The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/26 – 10/2/2020

Hey! It’s the A Mused Poetry Contest! Make a gaffe, cause a laugh!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. The Theme is commercials: try radio, newspaper, halftime show, or a high-pressured letter you get in the mail.
  2. The Length needs to run between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is at the discretion of the poet (you).
  4. The Rating can be PG-13 (though I’m not fond of cussing). Hear that, E??
  5. MAKE US LAUGH. I wanna hear your ditty passed around online meetings, morning talk shows, and incessant chatting from children at the dinner table.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 2) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

©2020 Chel Owens
Video ©Youtube

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 9/25/2020

This week’s prompt of a seasonal haiku may have sounded simple, but making it funny was no joke. After narrowing down the funniest entries, the winner was:

Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
I drink my coffee
Leaves fall in the cup
I choke and die

Dumbestblogger chose morbid humor for his entry. Even with so few syllables, he succeeded in making me laugh.

Enjoy the others as well:

Autumn, by Roberta Cheadle
Leaves, leaves everywhere
I’ll persuade hubby to rake
Where’s my lingerie?

Untitled, by Obbverse
Get strangers together,
Talk about the weather…
That never changes..

Special Day, by Matt Snyder
it’s our wedding day
hurricane blows up her dress
our Kodak moment

Untitled, by Ian Kay
brand new leaf-blower!
blows leaves into neighbour’s yard
covers my dog’s poop.

Seasonal change, by Hobbo
stunning mother nature
fresh frock every day

have you met my wife?

Untitled, by Willowdot
Days are getting short
Gaia’s tempers getting fraught
We just won’t be taught

The Coming of Autumn, by Trent McDonald
Frost on the leaf tip
Now I am sweating again!
Just make up your mind…

***

Leaves turn to bright red
I run out to frolic, and…
Oops, now I am red!

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Summers coming quick,
You squeal in delight but
mosquitoes bite … hard

The Farmer Wife’s, by Heather Dawn
Fresh autumn wind blows,
There the honey wagon goes,
No! I hung the clothes!

Fall Picture Woesby Heather Dawn
Picture perfect day,
No chance for a perfect pose,
Five kids ruin those.

Seasonal Change 1, by Fishman
Picked up a red leaf.
pulled a muscle in my back;
Thanks a lot, Autumn.

Seasonal Change 2, by Fishman
Autumn is here now.
Lovely time; I’d write more, but
sadly I’m out of . . .

Untitled, by BS
One plus one is two
I fall for you in the fall
Now go rake the leaves

Untitled, by Ruth Scribbles
Seasons in Texas
All four in a hot teacup
Sip at your own risk

Fall in Southern California, by Lauren
Where are my long johns?
The temps are below normal.
It’s reached 80 now.

—–

Thank you for entering! I loved laughing along. Please come back tomorrow around lunchtime for the next week’s prompt.

Dumbestblogger, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/19 – 9/25/2020

Welcome to the A Mused Poetry Contest! Enjoy laughing? You’re in the right place!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. Seasons are changing. The Theme is a funny haiku (or, more technically accurate, a senryu) about seasonal change. Spring, fall, summer, winter, autumn; whatever.
  2. From Wikipedia about senryu, regarding Length: “three lines with 17 morae (or “on”, often translated as syllables, but see the article on onji for distinctions).” We’re also fine with the ole 5-7-5.
  3. Dude; this poetry form does NOT Rhyme.
  4. I dunno what might be racy about nature, so a G-rating is preferable.
  5. Just MAKE US LAUGH. Mother Nature needs to slap your wrists with climbing roses as she holds her vinèd sides in laughter.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 25) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

Photo by Jan Krnc on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the A Mused Poetry Contest 9/18/2020

Choosing a winner for this week’s prompt of warning labels was no small feat. I had several favorites; so, did the only fair thing and picked the one that tickled my funny bone most.

And that was:

Warning Labels, by Hobbo
‘Smoking kills,’ Sally read on the packet
As she bent down to pick up her litter
So engrossed, she did not hear the racket
Of the thirty ton lorry that hit her.

Hobbo won for the short, simple, abrupt, crushing humor of a poor, warning label-reader’s folly. Great work!

