OLWG · writing

OLWG# 282- prosimetric

Written for OLWG# 282

Camila could hear the loud, discordant, hardcore punk music wailing as soon as she steered the 1965 Ford LTD into the sprawling apartment complex parking lot. She instinctively and immediately knew what it was. She parked, left the groceries in the car and scrambled towards apartment 125C, the apartment she shared with her on-again / off-again boyfriend, Floyd, the songwriter. The front door was open. From the stereo, raucous music screamed at a volume adjusted to approximately three dB above the threshold-of-pain. Floyd wore only his “Y fronts” and was seated on the piano bench singing some song that didn’t go with the music, idly plinking on the white keys; an empty whisky bottle lay at his feet.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Camila wailed.

“Floyd?” She yelled, but he didn’t hear her. His attention focused on the television, where girls in miniskirts with beehive hairdos and high white boots were gyrating on screen. She picked her way across the living room floor and turned off the stereo. Floyd looked up at her and smiled. Camila dashed across the room and shut off the TV. The room was silent except for Floyd, plinking on the keyboard and singing an improvisational sheebop bowww bebop woww skiba deba dedo owww. A degenerating dog-end floated in half a glass of whisky that sat atop the upright piano, which, in turn, sat against the staircase.

“Floyd!” she yelled. But she stopped when she heard the knocking at the open door. Two uniformed police officers stood framed on the stoop. Camila rolled her eyes.

opposites attract…
the artist, the conformist
understanding / love

This week’s prompts were:

  1. Oh, no no no no
  2. watching “Ironsides” on TV
  3. counting my toes

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 273- A Place of Truth

Written for OLWG# 273

Palmer Kanawha pulled his hat lower, over his eyes, raised his head, and studied the summit. Pico Nevado was a notorious peak, but it was a sacred place and he needed to reach the summit. So, he shrugged deeper into his heavy coat and ploughed on. The mountain was snow-capped year round; he had been told that he would find truth there, and he needed the truth.

The snow is ceaseless atop the mountain
It whispers my name
It tells me the stories of my people

It urges me to jump

This week’s prompts were:

  1. snow won’t stop falling
  2. speak my name in whispers
  3. Jan just told me, “we need to talk.”

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 249- Uncaged

Written for OLWG# 249

Wallace tugged the bill of his John Deere ball cap lower. He stood, called to his mom and walked out the front door into the golden light of early evening. He walked to Rebecca Shepard’s house. She was sitting on the wide front porch with her mother, the orange sunset shining from behind her hair. He watched for a bit, and then he turned, walked away.

It was almost 11:30 when he returned. The Shepard house was dark except for the porch light, shining faint. No competition to the blanket of stars that glowed in the night sky. The full moon hung high. It was brilliant but mute, making not a sound.

Reaching into his pocket, he removed a crumpled scrap of ruled notebook paper. Rebecca had handed it to him at the end of World History. Wallace smoothed the note and scanned it for the 100th time. Each time he read it, it read the same.

come see me tonight,
don’t knock, don’t ring the front bell
climb in my window

This week’s prompts were:

  1. wine coloured birthmark
  2. not a place you want to go
  3. climb in my window

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 228- More Nondenominational Short Verse

Bits and Pieces, written for OLWG# 228

three six-packs
eighteen beers
put three back – express checkout


Milena let me take her to Montreux,
Firenze, and St. Tropez (where we followed in the footsteps of Bardot)
We climbed to the castle walls in Larochette
In Seville, I let her slip away.
She was a free spirit; I was never going to hold her for long.
I am thankful for the time we had together.


“See that large white house, across the water?”
“Uh-huh, I see it.”
“I want them all killed. I want the house burned down. Sift through the ashes and bring me what you find. I want the nails and picture hooks. I want their teeth, I want the gemstones, I want anything left after the fire.”

This week’s prompts were:

  1. burn it down – for the nails
  2. world traveller
  3. 15 or less

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 227- Song of Sánchez

Haibun, written for OLWG# 227

Sánchez downed the shot of Tequila in one and sucked the lime. Leaning to the side, he reached beneath the table to remove his boot and ended up tugging on the left one for what seemed an eternity. Finally, giving up and switching to the other one, which came off smooth-like. He smiled. His gold tooth shone in the desert sunlight, “Only have three toes on this foot,” he explained. He hooked his right hand around the boot heel, swung his arm back and launched the scuffed ‘Tony Llama’ at a pack of mangy curs that had been edging ever closer to us, looking, and hoping for a handout. The dogs scattered, but not too far. Single booted Sánchez waved to Maria, signalling for another bottle.


