Besotted, an ending … for now

(With poems and plots I have sought to unlock
A game built on fending off my writer’s block.
By playing with rhyme my brain started to mend,
And now, free to write on, this diversion ends.)

Besotted, an ending, for what it’s worth…

She snuck in the back of her house, dark as night,
In her old woman’s clothes she hid in plain sight.
With “mission accomplished” she filled her valise
Then headed for ‘Frisco to out-fox police.

She heard that her partner had landed in jail.
The Feds soon showed up and kept tight on her trail.
– It wasn’t cheap, darting on, place to place –
Thoughts of the hoose-gow made her heart race.

Then up showed her twin, a slight delicate thing,
Looking for her share of the counterfeit ring.
The sisters transformed themselves yet again –
With bosoms cinched tight in the guise of young men.

Sensible gals, the two fe/males took care
To scruff up their shoes along with their hair.
A knock on their door was what they feared most,
’til He found them hidden – each white as a ghost.

He had beaten the rap with no priors nor proof –
And that woman he’d dined with seemed so aloof,
What would she know about counterfeit plates?
Neither one went to trial, for goodness sakes!

The trio arrived in the Hollywood Hills,
Scheming to once again print out more bills.
Their templates for twenties were hidden away.
Who ever believed that crime does not pay?

(Should you find yourself asking how this all began
– The people, the story line, where my mind ran –
Click way down, on Nan’s name – it’s on the right side
And find what I’ve written – that’s where it all hides.)

Hope this bit of fluff ends up helping you fight
The dread writer’s block, should it ever strike!
I’m leaving for now, with my words set free –
Time to get back to “Write On!” again with great glee,

Write On!

Besotted 5

(The criminal mind continues to rhyme!)

They dodged under awnings, cops not far behind.
Rain splattered around them but she did not mind.
She kicked off her heels and sped like the breeze,
He faltered and broke stride and dropped to his knees.

She glanced back and wondered if he’d staged his fall
So she could elude them… out distance them all.
She hooked ’round a corner and dodged through a door –
No one at the laundry! Who could ask for more?

As a kid she had hid in her mom’s ancient dryer
But here stood machines incredibly higher.
She bolted to one and crawled deep inside.
Fluffy warm clothes made a great place to hide.

Despite the drum’s tight space she managed to move.
Off came her wig; getting into her groove.
The clothes of another fit her quite loosely,
No longer a “looker,’ our resident floosey.

(The story continues to unravel clues,
Just stick with me kindly, I hope to amuse!)

UPDATE: If today’s episode has you longing for more,
link here for parts 1 and 2 and 3 and 4.

Besotted, Day 4

Too late did she spot the cops in plain-clothes,
Whose photos of larceny soon would expose.
Click went their cameras – click, click, click, click
As he squandered those twenties, quick as a blink.

She kept her face calm and her eyes on the door.
Would she make an escape or plead “Mercy! More!”
Why had she joined once more his worst offense:
Those phony twenties he’d churned off his press.

Her ex was an artist with money to burn,
– a penniless guy with much more to learn.
She distanced herself with a sob and real tears,
Focusing heavily on her own fears.

Was this the way life was meant to turn out
For one foolish cougar and her young lout?
Their once faithful marriage was now full of crime
And still she would love him… if he’d do her time.

(Be patient with me, I beg you to stay.
All in good time, be that when it may!)

Besotted Day 3

Editor’s caution: …Continuing fresh zinger from Nan’s bawdy quill…

Once more they stayed in her home overnight,
Neither one feeling the need for a fight.
He brought back breakfast with extra caffeine.
She wiggled and giggled and acted obscene.

“Dinner tonight?” He asked his ex-wife.
She polished her nails as sharp as a knife.
“The cupboard is bare, the ‘fridge on the fritz,
“In the kitchen,” she laughed, “I’m such a ditz.”

With a nod of his head he sallied forth;
She eyed his bankroll and assayed her worth.
For dinner that night he spent lots more loot:
Those greenbacks they squandered – Oh! What a hoot!

Until she spotted a familiar face –
And knew it was time to dodge from the chase.
With nary a mention of jigs being up,
She once again bedded her ex, for good luck.

