Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

A borborygmus
of strange vowels rumbled up
from the earth’s bowels.

There was, Bertrand found,
nothing to do Friday nights
in Onondaga--

eat the boarding-house
dumplings or the stew, then play
Bubble Witch Saga.

(off 8499 & 8500)

The boarding-house stew
bewitched; his bowels rumbled
a bubbling stew.

From Julie,

Boil and bubble, brew,
Stitch-n-witches, broiling up
No froth nor trouble.

They were quick to laugh,
those witches. Something always
had them in stitches.

Which of the witches
Knew what to do: stir the brew
or wash their britches?

One of them knew that
an apple a day makes a
girl sleep forever--
or maybe allows her to
sleep as long as she wants to.

[LOL! :-)]

The kiss that broke her
long, charmed sleep was not at all
what she’d awaited.

’Twas Sir Liver Lips,
a creep, his pampered ego
vastly inflated.

The lips he serviced
Were softer than the books he read
About how to woo.

From Julie:

So, his lips are sealed
For evermore, she deletes
His vain attachment!

Al wrote: "She once knew a sir
with lips whose kiss and persist-
ance left her quite pissed."


[RotFL!]

[@ Julie: Very clever!]

Greetings, Guy, thanks for kind feedback. Regards from Julie.

(Thank you, Alex!)


The first of the plans
his mind hatched was how to get
her bodice unlatched.

The bodice extract
Was less then what could have been
But it was enough.

He gasped in dismay
at what he faced when at last
he got her unlaced.

What bodice pushed up
caused his elation;let down
it caused deflation.

Now frantic, he glanced
around the keep. “How do I
put her back to sleep?”

[Lol!]

Al wrote: ""What's the matter, boy?"
she asked with annoy. "These are
the real McCoy!""

clever Al.

M wrote: "Now frantic, he glanced
around the keep. “How do I
put her back to sleep?”"

lmao

She was radiance,
vigor, vim! Fleeing, he tripped,
then fell in a heap.

“Read,” he implored, “this
story by M.” The maiden
soon was fast asleep.

Her dreams were tangles
of weed-grown courts, gloomed hallways,
and rural airports.

Entwined forever
these tangled dreams, escape to
soar on swift steel wings.

Bart belched, his stomach
now on fire--leapt from the booth,
ran about in rings.

He was, patrons knew,
a red-faced frequent flier
on Buffalo Wings.

Small windshield wipers
swept his eyes. His flabby rear
became a rocket.

Then he lifted off
for stormy skies, with no more
Tums in his pocket.

The radar lost him.
His buddies grieved. Orva Lou,
his wife, was frantic.

Air traffic control
said they believed he’d gone down
in the Atlantic.

M wrote: "Bart belched, his stomach
now on fire--leapt from the booth,
ran about in rings.

Wow, what to say M ?!

Thank you, Nicky! My attempt to follow yours, using the image of wings, got out of hand. I guess I was hungry for Buffalo Wild Wings. I had planned to post this one, but it was off-topic:

Here lies Hux, his last
few bucks squandered on nostrums
for gout and reflux.

[Head shake and LOL!]

Bloated Bart floated,
Adrift like so much litter,
Texting on twitter
That the man-made slick he's in
Smelled like the wings he'd eaten.

From Julie,

Floating away, Bart
Became one with the Great sky
Kitty Litter, bye!

[[RotFL!]]


Morris and Bart were one,
A unity in the stars,
A consternation.

Like infinite stars
scattered across the night sky
we cover the earth.

From Julie:

Gaia, Planet Earth,
Fecund, embracing, entwine,
All love is a gift!

She gobbled burgers
till her girth exceeded that
of the planet Earth.

Martians rescued her
at last, their spaceship loaded
with cans of Slim Fast.

π are square? Not true.
It is said, cornbread are square,
π is round, I'm fed.

[[LOL!]]

From Julie,


Pi keeps going on,
Algebra, your X has left,
She has gone, move on....

As at 3.14
we sipped rye, Don McLean sang
American pi.

M wrote: "As at 3.14
we sipped rye, Don McLean sang
American pi."

Nice play on words, M. It made me smile.

My, My this day fly's
Can't stop, not even for pie
No time, gotta go!

(Thank you, Nadia!)


“Perfect for picnics,”
he sniffed, aloof. “All my pies
are ant and fly proof.”

Bye, bye Mercan Pie,
So, sing a Song of Sixpence,
Pocketful of Rye.

Star of stage and screen,
She was radioactive,
on K-R-A-P.

That's 95 on your FM radio, KRAP on your dial

Madge, the most brazen,
most obscene, ever to writhe
on the silent screen

was, without powder
or mascara, more a vamp
than Theda Bara.

Veiled in white she moaned
'this used to be my playground'
most un-virgin-like.

*shakes head*

Doe eyes filled with tears,
as she stared at the man and
said, "Papa, don't preach."

Ah, my recovery queen ;)

Love it!

Lol! Welcome back, R! :)

[Lol!]

From Julie:

Man in Black, preacher,
Desperately to reach her,
Nice day, black wedding!

Snores rise. The preacher
blabbeth. April skies dapple
a sleepy Sabbath.