Scylla and Charybdis

we remain rootedly positioned
between scylla and charybdis*
the chasm that separates us
mythically disproportionate
to your truth, or mine.
clash- two worlds colliding
yours a rock and mine a hard face
your forlorn forced inflections
emanating from the belly of your god.
my belligerent brawling outbursts
clutching tight the hand-
of absolution sure demise.
just once, can’t we beg off?
let hoar fog obscure our fracas
cleanse us both in salt sea brine
cast off weighted chain and anchor
just once, let dead dogs lie??
foundation built of rock, on hard place
just this once- oh mother mine?

Word Count: 99

*The idiom ‘between Scylla and Charybdis’ has come to mean being between two dangers, choosing either of which brings harm.

Written for Carrot Ranch’s 99 word Flash Fiction Prompt Sea Mist and MLMM Saturday Mix Mad About Metaphors

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Diamond in the rough

Little Gemma Johnson
Was quite the catch, I’d heard them say
Though a little rough around the edges
She’d make a fine wife someday

Little did I know- t’was me
They’d arranged as her betroth
never having laid my eyes, on
This little diamond in the rough

The matrimonial day arrived
Our families filled the church
She lifted her veil for our first kiss
And my gut lept to a lurch

Eyes askance under twisted brow
Nose bent off to the side somehow
Lips so thick she couldn’t pucker
I knew right then, I couldn’t……

Whoa is me I can’t be wed
Alone is how I’ll stay in bed
She’s no diamond rough or other
If I have to wed, I’ll take her brother!

This was my entry this week in Chelsea Owens Terrible Poetry Contest. Our phrase prompt was : Diamond in the Rough.

Since I don’t require my writing to be PG- I took the liberty of tweaking one little line before I posted it here…..

My Little Diamond in the Rough…

No loose ends

She grabbed a handful of his shirt, and roughly pulled him close to her. With no provocation, she grasped his lower lip firmly between her teeth, and proceeded to run her tongue slowly, seductively, along the line of his upper lip..

He felt a deeply sensuous growl escape her lips and travel like renegade electricity thru the tip of her tongue. In that instant, every fiber of his being simultaneously ignited..

Before he was able to wonder who she was, or what had possessed her, she let go.. One smoldering over the shoulder glance, and she was gone.

That was Friday night. It was Monday, and Giacomo still could not get the encounter out of his mind.

“I mean- I know I’m good lookin’- but come on..” He addressed his smirking reflection just this morning as he raised two days worth of coarse black stubble from his chin while  seriously considering the off beat chance that he had been such a lousy kisser, that she… “Na dat can’t be it…”

“Gio, you in dere?” Big Frank Malleo spat past the soggy cigar invariably clenched between his teeth. “ ‘Cause ya know, dese things ain’t in stone. I can always get someone else for dis job. Someone dat’s gonna give it his full, ya know, attention.”

“Na, Frank come on.” Gio smiled as he turned on his best Sicilian Submissive routine. “You know I’m your boy. I’m with you man, you got me Frank. All of me. You got my word.”

“Den let’s get moving on dis.” Frank’s previously reprimanding tone turned strictly business as he pushed a manilla envelope across their usual cafe table on the patio outside Pascarelli’s. “You know what to do. Don’t get back to me. Just do it.”

With that, Frank stood up, pushed back his summer weave fedora and entered the ornate wrought iron door of Pascarelli’s. Gio knew better than to be there when he returned.

Elise scrutinized her reflection from every angle. This face was her calling card. Her VIP pass. Her one ticket to easy street. She growled seductively at her likeness in the mirror and ran a wanton tongue over perfectly painted lips- her best rendition of an insatiably hungry mouth. She had put a lot of time into perfecting that look and damn if it wasn’t paying off..  

After all it had snagged her Ethan, hadn’t it? Ok, he was paunchy and forty five, but he was deliciously powerful in all the right places. His name alone demanded more respect than anyone she had ever known before she met him. It opened doors, cemented loyalties, and removed obstacles, as in the never to be heard from again kind of removed. But, aughtch! The mere thought of him touching each night her made her porcelain skin crawl.

Not so with that hunky guy she had laid one on the other night at the club. Now, he was hot. Well- in a big dumb deigo kind of way.

