Battered and worn out
Touched by both good and bad times
Character times two
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It’s Haiku Friday played here in Alaska while Lou and his Love Muffin are off having some beach fun. This is a tribute to HubbyMoose and his beloved (battered) hat. He is my West Virginia born, Ohio raised, Alaska lovin’ cowboy.
Married 62 years now, Mabel and me. We was just younguns when we got hitched. I laid eyes on her and knew, she and me, we’d live it out together. God, I love that woman.
Henry? He was a fine specimen of a man when I met him. From the first I knew he would love me and care for me until one of us was laid underground.
They held hands.
Grandpa and Grandma Hills are sure getting old, Mama. Look at them just swinging away on the porch. I want to love just like them when I get old.
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LeeRoy and friends have chosen Swing Life Away from Rise Against as this week’s 100 Word Song challenge. I’m sure the songster had something else in mind, but this is what came out of mine.
🙂
Go and try you hand at it.
And, thus my Friday Haiku was born Thursday evening.
I do not know if the driver (guy in orange) was talking on the phone he is seen talking into in this picture. I wouldn’t doubt it.
Sigh.
What follows is my answer to the Trifecta challenge: to submit a piece of writing, any style, any subject, that is between 333 and 3,333 words. This comes in at just over 1800 words. This is probably R rated – likely not something you would let your kiddos read. With that warning, I give you Sweet Cheeks.
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Laci paid for the taxi, then walked into the noisy bar. Her eyes swept the room and she felt annoyed with how quickly they began to smart and tear in the hazy smokiness.
THWACK! A group of 3 men circled a tall barroom table. They burst into loud laughter while one massaged his shoulder which had a beefy hand clasped upon it. Laci nodded briefly and continued into the room.
A typical small town bar, this place had all the mixed ambience of an ashtray and an outhouse. The walls were painted in a flat, matte black – covered with the tattered remnants of posters nearly as old as her parents.
(more…)
Brother Michael’s black rosary beads slipped through his fingers; his breviary open to evening devotions. Yet Michael’s thoughts wandered.
This epicurean life at the monastery was what he’d wanted when he was younger. He thought God would bless his gift to Him, the things he had given up for Him.
But tonight his soul was in conflict. He had tossed and turned last night in his austere cell. Dreams grabbed at him and taunted him with their realness. He awoke tasting forbidden nectars.
Brother Francis promised fish again tonight. Michael felt he might sell his soul for a porterhouse steak.
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VV has challenged us again . . . this week her chosen word is EPICUREAN. Really? EPICUREAN??? Think minimalist. Think frugality. Think giving up the “precious.” Yeah, that is where my head went. And, then I got carnal. What would a man miss the most? Women? Maybe. Cigarettes? Perhaps. STEAK??? Oh, if he was a midwestern boy, why yes ma’am, he would miss that steak. Yum.