Wordle – Shopping, & other tortures

Week 188.png

1. Hipster

2. Impulsive

3. Elision (n)) the omission of a vowel, consonant, or syllable in pronunciation.)

4. Stepdaughter

5. Murmurous

6. Creative

7. Letdown

8. Stealth

9. Impoverished

10. Hitchhike

11. Decrypt

12. Namelessness

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

“Nique. Isn’t it?!” my hipster stepdaughter impulsively attacks the clothing rack and English language through elision.

My eyes see print of creative colored flowers on black. To me Namelessness and impoverished payer, chooses between murmurous and stealth replies. Liking something means it’s too old & not liking it too quickly means it’s prefect. Logic has hitchhiked away from these excursions.

“It’s not my color.” I respond with the sense of letdown that she might consider it. I try to decrypt the look on her fresh face. “Your mom won’t approve of the neckline, of course.”

She stands akimbo in response. “Notin’ but help!”
I smile and look at my phone to check the time. I mutter “Five minutes already?”

Warren of Lies – Wordle

Week 171

1. Collapse

2. Reform

3. Oscitant ((adj.) yawning, as with drowsiness; gaping. drowsy or inattentive, dull, lazy, negligent, malaise

5. Strand

6. Syncretism ((n.) the attempted reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, or parties, as in philosophy or religion.)

7. Warren

8. Barrel

9. Catch

10. Tough

11. Tendency

12. Uncanny

13. Vertebra

Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

My warren of logic collapses. An uncanny tendency that catches me in a tough spot stranded. The deal of syncretism was to reform the need to use my vertebra.

I look away to avoid my oscitant face giving up worry.

Mistress of Ceremonies – Worlde

download (3)

1. calyx [the sepals of a flower, typically forming a whorl that encloses the petals and forms a protective layer around a flower in bud|a cup-like cavity or structure, in particular|a portion of the pelvis of a mammalian kidney|the cavity in a calcareous coral skeleton that surrounds the polyp|the plated body of a crinoid, excluding the stalk and arms]
2. obscure
3. solicit
4. lurid
5. box-cutter [a thin, inexpensive razor-blade knife designed to open cardboard boxes]
6. suede gloves
7. dilettante [a person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge]
8. glisten
9. espionage
10. drop box [(in weaving) a box situated on either side of the race plate of the loom that is designed to hold shuttles and to bring bobbins of colored thread in line as desired|a secured receptacle into which items such as returned books or videotapes, payments, keys, or donated clothing can be deposited]
11. whisper
12. bounty

Reason lays like a glistening bounty. She wraps herself in suede gloves and an obscure veil of espionage. She leaves the rest of us like empty calyx after the flowers receive box-cutter shave.

We were guilty of whispers of lurid and solicited truths. She, the dilettante that is she, hides her empty thoughts on a drop box painted in abstracts.

Shaken by the Night – Photo Challenge 138

My world but a shudder.  The place of my crime laden escapade.  It blurs like the lines we crossed together.  We recrossed those dark swirling waters upon bridges of need and want.  

I hid my face within those loose curls.  The gentle rubbing of flesh.  Imperfect but insatiable.  We wrestled the wraith within using the other as a surrogate.  No smiles were allowed as we entangled further.  Our demons danced a tango to the eclectic beats of two wounded hearts.

Your eyes defied me.  But little else did.  The taste haunts me.   Fingerprints burnt into places I never knew of.  My ears cling to ghosts of breaths that belong to another.  

There was no glass slipper when the twelfth bell rang.  Horse drawn were only empty emotions.  The Gala ball held for no prince or maid.  It was longing and regret in their finest wraps of secret shame.

 Without passion the soul straves.  Two weary souls part fulfilled by hollow moments.  The fuzzy outline of where drawn in the nighttime of the past.

Written as part of a challenge called Photo Challenge, details are available at https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/11/08/photo-challenge-138/

Wordle Special – Dessert 

Today we have a theme wordle as suggested by my husband. The other senses will be treated separately. Feel free to add additional sound words to your poem.

