Tag: Writing Prompts

Ivy Tower

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Flash Fiction: A Wayne Donald and Kinley Chris Adventure

The image above is from Jon Tyson. The image depicts the window of a brick building that is overgrown with ivy; some of the leaves are still green, but many are a beautiful red color. We see some, but not all, of the window frame.

“Wayne Donald! Get out here! We needa clear somma this ivy!”

Kinley Chris shouts up toward the huge window of their grandmother’s home. Wayne Donald is in their bedroom watching Gremlins, avoiding all Saturday chores. She huffs, kicks her feet up from the bed, jumps down from the top bunk, and lands with a vicious thud over their grandmother’s art room.

Kinley is standing outside in front of their grandmother’s home, under the first window. She is dressed in a medium Uline Deluxe Coverall, ski mask, gardening gloves, and goggles for protection. She is holding a mini rake in one hand and a standard rake in the other.

“Kinley Chris, why we gotta do this? Why we can’t wait ’til Uncle Henry gets here to clear this ivy? I hate it. It makes my stomach turn.” The younger sister whines and tries to plead her case, but Kinely Chris stands firm on what needs to get done as a part of their Saturday chores.

“Every Saturday you moan’n groan, like I wanna hear it. I don’t. Uncle Henry won’t be over here ’til later on this evening for dinner, and by that time, he ain’t gon’ wanna do nothin’ but plop down and fill his belly with steak, potatoes, and gravy. So… please go get your gear on and get back out here so we can do what we need to do.”

Wayne Donald stirs up a fuss with her feet as she rattles the leaves awake beneath them. She races upstairs to gather her gear, puts it all on in haste, and rushes back outside to help her big sister.

“Get yo rakes and make sure your goggles are on good. We don’t need you rashin’ up ’round the eyes like you did two weeks ago. I got a swift slap to my cheek from grandma for not checkin’ on ya before we started, and I ain’t aimin’ for that to happen today.” Wayne Donald straightens up her goggles and pulls her ski mask down to meet the edges.

“And if you do a good job today, I’ve got some gummy bears with yo name on’em.”

Wayne Donald looks over at Kinley, shakes her head happily, and gets to work.

AI-Generated Image: Two sisters; one teenager, one seven-year-old, dressed in gardening gear and goggles, frowning.

A rare shout from up above meets the girls’ ears. It’s their grandmother giving precise orders for the proper trimming of the ivy.

“Girls, I likes them red leaves… how they’re comin’ in beautifully. Keep as many of them as you can, leave some green leaves to mingle with it, and trim from the top to the bottom. Y’all got your hedge clippers out there?”

The girls look up, both surprised to hear from their grandmother at this time of day. Typically, she’s asleep until noon, it’s only 09:30 AM. Kinley is the first to respond, then Wayne Donald.

“Sure thing, Grandma. We’ll get it right.”

“Okay, Grandma, will do!”

The sun rose higher to greet the two of them just as they were making headway under the third window. With seven more windows to go, the girls know they will not finish the task today, but at least most of the trimming and clearing of the ivy will be done for next Saturday.

“Whew! Five windows down, five more to go. It’s time for lunch, Wayne Donald. We can end here and finish up next Saturday. I think I smell Grandma’s fried spam and eggs, and I sure do want a belly full of that on some buttered toast.”

“Lawd, I do too, Kinley Chris! I been waitin’ for you to say we can stop since we started. Let’s get inside!”

What will the two of them get into next?

Part I, Part II, and Part III.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #349. I love these two sisters. They remind me of my friend, E’s two youngest girls. When the series is complete, I will share it with her. I am long overdue for a trip up to the mountains of Western North Carolina to visit all of them, and I am looking forward to it at the beginning of next year.

Angles and Distance

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A Collaborative Poem by Barry Dawson & Tremaine L. Loadholt, published in Collaborature

Image: Greg Schmigel

BJ Dawson:

They come dripping with honied songs.
You happily lap them up at first;
so cloyingly sticky with promise
the sting of their claws goes unnoticed.
And just like that, there’s nothing again,

Only now, nothing feels less than that.
Got you chasing things you never wanted
just to feel something one more time,
just to get another juicy taste,
just like they wanted all along.

Play at being prey enough times,
angles and patterns soon seem telegraphed.
Funny how when you see them coming
those sweet songs croon on empty calories,
leaving you, me, and this naked truth.

Unsheathed, this mummer’s mimic still has fangs,
so be mindful how you cast them off.
Though a well-dressed no is still a no
and boundaries trigger venomous bite,
angles and distance out-leverage their reach.

Let them bait their lines again and again.
Mimic being moved by their siren song
as saccharine curdles into sour nothings
as you walk away from their invite
to thank them for gorging on your wholeness.