As I said, the others were no less humorous. Read for yourself (and learn from their tales):

Inferno, by TH Kerr
In case of fire, throw this in first.

The Forbidden Fruit, by H.R.R. Gorman
At night you’ll see me gently creeping
With mom and dad hard a sleeping
In through laundry room door.
I open the bag of forbidden snacks –
Attractive gummies, laundry packs.

Then you’ll hear my lips a smacking,
My YouTube channel gaining backing
While I eat Tide Pods galore.
My mouth – it foams with Clean Breeze
And a few civilian casualties.

The tags may say “Danger!” “Warning!”
But industry tools are boring.
As a big attention whore
I munch and crunch on banned fare,
On poison beautiful, I’m well aware.

Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
This 7¼” hand held circular saw is designed to cut 2x4s
Please do not perform surgery with it
That would be dumb
If you wish to perform a murder this tool would be excellent
We don’t condone murder
You should probably use it for 2x4s

Untitled, by Pensitivity101
A nifty thing, this kid’s stroller,
Keeps him warm and dry,
Proudly walking down the street,
I nod at passers by.
Then at home, it’s time to put
The kettle on for tea,
But first I have to take him out
And things are hard to see.
The label bears a warning here
To first remove the child
Before collapsing to put away,
Then instructions can be filed.

The new toaster, by Bruce
I don’t want to boast
But I just bought a thing that makes toast.
The instructions say: Plug in and use as one oughta.
It warns: Not to be plugged in and used under water.

Words of Warning, by Doug Jacquier
The fridge magnet letters spilled out on the table,
followed by the numbers and then a WARNING label.
‘Some more advanced children may well be prone
to spell out things you may not condone.’
Piffle, I snorted, as I added them to the door;
my kids are more adult and their taste is not poor.
What I hadn’t allowed for was their merciless wit
and their ability to give visitors an apoplectic fit.
Thus ‘HELLO BABE’ was what greeted tubby Mrs. Foster
and her balding hubby got NICE RUG. WHAT DID IT COST YER?
The Reverend was rocked by DO SHOES HAVE SOULS?
and Granny by HAVE YOU TRIED SHAVING YOUR HAIRY MOLES?
I gathered the clan and in a voice loud and ringing
said that any more pranks and their ears would be singing.
All was quiet for a while but you can’t stop temptation;
I was greeted with KIDS ARE CAUSED BY MULTIPLICATION.
Despire myself, I couldn’t stop laughing and arranged my reaction
ALL PROBLEMS CAN BE SOLVED WITH A LITTLE SUBTRACTION.
Game over but they must have the last word they decided
with the finale WE CANNOT STAND A HOUSE DIVIDED.

Untitled, by Deb Whittam
I felt it the moment they stuck it on.
Shame descended upon me right away.
I knew it for what it was,
A stigma, I swore I would make them pay.

For marked I was, I felt the others turn,
Association would only bring despair.
For we all knew since Covid-19,
That brushing off notoriety was rare.

Absently I wondered what crime I had committed,
I mean, I was a staple, I was beyond compare.
But then Larry, the wholesome muesli bar whispered,
“You contain nuts mate.” Life just wasn’t fair.

The Geriatric Behavioral Unit, by Ruth Scribbles
Granny was a pistol
She really was a rascal
And after Grandpa died last month
Her pranks became a scandal

We couldn’t keep her home alone
She loved to hide and play
We sent her to the unit
So they could make her stay

We went to visit granny
And thought all would be well
When we arrived right on time
We saw the sign and yelled

What is granny up to now
They said and wrung their hands
The help said she was determined
They tried to understand

Granny met this guy, you see
Who fell in love with her
She convinced him they should run away
The rest was all a blur
IMG_0506_Original

You Have Been Warned, by Obbverse
The small print.
Please check parcel arrives intact and complete,
Verify no packaging has been torn, tagged or ripped,
Our goods become lawfully yours upon receipt.
(Our job is done once it’s sealed and shipped.)
The fine print.
Please open package with the utmost care,
Check all contents against checklist inside,
The Company isn’t liable for loss, damage or repair
Of goods dispatched. (despite what we implied.)
The finer print.
Your satisfaction is paramount to this vendor
So should any parts be found to be lacking
Immediately return faulty goods to sender;
(We look forward to see what you sent packing.)
The finest print.
(Please see Section 86, Clause D about bad goods returns;)
If, by opening, our original box is folded, spindled or mutilated
The Company consider this raises wilful damage concerns
And therefore your Money Back Guarantee is invalidated.

