Fantasy Friday: Fish Tales, Part IV

Dear Mom and Dad, can I please come home soon?
This camp is horrible. I'm always cold,
Each morning starts off with a nasty tune
Played on... it's called an antler? And we're told
Just what to do each minute! How's the reef?
How's my seahorse? Don't ride her. Only I
Can ride her, grandpa said. Oh no, our "chief" --
We're all some kind of engines? -- just came by
And said it's time for yet another "trek"
Down to the darker water. I just hate
It here. Oh, and last night I got the "heck"
Beat out of me by trout girls. Now I'm late.
Please send someone to fetch me to the sea.
Signed, love, your Kleo, longing to be free!

Throwback Thursday: What's at Stake

The baby had survived, and she had saved
The mother, too, with fungus from some bread.
The grateful father, totally enslaved
By common sense, joined those who wished her dead.
Thus finished Mistress Goodweather's last year
Among us. She'd no husband  living to
Speak up for her, and so prevailing fear
(And disregard for those -- all women -- who
Did argue for her preservation) meant
A tow'ring bonfire was erected there
In village center. When the dame had spent
Her time in prison, screaming in the care
Of parsons, she was brought forth for to burn,
But rescued by the goodwives. Some folks learn!

Weird Wednesday: The Perspective

Coordinates aired on a TV show
Led to a spot from which, it could be seen,
The trees' denuded branches, in the glow
Of twilight, formed a face. What did it mean?
No one could say, but none who saw it felt
Like leaving. Force was needed for to lead
All comers from the site. And those who dwelt
Nearby? They were the first to feel the need,
The longing, the compulsion they called love,
But others called fixation. To a one,
They ceased to eat or drink, and would speak of
No thing but their obsession. Now it's done.
They've pined away. Their bodies form a mound
On what we all now know is sacred ground.

Terror Tuesday: The Dinner Party

I hope you like this stew,  I made it just
For you and lovely Karen. It's so rare
To have such neighbors one can really trust.
Have more, I do insist. I mean it.  There
Is plenty, and I'm proud of it.  You taste
My secret additive, I bet! You two,
No fooling you! What's that? No, no, don't waste
A moment while it's hot. No, really,  you...
Your kids are fine.  Whatever do you mean?
They're outside in the yard.  See them at play?
I do not like your tone.  Don't make a scene!
I'd never harm them.  Cook them? Oh, I say!
That's horrifying! What? That's what you'd like?
Excuse me, then.  Oh no,  please,  no,  don't strike--

Mystery Monday: The Voting Vacuum

The candidates were seated in a row
To vie for the attention of a few
Well-interested voters.  Starting slow,
Things picked up when an office-seeker, who
Was way back in the polls, at last called out
That one was missing,  and had yet to make
Appearance at a single such meet. "Shout
Her name, perhaps she's in the hall?" "I'd take
A bet she's never been here,  ever."  "She
Was here last week!" "So I've heard many say,
But no one e'er directly seems to see
Her in the flesh.  Just photos. There's no way."
Her empty seat said nothing.  No one could
Explain her vict'ry later. She's that good?

Satire Sunday: Monkeys Saw...

"It means I'm smart," the candidate had bragged,
And 'cross the nation, millions dud agree.
They voted and cajoled and even dragged
Their friends out to the polls, and, glory be,
The Dodger was our President-Elect!
He took his oath and made appointments, set
About the business, with a select
And comely, shapely, laughing cabinet.
Then April came, and millions who'd admired
His stance did as he had. Not one did file
A tax return. Then millions of them fired
Each other, paid in cash with cunning smiles
Beneath the table, and all other tricks
He'd touted. Now he's in a pretty fix.

Sci-Fi Saturday: Nothing New Under the Sun

Re-Dinos proved the brain is just a part
Of what intelligence these meatsacks hold.
The brontosaur that first was cloned, her heart
Was that of ninety poets, new and old:
We learned the language that she came to speak
And found her versifying, near non-stop!
One epic she composed took o'er a week
Just to declaim. Reciters oft did drop
Before they could complete it, but agreed
Its beauty worth the effort! 'Tis that gut,
Four hundred feet of neural tissue. Speed?
Well, no, but for complexity, the cut?
It's made. Re-Dino-verse, is lit'rature
At its most lovely, finest, and most pure!