Except for the Exceptions

Midnight. Same as eleven. Same as ten. Same as nine eight seven six…
Except she yawned. She blinked a few more times than earlier.

Water the plants. Water the children. Water the trees vegetables flowers weeds…
Except for every other day. Except for the vegetables; they were every day.

Socks, folded. Same as shirts. Same as pants socks pajamas undies…
Except there were no exceptions.

“You should try a vacation,” they said. “I want you to be happy,” he said.
Except for when it affects me, he thought.

Except for when her happiness interferes with everyone else’s.

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Good morning, afternoon, evening, and midnight snack time! It’s time for Terrible Poetry Contest #39.

What the heck is ‘terrible poetry?’ Read our obligatory recommendations and health risks here. The Terrible Poetry Contest and Chelsea Owens will not be held accountable for any writers’ or readers’ desires to gnaw their own legs off after reading.

Interested? Here are this week’s specifics:

  1. The Topic is vacations. Were you in paradise, the envy of all your online ‘friends?’ Did you finally cross off your bucket list trip to sleep atop the grave of Edgar Allen Poe? Or, was your experience a little less than ideal?
  2. As may be expected, this means the Length is postcard parameters. Write your poem home to your parents, to your grandparents, or your pen pal you want to impress.
  3. Rhyme if it works, or if it doesn’t. The choice is yours.
  4. Make it terrible!! Don’t make me sic the camp counselors on you, right after unleashing beach sharks to photo bomb your Leaning Tower of Pisa pic.
  5. Vacations aren’t risqué. This rating can stay PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (August 23) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

For a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

 

The Terrible Poetry Contest results for this week!

Thank you, Bruce! Congratulations, Mathew!

Weave a Web

A big thank you to Chelsea for inviting me to judge the terrible poetry contest this week. The task was more challenging than I thought it would be!

No more suspense. The winner is.

In Love With a Ghost

By Mathew

I’ve fallen in love with a ghost,

She’s the one I care for the most.

No matter where I am,

She’s always there.

Supports me with this cross I bare.

Touches me in places where,

Other people aren’t aware…

~

My heart,

You pervert.

~

Your mind must be full of dirt

~

She also touches me under my shirt.

~

Like a gentle breeze, she tickles me.

Caresses me so tenderly.

If only she were still alive,

Then our love could really thrive.

~

Although there’s something about our connection

Which leads me to spring a massive…

~

Affection

~

Her haunting leaves me with no objection

~

View original post 1,108 more words

The Funniest Pregnancy Tees

I’ve been a bit …down about my pregnancy. A few readers have suggested I might get over it since, after all, nearly four months of nausea isn’t so bad. Limited breathing’s doable. Constant exhaustion is par for the course.

Yep; they’re right. I need to focus on happier subjects.

As such, today’s thought-provoking post is all about some light-hearted retail therapy. The best part? None of us need get off the couch, bed, chair, or psychiatrist’s sofa to shop!

I give you: my favorite funny pregnancy t-shirts on Amazon.

#1 You’re kickin’ me smalls

kicking me smalls.PNGIf you’re scratching your head, the caption is a pun based off an oft-spoken reprimand from a character in the film Sandlot.

#2 Ice Ice Baby

ice ice babyI hope most know this reference.

#3 Does this Baby make me look fat?

does this babyWell, does it?

#4 Kick me baby one more time

kick me baby.PNGPoor Britney Spears. At least her song makes for another great pun.

#5 The baby made me eat it

baby made me eat it.PNGOver and over and over and over…

#6 That’s no moon

that's no moon.PNGIt’s not even a spaceport. It’s a parasite. We must be cautious.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this side trip down Humorous Pregnancy Tees Lane. If these funny pregnancy t-shirts weren’t up your alley, I’m sure they have plenty more where those came from…

This week’s question? Can you guess which one I purchased?

—————-

Here’s all what I wrote the last little while:
Wednesday, August 7: Recommended a few of my favorite motivational songs in “Five Songs to Kick Your Confidence in the Rear.”

Thursday, August 8: “A Tribute to Masercot,” one of the more interesting bloggers I follow.

Friday, August 9: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Deb!

Saturday, August 10: Announced the 38th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is plot twists, JUDGED BY Bruce Goodman. The deadline is 11:59 p.m. MST Thursday! That’s tomorrow night! PLEASE ENTER!

Sunday, August 11: “Those Who Knew Her,” in response to Kristian‘s quote and photo prompt.

The Apple,” in response to Carrot Ranch‘s prompt.

Monday, August 12: An inspirational quote by Robert C. Stroud, from his blog Mere Inklings.

Tuesday, August 13: “Wilhelmina Winters, One Hundred.” I gotta tie that series up.

Wednesday, August 14: Today.

I also posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “Books Around the House,” “What to Expect When You Tell People You’re Expecting a C-Section,” and “A Bedtime Limerick.”

 

Photo Credit: Amazon

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Wilhelmina Winters, One Hundred

Mrs. Riles surveyed her unwilling pupils. Each one engaged in a personal style of avoiding attention: itching an imagined irritant, reading over his paper, or feigning interest in the unadorned walls. Eeny, meeny, miny, “Ms. Winters.”

