Mystery Monday: Purloined Persuasion, Part IV

A week went by, another meet was on.
Alas, though, Lance's team had gone elsewhere.
But news had spread somewhat of his big con,
At least so far as case-theft. In despair,
She took some time between debates to load
Her cache with more faked evidence and things
He'd be a fool to say. "I'll squash that toad
One way or 'nother," she declared, "I'll fling
Him in the fire! I'll make him wish he'd not--"
Her partner interrupted. "Hey, we should
Be focusing on this meet. We have got
A season yet." "You're right. We'll get him good."
Another week then passed, and there he sat,
Ipad in hand and smug as any cat.

Satire Sunday: An Internship?

At long last, Rowan got his PhD,
Regalia cost too much, though, to afford,
So he did not march. Ceremony'd be
Of no importance to his plans. "Record
It for me," he told Jon-boy, and began
His job hunt, now in earnest. Listings were
Quite hard to find, and secret. Our young man
Knew entry level was his lot. 'Twould spur
Him to achieve! At his first interview
His hopes were dashed. "I'm sorry, Doctor Frank,
But we need more experience to do
This job." "But it's just mopping aisles! I --" Blank.
"My meth lab needs a janitor," said Jon.
"We can't pay, but I'm sure they'd take you on."

Sci Fi Saturday: Come Post the Compost

The fine print on his air license was clear:
'Twas based upon consumption, not on time.
But Pepper thought he'd paid up for a year,
And kept on filibustering. The climb
In readings on his meter grew quite steep
When he protested policy on who
Could marry on the station. In his sleep
He missed the cut-off, woke up, lips turned blue
And screamed, thus wasting oxygen. No one
Seemed much concerned. His bluster had not made
Him popular. "Shoot him into the sun,"
A wag suggested, but his corpse was laid
At last in a symbolic heap of stuff
Like what he'd spewed life-long. 'Twas ripe enough...

Fantasy Friday: Thick Ice

It hadn't been the best year for their sport,
But nothing keeps a fisher off the ice
While it is solid. This week, the report
On same said that conditions would be nice,
And one tagged fish still swam free in the lake.
So Mikel and his sister packed their gear
And ventured forth, thereby to shortly take
Their place in legend -- for this was the year
The ice troll took up residence beneath
The surface of those waters. When it took
Their bait, it took them, too, into the deep.
It used poor Inge's head to bait its hook,
And now it is a fisher, yea, of men.
How shall we make those waters safe again?

Throwback Thursday: Necessity is a Motherfolklore

The best horseshoes in all the counties came,
From Milo's forge, as ev'rybody knew.
Indeed, as years went by, his given name
Fell to disuse. They called him Smith, for true.
So when the Normans first invaded, those
Who would repel them flocked to Milo. "Make
Of these, fine swords!" They held before his nose
Plowshares and other scraps. Much of it wouldn't take
An edge that could cut butter, but he thought
The better of so disappointing lords
Such as were crowding him. Then Milo got
A fine idea. He had some metal, wrapped in cords
That he'd been saving. He would take their trash,
But use his treasure, be done in a flash!

Weird Wednesday: Not in Wonderland, Part XIV

She should have left, but now she was confused.
"Which way," asked Alice, pointing hard, "Is that?"
The rose of dawn was in the sky. "I used
To call that west. Today, though," Like a cat
The creature twitched its whiskers. "I shall call
It... south!" "But that makes no sense. You can't just
Reset your compass like that! Not at all!"
The skunk-thing blinked and belched. "Oh well, you must
Decide yourself. It's boring, though, to keep
On calling things the same thing ev'ry day.
Well, off with you. And mind you, it gets steep
Off south, there." "Thanks, I think I'll find my way
Without your mad 'directions.'" "That's just fine.
Just watch out east; don't fall into that mine!"

Terror Tuesday: The First Spoonie

At greatest cost, and travels far and wide,
And hardships past the telling, Kafye held
Within his grasp the true elixir. "Guide
Him well," intoned the master, who had dwelled
Alone these long millennia, as he drank.
A look of bliss o'ertook that ancient face
Ere it was dust. Then Kafye, who ne'er shrank
From rudeness, crowed his vict'ry. Of our race
Alone would he ne'er feel the touch of death,
Or age. And he had drunk of this while young,
Unlike the one he'd robbed. A ragged breath
Escaped him then, a cry of pain now wrung
From searing lips. Eternal agony,
Alone, now was his lot. So must out be.