They called it a newspaper, and I am sure that was half right. The local tabloid contained an inordinate amount of advertising, and announcements of upcoming events of various nearby organisations, but to call what it featured “news” was greatly exaggerated. Oh, there was that one case, however, when they did report that the Miller’s henhouse was raided by a fox. I guess that could qualify as news.
Padre
Weekend Writing Prompt #225 – Newspaper in 68 words
image from Pixabay
Drop the shooting iron
The marshal said
If you draw it you’ll end up dead
Three deputies are at your back
Remember that
If you attack
And so, the slinger dropped his gun
That’s how the lone lawman won
Padre
It’s not used – it’s pre-loved
The wear and tear signs of affection
So, consider them not when considering the cost
When giving it your pre-purchase inspection
It really is one of a kind
And one with promise of re-use
It’s not one to just throw away
For to do so there’s no excuse
Go on and buy it – you know you want to
It will be surely love by you too
Padre
Jan and Oskar entered the chamber and found the room empty except for a large chest in the centre of the space. It had an eerie glow to it, but there was no indication that it was enchanted as Jan’s talisman did not glow in response to the chest’s sheen.
“Is this the one we are looking for?” Oskar asked.
“There is only one way to find out,” Jan replied.
“I hate this part,” Oskar said making a disapproving face.
“You only say that because it’s your turn.”
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Absolutely!”
Padre
World dominion was his plan
Grand schemes complex he did weave
It all was rooted on the goodwill
Of the gullible he did deceive
He did step a bit too far
Dissention unwanted he did achieve
His ranks thus spilt he fell from power
His grand plans were decisively thwarted
And a new power came to fore
Perhaps things now can be sorted
Padre
Amid sun-bleached rock and barren sand
Green arises and makes its stand
Waters deep beneath the ground
A place where life can be found
Our lives too may seem that way
In need of an oasis amidst our daily fray
Padre
Gracefully, you float in the sunlight’s beam
Vivid hues of brightness against the garden’s green
How is it that you ride on air?
And land so lightly, as if not even there?
You visit briefly amid your to and through
Our encounters all too brief before you must needs go
But even in brevity they mean all to me
And make me long for you again to see
I anxious await for some future day
When you from your labours and travels
Oh my Butterfly, will return to stay
Padre
Tiles aligned in pattern sequenced
Like justified words upon a page
Moroccan designs of tessellation
To the encounter’s backdrop the perfect stage
And so, the minister strode – upon a mission of state
To be confronted by the awaiting press
A statement he was called – to the nation to make
He spouted party line
His words too did tessellate
Padre
The petition had received the requisite number of signatures, and it was now on the agenda for the next Council meeting. It had been a long road, but the movement’s supporters were sure that this time the political wanna-bees of the town would start to understand that they were not the all-knowing sovereign power they thought they were. Yes, this was going to be true democracy at work. The people demanded change, and the Council better give it to them. After all, who waits until Friday for bin collection anyway? The weekend rubbish just has to go sooner!
Padre
Life today seems transitory,
As we move on from place to place.
Gone is the time of a job for life;
And old landmarks are removed to make real estate space.
Friendships are measured by numbers on screens
Not by a smile face to face.
Relationships are disposable,
As for greener pastures we race.
“Home”
No more than a “down-time” space.
As all blurs by us, on to what do we hold?
What is it that tethers us in place?
Padre
