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Amy was a gravid woman, shining with an effulgence only pregnant women seem to possess.   Carrying her child was salutary to her.  I aver, she was the most ebullient person I’ve ever encountered, almost to the point of nimiety.   It didn’t take much prescience to know things would turn ugly when she hooked up with Greg.

 

Greg was a bilious man,  with a sanguine face, making him look much like a tomato.  While he could put on a phlegmatic appearance to the outside world, behind closed doors he became quite cholericand often beat Amy so badly she feared she’d lose the baby.  As dreadful as it was, when the call came that Amy had been a victim of a murder-suicide, it really came as no surprise. 

 

The only brightness that shown through that melancholic event was the miracle the paramedics performed, by saving Baby Erin- Amy’s beautiful living legacy.

This one is wholey generic.  Very Generic.  But hey, I wrote it, and that has to count for something, right? I am tight for time this morning, so I’m just posting the story, and will link the definitions later this evening (if I remember). 

 

Fishing Four-

His father, the one with the keen eye, espied them first.  The pother of fish neared the boat, swimming through the turbulent waters.  Father held a grig with his purlicue, and quickly attached it to the gaff.  When the bite came, Boy quickly grabbed the trammel and landed the large fish onto the boat’s floor.  Cajoling their success, they filleted and skinned the meat.  The Boy drug the growler to them, removed the remaining beer, and carefully packed the meat inside. 

 

Leaning back to relax, Boy rejoiced in the compadrism these trips gardnished, and relished the veneration it strengthened between Father and him. While Mother was often abstemious in her attentions to him, prefering instead to cosset Daughter, Father always had time for him.  Even though he was prone to horatory speeches about the state of politics, economics, or whatever was on CNN that week, the Boy cherished these trips.

This week’s words: decuman, tessera, atone, heatomb, decussate, depredation, fillip (as a noun), pejorative, sagacious, avoirdupois, sybarite, and tacitum

Just so you all know, I am wholeheartedly unhappy with this week’s (last week’s) writing, which is why it’s taken me so long to post it. I had the front line caught in my head all week, so knew it would be centered around that, but this just does not flow the way I want it to. Of course, having to use specific words did not help me any. I just may come back to it and redo it at a later time though.

I Sleep With The Gods

I sleep with the Gods.
Fate and Luck bound to decussate.
Opportunity for my avoirdupois soul
Or penance, thus.
This is my atonement.

I sleep with the Gods;
Sybarites in their own world
With little regard to Earth beneath them.
They have become taciturn to us.
We are insignificant.

I sleep with the Gods.
Their embrace a depredation.
Ravaging my Spirit.
A hecatomb to Love.
I am bound to them all.

I sleep with the Gods.
My subjugation their fillip.
Their sagacious passion for me
Is pejorative to my heart.
They are my existence.

I sleep with the Gods.
Broken sun through the tessera.
My decuman heart stretching;
Only a moment until it breaks
Sending tendrils of sorrow throughout the Universe.

I sleep with the Gods.
I am boundless, endless.
My breath extending beyond Eternity.
I sleep with the Gods,
Therefore I am.