(For this and further ongoing custom we thank you.
NO further correspondence will be entered into.)

Fair Warning, by Fishman
I took my radio into the bath with me
and the warning label was right.
I got a shock, a jarring jolt,
my lord it was such a fright.

I drained the tub and dried myself
my nerves were in quite a state.
I vowed right then to always heed the warnings labels words,
“You’re right, oh labels. I do oblige, I’ll do as you dictate.”

“I’ll hold the saw by the correct end,
I’ll believe that matches may cause fire.
I promise not to drive with the sun shield in place.
and I’ll believe that if I drink Clorox bleach I may, in fact, expire.”

With that all said I took a breath to try and calm my nerves.
But my heart kept racing – thump, thump, thump – it just would not agree.
I had to take a tranquilizer, not one as prescribed, but three.
The label was right ‘cuz the next thing I knew I… Zzzzzzzz…

—–

Thanks to everyone who entered. Please return tomorrow for next week’s prompt!

©2020 Chel Owens

Hobbo, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The A Mused Poetry Contest 9/12 – 9/18/2020

Hello, hello, hello! Welcome to the second A Mused Poetry Contest! The #1 goal is a good guffaw, so think of a few laughing lines and join in!

Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:

  1. The Theme is a snappy poem about Warning Labels. I find them hilarious, because my mind immediately constructs whatever scenario led to their being written.
  2. For Length, keep it between 3-150 words. The form is up to you.
  3. Rhyming is also up to you and always a great way to jazz up some writing.
  4. Keep things on the clean side for general audiences of a more mature nature (PG).
  5. Just MAKE US LAUGH. I want the hot coffee-spiller who licked the wrong side of the velcro whilst removing the tag on her pillow to have tears streaming down her face from your attempts.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 18) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun!

—–

©2020 Chel Owens, including photograph

WINNER of the Very First A Mused Poetry Contest

Welcome, one and all, to the best source of funny poetry on the web! (If not, it very soon will be…)

We had several fine entrants on the subject of Eccentrics, and the winner is:

Untitled, by Richmond Road
An embarrassing mess was my brother
With one leg that was short. Not the other
Which made this eccentric
Walk in circles concentric
Causing constant distress to our mother

Richmond Road won for being the funniest and most limerickest. Basically, I laughed the most.

But his wasn’t the only one to elicit a few, painful snickers. Read the others and see:

Untitled, by Dumbest Blogger
There was a young boy with a poker
Who ate an extremely large porker
He burped quite a bit
And then licking his lips
He swallowed the cow in the clover

Untitled, by TanGental
To be considered a true eccentric
Don’t dye your hair or develop a tic
Forget the multi-coloured spats
And avoid wearing tweedy hats.
Keep a steady gaze and be authentic.

Untitled, by Matt Snyder
at night across the rooftops ran a kid named Matt
without a stitch of clothes on his person, he was also quite fat
Perhaps it was the thrill
of being caught by a girl
Instead he was adored by a cat

A Paean To The Patron Of Poor Poetry, by Obbverse
Now expired William Topaz McGonagall was our inspirations name,
His well-intended worthless words Will was all too wont to proclaim,
But Willy’s laboured literary constructions sat ill-fittingly,
Serious tragedies becoming comedies, albeit unwittingly,
Eternally re-nouned as the worlds poorest poet, to his undying shame.

Lug Nut, by Obbverse
His Mum remained inanely chatty and cheerful
Even as Vinnie grew quiet, depressed, then tearful,
Vin had suffering in silence down to an fine art
So Mrs Van Gogh found the the real crazy part
Was when Vinnie cut her off only to give her an earful.

