Wordplay Thursday #125

Wordplay Thursday

Welcome to Wordplay Thursday!

Today, I’m going to give you a topic, and the wordplay is to show that topic with ONLY sensory images (sight, smell, taste, touch, sound).  The point is to have fun with the old Nashville advice that says, “Show me, don’t tell me.”  You can just pick one sense, or you can challenge yourself by playing one image from each of the 5 senses.

Last week, we played off a physical object (“guitar”).  This week, let’s stretch a little more and show an emotion.  Game on!


Here’s an example to get you started:

“His shaky hand sets the empty shot glass back on the bar as he stares into the mirror behind the whiskey bottles and mouths to himself, ‘you can do this. You can do this…'”

Now it’s your turn.  Show me, don’t tell me!

Oh, and please keep your posts below an R-rating. It’s a family show, after all…

And thanks to Ken Matthiessen, Nila, Barney Coulter, Tommy Kib, Scott Fischer, Willa Thompson, Debbie Convoy, Nick S., Lisa Gates, Sean Kasey, Linda Keser, Jerry Childers, Kim, Wm Curtis, Gerald Rae, Kris Rogge Fisher, Steve Crabtree, Kerry Meacham, Joe Slyzelia and everyone else for your great additions to Wordplay Thursday #124 (read it here)! Great job!

Wordplay Thursday is a great way to the get the creative juices flowing and get some songs started. But what about finishing songs? Sometimes that can be more difficult. That’s why I’ve written “Finish Your Song! 20 Ways To Overcome Creative Roadblocks.” Click here to finish more songs faster and better. Or click on the image below. Thanks!

God Bless,


finish cover 3D

Wordplay Thursday

26 thoughts on “Wordplay Thursday #125”

  1. His eyes burned as Chase blinked hard against the sting of sweat.Salty lips twitched like a bug on a griddle as he gripped the smooth handle of his 45 with a cold, clammy hand. The knot in his stomach twisted as his finger pulled against the trigger…………
    An acrid smell told him it was over.

  2. His grips on the tattered arm rests were vice like as the small antiquated plane struggled to ascend from take off. Alarms blared from the cockpit and he was sure he could smell smoke. He closed his eyes and pretended he was back at the bar staring into the mirror behind the whiskey bottles.

  3. You tell yourself, “I’ve been here before”, heart beating so fast you can see your chest moving, you don’t remember washing your hands but they are damp, your legs as wobbly as jell-o during an earthquake. You have practiced this shot so many times in your mind it seems familiar. You choose your favorite bowling ball and deliver the strike for your team’s championship.
    You then remember, THAT’s why you put in the work!

  4. My knees shook, my teeth shattered, my feet shiffered and my heart throbed when she crossed my path, her scent lingered for days, as her breath took mine away, her touch lead me a stray to the Broadway walk of fame of country’s past.

  5. Kissing her for the first time as she snuggles closer and closer, anxiety takes over and he begins to sweat, asking himself if this is love’s time or should he wait.

  6. Eyes wide with fear, his nostrils stretched and flared as the hot smoke slowly rose, and the straw in the barn began to crackle, sending sparks into the darkness.

    “Easy, Fella,” she soothed, grabbing the worn out halter, its fraying rope rough against the palm of her hand. Feeling through the dark with only the flicker from the emerging sparks helping her find his beautiful face, his brief, trusting glance said it all. She covered his eyes with her new wool sweater and lifted the halter into place.

    “Let’s go!” The back of the old wooden barn had begun to smolder as she
    led the colt to safety out into the frosty night.

  7. Nervous.

    I’m sitting up here thinking ’bout my mark out
    Just me and the bronc here in this chute
    I hear my name called by the announcer
    Sweating all the way down to my boots
    I nod my head to swing the gate wide open
    I’ve got my sights on that winner’s pay
    Then my dreams come crashing down around me
    But I’ll ride again, another day…

  8. Her heart was beating like a bass drum in her chest and her thoughts raced close behind – a bead of sweat fell as if in slow motion and splashed into oblivion as she reached for the ringing phone.

  9. She nervously glanced over her shoulder. Each rustle of palm fronds made her cringe. Was her ex following her again? This time, would he bring his gun? Her fear was greater that she would come unhinged…

  10. Nervous….
    I was, but still, I mustered the testicular fortitude to mutter,
    “Irregardless aint a proper word, Miss Ethel.”
    Ethel: “That’s not the point, Ramon; and from where do you un-
    earth the antagonism to challenge my vocabulary, huh?”
    Ramon: “From the fact that it’s not antagonistic, it’s indignation.
    Because for some reason, ma’am, you been hearkening to the
    widespread slurs and defamation, yet inattentive to the depth
    of motives and to causes and effects of the whole cinema-
    tography in front of you.”
    Ethel: “Really?! You’re going to erupt this drawl of yours? You
    really wish to go there, Ramon?!”
    Ramon: “Stop it. You used to care about me. You used to take
    me seriously. Now, I just feel apprehensive and distressed talk-
    ing with you.”
    Ethel (Laughing loudly, like Hillary Clinton): “That’s what’s anger-
    ing you to be discourteous and contemptible towards me? You
    are a grown man, Ramon. You’re not going anywhere. You are
    staying right here. If, no, when I hear just one more complaint
    about your emotional outbursts, Mr. Shameless will take my
    place in firing you. I’m not doing it because I’m not going to be
    the one that you say did you wrong. Anyway, whatever Ramona,
    Chacma, La Pantera or Lynda smoothly do to you, should not
    affect you. They all are awaiting my transfer so Mr. Shameless
    will fire you because we all know your emotions are a hot mess,
    and it’s not for me to care.”
    Then I went outside in the pouring rain because the Billow
    envelops me, still.

  11. Guitar…Fried Chicken…Guitar…Fried Chicken…Guitar…Fried Chicken. Those two words just kept reverberating in his head over & over again…back & forth…like it was a 24/7 nonstop ping pong marathon. A week ago…he was absolutely sure the theme he had read was Fried Chicken…not Guitar for Word Play #124. A week later after re reading #124 he did a double take & immediately his head began to fill up with a flood of non stop, extremely frightening thoughts…gnawing away at him like a rabid dog that hadn’t eaten for a week!! In particular…there was one thought that just wouldn’t let up…the thought…that he was losing mind!!! He quickly the ripped the phone out of it’s cradle & with in seconds dialed the number to his family doctor. Without missing a beat, him & his girlfriend tore out of their house & down the road reaching speeds up to 70 miles an hour! All the while unable to sit still begging his girlfriend to go faster & swearing to the fact that he had just lost his mind!! What ever she had to say…he didn’t hear a word of it! Flying into the doctor’s office…word’s shooting out of his mouth a mile minute…the doctor gently took him by the shoulders…sat him down & said in a quite, reassuring, calm & collected voice, ” Your OK. ” ” Relax… ” ” You’ve just been through major surgery & your suffering from a bit of PTSD. ” We’ll change your medication & you’ll be fine. ”…the words Guitar & Fried Chicken were soon long gone…

  12. Are you sure ” creative ” was the adjective you really had in mind??? Haha! On the latter…I believe sentence has been passed!

  13. Reckless days and sleepless nights,
    Head is full of thoughts all time,
    Hands are reaching for the drink,
    To forget and not to think…

    Just a piece of my poem…

  14. click. one more sip of water, my song is stuck in my throat. clack. now there’s cotton in my mouth. click. another sip of water, lukewarm only, no–body temperature—no—ROOM temperature. clack. voices chattering away in my head. now yelling “YOU’RE GOING TO MESS UP”. click….a little voice whispers in my ear, “who cares, they don’t know the words anyway” .clack. oh oh, my turn. click. I walk up to the microphone and strum my first chord with cotton balls in my mouth woooosh! stage lights blast through me like wind as I finally take the plunge and careen into my open mic performance, I can tell its all downhill from here. AaAaAAAaaAah! How’s my haaaaaaaair! what are thewooooordsagaaaain!

  15. Wow looks like I’ve been missing a lot of fun! Christmas season is over and my side hustle is done. Glad to be back..so here we go…

    Her entire body trembling while the sounds of her beating heart filled the room. The mic slips from her wet hands as the deep voice announces her name on the other side of the curtain. She feels the floor shaking as she walks into the lights warmer than the July sun. She looks out at the blurry faces, takes a deep breath in of the aroma of beer, sweat and bad perfume as she looks back stage one last time. She sees her fathers worn, wrinkling and blistered hands give her thumbs up. With her half grin she knows it’s time to wow the crowd.

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