Twisted Prompts for Sicko Writers (26)

by Michael Arnzen ~ June 18th, 2008.

+ Write about a WOMAN-eating plant (as opposed to just a man-eater).

+ Everyone says they’re afraid of clowns.  What are clowns scared of?  Depict their worst nightmare.

+ Ever heard the expression, “Let your freak flag fly”?  Write a story or poem about a freak nation and its hallowed flag.  (Option: try drawing or describing the iconography of the flag before you begin).

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4 Responses to Twisted Prompts for Sicko Writers (26)

  1. Brian Rosenberger

    Michael,

    One of your prompts reminded me of a poem of mine from a few years ago. It first appeared in Side Show, edited by Cathy Buburuz, which also features a poem of yours.
    Brian

    Fears of a Clown

    Hours after eating
    the firebreather’s homemade chili,
    beneath rainbowed streaked sheets,
    as snug as fifteen fellow funny men
    squished in the company car,
    a clown dreams

    confetti composed of nail clippings from infants
    carcinogenic cotton candy
    popcorn from radioactive kernels
    Tunnel of Love plagued by disease
    bumper cars with road rage
    greasepaint removed by razor blade
    a whoopee cushion with teeth
    face eating cream pies
    seltzer replaced with acid
    a hall of mirrors shattered,
    lifetimes of bad luck
    apes armed with assault rifles
    a runaway Ferris wheel,
    with passengers
    elephants playing soccer with pre-schoolers
    pre-schoolers playing paddycake with grizzlies
    the lion tamer in a pork chop suit
    the sword swallower hiccups
    the knife disobeys the knife thrower
    a fortune teller who’s always wrong
    or always right
    whoops echoing from the trapeze
    followed by screams
    the laughter stops

    and the clown
    dreams no more

  2. Rich Ristow

    Okay. I can’t resist. Not the best little poem in the world, but do consider that it took me 5 minutes to write this, after I couldn’t get the ending out of my head. All the best, Mike.

    Clown’s Nightmare

    The frown remains under her make up. Children
    have pointed and cried all day, and the fathers

    grabbed their crotches and winked at her, saying
    “Want to make some side money?” All of that

    is just a day’s work, from birthday parties
    to bar mitzvahs and beyond. It’s all different

    in her studio apartment. Tucked under her quilt,
    she dreams a pasty white figure, eyes lined black,

    striped shirt, suspenders and black lips over
    white teeth. He feels the air as if it’s a wall,

    and he’s groping for the corner.

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