Written for dVerse Prosery: T.S. Eliot and
J. Alfred Prufrock. Björn, our host, challenges
us to write a poem of 144 words including the
highlighted line from “The Love Song of
J. Alfred Prufrock”. Here is my poem.
Tag: dVerse Prosery
In Papa’s Garden
Written for dVerse Poets Prosery: Yvor’s
“Time and the Garden”. Our host, Sanaa, asks us
to write a short piece of prosery of up to 144 words
and include a complete line from the poem
“Time and the Garden”. Here is my haibun.
Into Oblivion
Written for dVerse Prosery: Walcott’s Dark August.
Our host Kim asks us to write a piece of flash fiction
of up to or exactly 144 words, including the line shown
below by Derek Walcott. Here’s where his line took me.
Kissing Lake Ontario
Written for dVerse Prosery Monday:
Prosery In the Words of Lisa Bellamy.
Our host Sanaa asks us to write a 144
word story using the quote shown at
the bottom of the page. This is my prose.
Beautiful Boy
Written for d’Verse Prosery where the challenge is to write
a piece of flash fiction of no more than 144 words that includes
the following quotation from “Out Of The Cradle” by Walt Whitman:
“Out of the Ninth-month midnight”. This is my flash.
Descent Into Madness
Melissa is our host for dVerse Prosery Monday. She has asked us to write a prose story of up to 144 words using the quote “I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye” by Edgar Allan Poe. Here is my prose in exactly 144 words.
It was no secret that Frederick’s father committed suicide, due, in no small part, to his wife’s constant belittling. The note he left read “The vile bitch! I pray to God that she may lie forever with unopened eye”.
Not wanting his mother to be alone, and despite his wife Helene’s protests, Frederick moved his mother into their home. He hoped the two women might provide some companionship for each other but they soon began arguing.
Helene could do nothing right in her mother-in-law’s eyes. The old woman went so far as to flaunt Helene’s inability to have a baby, goading her on by calling her wretched, a desiccated vessel, a disappointing failure.
Now the pain and humiliation had taken its toll and Helene began her descent into madness. One day while Frederick was at work, she bludgeoned his mother to a bloody pulp.
NAR©2024
144 Words
This is “Song by Edgar Allan Poe”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
To Hang The Moon
Written for the dVerse Prosery Prompt by Amy Woolard:
“What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead”
“What does it matter that the stars we see are already dead? What does that even mean, Margie?”
“Oh, Nell. If I have to explain it to you, it loses its gravitas, its pathos, doesn’t it?”
“Gravitas? Pathos? I’m sorry .… when were you named chief cook, bottlewasher and poet laureate?”
Margie gave her friend a dismissive eye roll before turning her back, busying herself with little scraps of paper on her desk.
There was a time the two were like sisters, cherishing a bond they never found with anyone else. Now they barely recognized each other; their conversations were stilted to the point of being painful.
And it all came down to Nicole, a newcomer in their exclusive inner circle …. a renaissance woman and Margie thought she hung the moon.
“I miss us, Margie”
Intense silence. Spoken words were never as wounding.
NAR©2024
144 Words
This is “Sisters Of The Moon” by Fleetwood Mac
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
1917
Lisa is serving as host for today’s dVerse Prosery prompt.
We are to write a piece of up to 144 words and include the line
“But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face”.
This is my response for Lisa’s dVerse Prosery prompt.
We were living in Tennessee with my Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz after my mam and pap were killed in the South Carrollton, Kentucky train wreck of 1917. Just five days before Christmas and our family was torn apart. My mam and Aunt Luella were sisters; mam’s death nearly destroyed Auntie.
Back in January we all had such high hopes for 1917. My cousin Henry, Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz’s firstborn, was set to graduate high school in June, the first one in the family with that distinction. Aunt Luella was so proud of Henry, she couldn’t help smiling thinking of Henry’s bright future.
But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face.
Henry enlisted in the army one month before graduation. He died in the Battle of Cambrai on Thanksgiving Day.
We lost too much that year.
NAR©2024
144 Words
This is Stephen Foster’s “My Old Kentucky Home” sung by Paul Robeson
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
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