I smoothed my lapels
imagined Arizona
Someplace, not New York

This week’s prompts were:

  1. street dogs
  2. old shoes
  3. imaginary Arizona

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 213- New Knife

Written for OLWG# 213

“Where’s ya goin’ Bea?”
“I ain’t going nowhere, Boy, an’ even if I was; it ain’t none o’ yore business. I wouldna tell ya.”
“You goin’ to school, ain’tcha?”
“Get lost, Boy. I’ll tell yo momma.”
“You gotta be goin’ to school. On account, you ain’t got that big ole dawg o’ yourn witcha. Kin I play witcher dog whilst youse at school?”
“Stay ‘way from my dawg, Boy.”
“Aw, come on Bea. I jist wanna take ‘m fishin’.”
“I jist give that dawg a washin’ las nite. I ain’t gonna lechoo take him to no damn crick. He’ll get all mudded up. He’s all pretty ’n white rite now. I wan im to stay that way.”
Boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of stuff. He started poking through it.
“I’ll give ya this piece o’ lickrice, ya let me taker yer dawg fishin’.”
Bea stopped. She looked at what Boy held in his hand, “I don wan nuthin to do with that lickrice. ‘S got fuzz all over it.”
“Come on, Bea. Lemme take yer dawg fishin’. Wha’ choo wan’?”
“I’ll take yer pocketknife, an I gotta go to the crick with youse and Flour. Deal?”
“Deal!” Boy handed over the folded blade. He and Bea shook hands and turned away from the school. They went to fetch the dog. There was plenty of time to find and cut a slender branch for fishing, and Bea had a new knife.

This week’s prompts were:

  1. ain’t going nowhere
  2. easy gratification
  3. a dog named Flour

OLWG · writing

OLWG# 212- Mireille in Haibun

Written for OLWG# 212

When I met Mireille, she worked at the library in Colmar. An ancient, walled town in Alsace that lies to the South and West of Strasbourg. She was young, alluring, and exotic. She was blonde-haired, beautiful, and in some way, was related to Bartholdi, the sculptor. The result of her beauty, coupled with her famous lineage, was a strong sense of self-importance. I don’t mean that in an unaccepting way, she was young, bright and gorgeous. Mireille smelled of a cool breeze coming off the sea. She was an insatiable lover. I had the pleasure of her company that midweek from dusk till dawn. We never left my hotel room – eating bleu cheese and coleslaw from the room service menu – devouring one another until the sunrise.

She dried a bit stiff,
She was laundry on the line
But she smelled so fresh

This week’s prompts were:

  1. a ruby red right hand
  2. laundry on the line
  3. bleu cheese and coleslaw

OLWG · writing

OLWG#91- Code Name: Scheherazade

Written for OLWG#91

Marney and the Captain sat close to one another in the rear seat of the taxi as it cruised the neighborhoods between Main Street and North Broadmoor. Marney cradled a chrome plated .45 in her lap as they looked for Scheherazade. They’d been driving for almost an hour when Marney glimpsed a splash of colour moving in the park. She nudged the Captain and pointed. He, in turn, leaned forward and spoke to the driver, with a soft voice. The gypsy cab glided to the curb. Marney clasped the door handle. As she pulled the door open she looked back at the Captain and asked,

“Do we really have to kill her?”
“’fraid so, Marney; she knows too much.”

This week’s prompts were:

  1. a gypsy cab glided to the curb
  2. It’s a shame about your future
  3. she knows too much

OLWG · writing

OLWG#78- A High Forehead and an Unmarked Grave

A bit of fun written for OLWG#78

Henry was sittin’ in his livin’ room
When he heard a knock
Pounding on his old front door

Henry sat on his mother’s old Chesterfield in the front room, watching TV. He was interrupted by someone at the door. His caller, that afternoon, was Death himself. That Grim Reaper was wearing his black robes and standing on the wide wooden porch. His bony finger was pointing directly at Hank. He carried his scythe in the crook of his arm, the wicked blade resting over his shoulder.

“You’re early,” Henry said and he turned back toward the sofa, “But you might as well come in anyway. The game doesn’t start for at least another hour. Come on then… don’t let all the warm air out.” He chided the Angel of Death who had remained in the doorway but now followed Hank into the house.

“Did you bring beer?” Henry asked. “You were supposed to bring beer.”

Pale Death trailed behind. silent as the grave.

This week’s prompts were:

  1. an unmarked grave
  2. a high forehead
  3. “you’re early,” he said

OLWG · writing

OLWG#77- The Milky Way

A Haibun (of sorts) written for OLWG#77

Mandy got out of the car at the bottom of the off ramp and shut the door. She stepped forward and leaned into the front passenger side, “Thanks, Jim; thanks, Harriet I’ll make sure to look you up next time I’m in Topeka.”

Harriet clasped Mandy’s hand, “You do that, honey; and best of luck to you.”

Everyone smiled and waved. Jim and Harriet turned onto the two-lane and Mandy crossed it taking her position at the foot of the on ramp, still going west.

Looking around Mandy noted that she was in farm country. There were dark fields stretching in every direction. There were a few lights from a farm house down to the south. Other than that, there was nothing. No cars on the motorway, no cars on the two-lane. Above her were stars. A multitude of stars and she thought they looked like sea-glass spilled onto a dark surface.


Broken glass tossed and shining on a black velvet sky, lit from within

This week’s prompts were:

  1. at the bottom of the off ramp
  2. is that my pencil case?
  3. broken