1. Fizzy

2. Herb


4. Delicate

5. Acerbic (sour or astringent in taste)

6. Saftig (juicy in Swedish, I just don’t like the word juicy)

7. Buttery

8. Garlic

9. Honeyed

10. Tangy

11. Umami (a category of taste in food (besides sweet, sour, salt, and bitter), corresponding to the flavour of glutamates, especially monosodium glutamate.)

12. Piquant (agreeably pungent or sharp in tasteor flavor; pleasantly biting or tart)

13. Seasoned

14. Smokey

15. Saporous (full of flavor or taste; flavorful.)

Use at least 12 of the words to create a story or poem (we have fifteen this time)

The words can appear in an alternate form

Use the words in any order that you like.

Tag: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Wordle

Ginger has her own delicate, fizzy personality.  The smokey eyes, honeyed windows to a saporous soul.  I stand transfixed with my seasoned past.  She is a piquant piece of acerbic desire. 

She tricky me into believing the herb and garlic smells hide a buttery meal. I’m here for dessert.  If the food was umami or slivers of glass, I might not even notice.

Small Step- Photo challenge #126

Niel walks across the strewn field of boulders and sand.  The warehouse is empty but him and a few props.  The smell of the desert fills the room with a tinge of smoke.

“Hello, they trucked in all of Los Alamos. This is just crazy.  I understand why Buzz is upset about it.  We should have tried it in real life.  I hate the promise the next one will be real.”  Nielsen pushes a rock with his foot.  His belief in the system a recent casualty.  The American public seen them lift off days ago.  Few saw them splash back down an hour later.

He waits as the curtain draws open.  The lander prone on the Lunar surface.   It’s stairs deployed.  Thin cables hang down from the winches high above.  The rest of the actors are in denial.  But they are backstage waiting to swallow their pride.

A thin man in a black suit approaches Nielsen and hands him the space suit.

“Okay, let’s hear your lines Niel.” The man lights a cigarette.

“One small step for a man.  One giant leap for mankind.” Nielsen drones on “Oh yeah.  Houston, the Eagle has landed.  Then the small step thing.”

“You need to put your heart in to it!  We’re selling America here! The military already landed there.  We can do it, but you don’t want to be another lunar corpse or a God Damn Hero!” The man explains on clear English.

“Buzz locked himself in the dressing room,  sir!”  A sickly private comes running to the man.

“Okay, we shoot the walking sequence first!  Niel, you need to talk sense into him! Get dressed and climb in. We roll in sixty.” The man walks to a set of stairs connected to a boom loaded with cameras. 

Inside the lander a sweaty Niel waits for the cue.  His cables are hooked up.  He’ll descend and then bounce to raise a flag.  History made for TV.

“Okay, Niel open the hatch.  Pause and descend slowly.   Don’t look across the surface.  Wait til right before you jump off.”  The man voice fades.

A hatch opens.  A single man emerges to crawl down a ladder.  The pauses are prefect.

“One small step for man! One giant leap for mankind!” Niel says heroically and jumps to another world below. 

Written as part of a challenge, 


Said Spider to the Fly – College #27


The flashback wakes me from the wrestling of my dream.   She’s faceless. The bloom overflowing beauty.  I blink only through maxim effort for fear she is an illusion. 

Her past fenced off from me.   She insists nothing endures from it.   A canceled stamp.   Evidence of tangible things left to resembles kids stamps in a coloring book.  I buy this as if I hypnotized by a swinging watch. 

As much at I want her….

Her voice sings “Normal is an illusion.  What is normal to the spider is chaos to the fly.”

I feel am the fly here. 

My Dream – Photo Challenge #123

All is quiet but the drawing of my breath.  Mechanical draw,then click when I exhale. My visor shines with scattered light. Stars distance and rather close sparkle and twinkle.   I float through endless space.   Blackness overrun by splashes of intense light and heat.

