A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.
To superimpose that she had real big feet Lucy used towels and a comfortable sheet They were not that ugly, they were clean but she knew That if people saw something she’d see something too She didn’t want help nor some clean soft woolen socks She only wanted to be known for her long golden locks
…make sure your piece contains some form of the word punch and comes in at exactly 44 words total.
Jackie is such a fruitcake She has lived her life alone She never visits family She doesn’t even own a phone She drinks her punch real icy And sips her tea real hot She always has some old cookies But, personality she has not.
Narcotic skies depict the culture of the world Where a fondness for hatred encapsulate thought An obtuse idea indicative of our leaders Who think of nothing more than sinking lower than ought
I don’t want to be saved in a place like a cupboard Closed and dark opened only once for a simple cup The design of our world should be clean and open Allowing us to live in peace, while the evil shut up
We are all different or that’s what they all say like the tiles lining the wall of a bathroom stall Scrubbed clean only when someone wants to do it showing the shine that is hiding under it all.
Someday there will be life without hate or sadness Brought on by others who have no care for the lame Grief is free, given when we have loved ones who depart In the end, don’t we know we all are the same
The mayor thought her precious with a deadpan-looking face Flowers lined her golden hair, each blossom in its place The ring upon her small white hand glowed in the murky light The evergreen outside the door stood ready for a fight The knock came unexpectedly like winners in a race An election of her boyish love etched on her pretty face Coming in from the cold outside he smiled and bowed his head For all he really wanted was some food and a warm bed She knew this was her love for good, love for eternal life Little did he know right then she vowed to be his wife Waking in the morning feeling fresh and rested well The lad stood tall and stretched himself, his body feeling swell He laid his eyes upon the girl and fell most instantly and that is how the happy couple really came to be.
During the homecoming they were happy to see That the bush and the shrub weren’t hurt by the bee There was no regret since no time went to waste finding the ytterbite was for what they all raced They wasted no time in this journey of life like presented with teeth of a tenacious steak knife For they didn’t know they were next on the list A symptomatic response like a crack in the schist they went rocking along, such an agile climb They picked from a shrub near a dirty clothesline You could read the response on the older one’s face That satire here was the ribbons and lace Tied to the tree to keep all pests away wanting nothing to bother them during their stay
The birds and bees will often blunder when they think of who will win Foisting their ideas on others like the ants fall sadly thin The difference between these three bugs is multiformed yet luminous For they are species not alike and form relations not like us In their hovel they work together for the good of all the group Humans work for just themselves in one big, selfish endless loop.
Getting up this morning I decided it was time to get those joggers out, it isn’t any crime It really is the time to suit up then just go, There is no way to win if I’m lacking to show the best side of myself on a bleary, wet day the sun only a garnishment missing its way through the darkened clouds, floating passive and slow Letting the sun shine through will not be a go Donning my outfit I lace up my track shoes forgetting vitamin g is the worst of my blues.
Men grabbed him by the tee shirt, his jacket on the ground entrenched in muddy waters there came a soothing sound The volume was pervading, not variable at all They took him on a frogmarch, just like walking to death row The sobbing was tangential like a whisper on the wind These were the consequences of a man who might have sinned. A woman in a blue blouse was standing by the crowd With tears of pain she jumped out and tried to scream out loud She knew he didn’t need to be punished on this day And cried and moaned the whole time they took her son away.
Beaming in his bolero the peasant wasn’t quick He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, but man, the air was thick Being a true pluviophile he really wished for rain He couldn’t get the portrayal out, like phosphenes on his brain Liking what he was thinking, a morsel of a plan He slunk right past the bouncer like a filament in the sand The pocket of his trousers was full of coins and junk And also there was woolly fuzz, uncanny ’cause it stunk But as he thought about it the more he decided no and feeling strikhedonia was happier to go His plan to take his money and use it on some drink Was foiled by his odor and how bad he did stink He’d never get inside the bar without being thrown out Serving stinky poor men was not what they’re about And so he went his way back to find an open space to rest his hot and weary head and find his happy place.