(~ T’is time to sign off, at this turning spot,
With hopes of completing this spicy plot. ~)

Besotted Day 2

Editor’s caution: This fresh zinger from Nan’s bawdy quill may pierce you right in your office party regrets.

Besotted, Day 2

He cinched in his belt and slicked back his hair;
She coated her lips and perfumed the air.
They billed and they cooed, a dream couple now
No more little hints of any stray growl.

Their dinner was perfect, the desert sublime –
The bill was a scorcher, but they paid no mind.
All twenties he counted, each crumpled and worn,
And left a sweet tip – from their waitress: no scorn.

He made his way past the smug maitre d’,
Stopping to palm off another twenty.
His ex-wife flashed forth a dazzling smile,
That old gal’s joy you could see for a mile.

The question they pondered with such a force:
Why had they surrendered to a divorce?
Full tummied they hailed their limo to come
And in the back seat things started to hum!


Editor’s caution: This fresh zinger from Nan’s bawdy quill may pierce you right in your office party regrets.

There once was a divorcee – recently made
Whose looks, alas, had started to fade.
Counting her wrinkles she began to cry.
(Her sorrows abated with some gin and rye.)

She perched on a bar stool and hoisted her chest.
Fresh lipsticked and half drunk, she gave it her best.
She morphed into babe-dom, on that very night:
The more the men drank, the more she looked right.

Then droopy-eyed swaggarts began to spew rage,
And those gin-mill familiars, they took center stage.
“She’s mine!” “No, she’s mine!” the lugs started to shout.
Fists pumped the air; it was time to get out.

She fumbled her car keys, she let out a groan.
A knight came to her aid and took her straight home.
A fairy tale dream danced that night in her head
But come the next morn, her ex snored from her bed.

Friday Fun – July 10, 2009

Here’s a quicky to start your day!

A policeman spots a woman driving and knitting at the same time. Driving up beside her, he shouts out the window… “Pull over!”

“No,” she shouts back, “a pair of socks!”

Thaaaaat’s all, pals!

Thanks for the laughs, Uncle Jimmy!

(Thanks also to Thanks to

Friday Fun – June 26, 2009

The raw recruit stood nervously before the police chief – uniform starched, boots shined, hair trimmed, knees wobbling. Exactly what the chief wanted to see. Give the kid time, and he’d probably do just fine.

The recruit cleared his throat. “Any more questions, chief?”

The chief scribbled something onto his clip board. “Just one more.”

“Yes sir!”

“As a recruit, you’ll be faced with some difficult issues. What would you do if you had to arrest your mother?”

The lad swallowed hard and shook his head. “Call for backup, sir.”

Thaaaaaat’s all, folks!

Thanks for the laughs, Uncle Jimmy!

Friday Fun – June 19, 2009

This one might require additional thought, even though it’s a stupid criminal joke. Apologies to those whose brains are already fried. May next week be better!

Tennessee: A man successfully broke into a bank after hours and stole the bank’s video camera while the camera was remotely recording.

Thanks to
Thanks for the laughs, Uncle Jimmy!

Thaaaaat’s all, pals!

Two for Tuesday 6/16/09

I’ve long been fascinated by things Japanese and was delighted to discover Sujata Massey’s THE SAMURAI’S DAUGHTER a few years back. Since that first novel her mysteries have never failed to keep me panting for her next mystery. I shook her hand and got her autograph at Malice Domestic a couple years back. She wished me well with my writing. I’m still smiling!

Here’s a bit more than two sentences from her novel, THE PEARL DIVER:

“As my aunt’s hand slowly warmed my cold one, I thought about how every Japanese town seemed to have at least one temple with a special garden that held small statues of Jizo-sama, the Buddhist guardian of children who die too early. Women would buy a small stone statue, and then dress it in hand-sewn or knitted or crocheted jackets and hats. …The mothers visited their child-guardians as long as they needed to, sometimes until a second child was born, in other cases, for the rest of their lives.”

And, here’s my couple lines worth:

“It was a gift,” Jimmy said as he pocketed the tool in his skinny jeans. “Got it from the old man when he died. Had to pry it out of his hand,” he shrugged, “but far as I know, you can’t pick your way past them pearly gates.”

Leave us a note of your own readings and writings, and we’ll be glad you did!

Write On!