Alliteration Challenge

Alliteration Challenge

Prowling panther-like, in the shadows of the dim dying daylight. Fleet of foot through thistle, thorn and thicket the stalker silently slinks. Through sleepy city suburb shrubbery, tiresomely tended topiary, lush level lawns and past garish green garden gazebos he goes. Then trained on target, the hunter hunkers hidden, watching and waiting, prepared to pounce. A sudden swift strike and the quarry quickly sequestered; he beats a rapid retreat to reap the rewards of the raid. Pompously puffed-up and proud and immensely impressed with the lazy lady’s lacy laundry, it’s another amoral adventure of nefarious Nigel the neighbourhood knicker nicker.

Copyright © Charles Montague, April 2021. All rights reserved. This short story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

Alliterative Nightmare

Arachnophobic Arabelle beheld the bloody beast -

A portly, pouting, paedophile, probably a priest,

While colour conscious Christopher cried his kilt was carelessly creased,

And fashion favouring Flavia fought for photographic fame

As lonely, limping Leonard lurched along the long lane hame.

Where did wandering Willie walk while Graham gained glory at his game ?

As stealthy stalker Stewart shadowed Sarah in the shade,

Lovely, lanky, long legged Lucy wore wellingtons to wade,

As Danny, Dave and Damian groped gayly in a glade

Where perky, prudish Peter peeped vauntingly in vain,

And pleasantly pleasing Paula’s preference for policemen was patently, positively plain.

Jeff Erton

Bare Bum Business

Bare bahookie brushed by balmy breezes becomes buff, brown, bronzed, becoming beautifully burnished, but burnt by being bold before bathing. Policeman Plod pops past, pausing, peering prodigiously, produces paper, pencil, preposterously perplexed pursuing persons’ posteriors provoking public prudishness.

“Cover completely” cries constable Crum, “Can’t commit criminal carry-on, causing community confusion. Dames don’t desire displays depicting dirty doings. No nudity! Never never never! Naughty nakedness not normal”

Best bribe bobby; bring bung before buttocks be bared—corrupt coppers counting cash can condone costume confusion. Filthy flics finger fifties, fivers, flipping fistfuls. Forget fairness –fairness freaks fellow felons’ funding.

D Wightman

Untitled

Standing at his easel in his soaking smelly smock

Poking paints with palette knife and sorting out his stock

Any aimless action to avoid the shuddering shock

Of paralysing panic that precedes a painter’s block.

Tugging all his tricks to try to trip the lock

Hobnobs, honey, hula hoops and half a pint of hock

But blankness beams so bright and his muses they do mock

He’s filleted with fear that his life’s a laughing stock.

He kicks a can in anger and over does it does knock

Paint splatters on his canvas and a brilliance does unlock

He strikes success with added skills and snubs his stumbling block

“Critics crow I’ve lost the plot but that’s pure poppycock!”

P Holland

Saucy Susan

Saucy Susan’s smoulderingly salacious smile spread slowly, sending shocked Stuart spinning sideways spraying spittle. ‘Shhh’ she said seductively, standing still; sheer stockings suggesting slightly spicy shenanigans. Secret Service senior secretary Simon stood stunned, staring shyly, somewhat struck silent. Slowly, she slinked, splendidly self-assured, sensationally scarlet satin shorts shimmering surprisingly sexily. Sighing sorrowfully, Smitten Simon, smelling Susan’s sweet scent, stayed stunned - suggesting stupefaction - swooned perplexingly, signifying sensitive sensibilities, Shortly, showing some sense, Stuart stood stiffly, started shouting snottily, soliciting Simon’s support. ‘Shit’ screamed Susan, suddenly sweating, seeing six strikingly severe security sentries secure surroundings. Susan, supposed spy scarpered swiftly.

R.R.Rambles