The Bad Girl's Bracelets

joyreactor.com

The Bad Girl's Bracelets

Put on the bracelets, you common criminal!

That speeding ticket you forgot to pay

Has come home like a chicken to roost

Sitting like a caged bird in the roost

Not wanting to remain a criminal

She waited for her man to come and pay

Later, the judge told her the fine to pay

He thought her more a dizzy bird who left her senses in her roost

Than an actual, bona fide criminal

Adjudged not much of a criminal, she paid and went home to roost

To Cie

With love from Tempest

Notes:

Back in 1986, our own Real Cie forgot to pay for a speeding ticket and ended up in jail.

A little over an hour ago, Cie contacted her erstwhile team, asking "how the hell do we write a tritina that includes bracelets?"

Ask and ye shall receive, Dahling!

Thank you for being such a sport. I never imagined you'd actually agree to it's publication!

Prompts Used:

napowrimo. net

Our (optional) prompt for Day Seven comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us all to write a tritina. The tritina is a shorter cousin to the sestina, involving three, three-line stanzas, and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA, and all three end words appear together in the final line.

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:

Bracelets

Compound Carrion

Image Source

Lady in search of peppermint

And sweetmeat

Instead found eyeballs

And rattlesnake hamburger

When she followed the fireflies

To the moonlight schoolhouse

Where the supergiant throwbacks skateboard

She was seeking homemade popcorn

A slice of shadyside honeydew

A sweet morsel of honeycomb

Instead she found an overabundance

Of undercut forefingers

In the underground household

Of the underage bootstrap babysitter

And the weekend watchmaker

With his supersensitive, supersonic pacemaker

And the lifeline, lifeblood keyhole on his forehead

Somehow the sunbathing superwoman found herself in the supernatural underbelly

Behind the bookshelf in the bookstore belonging to the bookmobile bookkeeper

While looking for the washroom in the firehouse

Where she sought a ballroom friendship with the supercool fireman

Her bellbottom daydreams now in upheaval

Her dishpan hands clasp the newspaper

Where she seeks the carefree undercurrent

Along the moonbeam superhighways

Once a moonstruck firecracker

With a crush on a sweetheart schoolboy

She instead found beneath the moonlight

One too many a hookworm playboy

The afterimage of the life that could have been

Reflects mockingly in her stoplight eyeglasses

Everything has been a comedown from her tailspin pinup dreams

So she orders shortbread takeout

And climbs warlike to the housetop

Her tailcoat flapping like a skylark in the wind

On the sunroof in the sundown

She watches the watchman in the watercolor watchtower

The downbeat wastewater waterlogs the waterfowl below

She walks down to the woodshop

To say goodnight to the waxwork scarecrow

She adjusts his sunray bowtie

Before stepping onto the centercut turntable

A blowgun to the forebrain

Nothing to forewarn the foregone horseman in the forecastle foreground

On the moonlit grassland

Her foredoom was foretold

Her washrag fallen in the rainwater

Flows downstream to the uptown washhouse

Where the cardstock newsman reports as an afterthought

The death of nobody and nothing

~Cie and Opal~

This went much further than we ever imagined it would!

Prompts used:

Love Lies Bleeding Like an Open Wound

I Blinked and the World Was Gone v5

by The Real Cie

Love Lies Bleeding Like an Open Wound

Love lies bleeding like an open wound

Under the grief-stricken moon and stars

The troubled traveler crumpled, his life in ruin

He knows not if it’s midnight or high noon

He knows not how he ever came this far

Love lies bleeding like an open wound

He prays his suffering will be over soon

His hand rests on skin made rough with scars

The troubled traveler crumpled, his life in ruin

It’s time to wrap the melancholy tune

To bring to a close a life that sorrow mars

Love lies bleeding like an open wound

Lying broken ‘neath the grieving stars and moon

Not a soul to hear him as he prays

The troubled traveler crumpled, his life in ruin

He prays that the red ripper may find him soon

For life becomes more painful each moment that he stays

Love lies bleeding like an open wound

The troubled traveler crumpled, his life in ruin

With love for Mal

By Opal and Cie

It isn't a perfect Villanelle
But it's got heart!
He wasn't a perfect man
But so did he

Prompts Used:

The Cruelest Month

April is cruel

 For those with spring depression

 It can be deadly

~Cie~

In memory of Per Ohlin

16 January 1969 - 8 April 1991

I suffer from spring depression, which is something that most people don't understand. I fully understand how a person could kill themselves during the "happy" months. I've been struggling with very high suicide ideation this year.

 Research on seasonal effects on suicide rates suggests that the prevalence of suicide is greatest during the late spring and early summer months, despite the common belief that suicide rates peak during the cold and dark months of the winter season.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seasonal_effects_on_suicide_rates

Rock and Roll Fadeout

Did you think it would always be just fun?

Youth is wasted on the young

In some ways, in spite of the overt silliness

None of it was fun at all

It was a method to save you from feeling

Small and worthless

To silence the inner turmoil

A way to escape the fear inside

Love, CIE

Prompts used:

Withrealtoads.blogspot.com

Flash 55

Napowrimo.net

Write a fan letter

The Journey

Image by Karin Gustafson

It's been five years since

You rode into the sunrise

On the horse of time

CIE

For my father

May 31 1936 - November 28 2010

Prompts used:

Withrealtoads.blogspot. com

Horses

Napowrimo.net

Family portrait

Fool For Only You

Lovely rainbow eyes
Only one in space and time
Whose fool I would be

Cie

A fool like John Donne

Created using the withrealtoads.blogspot.com and napowrimo.net prompts

According to napowrimo, an English language 5-7-5 poem such as this is called a lune.
I am usually called a loon.
Composing posts on my phone is an odious process.