Storyteller Challenge #4: Random Promt Generator!

Shah is at it again, creating lots of opportunities for us writers to practice, do a few prompts, talk about them and so much more. It's been a while since I did one, but when I saw my prompt, I was inspired to do something.

The prompt for this challenge is randomly generated and every one is funny, a bit off, but full of inspiration!

Here is the prompt that I recieved:

The painfully shy, German grandmother who feeds the pigeons and secretly plays the lotto.

And here is what I came up with!

Grandma Ba-bam-ee

Doesn't Fight the Lottery

Grandma Ba-bam-ee

Sits on her German fanny

Counting her docket

Deep in her pocket.

She finds bird seed

And pigeon feed,

Some torn tweed

And a type of greed.

The birds were feeding

While Grandma was seething;

Still not enough sums

Reaching her thumbs.

Ba-bam-ee needed a ticket

To satisfy her thicket.

The night filled with crickets

And still no ticket!

Tomorrow would be better,

And the pigeons were fatter.

She’d try again

And by summer’s end

She might have enough,

And a little more scruff,

To pay for the fluff

Instead of having to huff.

Grandma Ba-bam-ee would be,

More than you and me,

The richest hag

In all the bag.

No more sitting on benches

With only wrenches

Thrown into her trenches;
A life like the French’s.

Painfully shy

And about to cry

Grandma turned from the lights

Trying to block out city brights.

But the lottery called to her.

It sang and begged of her!

“You can win like before!

A dollar or more!”

Holding her ears so tight

Ba-bam-ee yelled with might,

“You run my life!

Not now! I can’t fight!”

It haunted her dreams,

Pulling at frayed seems.

Cold on the streets,

Needing warm sheets.

Those with homes passed her,

Ignored and suppressed her.

But Grandma stuck up her nose,

Struck a daunting pose,

Walked to the park,

Sat down by the arc,

Fed the lark,

No lack of spark.

She had a good life,

Before this strife,

But never was she more content

When she found a cent.

She’d hid it away

Until came the day

When it would pay

And take her away.

Storyteller Challenge #3: Autumn Phrase Prompt

I got home today and this is what was going on in my back yard! Unbelievable! I am so not ready for snow. Of course, none of it is really staying on the ground, but I know this is only the beginning!!!

It all worked out though because Shah over at Wordsinsync posted her new Storyteller Challenge Prompt this week and it's "Give Autumn a Chance." So, I combined inspiration from her phrase and this photo that I took of the snow falling in my backyard and came up with this poem. The rhyming is a little cheesy, but I think it's funny. Enjoy!

Give Autumn a Chance

Come on snow, give autumn a chance

It’s not your time to dance

They’re still leaves on the trees

And Thanksgiving feasts

And all you do is make me sneeze.

One day the afternoon is sunny

The next, my nose is running

I thought this was Fall

Not a winter squall

Now, all I want to do is bawl

Autumn is my favorite time of year

There’s pretty colors and pre-holiday cheer

But the snow is falling too soon

So, I’m singing a different tune

One about shivering before and after noon

Although the snow can be very pretty

And it may inspire a spontaneous ditty

It still makes driving really crappy

And mostly everyone is unhappy

Because the dim is kind of shabby

Yes, I like to make snow angels

And I don’t mind if my cheeks tingle

But can’t we all give autumn a chance?

Let’s take this one final stance

And not let the snow ruin our prance

Because autumn is my favorite season

Although there really is not reason

Storyteller Challenge #2: The Pearls Sentence

Shah over at Wordsinsync is at it again for the second Storyteller Challenge. This time, she presented us storytellers with a phrase that we had to use to begin our piece and then we could take it anywhere from there. And, as an added twist for Halloween, we also had to give it a scary/creepy/eerie edge. I decided to write another poem, I don't get to do that very often, and I find that poems work really well for these kind of challenges, especially when you have to knocked them out once a week. :) So, with out further ado, here is my entry...

Tinted Pearls Match Perfectly 
 "I found a string of pearls wrapped around my rose bush..." 

A peculiar thing to find any day of the week.

So, I picked them up to keep them safe.

That’s when I saw the blood and my knees went weak.

At first I thought the pearls were pink.

What a lovely sight to behold.

But, in fact, the pearls were stained in red.

It was a sticky mess to unfold.

The thought of screaming came to mind.

I could have alerted everyone in town.

But surely everyone would still be asleep.

I’d hate to see them all frown.

I could hide the lovely pearls for now,

As gruesome as they are.

I’ll alert the public when they're ready.

The right time can’t be too far.

As for the crime that caused this mess,

I’ll muddle it over myself.

