim waved his hand and pointed to the ball of molten orange glaring at them from the horizon. The light shimmered. “They said it was going to be hot enough to fry eggs.”
“In the carton? Don’t you need to crack them first?”
Tim shrugged. “We can always make hard boiled ones.”
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
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The Reporter
Photo: Sven Brandsma on Unsplash
He reports first thing in the morning.
He reports again every night.
There’s little that could dissuade him
From being absolutely forthright.
He records every scene with a flourish.
His voice reflects every sight,
As with journalist’s flair
He spells data in ample delight.
He would not be distracted from telling,
The minutia has got to be tight.
After all, he is in potty training
And to him no discharging is trite.
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Silly Billy
Photo: Smadar Epshtein
Silly Billy was too chilly
So he too a little nap.
Silly Billy did not really
Think it would cause him mishap.
Frilly Tilly woke him shrilly
And with very little slack,
Sent him home and told poor Billy
That he isn’t welcome back.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: silly
Note: I find this photo too delightful to use only once… So if you think you’d seen it before, you are not imagining things … 🙂
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Dogged Dobbie
Photo: Keith Kreates
“What’s he doing?”
Martha shrugged.
“What’s in there?”
She tilted her head at him, and he demurred. She was clearly occupied. She had a bone to pick and he knew that if he pushed her with one more question she’d snap his head off. Or try.
He wasn’t going to let her try.
He moved closer to his friend.
“Dobbie?” he asked the headless figure. Did she snap his head off already? No, there was a tail wag. He didn’t think Dobbie would wag his tail if he didn’t have a head. He’d be too sad. No sniff. No lick. No yum.
“What’d’ya doin’ in there?”
The tail paused, then gave a halfhearted, one-sided sway. A sign?
“You stuck?”
Hesitant then enthusiastic wag.
“How’d you get stuck there?”
There was probably no way to wag an answer to that. Not to mention that Dobbie found a way to get stuck just about anyplace. Between the legs of a chair. Under the bed. With a garbage bin over his head. …
Max sniffed. There had to have been some food up there. Dobbie never could resist anything gobbleable. Max sniffed again. Traces. It’d be all gone by the time Dobbie realized he should’ve planned a way out before he stuck his head in.
Dobbie’s tail wagged in half-regret, half-plea.
Max sighed.
“Hold on, Dobbie! I’ll get Com’eer!”
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On Guard!
“How long will he be this way?”
“Dunnow,” Plucky shrugged. “But let’s get this done before he loses concentration.”
“I wanna waive something in front of his eyes. He looks so hypnotized!” Shimmer shifted excitedly from foot to foot. This was so thrilling!
“Don’t you dare!” Plucky’s hiss almost made actual sound. He bobbed his head in an effort to contain it. “Let’s get to it! Blue is good but even he can’t keep this up forever.”
Shimmer nodded distractedly.
“Coming or I go it alone?”
“Coming, coming…” Shimmer nodded and sighed in one. She didn’t want to miss anything. She wanted to see everything! She wished she could be in two places at the same time. She tore her eyes off of the dog, whose nose barely twitched and whose eyes never left the cockroach that was held in the blue-gray pigeon’s beak, just out of the canine’s reach. Blue was so courageous!
Plucky was already on the move. Shimmer stepped behind the brown bird’s sparse tail feathers, trembling with suppressed flutter. This was her first heist.
The window was open. The dog had forgotten a biscuit on his cushions. They were going to sneak into the room and steal it.
Na'ama Yehuda 
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