Untitled, by Gary
I am English and I am most certainly very eccentric
I drive a car the shape of a teapot but don’t worry, it’s electric
I have a fine collection of pink britches with matching bowler hats
Let’s not forget I live underground with my cross dressing pampered cats
And pray tell what’s wrong shopping in a musical codpiece when it’s authentic

Here ya go!, by Ruth Scribbles
There once was an eccentric old lady
Who was said to be really quite crazy
An obnoxious artist she was
And extremely heartless because
She was left at the altar all lacy

Untitled, by Michael Fishman
Henry wanted his in-laws to leave
So he sneezed really loud in his sleeve
The in-laws, abhorred,
to the door they rushed toward.
And a sigh of joy Henry did heave.

—–

Thanks to everyone who entered. Please return on the morrow for next week’s prompt! Tell your friends! Tell your acquaintances! Tell your mom!

Hey, RR, here’s a brand-spanking new badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!

©2020 The poets, and their respective works

The NEW Weekly A Mused Poetry Contest 9/5 – 9/11/2020

Welcome to the our new poetry contest! Hilarity is our goal; funniness, laughable lines, hilarious rhymes -amusement!

Where once I told everyone to write terrible poetry, I now tell you to write terrible poetry with the intent to make us all laugh:

  1. The Topic is eccentrics. Collector, streaker, hermit, or superhero? I read about the British variety in Henry Hemming’s In Search of the English Eccentric and now I’m hooked!
  2. The Length will be a limerick. How else would you poem about eccentrics?? A limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.
  3. Rhyme? Naturally -unless that would run against your hero’s …idiom.
  4. Don’t worry too much about the details! Wake up at 2 a.m. from the strangest dream you’ve ever had, roll over to your notepad to write it down, then turn it in as poetry the next morning.
  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.You’re too clever to stoop to crass jibes for humor. I know it.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 11) to submit a poem.

Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.

Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back, and it doesn’t show up within a day.

Have fun! I insist!

 

 

Photo by RF._.studio from Pexels

©2020 Chel Owens

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/29/2020

“You know,” said Arthur, “it’s at times like this, when I’m trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.”

“Why, what did she tell you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t listen.”

-From The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

If you love satire and haven’t tested the Hitchhiker‘s trilogy of five books, Douglas Adams would admit you’re not missing much. Of course, he didn’t hike across Preliumtarn to within view of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains in order to learn who this week’s hilarious winner is.

And that is:

Beware, the Vogon or Swans die a ghastly death Dedicated to Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex

by Deb Whittam

Resistance is useless,
My love will always transpire,
It will grow mold, as does
My unwashed towel,
Which travels in the vicinity of my armpit,
Where a small lump of green putty resides.

Resistance is useless but
DON’T PANIC
Flesh may rot, flesh may drop off
The stench may be unbelievably bad but
I will dispel it and find a stick and
Use my towel as a slingshot.

Resistance is useless,
Life, don’t talk to me about life.
The swan died a graceful death
But my towel was unfortunate,
It became stained with blood
Beware the VOGONS.

—–

Congratulations, Deb! You made me laugh the most, and are therefore the funniest writer of the week!

I LOVED reading through the entries this week. Anticipation of reading them kept me going throughout a busy week, and you did not disappoint. I chose Deb’s for the single reason that hers made me laugh aloud! -which I did from title to green putty to …dying swan?

That’s not saying the others wouldn’t make a Vogon leap from an airlock. See for yourself:

Unquestionable Truth Leading to Conclusions That are Edifying, Beneficial and Nice

by Dumbestblogger

Truth
I sit here in the warm mud and my legs feel comfortable for now but I wonder how long it will last
Afternoons begin as mornings
I could get out of this situation if I had an infinite improbability drive.
It sucks that that’s something I don’t have.
Oh no, it might rain
I guess I will just sit here-
42
Yeah, I just threw that number in because it’s in a book somewhere
Beautiful poetry is something that speaks to the soul.
We are only empty when there are problems with the mechanical apparatuses in our space ships/
So long, and thanks for all the fish

Oh
Did you think I was done
I’m not done
I could understand why you would think I was done with a line like “so long, and thanks for all the fish.”
But I’m not done
I will continue reciting this poetry because it is edifying and beautiful
Let us zoom across the Galaxy
Oh yeah, I forgot
I’m laying down in the mud
Oh well
It’s the thought that counts
It doesn’t necessarily count in a literal way of speaking

