Tag Archive | #Gossip

Woodlands in Little Oak

Image result for images of furry animals in the woodlands

The furry folks of Woodlands in Little Oak
busied themselves gathering with care and gusto,
into the underground went their stash of nuts and berries
for their noses could smell it in the air;
Madam Winter is heading their way.

Have you heard the news Mrs. Owl hooted
to Mrs. CurlyTail Squirrel
as she taught her babies
how to tell the good nuts from the bad ones
before they buried them underground.

Do tell ‘cos I haven’t heard, urged Mrs. CurlyTail.
It’s said that Mother Winter is quite bitter ‘cos
Spry Tornado is having an affair with little Miss Weather
they tried to keep their love underground
alas, the steam they caused came up to air, Mrs. Owl regaled.

You don’t say! Exclaimed Mrs. CurlyTail Squirrel.
I knew something was up with that sneaky Miss Weather.
Did you hear she whispered to Grouch The Badger,
It’s said that little Miss Weather is pregnant,
But no one is sure who is responsible,
For she’s having a sneaky affair with Spry Tornado and Hally Hailstorm.

I never liked Hally, said Grouch The Badger,
He nearly cracked my skull the last time he passed my way,
I had to quickly hide underground from his mean tricks.
Did you hear of the torrid affair, Grouch asked Stink the Skunk?
Tornado, Hally The Terrible and little Miss Weather were caught in flagrante delicto,
by Willy Windy who was on his way to visit, he had an appointment with her.

No wonder! Exclaimed Stink The Skunk to Rasper The Raccoon,
I now understand why Tyler the Lightning,
threw such a hissy fit, that I had to scurry underground and out of his path,
He had his eye’s set on Miss Weather and was on his way to propose to her,
He even had a huge elemental ring with lots of bling.

Soon the undergrounds of Woodlands in Little Oak
was abuzz with the juicy gossip
Each had a version of their tale to tell
and they all eyed little Miss Weather in disdain
They knew Madam Winter would give her the icy treatment
and they waited in anticipation of the showdown.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Underground – The Daily Post


out-of-the-silent-breath 2

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The hamper of goodies…Friday fiction in five sentences.

The ding-dong of the doorbell sounded loud in the silent, dim house.

Ginger and her owner opened the door, met no one but a wicker hamper with goodies; a bottle of red, a thick slab of ham, some fruitcake, pecan pie and a card that simply said ‘thank you.’

Ms. Penelope always thought highly of herself and felt gratified that someone had finally come to their good sense to appreciate her neighbourly attitude. She forgot that five minutes ago she sat in the dark in her house stewing over the din coming from the neighbours who were obviously having a swell party without inviting her. She had been contemplating calling the police before the bell rang.

She forgot that she was the neighbourhood’s reliable gossip, all seeing eye busy-body who had observed the licentious shenanigans going on in the home of the Stottgard’s now ex’s.

A generous portion of red poured into her chipped mug and a good helping of pie, she wondered again what the O’hilley’s were up to with the plumber visiting Mrs O’hilley ever so often. That’s a riddle that no one has an answer to, because, since the night of the party, Ms Penelope hasn’t been seen puttering around other people’s business, but her poor Tabby has been heard crying late into the nights.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

Out of the silent breath

 

Featured Posts #63 …Share your post links.

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‘PLEASE KEEP SENDING IN THE LINKS.’ 

Today’s featured blogs posts are:

Distance: There’s something fascinating about the train and the train tracks.

Turnaround: Not a situation any parent would love to find themselves in. Amunala’s story depicts the possible nightmare of many…

Letters of opportunity: A simple but great idea to work it, especially those who need some sort of motivation. I like this.

Monkey/chuen spiritual quickening: In Debra’s words quoted below:

Monkey is known to the Maya as the Weaver or Weaver of Time.

We are asked to look beyond the world’s definition of our worth and meaning. Everything in the world would tell us we are powerless – helpless to change the world. Monkey encourages us to believe in our own magic.