(In Response) Tremaine L. Loadholt:

You love being whole,
love feeling like you have
it all, and every woman you
meet must be craving
your attention.
A welcome yes may not
be the yes you yearn for,
but this doesn’t matter, you’ll
take what you want anyway.

And the sun and moon watch
as you devour hearts that
haven’t bloomed into their
ripe age. they plot on you–one
to brace you when it’s hot, the
other to push you when it’s cool.
You are so intent on breaking
every rule, you don’t realize
protecting you is their job.

The distance to sanity from where
you are is a two-day journey.
Wives and husbands, sisters and
brothers; every connected union
you find along your path–

To read the poem in its entirety, please find it in its published form at Collaborature. Thank you so much, Melissa Lemay, for hosting our work! Thank you, Barry, for continuing to collaborate with me. Our words have danced with each other for years, and I pray they continue to find each other in the future, too.

The Fat Cat and the Red Balloons

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A Wayne Donald & Kinley Chris Adventure

Photo by  Reba Spike on Unsplash. The image depicts a fluffy tabby cat floating through the air. It appears the cat is suspended in midair by ten red heart-shaped foil helium balloons, the strings of which can be seen near his midsection. The sky in the background is a deep blue, with clouds scattered throughout.

“Kinley Chris, you see that fat cat anywhere down there? Grandma said it rushed outta the art room after knockin’ over her famous vase, and now I can’t find it nowheres!”

Wayne Donald shouts from the top of their ancient staircase down to her sister near the basement. She is standing on her tiptoes with her right hand on her hip, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Wayne Donald, girl, you better stop that yellin’ at the top of them stairs like that before Grandma come huntin’ for ya. I don’t see that fat cat down here, and it shouldn’t come this far anyway. Check the bedrooms and then the two guest bathrooms. It’ll probably pop up again when it’s supper time.

Wayne Donald searches each guest bathroom, bedroom, and then circles back around to the staircase, wandering down the hall toward their grandmother’s bedroom. With each step, she grows curiously curiouser as to where their tabby could be.

“Bruce Dennis! You fat cat, where are ya? BRUCE D-E-N-N-I-S!!! Where are ya, Bruce Dennis?”

Just like the girls, their fluffy and pleasantly plump tabby cat is double-named with what most people would consider a name fit for a man; however, the cat is female. On a somber and stormy night, the cat, who was then a kitten, found its way to their front door. The girls heard something scratching at it lightly. They begged their grandmother to walk to the door with them to see who it could be. When they peeled back the squeaky door, to their surprise, the kitten sat there with the most pitiful look on its face. The girls pleaded to keep it, and their grandmother approved.

They screamed names back and forth until finally, Kinley Chris chose the name Bruce, and Wayne Donald selected Dennis. Their grandmother nodded and tutted them with her hand to get the girls out of her hair. Bruce Dennis had become a part of their family.

“Bruce Dennis! Brucie! Where is that cat?”

Wayne Donald walked deeper into the bowels of her grandmother’s bedroom and slowly approached the old window. Upon looking outside, she gasped. Hanging at least 450 feet in the air was Bruce Dennis, tied to a bundle of red balloons. Wayne Donald almost fainted.

“Kinley Chris! Get up here right now! I say, get on up here!” She took a moment to breathe and then scolded Bruce Dennis for being outside. “Bruce Dennis! Now, how in God’s holy name did you get out there? Where’d you get them balloons?! KINLEY CHRIS!!! I SAY, GET UP HERE NOW!”

Kinely Chris raced up the stairs, taking them by two, and ran to their grandmother’s bedroom. If she had been any faster, smoke would be at her heels.

“Wayne Donald, I declare, you’d better have somethin’ serious for me callin’ my name like you The Law.” Wayne Donald looked at her big sister, her big come-hither eyes stretching wide as the Nile River. She huffed and pointed to the window.

“Kinley Chris, you just go on and look out that there window. You just look. Bruce Dennis is floatin’ up toward heaven.”

“Bruce Dennis is doing WHAT?!”

The girls stood at the window, both of them flabbergasted by the scene before them, and shocked at just how peaceful their fat cat appeared. They looked at each other and within seconds knew exactly what to do…

“GRANDMA, BRUCE DENNIS IS ALL RED BALLOONED OUT AND IS ON HER WAY UP TO HEAVEN!”

Their grandmother sat peacefully in her art room, playing her jazz records and tapping her feet. She tutted the girls silently to herself and shooed their summoning with her hand.

She would not be moved.

This piece is my offering for this week’s Melissa’s Fandango Flash Fiction Challenge, #347. As soon as I saw the image, I knew I wanted the girls to make another appearance. You can read their debut here.

Sunday Cries of Opposition on a Monday Morning

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A Cento

AI-Generated Image: The photo shows People of Color standing defiantly outside, in the open, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps, change?

