Archives for 300 words or less

On Apocalypse Now

Three guys went skydiving over the South Pole. They were the first ones to attempt the dive. Three utterly loaded businessmen who were so confident that none of them bothered with a thing known as an altitude meter. If they had had an altitude meter, the parachute would have pulled when they got too close to the ground. Instead, the sky-divers ended-up imbedded in three meters of ice. Why? There is no perspective over the South Pole: it’s all white. There’s no distinction between earth, horizon and sky. A fist goes smashing right on through a glass mirror and the
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On Easter Island

  The cult of Easter Island drove itself to extinction by exhausting itself of its natural resources in its pursuit of a bigger headstone WRONG The cult of Easter Island drove itself to extinction by exhausting the precious resources the island possessed in its pursuit of a bigger headstone.
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On The Road With Bukowski-January 1944

Bukowski style poetry   When we lose control of our vices we can be prone to lose                                                      those deer to us. Six deer cross my path, on a dark country lane, completely ignorant of the 300 horse power held in check by my left foot. Numbed by two quarts of Crown Royal, but my five toes still manage to prevent a vehicular venison splash. Twelve wide brown eyes stare frozen at me as rubber
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Iris

Her name is Iris; at least that’s what her name tag says. She passes me by every day on her way to work and on her way home. Her head is always hidden behind a thick dark cloud and on some days even lightning bolts flash around her head. But one day she seemed happier, the clouds were white and fluffy as she passed me by and the sunshine of her smile hit me like a punch in my guts. Since then I couldn’t forget her, but the dark clouds came back and I never saw her smile again. I’m
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A Word Bank Duet.

A Word Bank Trilogy. My challenge was to make two poems out of the word bank below. Each had to be under 150 words, not including the title. All readers and writers here are welcome to add their version of the word bank challenge in my comment box. thanks~~Matt –glitter –maize –concession –brownout –dye –shellac –cure –leapfrog –pod –bramble   <><><><><><><><><><><><><><>< (1.) Gypsy Soul. She wasn’t a burnout yet, just a brownout, as her escape pod leapfrogged from the isolated space station out across the inky dye. Like a struggling gnat escaping the sticky prison of shellac, she burst free heading
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Highway To Hell And Back.

I was hitching a ride somewhere on the south side of the U.S. of A.when I got a thumbs up from a somewhat soused geezer in a ten gallon hat. Old, countrified Earle took me out for a whirl in his custom, black Caddie. He had a set of long horns mounted on the hood, and a lead foot infected with elephantiasis mounted on the gas pedal.  We blew through endless hick towns, much faster then JFK’s limo on its hospital run from the Dealy Plaza tragedy. Billy Carter beer cans rattled all over the floorboards, while Dolly Parton busted out a tune literally, something called 9 to 5, but we were doing 95 easy. He let me out in Bum-fiddle Texas, at a bar called The Dew Drop inn, and drove off with a wicked grin.
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In The Wee Hours Of A Carnival Encamped.

They gathered nightly when the marks departed  in a ritual that was followed religiously  after the rides shut down and the lights dimmed low, to huddle in a small trailer  set off from all the rest. Some hobbled, others scurried or wheeled their way to the familiar rendezvous they shared, to play a form of strip poker. There was no nudity involved for they had already stripped themselves bare to the public’s eyes. Each instead  were simply hoping to strip some of the others hard earned cash laid down. But the booty for each game involved body parts,  a winning hand would improve their chances,  to strip away what made them different
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Tales of the Imp – Meet the Imp

I have an imp on my shoulder. He’s always there, whispering malevolence into my ear. He’s three inches tall, with olive skin and two tiny horns on his forehead. His hair is bright red hair. His teeth are small and sharp. He reeks of burning sulphur, which like him, follows me everywhere. He says he’s here to protect me, that I am someone special. What can such a diminutive creature protect me from? He doesn’t answer my questions, but he enjoys telling me things. Like whom I should kill. I don’t listen to him. Not yet.
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The Last Time

  “Are you seriously that much of a controlling bastard? You can’t even let me have an opinion that differs from yours?” I stepped towards him, taunting him further. I could see the anger flooding into his brain as his face contorted into an malicious grimace. I stood motionless; waiting. He paused dramatically and rolled up the sleeves of his striped button-down shirt. He always wore dress shirts; he made me press them on Saturday afternoons when I should have been out with my friends. “You little bitch…” He hissed at me and I closed my eyes. Waiting. Then I
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