Those half mast bedroom eyes, that hadn’t’ even notice she existed till she had his delicious lower lip between her teeth, had whet her appetite from across the room. And that kiss!! “Oh my God!” she moaned just barely out loud-  that just might have been worth whatever Ethan would do to her if he ever found out.

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

Gio grabbed his gear and set up in the second floor apartment immediately after he left Frank at Pascarelli’s. He knew better than to let his mind wander back to the sexy mystery woman, so the less time he had to think the better.

This was a huge job. He had no idea how huge until he half slid the photo out of the manilla envelope in his car and saw none other than Ethan Dennis staring back at him. Whoa..

He had started out a small time hood, known on the street as Dennis the Menace. A couple a well placed caps, one of which faded Frank’s youngest brother, Dom and the Menace quickly ranked up to shot caller. The rest, as they say, was history.

Today he ran the largest street apothecary in the city. Rolling in dough was putting it mildly. Word was he owned a thirty room mansion on the East side complete with twelve bathrooms, tennis courts, a swimming pool, and some ridiculously manicured English Rose Garden. Who’d a thunk it? A guy that makes his bones gunning Frank Malleo’s kid brother likes ta play with flowers… Go figure.

Gio trained his scope on the secluded garden table the well greased Maitre d had reserved for Lord Ethan and his luncheon companion.

“Nothing to it.” He told himself as he adjusted the focus on his scope and lit a smoke.

His phone sounded, the assigned ringtone letting him know without looking that the target was on his way to the table. He watched casually through his field glasses as Lord Ethan and his luncheon companion, ‘probably a real babe if she’d take off those sunglasses’ were graciously seated at the table, and then waited for the Maitre d to exit the terrace before he lined up his scope.

The dispatch was going to be textbook. He had a clear headshot. Wham-Bam-Thank you Ma’am and he’d be outta here.

“Let’s do this.”

Mission accomplished, he rolled up the tarp, and thoroughly inspected the space for any sign the rifle had been there. Finding none, he saundered leisurely down the back stairs of the apartment building that would leave him off where he parked his car.

Just his luck, the midday traffic was backed up and a moving truck was blocking his exit. Impatiently he hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, looking anxiously for any break in the traffic.

And then it happened. He could hardly believe his eyes when right there just on the other side of his car window- he saw her.

The same renegade flash of electricity he had felt coursing through his veins that night when she kissed him hit him like a downed power line, and for a split second he forgot everything but how much he wanted that girl.

A split second was all it took for Elise to level her silenced 9mm glock and take the only shot she was gonna need.

As soon as she was safely in the back of the once offending moving van, she grabbed the throw away phone Big Frank Malleo had made sure was taped to the underside of the bar- where the big dumb deigo sat every Friday night- like clockwork.

“No loose ends.”  she announced into the phone, right before she brought a sturdy Doc Martin slamming down on top of it.

‘Too bad,’ she thought to herself rather as an afterthought, ‘He was a really great kisser….’

This was written for Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt, #writephoto

Trunk it.

She had developed a penchant for falling head over heals into obsession with men that would do little more than introduce utter chaos into her otherwise mundane existence.

As if on cue, each time she felt the chaotic life they had created together, spiraling out of control, her thoughts would become eschewed and she would find herself frantically searching for a way out..

It always ended up a fight or flight ultimatum and up until today- she had always chosen flight- tucked her proverbial tail between her legs, and run in the opposite direction…

Why on earth this time was any different, was anybody’s guess- perhaps she had grown up, or learned something, or was just plain tired of making bad decisions- but in the end, it mattered very little…

“You can think about that later, ” she admonished herself sharply, intellectually boxing up the entire exhausting equation and placing it on an fabricated shelf- at the moment, she had more important things to think about…

Like what the hell she was planning on doing with the body….

Posted as part of Girlie on the Edge’s Six Sentence Story Prompt. Cue word: Trunk

Days of princesses

This in response to cubby’s Reowr Homophone Misuse poetry challenge for which she provided the italicized lines.

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photo courtesy of pixabay

Gone are the days of princesses

And nights in shining armor

clad irascible grey skies-

have superseded twilight

whilst stars have ceased to glisten,

twinkle lost in hallowed eyes.

Innocents by the wayside cast

drunk on youths, fleetingly fermented brew

Gone are the days of princesses

And knights that dusk too soon.