I AM tired of work; I am tired of building up
somebody else’s civilization. 
The beer company
did not hire Blacks or Puerto Ricans,
so my father joined the picket line 
Steadfast and awful, my tall father
Hit hard as a hailstorm. He’d leave marks. 

You ain’t gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you. 
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back! 

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in. 
It has been a
hard trudge, with fainting, bandaging and death. 
come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. 

she say, she don’t know how
she’d get along without Beulah 
show me someone not full of herself   
and i’ll show you a hungry person 
let snow soothe you
make your healing water
clear sweet.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity. 
I bit sweet power to the core.
How can I say what it was like? 
Remember what
the world is like
for white people. 

This is my first Cento. I knew the topic I wanted to write about–knew the theme instantly (mental exhaustion from oppressive regimes and how the system is still designed to benefit the majority over minorities). I reflected upon the indomitable Writers of Color to be able to express the point I intended to get across. I researched writers, poems, and pieces of prose before compiling lines to build stanzas that, in my humble opinion, flowed seamlessly. I hope I created that.

Inspirational Works:
Tired by Fenton Johson, All Poetry
The Sign in my Father’s Hands by Martin Espada, Poetry Foundation
Duplex by Jericho Brown, Poetry Foundation
The Ballad of the Landlord by Langston Hughes, All Poetry
If We Must Die by Claude McKay, Poetry Foundation
Loose Woman by Sandra Cisneros, Genius
To Black Women by Gwendolyn Brooks, Illinois Poet’s Forum
won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Cliftion, Poetry Foundation
Stagerlee wonders by James Baldwin, Poetry Foundation
Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like by Nikki Giovanni, Poetry Foundation
Appalachian Elegy (1-6) by bell hooks, Poetry Foundation
Keeping Quiet by Pablo Neruda, Quantum
Eve Remembering by Toni Morrison, Poets.org
If You Are Over Staying Woke by Morgan Parker, Poetry Foundation

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

The Other Fantastic Four

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Flash Fiction: Fandango’s One Word Challenge (#FOWC)

AI-Generated Image: The Other Fantastic Four.

Zeyla snuck out on a blistery cold night–escaping the sheltered lifestyle her parents invented for her. Her best friends Catarina, Shiloh, and Bree awaited her arrival. Even in the darkness of the forest, her hair greeted others before she could make an appearance. It was as wild as the woods, and long, like weeds that hadn’t been tended for weeks. Yet, there was something so incredibly demure about her–something inviting.

She floated into the heat of their embrace. Each one took a turn laying their hands on her, examining Zeyla for signs of tampering or further parental distress. She leaned into their powerful, enveloping arms. The plan was to evade checkpoints, hop on the next ship chartered for Aruba, and blend in–in a new country.

Everyone who knew them wanted the women banned from public spaces and fought the town’s authoritarians for years to make it so. Superpowers had been labeled passé, yet Zeyla and her best friends flaunted theirs as if the new rules did not apply to them.

Zeyla, within seconds, could morph into two different versions of anyone standing in front of her. Catarina blew coal ash from her mouth–up to 500 feet. Shiloh could enter the body of her opponent, puff into a gigantic ball, and telepathically order them to spontaneously combust. And, Bree?! Well, Bree’s superpower was the most unsuspecting of them all…she could shape-shift into her opponents’ grandparents, and use this when it was most necessary. After all, what person of sound mind is going to kill their grandparent?

The four of them knew they were no longer wanted in their home country. They had heard the whispers–saw the evil looks on their neighbors’ faces. It was only a matter of time before a riot ensued. Orchestrated by the mastermind of the group, Zeyla, this plan was a surefire one.

All they had to do was survive for five days away from home–away from their power source, and if they did… their superpowers would remain forever.

Aruba doesn’t know what’s headed its way.

**Musical Selection for this story:

Bishop Briggs, White Flag

This flash fiction piece is in response to Fandango’s One Word Challenge, and the word is “demure.”

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with a previous place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination, growth from the transition after resigning from that company, and life’s foibles and overall experiences. I welcome your visit.

Rengay Collaboration

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The Skeptic’s Kaddish Poet & Tre

Hello, beautiful people. David at The Skeptic’s Kaddish and I collaborated and produced a pretty decent rengay that I’d love for you to spend a little time with.

It was fun creating with David, and the finished product gives me joy.

I needed a bit of a mental literary task, so I was happy to get the invite from David. He’s an extremely talented writer who has many bags of poetic tricks up his sleeve.

Here’s a sneak peek:

tll- rainy days are gifts
they hide tears I’ve been shedding
fruits of labor lost

db- dew seeps into severed crowns
black rot spreads despite soft hands

tll- dank air surrounds me
enchanted for a second
but no prince charming

db- midnight carriage stops

Follow the link below to go on a Broken Enchantment adventure.

Peace and blessings.

Electric autumn; Broken enchantment, or: A rengay