—–

Is There An I In Ford?

by Geoff

When Slatibartfast
Made a vast
Fiord for Ford,
Arthur Dent
Said it meant
He’d never be ignored.
Zaphod, instead
Lost his second head
Betting a million
That something so baroque
Had to be a crock
Of shit, said Trillium.
Those from Betelgeuse
Can be so obtuse
When buying rock formations;
And even the infinitely improbable
Will not turn something horribable
Into the jewel of nations.
As Marvin, when they asked,
Said, ‘I really can’t be arsed,
‘To correct this stupid defect.’
‘It is obviously so plain,’
When you think about his name,
‘He’s not perfect but a Prefect.’

—–

Untitled piece

by Gary

Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

—–

Untitled piece

by Ruth Scribbles

Roses are black, I mean petunias
Because they lack, attendance at funerals

Hey! There’s a hitchhiker holding petunias
Is he going to a funeral?

The end (of someone)

—–

Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond

by Obbverse

Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.

Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien;
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalian.

Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before this gig started to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.

Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on,
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth, has it gone?’
Pangalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?

Ford, our hapless intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away
While all Arthurs worldly goods had been spectacularly blown away.

Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.

(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tale- and mine- is done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)

—–

Untitled piece

by Peregrine Arc

Maroon forms, no red, no salmon you nitwit.
Get in line again, try it all, dash it all
I said TRIPLICATE!
A man of many faces
I stare out the starboard portal and sigh
So all I can think of is the reason why:
42.
Not one jot more, I decry.

—–

Thank you all.

SPLAT! Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy T-Shirt (With images ...

Deb: Here’s a new badge as proof of your hilarious skills:

HilarityContestBadge

©2020 The writers, and their respective works.

 

The Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/23 – 5/29/2020

Welcome to the Weekly Hilarity Contest! My friend Down Under, Debbie Whittam, reminded me that Monday is Towel Day!!!!

For those poor souls who may be uninformed, Towel Day is in homage to the late Douglas Adams, author of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and many other satirical novels. I LOVE Adams. The Terrible Poetry Contest was inspired, in part, by his reference to Vogons and bad poetry, and my blog was originally named A Wife, My Verse, and Every Little Thing.

In reference to Adams and Towel Day and to commemorate my last weekly contest before taking a break (more on that later), here are the specifics:

  • Write the very worst poem you possibly can. Bonus points will be given for references to Adams-esque topics like Vogons, towels, missing the ground, Krikkit, a bowl of petunias, and things that are Mostly Harmless.
  • Length is great for laughs, but I’m short on time. Let’s keep the poem to fewer than 250 words.
  • Just make us laugh. Make all the Earth collapse in an improbable accident involving a rubber band, a liquid lunch, and a stitch in the side from chuckling all day long.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 29) to enter.

Use the form below if you want. For a more social experience, include your entry or a link to it in the comments. Please let me know if your pingback or entry do not show up within a day.

Go on, you hoopin’ frood! Make us laugh!

SPLAT! Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy T-Shirt (With images ...

Swiped from Pinterest.

WINNER of the Weekly Hilarity Contest 5/22/2020

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife,” says Horace Kephart, a man who left his wife and six children to live off the land very unlike Thoreau.

Who took this quote and this spirit and made me laugh the most?

Untitled piece

by Ian Kay

The big woods can play with your mind. It’s extraordinary how exponentially larger a bear’s mass increases when it’s charging your way. But keeping a cool head, knowing we were adequately equipped: I have a good gun; what’s more, I have the ammo! As backup, I have the good sense to hand the wife the jack-knife and a box of matches; there were the potatoes to peel and she might get a fire going for the pot, and I don’t think she’s noticed the bear yet. You can’t outrun a bear, they said, but you can always get remarried.

Congratulations, Ian! You are the funniest writer of the week!

I’ll admit I didn’t crack up as much as I did for the last two contests, but that’s more a result of Kephart and his writing than the talent of those who entered. I did a bit of eenie-meenie-miney with my favorites and decided Ian’s won for best answering the prompt and best making the reader laugh guiltily.

