What's So Funny?
Russell Gayer, author speaker
Besieged
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.
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 Comments on “Besieged”
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What's So Funny? 
Oh dear…. 😀
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Was that your comment, Lyn? Or is it the pooch responding?
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No, it was me. I said it with a shake of my head and a roll of my eyes (in a loving way of course) 😉
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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
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Everyone needs a good dose of culture now and then.
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You never cease to amaze me.
Sent via BlackBerry by AT&T
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Well, this one even surprised me. I have no idea where it came from.
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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! ^..^
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Thank thee for thy kind words. Wanna shake hands?
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Shake snake!
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Dear Wilford – what a masterpiece! When can we expect to see the whole production?
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You mean the dog poo after it is collected?
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Ah, Wilford! I am greatly moved by your wise and wonderful words 🙂
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The dogs were moved as well, especially the one named Bowels.
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Nailed it! I am there! 🙂
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I hope you didn’t step in it, Kim.
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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.
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Just hold your nose then. That’s the safest strategy.
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This is an instant classic, Wilford. Worthy of the great Bard himself, and with a similar sense of humor too.
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Thank you, David. This is the camp I sent my kids to. 🙂
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Multi-talented is what you are. I had no idea you could write poetry.
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I’ve written over 200 poems (not counting this one), and by some odd coincidence, this is my 200th blog post.
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Congratulations, on both feats.
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Wilford, Wilford how your prose doth flow through mind and body and …. Well, that’s all I have to say on the matter. Oh! Except thanks for the laugh. Alicia
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Careful with that flowing through the body part. I take no credit for that.
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Dearest Wilford,
Would not poo by any other name stinketh so mightily? Thy humour doth amaze and delight. Methinks tis with laughter I do comment.
Shalometh,
Juliet
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Nay, fair Juliet. Even Winnie the Pooh doth not reek with the same candor as do these feeble words of mine.
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Prithee, varlet, thou hast tickled my funny bone! Forsooth, ’twas fun.
janet
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Ah ha, twas the very bone I was seeking to tickle. Success at last!
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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.
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I think you were right the second time, but who’s counting?
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Now that’s a visual one can’t unsee. 😉
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When can we expect the Doo Doo ReVue to take the stage? I’m sure it will be SRO, just watch where you’re standing.
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Listen, while I do a Tiny Tim impersonation of “Tip-toe through the Dog Poo”
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ROFL! You made my morning.
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Poetry… poetry in motions. Excellent! 🙂
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Thank you, M’lady.
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Dear Wilford,
One of your very best efforts, sir. (I hope you didn’t forget to wash your hands afterwards.)
Aloha,
Doug
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The hands are clean, sir. Its the mind that’s somewhat stained.
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I applaud the brilliance of this piece. Nothing more I can say, the laughter at my desk is enough!
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Ah, laughter. Tis music to my ears.
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Fun stuff, but is it worth getting stabbed in the arras? Speak, I command thee.
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Nay, the risk is too great.
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And here’s me thinking they were pine cones! Interesting how different minds work!
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That explains it. Your mind works, mine was installed on the “lazy” setting and refuses to work.
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I wondered what that smell was when I came onto your blog!
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Ah, smell-a-blog. Now I know how Al Gore felt when he invented the internet.
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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!
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Hopefully, it’s dried to the consistency of a Baby Ruth bar by the time she picks it up. I’m glad you enjoyed my little sonnet.
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O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that s**t.
The merry gerbil, in appreciation
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Ewwww. Good thing you didn’t step in it.
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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)
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Oh, I love it. Chuckles doth pour from my jowls. 🙂
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Wilford has a way with words, doesn’t he?
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Yea, he doth.
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Who knew there were so many bards at Fictioneers. You clearly brought them out of the wood work. Still chuckling. Thanks, Tracey
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So, that’s where they’ve been hiding–in the woodwork.
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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
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You’re kind, Marie Gail. I’ll give you 30 minutes to quit saying stuff like that.
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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. 😉
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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!
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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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Absolutely brilliant! It could almost be the Bard himself 🙂
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I’m the store-brand Bard.
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Et tu, Russell? A wonderful and different take this week, as Billy Shakespeare once said ‘Educated men are so impressive’.
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Ah, would poo by any other name smell so sweet?
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