Wil looked up; by every appearance surprised to be sitting in a classroom, let alone addressed by name. The reaction, in turn, unsettled her teacher enough to soften her tone. “Would you please read your composition, Ms. Winters?”

“Oh!” Wil scrabbled around her desk before successfully retrieving the small pile of papers sitting on top. Stumbling out of the seat and legs, she clumped up to the front of the room and turned to face her peers. She read over the top page, not seeing it; glanced back up at the sea of teenagers. One yawned. Most settled into positions of boredom. Reagan, two rows back and next to the wall, made an expectant gesture to continue whilst smiling her trademark smirk.

Wil smiled in return and resumed her task. The typed symbols resolved to readable English letters. “Harriet Tubman, Moses of America.”

*MRS. RILES!* the ancient loudspeaker on the wall crackled. Their school secretary, Mrs. Bird, never formed her requests as a question.

Mrs. R. did not hide her irritation. “Yes?”

*SEND WILHELMINA WINTERS TO THE OFFICE TO CHECK OUT.*

In case anyone thought to defy the blaring wall speaker, Mrs. Bird added *NOW!* She crackled off with a high screech.

Wil, her class, and the teacher winced; then took turns looking from one to the other to the other in surprise. “Well,” Mrs. R. finally concluded, “Get your -oh.” She saw that Wil had nothing waiting at her desk. “Erm -hand in your report, Ms. Winters, and we’ll continue this another time.”

Wil stood, uncertain.

“Wil?” Wil met her teacher’s eyes, and felt calmed by their focus. Mrs. R.’s features resolved to an unusually kind expression. “Wil, come here.” Clunking in her heavy boots and bumping the odd desk, Wil went to her teacher. “May I have your report, please?” Her hands obeyed. “Thank you.”

“Now,” Mrs. R. said, “I think you’d better go to the office. We’ll see you in two days.”

Wil nodded; found her voice. “Okay.” She made it to the door before thinking to add, “Thank you, Mrs. Riles.”

Her teacher, in answer, waved her on. She was already focused on selecting her next victim. Wil didn’t know what lay in store for her at the office, but felt a distinct relief at being rescued from her own oral report.

 

Continued from Ninety-Nine.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Apple

Doug stared at the cursor which marked the end of a lengthy piece. A smashing piece, really; one for which he might garner literary praise.

-If not for a little thing called conscience. Doug’s finger poised over the ‘Submit’ option, pulled back.

It’s not a factual article. Don’t publish it.

His conscience sounded deeper than Jiminy Cricket but was no less annoying. He was a grown man, working for The Apple, for the love of -! Well! He, Doug, was not to be bullied by a fantastical creature.

He clicked the button, releasing his minor poison to the unsuspecting masses.

Written, factually, for Charli’s prompt at Carrot Ranch.

August 8, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a poisoned apple. Let’s explore dark myth. Deconstruct the original or invent something new. Negotiate the shadows, shed light, but go where the prompt leads you!

Respond by August 13, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read, and be social. You may leave a link, pingback, or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form.  Rules & Guidelines.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

Those Who Knew Her

She hadn’t expected a fanfare, nor a parade. Like most who pass through life, she’d thought those who knew her would attend: Mr. Partridge, her under-neighbor; Mrs. Tolk with the annoying parrot next-door; even cranky Mr. Ky, who delivered her groceries.

“None of them,” she said in a church whisper.

As the pastor’s words echoed round the empty room, she felt an empty hand pat her incorporeal arm. One other soul attended. “I’m sorry,” Clarence commiserated. He gave her a smile.

Miss Wonderly murmured, “Thank you,” softly as before and sat down on the edge of the chair’s wooden seat.

20190716_134142

100 words for Kristian’s 50 Word Thursday Prompt.

Miss Wonderly murmured, “Thank you,” softly as before and sat down on the edge of the chair’s wooden seat.” – The Maltese Falcon – Dashiell Hammett.

 

©2019 Chelsea Owens

The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest

Welcome to the 38th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest! This is a special week, because the infamous Bruce Goodman has offered to judge!!!

If you’re new or looking for a brush-up, here‘s a basic outline of what ‘terrible poetry’ means. Ready? Great!

Here are the specifics for this week:

  1. Topic: Plot twists. Lament about how often stories have them, include a few in your poem, or pull a fast one on us and keep the poem going exactly where we expect.
  2. Length: Since this is Bruce’s first time, let’s be nice to him and keep the word count under 200.
  3. Rhyme? Your call. Have fun with it!
  4. As the #1 rule listed at #4, make it terrible. I want Bruce himself, master of the macabre story twist, to shake his head in disbelief and secretly envy the part of the twisting Roman gutters in which your mind lies.
  5. Rating? For general audiences, keep things PG-13 or cleaner. Bleep it out if you really need to release a torrent.

****NOTE**** The due date is slightly earlier, so I can get Bruce the list of entrants.

You have till 11:59 p.m. MST next Thursday (August 15) to submit a poem.

Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.

For a more social experience and to ensure we receive it, include your poem or a link to it in the comments.

Have fun!

pawel-janiak-1sIz2NtVyI8-unsplash

Photo credit:
Pawel Janiak