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 |  GoT plus the PromptMaster! and Cards Against Authors stuff (poetry and short stories) |
 Apparently this is going to be a load of writing of various types - stories, poems, reviews and, no doubt, just about anything else you can think of.. |
| Winter Sprinter Come with me now to the depths of winter when breath is so cold it seems to splinter, rasps in your throat like pepper and minter, scrapes in the lungs until your eyes squinter, rattles its way a dot matrix printer, just enough to make anyone whimper. Speak to me now of how pretty the snow, and set that beside the cold that I know. Line count: 8 Rhymed aabb For PromptMaster! Week 2 Task Prompt Prompt: Write a poem that’s almost too much. |
| Modern Art A fine mistake it would surely be if readers should be made to see that my intent right from the start is to create what might be art, and since I do it in the present its modernness is surely meant. And if I say things in strange ways, it’s just because my personal days occurred when all the poetic greats have had their say and become late. The matters that concerned them then need no restatement once again. So if I speak of things today, appropriate it is to say in language quite contemporary and methods revolutionary, the better to speak unto my peers and weave my spell about their ears. Line count: 18 Rhymed aabb For PromptMaster! Prize Prompt Week 2 Prompt: The thing that is most likely to cause your poem to be mistaken for modern art. |
| Procrastinator’s Dread I do not care for future me who lives somewhere I do not see; it’s my comfort I nurture now when irksome tasks do crease my brow. I put them off and send them on for future self to slave upon, and turn my back upon the thought how hard his days with chores I bought. But now I fear that some dark day my future me will go away, for his resentment grown so vast had worn his patience down at last; departed for some Shangri-La, he sings of freedom on guitar and I be left with endless tasks, while he in tropic sunshine basks. Line count: 16 Rhymed couplets, 8 syllables per line For Cards Against Authors, Week 1 Prompt Card: You’re afraid of your future self. Wild Card: Metaphor: Emotional growth as a fragile seed. Note: Patience grows to resentment. |
| Maybe Maybe the gift has departed Maybe imagined it was Maybe I shouldn’t have started Maybe there is no “because” Maybe it’s old age has robbed me Maybe the whole thing is dross Maybe good sense should have stopped me Maybe it’s all about loss. Maybe there aren’t any answers Maybe I should leave by the door Maybe we’re nothing but chancers Maybe - but this is one more. Line count: 12 Rhymed abab For PromptMaster! Week 1 Task Prompt Prompt: Write a poem where each line starts the same way. |
| Abandoned House I hear they do restorations these days and it’s true I could use a facelift. My foundation is sound - no worries there - and bone structure still fine and quite classic. You’ll have noticed my looks seem neglected, the weather is cruel in these parts - no surprise that my skin needs attention but nothing some care cannot fix. Darkness now fills my eyes on the world, my glasses are cracked and obscured - yet the cost of a little new glazing is hardly enough to turn suitors away. Remember that real beauty is within, there are wonders beneath all the dust of neglected memories and time - the broom of new owners clears that. So come, say you’ll risk a purchase, move in and bring life and new light - this tired old pile of dirt bricks and bone will repay you in shelter for years. Line count: 20 Free verse For PromptMaster! Week 1 Prize Prompt Prompt: The thing an abandoned house would most like to talk about. |
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