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Pelican Point (a previously penned prose piece)
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Pelican Point (a previously penned prose piece) |
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pandora Member
since 1999-07-26
Posts 184 |
I won't pontificate or pretend that this piece is poetic or passionate or pragmatic.... it is a piece of prose I wrote last summer (and I patiently await my muse to provide me with the balance of this story and with the other stories to come which will be written based on every other letter of the alphabet). Anyway, please pace yourself when plunging in because this piece of prose is only partially complete and pacing yourself may perhaps provide you with some pointed proliferations in regards to the purpose of all of this... in other words... i pray readers will be patient as i pretend to perceive some kind of ending or point to all of this. Well, enuff said... here it is... for what it's worth.... ------------------------------------------------ Pelican Point Pandora packed up her pantaloons and proceeded to pick a picturesque place to party. "Pelican Point! A perfectly pleasant and pristine park!" she pondered, pointing past the pasture toward that pool of paradise. "Please people, applaud!", she pleaded and purred, proudly presenting her perfectly passionate plan to her pal Paul, and pint-sized pixie, Pamela. Paul and Pandora picked up their packages of personal and precious pearls (plus Pamela), and proceeded to pile into the purple Porsche. Passing Pontiacs, Paseos and Plymouths, they plodded down Plunket Place until the pace picked up on Primary Parkway. Passion was piqued. Pocket Pals and Presarios and other previously loved persuasions paled in comparison to parking by Pelican Point and peering out onto paradise. Paul had a problem that he had previously not paid any point to. He was parched. At Paul's persuasion, Pandora proceeded past Priscilla's Place -- portly Priscilla passed off a pretty pleasant peanut stand, sole proprietor -- and parked in a parking place at Passions Pub so Paul could purchase a pint of Pepsi and a pastrami on pita with plenty of pepper. Pandora's party practically did pirouettes into the PP (the popular appellative for Passions Pub). Pretty quickly, Pamela perched herself on the pub potty, then proceeded to prance back to Pandora and Paul where a platter of picayune peanuts was precisely placed for picking. They placated themselves, then packed up purse and pint -- Paul ordered a pint of Pete's Pilsner -- and proceeded down Primary Parkway to Pelican Point. Pandora's posture was poised, yet peculiarly paranoid. By profession, Pandora was a pizza parlor entrepreneur. She'd paid the price for paradise and she expected perfection. Paul, a pioneer in precision plastics -- responsible for putting people on other planets -- was painfully prepared to partake in the pastime of puny prattle at any pub on the pier. Problem was, though, after passing by the PP, he was no longer parched, he was plastered. Perusing Sylvia Plath, he had pointedly tried to pace himself with Pete's Pilsner, but had positively failed. His pint now empty, Paul pleaded, "Pass that Pontiac, please! Pan, I'm not pretending. I'd like to be polite, but please park at a place where I can pee!" Poor Pandora was pooped. Her prize was Pelican Point and Paul's pleading was paramount to pessimism. "Please Paul! Hold your pants on. We'll pull into Pelican Point pretty soon." Paul prayed in pig latin. His posture posed like a penguin waiting to pounce. "Pretty please, Pandora! Pick a parking spot and park. I am NOT playing!" Pandora pulled of the parkway and Paul spied a pile of pine needles, then pulled the handle on the purple Porsche and practically pounced. Panting, Paul poked his head back in t he Porsche window partially open. "Pandora, your a princess," he pined, pretty much impervious to her pragmatism. "No problem, Pauly, my pearl" she purred. Paul Prescott was not a perpetual suppler. One pint pretty much incapacitated him. Princeton was the peak of Paul's partying. Panty-waste Paul, the Pi Pragma Pi pals called him. He was a pint-weight pea in a pack of piranhas. He wasn't one for pouncing at the Princeton pub. No, Paul was a plastic entrepreneur. His purpose was poised by Peter. Parent's in Paul's neighborhood, planned. "Pauly. You will be President of a Plastics partnership," Peter had pushed. Paul was imprisoned. Peter's pension was Paul's plague. If he had proceeded with a private plaintiff practice, Paul's father's pension was pulled. So, Paul was a plastics entrepreneur. And Pelican Point sounded like paradise. ..... to be continued ------------------------------ penned by pandora a possible poet with partially imprisoned prose peaking out behind the prattle *wink* luv, pan |
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Elizabeth Santos Member Rara Avis
since 1999-11-08
Posts 9269Pennsylvania |
Perfect prose, Pandora Applauding profusely! Pondering progressing post, perhaps? Please! Pliz |
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Ted Reynolds Member
since 1999-12-15
Posts 331 |
Pure pap, but a pip. |
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warmhrt Senior Member
since 1999-12-18
Posts 1563 |
Pandora, This is proof that profundity has its place, and playfulness is always appreciated. A perky piece of prose printed on this page...I positively praise it. Kris the poet's pen...gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name ~ Shakespeare |
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Munda Member Elite
since 1999-10-08
Posts 3544The Hague, The Netherlands |
P...p...p...p...p...oh my goodness ! Hehe Loved it though ! Amazing ! |
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Nan
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-20
Posts 21191Cape Cod Massachusetts USA |
Pandora's prose publications impart in poets pure pandemonium... |
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