I find her articles fascinating. Take a look.

Rumors and gossips: A strong poem that depicts the loss and waste of a mind that idles. A goldmine gone down the drain!

Please do step in and show some love.

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Well then, add your LINK INTO THIS LOOP.

P.S. Comments are disabled here to keep the loop tidy. Any comments or link you want to send can be added through the link in the post.

Thank you for your understanding and regards.

‘We create a cohesive community when we come together.’

P.S. You are invited to our monthly blog party this weekend. It’s fun and you get to meet fantastic folks:-)


Below is my first Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

Out of the silent breath

Gossip…

women-gossiping1

That sizzling piece of news about someone, burning your lips like hot potatoes, that you can’t wait to spit out; all mangled up and embellished with your juices to sweeten the tale, It’s called gossip. As delicious as it can be, its dosage can equally be very virulent and in some cases destructive.

The hair salon was quite modern and well kept. Better than a couple of African owned hair shops that I had been to. It was my second visit, and I came back because I was satisfied with the first job.

It was spacey (I hate cramped quarters) with white ceiling boards and studio lights running in the center of the ceiling. They had comfortable black swivel chairs and independent work stations with large mirrors from wall to wall, giving you (the customer) vantage views of all sides of your hair-do and allowing a spot check, on progress with your braiding (it can be a tedious gossip againassignment to sit and braid one’s hair). The walls were painted lilac and pink and the black and white linoleum floor covers were spotless. I liked the place.

I was right on time for my appointment, but the ladies were adding finishing touches to a guy’s hair-do. I watched in fascination and wondered to myself, why a man who could easily shave his hair and have some peace would choose to sit through torturous hours of fixing tiny hair pieces and twisting his hair a few strands at a time. I shook my head in my mind, wondering what I would give for such wonderful opportunity to have water cascade down my head in the shower at every blissful given moment.

It got to my turn eventually and the butt numbing, knuckle cracking job of looking beautiful started. My head is pulled every which way by the fast and deft fingers of the three Ivorian stylists, whilst they chattered to no ends on top of my head in their broken French.

I was privy to all the inner life details of the last customer. He had been their good customer for a while, but the amount of disdain and blistering comments they made about the poor paying guy was disturbing. I decided not to become a good customer, there and then.

I was entertained with possibly embellished stories of auntie Jolie, and how she was cheating heavily on her dear, faithful husband. I also learnt that she was a kleptomaniac. I knew that these viperous women would be a source of someone’s broken marriage sooner than later.gossip-quote-about-life

Lo and behold, to my utter surprise, these women started talking about me and about Nigerians, in French of course, and on top of my paying head. I could barely keep still. I struggled very hard to keep my tongue in my mouth and I waited patiently – as I did not want to leave the salon in a huff with my hair half done. I listened in chagrin as they analyzed my sizable anatomy and evaluated my entire outfit.

What I really found perplexing was the blatant attitude of throwing caution to the wind and engaging in unprofitable talk that can only get them into trouble one day. It was also very presumptive to think that because I am not Ivorian, I obviously would not understand their french. Very erroneous speculation because, unbeknownst to them, I speak French as well as I speak English.

My hair was finally done, but I deliberately made a little fuss about the smoothness of the braids; which by the way was okay. I made them redo several whilst they cursed me out under their breath and I had my tongue in my cheek.

Finally satisfied with my hair-do, I stretched my entire length of 5’11” to its limits and in Parisian French, I chewed off their ears and castigated them for their porous lips and careless tongues. I was satisfied with the mortified looks on their faces (not that it will make them stop gossiping), and I would have loved to see how many shades they could turn into but unfortunately, they are too dark to blush.

I walked away, a satisfied customer, no tips were paid.

I however want to leave you with a thought: Gossip is not a sport to engage lightly in and it’s sharp two-edged points can equally be turned on the propagator. I don’t think one ever wants to get involved in a case of come and repeat what you said. It can be very distasteful.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha