A 100 Word Ode to Gene Wilder

Title Image: The Gazette Review



Comical, quizzical, whimsical, brave

This guy was a hoot

From the cot to the grave

He was known as Jerome

In his Milwaukee home.


But he took to the screen

(As The Young Frankenstein)


Then sadly he cried,

When poor mother died

Undertaker he played

In Bonnie and Clyde

Those comical quizzical whimsical looks

Then led him to work with his great friend Mel Brooks

Them spruikers, them spruikers

They made The Producers

It’s Springtime for Hitler

And cooking the books

He reached ever higher

With dear Richard Pryor

Willy Wonka, Amazing

Saddles A’Blazing


Gene Wilder 1933-2016

> All Rights Reserved. ©Edward Bryans 2017. No unauthorised reproduction of this post in whole or in part is permitted without the express written consent of the author



100 Word Story Contest. The Winners – “Sensation”. Sensational Reading!

Title Image: @homeartpictures is a Social Media platform which actually rewards valued content via payments in a cryptocurrency called ‘steem’.

I recently began a 100 Word story Competition on the platform. These are the top three entries from week 1. I hope you enjoy them. Please come and join in if you like writing stories! Just ask me how.


Image: Pixabay

⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘

The Winners of Week One


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Third Place receives 100 TRAIL and 4 STEEM

Sensation by @krizia

“Somebody!? Help me!” I cried.
“Where are you going? Everybody’s bleeding!”
I held Everybody in my arms. Warmth slowly left his lifeless body. His blank eyes stared at me. I can feel the burning sensation in my heart. Somebody abandoned me. It crushed my soul.

“You’re gonna be fine!” Nobody said.
I smiled weakly. Tears poured.
I cried so much when Everybody died. I cried my heart out. I cried until I fell asleep. I cried more when I woke up. Somebody should’ve been there with me. Yet, he left.
“Oh! Anybody.” His voice trembled.
Nobody was all I got.

⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘

Second Place receives 200 TRAIL and 6 STEEM

Dryad Fishing Pole by @chaospoet

My neighbor glanced in my window today
With a whistle he had little to say
You wouldn’t happen to have spare coal
Not today I used it to darken me pole

A frown and lines creased his head
Isn’t common to weight with lead
Not this one for I’m fishin’ for me soul
I have to prepare me dryad fishing pole

Curiosity obvious when he continues to say
Dryad’s don’t live in water on this day
Aye, and they don’t like the average worm
Only a dryad fishing pole makes them squirm

Concealing the pole
He puts on his pants

⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘

First Place 1st place receives 400 TRAIL and 10 STEEM

The First Night by @prufarchy
It was incredible, like the entire world and all its colors had been drained from me and polished to a brilliant sheen. I could hear the padding paws of a dog several blocks away, the whispered conversations of lovers in bed in the apartments above.
Just one little bite and two tiny holes in my neck and, for the first time ever, I felt truly alive.
I bent a metal rod with ease. In a single jump I reached a fire escape above me. I felt like a god, lowercase g.
I wanted to bite the world and share this.

⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘ ⌘


Image: Author

Special thanks to @meesterboom for his generous sponsorship of this initiative.

The winning stories will be announced each Sunday and published here on steemit and on other Social Media Platforms such as Twitter and Facebook.

imgThe organisation of this contest has been given huge support by the guys at SteemTrail.

If you have not already done so, head over to the SteemTrail Discord server and check out what they’re up to.

You will need an Open Ledger Account which is free. Simply click the Trail Coin and follow the instructions. For a Streemian Account, click the Streemian logo.


Thank you from your 100 Words Contest organiser, please follow, upvote, resteem, generally be terribly nice to @ebryans



imgAll Rights Reserved. ©Edward Bryans 2017. No unauthorised reproduction of this post in whole or in part is permitted without the express written consent of the author


Darwin’s Bears. An allegorical tale of great brevity.

Title Image: Pixabay 

Darwin’s Bears


The tree shook, desperately daring to withstand the nutrient-poor soil in which it stood. Bumper harvest was a golden memory. Small bitter fruits extended the capacity of the tree to breaking point.

The bears beneath, which fed upon the tree, squabbled over the meagre pickings. It mattered not to the bears that the health of the tree was their future. Their former fortuitous feasting was, to them, the rightful order of things.

Dead bears return to the soil. The bear is earth, the earth is tree, the tree is bear, the whole reality of the cycle of life.

Darwin’s Bears failed to become gardeners; they said they had no need; but the fruit bore fresh trees. Darwin wrote of bears.


Image: Pixabay

All Rights Reserved. ©Edward Bryans 2017. No unauthorised reproduction of this post in whole or in part is permitted without the express written consent of the author




via Daily Prompt: Privacy

A True story

A vicar was sitting at his desk, reading and dealing with his correspondence. It was a Saturday morning and his three children were mucking about and making a racket – they were too close for good concentration.