If I could tell, I must be spinning.  Trails of light Mark paths to and from clouds of color.  Bodies move quickly flirting with my eyes.   I pause to catch a glipse…it’s gone.  Another glowing form comes toward me.  

Internal peace seizes my body and mind.  A mechanical breath draws and clicks to exhale.  There is no self here.  I’m not sure reality is here anymore.  There are lights.  Points of lights swirl before my eyes.  Round dots expand to five points.

“My God, there are alive!” My voice speaks to the lights themselves.  My hand reachs up to find a starfish in my hand.

Voices surround me.

“Ashes, ashes we all fall down!” A million children sing slightly off key. Skipping like a vinyl records.  Hisses mix in and the bump before it repeats over and over again.

The sky turns into a funnel of light.  Calligraphic symbols and letters dance into the abyss.  I feel it’s pull.  Darkness surrounds me with light dragging me to my end. My arms flail.  Swimming in space.  I travel slowly as the lights spin faster. I sense the light leaving me behind.  Darkness covers me like a blanket.  Dreams don’t wait to hold me.

I would scream if there were muscles in me capable of movement. Sounds break the darkness’ grip.  Light doesn’t find me.  Movement does instead. A great big Planet crashes into my back.  The sky cracks like an egg.  Tiny shell fragments descend like glitter.  High above stars make familiar constellations.   One stars departs with a slight tail.

Written as part of a challenge, detail below


Collage Special – Writing Prompt #169

Collage Credit: Laura Bloombury

My pitcher of wine grows light.  Page by page my bible gets less interesting.  Communion requires Triple Sec added to the pitcher. My hand upright stands ready to grab at elderberry, they may mix better with wine.  The water wheel crushes my ambition like kernels of truth. 

The book beneath the bible is poetry.   Page 133 reads… “And who among us poets has not adulterated his wine?” Nietzsche”

I slam the book shut.  I hate that self serving shit!

Tale Weaver Fairyland Tales #77- Ugly Duckling

The troll peers out from his dilapidated bridge.  He grabs handful of gravel.   Throwing one stone at a time into the stream as it bubbles happily along.

“All these merry people, ruining my view! Happy they run after each other and play with dogs.  Uuugghhhhh! What is wrong with these people!”  He bemoans to the wind.

A bright blue Frisbee plops into the stream. The tell eyes anything near his bridge with contempt.

“Who goes near my bridge!” His deep horrible troll voice growls shaking loose pieces of concrete from above. 

Suzy climbs down the side of the bridge.  Her pineapple yellow dress showing a couple green stripes for her trip down. Her twin braids make her look like an eight year old doll. Her eyes are little shocked at the sight of a seven foot troll.

“Mister.  Can you help me? I can’t swim and I need my brothers Frisbee back. I kind of borrowed it.”  Suzy is half shugging shoulders and looking indirectly at him. 

“Why should I?! You barged into my home!”  The green troll eyes narrow and his twisted smile shows his yellow pointy teeth. 

“You have a nice smile.   I hope I can get big like you some day.”  Suzy oozes cute as she talks, looking up at the troll.

“Why, maybe you will get big like me.   You really like my smile?”  The troll looks at her confused.

“Yes.   I know I shouldn’t be here.   But I get in trouble easy.   I didn’t mean to interupt you, sir.”  She partially turns. 

“No wait.   I’ll help.   I’m used to scaring people. I’m not sure why you aren’t scared.” The troll smiles a normal smile. 

“You’re not scary.  It’s like the ugly duckling, he doesn’t know he a swan because they call him a duck.  You are nice than I thought a troll could be.” Suzy smiles as the troll heads toward the Frisbee. “You should help people more.  You’re really good at it.”

He smiles and helps her back up the hill. 

Six months later…

The troll starts on “Pimp My Bridge”, a show to help improve the lives of trolls everywhere.  Cleaned up, shaved and dressed to the nines, he’s not an ugly duckling any more. 

Written as part of a challenge called Tales Weaver,details below