In the month of February, Connie and I attended two live performances. One was a series of comedic skits entitled, “Almost Maine” at the Arts Center of the Ozarks. The other was an off-Broadway production of “Camelot” at the Walton Arts Center. In the span of twenty-eight days, I absorbed more culture than you’d find in a half-gallon of buttermilk and a pint of yogurt.

Watching those plays was really inspirational. I couldn’t wait to sit down in front of a keyboard and create a classic of my own (won’t Perry be jealous?). So what if I borrowed a few key words from another writer. They don’t call me the Bard of Goshen for nothing.

If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the hub of our wheel of writers is Juliet Prowse Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise of madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.

copyright - Erin Leary
copyright – Erin Leary

But, soft! What fragrance through yonder window wafts?
It is dog poo, and toadstools fresh upon the lawn.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the grievous odor
Who is sick and pale with repugnance,
Ward off from thy nose the rising effluvia
Be not stricken by the stench that drifts upon the breeze
What leaves the fair maiden both sick and green
And none but fools doth step in it

Would through the airy region stream so bright
That buzzards gag and choke upon the sight.
See, how she plucks them from the lawn
with not a glove upon her hand

          ~ Wilford Snakesheare






66 thoughts on “Besieged

  1. Hilarious, Will…er Russell. 😀 I think you’ve captured enough of a certain kind of Spring day as most of us could stand. I usually buy mushrooms at the vegetable market thank you. Well done as always. You’ve left us covered in culture. 🙂 — Suzanne


  2. My dear Wilford Snakesheare: Well done, well done sir! My coffee doth through the nose came, Spraying over the computer, Such a shame, Now I fear that I must wander, Through the yard I must search, For the stinky piles of feculence. Be well, dear Snakesheare! ^..^


  3. i don’t know whether to laugh or cry. i can imagine one member of congress in the news (sorry, can’t identify gender for lack of authority) saying those words so eloquently.


  4. No doubt you initially wrote this sonnet with a quill while wearing tights, even if you actually scribbled a draft with a chicken feather while wearing too tight long johns. Close enough Bard of Goshen.


  5. This is brilliant, Russel. She picks the stuff up with no gloves. Say it ain’t so. It seems so long as there is poop on the ground, someone will step in it eventually. This is truly great. You are quite the poet!


  6. Oh I bow in awe for your mastery
    in dreadful smell of dung the beauty seen
    what is a bucket filled with raspberries
    if not for s**t and those smells obscene

    Mister Snakeshere this is a truly classic sonnet (my first sonnet was in praise of an outhouse)


  7. Russell,
    This is really excellent. As a student of the bard, I often find rewrites of his work to be hackneyed and forced, yet your poem this week flies effortlessly from the screen and drips easily from the lips. The humor plays a fine second fiddle to the perfect rhythms and sounds of your piece this week. Bravo!

    Marie Gail


      1. Ha! It doesn’t come easily or particularly often from me, so enjoy it while you have it. Next week I’ll probably be nitpicking at your grammar and punctuation. 😉


  8. l dunno, I think maybe Christopher Marlowe wrote that? But the opening does seem appropriate for you, Russell — “But, soft!” — and considering your earlier plays ( Omelette, Prince of Denmark and The Tragedy of Julius Erving) an epic about poo seems just about right. Thanks for the stench and the repugnance!


    1. Hey, . . . Omelette was a big hit, especially when I piled on the ham.
      As for the stench and repugnance, you’re quite welcome. That’s the nice thing about a westerly breeze, it carries it all the way to Havertown.


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