One of the boys, aged about 8 at the time, noticed that his father was getting a little annoyed on account of several disparaging glances in the direction of the racket.

“Are you ok, Daddy?”

“Yes, I’m absolutely fine, thank you, Josh. I am just trying to deal with my mail.”

Josh peered at the stack of mail and noticed that one of the envelopes had a curious message in the top left hand corner.

“Daddy, what does ‘Private and Confidential’ mean?”

“Ah, Josh”, said his father, “that means that this letter is for me and me only!”

Sensing that he really ought not be prying, Josh returned to the racket.


Later that day, the family went on an excursion and on the way home the children were offered a treat visit to McDonalds, an irregular event in this family. Josh was very particular in his planned menu choices. Each of the children would take it in turn. It came to Josh’s turn. He had managed to go last as he wanted.

“Now Josh, do you know what you would like?” Asked his father.

“Yes, Daddy, I would like a cheeseburger, a chocolate shake and some ‘Private and Confidential’ fries, please!”


I walked outside today and found I had a flat tyre. A short story.

I was grateful on one account … I could walk relatively normally. The fact that the tyre was flat was of trifling importance. I could fix that in half an hour, including the trip to the service station.

My mug of tea warmed my hands against the retreating frost. Squawking crows punctured the pale blue sky as I looked around the collection of ageing farm machinery which lay idle about the yard. “So much decay”, I lamented inwardly, “on so many levels.”

My promises to myself that there would be renewal and fresh vitality in this rural backwater had suffered a few realities. My leg was getting worse, not better. The pain was wearing me down. The shrapnel had been removed, I was assured by the equally self-assured young surgeon. “Fucking upstart,” I railed, anger rising like an unwelcome guest.

I stopped short of repeating the usual mantra of self-loathing and headed back into the kitchen for more tea. The stove was warm and my three dogs were huddled around it, luxuriating in the cozyness. They were recovering after the exertions of stepping out for a morning pee. The day was looking as lethargic as those dogs.

Sitting at the table, as I so often do, I tried to rationalise my situation against the promise of my twenties. It did me no favours and my gaze simply announced further shame through disorder, clutter and dirt.

Rising from my seat, I grabbed at one of the dog’s beds and flung it towards its rightful place. My petulance caused a soft metallic clatter on the floorboards. Beneath the straggly old beanbag appeared a toy car from my childhood. “How the hell…?”

This relic of my childhood smacked my self-pity smartly and triggered me across a paradigm into creativity. So unexpected was it that I nearly missed the chair as I went to sit back down.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! I remembered seeing the film for the very first time; Dick van Dyke and his crazy contraptions; Truly Scrumptious, “you’re truly truly scrumptious”, I sang to myself; the child catcher; it all flooded back.

Before the dogs had a chance to stir their wet noses, I was half way across the yard and plans were formulating … magnificent car, shining in British Racing Green, splendid head lamps, oversized and a horn, a horn to wake the dead!

Dad’s old Bristol was going to get a new lease of life!

The next several hours were a whirlwind of panel selection and seat concepts. The handles from the church bell-ringing ropes would serve as steering wheel covers, the two old armchairs from my aunt’s conservatory became the seats. Being a hoarder became a blessing.

The dogs came and went, almost tutting in disdain. Various machines whirred into action showering sparks like plumes of stars against the dusty backdrop of my barn.

I knew that the engine was fine. The chassis was sound but the leaved suspension at the rear was a splayed confusion of rusty metal. As I peered past the brick mounts upon which she perched I decided that both sides were irrecoverable in terms of achieving safety.

Bristol cars are big and heavy. ‘My old jack had better hold until I get some more bricks under the old beast’. Chatting away to myself is a recent development. A lonesome life was the source, I justified.

Sizing and banding the suspension leaves from the old troop carrier was less of a problem than anticipated. A wire brush tidied the rust off the wheel housing. Brakes … not bad enough to cause concern as long as the fluid was still ok in the lines.

I drained them anyway and replenished the reservoir. Engine oil was drained and replaced. Spark plugs: check. Belts: check. Radiator: check.

Floor mats … I ran inside and found three starving dogs whom I had not noticed for hours. They each received double rations. They could chase me up the drive to work it off.

In the hallway I slid to a halt as I grabbed the two small Egyptian rugs which led to the front door. Perfect!

It was 2am and I was a wreck by the time everything was ready for the maiden voyage. The fatigue was as effective as a chocolate teapot. I was a like a seven year old kid on Christmas Eve. Dawn could not come soon enough. I was alive!

Day 2.
I walked outside today and found I had four flat tyres.

All Rights Reserved. No unauthorised reproduction of this post in whole or in part is permitted without the express written consent of the author