Later the police can be involved,

Or perhaps this will all settle itself.

I laid the pearls out on my counter,

Such lustrous and beautiful things.

I wondered what it would feel like to wear them,

Jewels of emperors, queens, and kings.

What a foolish thing to think at the time.

My hands were sticky and needed to be cleaned.

But if I cleaned the pearls, just the same,

I could wear them around like a fiend.

Before I knew it, the water flowed.

I washed my hands and the necklace too.

Everything was dried with my good towels.

And with steady hands the clasp closed true.

Brilliant beads glittered against my skin.

A glowing smile crept across my face.

I knew the tinted pearls would match my dress perfectly,

And the evidence was gone without a trace.

Storyteller Challenge #1: The Maypole Picture

Shah, over at Wordsinsync, has begun another fascinating and fun exercise. Every weekend she is going to be posting a prompt for all you writers out there and then on Wednesday, she will post a linky for you to share your work and read others work throughout the week. It is open to all kinds of writing, including shorts, poetry, memoir, or fiction, et cetera. It just has to be inspired by the prompt that week.

This week, the prompt is a picture, seen to the left here. The only other requirement this week is that your entry must be 500 words or less! 

To learn more about this fantastic blog and prompt, please click here!

Now, here is my entry!

Summer Colors in a Winter Hue

Beautiful heads, full of curls,
bouncing with the little girls.

Little girls dressed in white,
Weaving ribbons for tonight.

Tonight the village gathers around the pole,

Sitting among the pretty daisies in the knoll.

Pretty daisies, like a blanket of snow,

prepare to watch the evening's show.

A show to celebrate a year

When little girls must gather here.

They bring the sun and flowers too.

They bring midnight's pinkish hue.

Summer colors come to stay,

As winter hues sleep in May.

Mothers and Daughters

This was a recent guest post for Shah @ Wordsinsync and it got some really great feedback so I would like to share it here on WYE? These two poems were made in succession and are meant to be read together. I’ll have you read them now and then we will discuss the content a bit…

The Raisin and the Rose

She brushes my locks out every night,

Long tresses are pulled and shined.

Her own withered curls fall out of place,

A mane overtaken by the color of salt.

My posture young, weightless and steady,

Her own hunched, crippled by stress.

Why is it we are moving away from each other?

Both growing, but one taller and the other older.

I seek the life outside, unfamiliar experiences at my fingertips.

She finds solace inside, safety in common comforts.

As I am ready to emerge, choosing a life, a profession, a lover.

She decides scrambled or boiled, wash or dry, Wal-Mart or K-Mart.

She’s shrivels, like a raisin forgotten on the vine.

And I, a rose, spotted from a distance, ready to be picked.

She’s a queen, not quite jealous of her daughter’s youth and beauty,

But never forgetting, never overlooking,

That someday this girl will take the throne.

She will be replaced.

Petals

My daughter’s reflection in the mirror

Contradicts everything about me.

Her young and sturdy shoulders,

Not yet burdened by the weight of the world,

Whereas I cripple at the sight of the cooled morning air.

Her gleaming hair reflects rays of sunshine,

While mine, limped curls that absorb the dry air and crinkle at its roots.

My lines, deep and hallow,

As hers become smoothed and defined.

She’s in a prime I surpassed years ago.

I'm a barren wasteland that has been emptied

Month by month, no longer able to create.

And her, supple and full, able to give way to pleasure

Without a sense of uselessness.

She’s a sweet rose that only need be picked.

And I, whose petals have already been plucked one by one,

Left to rot on the floor.

Why is it she is of my own making

And yet she’s taken a place I once held so dear;

One of youth and adventure.

I’ve been replaced.

Out of all the poems I have written, these have brought about the most controversy. Now, I think controversy can be a bit of fun, but, unlike some people who are keen on assumptions think, I am not condemning my own mother for aging here. Age is something no one can defy.

Instead, this poem speaks on two topics:

The first is a note on how our modern day American society thinks of our elders. Some cultures revere their old, take care of them without a sense of burden or selfishness. However, many Americans do not share the same views. Instead, the old are in the way, they should be replaced in the workplace, in the home. They should die and leave their place or money to others who are more vivacious, more apt to make the most out of it. Sound harsh?

The second is a note on many mother/ daughter relationships. I like to think I have a wonderful relationship with my mother. We talk often, get along, spend whole days together, laugh and cry together. However, not every relationship is like that. These poems are meant to shed light on the absurdities some mothers and daughters hold against one another things none of them can fight, such as, youth, “beauty,” fertility, and desire. Let it go. Realize that you are angry at nature and not one another. Love your mothers and daughters. No bond should be stronger.