A poetry workshop which I attend on Saturday mornings has a format that is quite interesting and intense. The two guys (local poets) who facilitate the session will read out a poem or two and, depending on the theme or idea of the particular pieces, will then give five minutes or less for each of us to produce something along the same lines.
I was pleasantly surprised at how the brain and creative juices can be motivated in this manner.
Herewith a few of my efforts from yesterday (unedited!).
Writing about the best time and the worst time of day:
Sunrise and already up.
Walking on dew-damp grass,
exploring the sweet air,
listening to bird chatter
and planning, as steam slowly drifts from the mug,
what to avoid doing during the day.
Past midnight – tired;
mired with the lacklustre
of a flustered, frustrating day.
Bed-bound with thoughts
that still hound of the undone,
The list goes on.
Then a poem about a piece of punctuation:
The apostrophe has become a catastrophe.
Errant, inordinate and commonly current.
It isn’t where it ought to be
and inserted where it shouldn’t.
You mustn’t have a possessive without it,
but the obsessive merely appear to flout it.
Thrown as a decorative sign on vendings;
‘Tis not always attached on word endings.
It’s that’s what’s a sign of the times,
but isn’t too bad when making rhymes.