And here are the other well-prepared entrants:

Bodied, yes. Able, not so much

by Doug Jacquier

When I jack-knifed my camper trailer in a place where even the most desperate dingo has never ventured, my first instinct was to adopt the foetal position.
Cramp eventually encouraged me to survey the damage. Alas my trusty Beetle and my 6 metre fully loaded camper had merged as one, never the twain to separate.
Recalling the immortal words of Horace, I rummaged through the wreckage until I found my only ‘gun’, complete with ammunition, and felt comforted by the fact that I had a staple diet at hand.
I also found dry matches and after I’d assembled enough twigs and branches, I looked around for somewhere to strike a match on. I decided the rough canvas on the trailer would be perfect and proceeded to experiment. Unfortunately, I had failed to note that the jack-knifing had ruptured my fuel tank.
When the Country Fire Service issued me with a coat that tied at the back to keep me warm and choppered me out to answer some pointed questions about the loss of some million hectares of virgin state forest, I couldn’t help but think of those poor souls in quarantine who would give anything to be me right now.

—–

Untitled piece

by Debbie Whittam

Martin was a savvy bloke,
He worked hard and drank much beer.
He didn’t talk too much,
And rather liked Shakespeare.
One warm day he decided,
To go into the woods for a walk.
He didn’t get to far though
For a voice began to talk.
It told him to survive,
He would require many things.
A gun, ammunition, matches and a jackknife,
Was what he should bring.
Dutifully Martin did comply,
And set out singing his merry song,
Unfortunately the noise drowned out the sound,
Of the bear which just happened to come rushing along.

—–

Dumber Jack

by Obbverse

Jack the Lad could barely wait to turn twenty-one,
To cast his vote, to drive, drink (legal-like) and tote a gun,
To pick the biggest baddest gun you’ve ever seen,
To fill the part, just like in that Soldier of Fortune magazine.

Off out to the woods he went to bag him a bear,
Or a boar, a duck, a deer, doe or buck, Jack didn’t care ,
Through thicket underbrush and bosk Jack barged,
In his blundering search only his smart phone would be discharged.

As the hot autumnal sun started to wane
Our huntsman looked for any game, in vain,
In his ceaseless aim he wouldn’t couldn’t stop-
Still as graceless as a bull in a china shop.

There wasn’t a critter to be found for miles around
As he trampled his way through his unhappy hunting ground,
Finding fording a stream’s done at a hunter’s peril-
A cruel cool baptism resulting in splintered stock and bent barrel.

So, cold, wet, lost in the woods as it grows dark,
Sat nav and phone flat, but Jack’s quite the bright spark,
His safety match strikes, the dry leaves catch fire!
Remains to be seen if anyone finds Jacks funeral pyre.

—–

Survival

by Gary

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood
Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap
The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife
Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife
Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants
Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants
Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night
Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

—–

Recluse

by The Bag Lady

“…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out
of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a
gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.” This was the daily stated philosophy of Junior Beets, a devil may care recluse in the backwoods of Utopia.

Junior was getting tired of the backpackers traveling more frequently around his self proclaimed property.

Of course Junior had no rights concerning the surroundings of his area which was a world designed park in 2025.

Utopia was designed by the desperate survivors of the corona virus that wiped out ninety percent of the world population by 2023.

Junior Beets decided guns would ensure his privacy and started hoarding them in 2020.

—–

A Bash on the Noggin

by Kristian

I am a rather impulsive chap,

Unfortunately, it has to be said.

The other day, I got in a flap

and totally lost my head.

I thought I’d got an Intruder

so I bashed them on the noggin,

With my hand-knitted draught excluder

I gave them one hell of a floggin’

You can imagine my total dismay

when they rolled over and I Saw

the Postman with his letter’s in disarray

and a parcel that was meant for next door.

I’m sorry for the postman’s headache

and I couldn’t be more distraught

It was a totally honest mistake

I just hope that he’ll settle out of court.

—–

Thank you for your responses! Come around tomorrow at 10 a.m. MDT for next week’s prompt.

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©2020 The writers, and their respective works.