Saturday October 15th, 2011

The exercise:

A four line poem about: the lunatic.

Didn't sell a whole lot of apples at the market this morning, which was quite unusual. Thankfully we did sell most of our veggies so we didn't do too badly, but it was definitely a strange market. Oh well, just two left to go now.

Oh, I owe you a picture of the squash haul. Here we go (minus the twenty pounds we'd just sold to the restaurant, the ones we'd set aside for this morning's market, and what we have in the basement for our own use in the next month or so):


Mine:

He knows all the right things to say,
So hell-bent on winning my heart.
Although he seems normal to me,
He's really just playing the part.

6 Comments:

Greg said...

I love how the rows of squash just stretch off into the distance, seemingly never ending – and that that's not all of them! That must have taken a couple of hours to harvest, surely?
I'm surprised too that the apples didn't sell so well at the market, but I guess they're quite easy to bring back and store for the next week?
Your poem seems quite normal today, until you remember what the prompt is, and then it gets a bit creepy :)

The Lunatic
I went and saw my girlfriend's father,
To ask for her hand, so I could marry her.
He giggled a lot but he did say yes,
And gave me her severed hand in a carrier....

Burndtree said...

Also love how perspective squashes those golden squash. And sunlight low through the railing.

---

I couldn't resist a continuation...hope you don't mind, Greg...

Her hand...was a start.
"Thanks, sir, 'tis a fine part,
but only that first part of precious She who holds von Frankenstein's heart.
Pray you, sir, pass another."

Sherry said...

The photos are beautiful. How amazing to grow so much! I love our Farmer's Market and the fall produce. We're in Minnesota, so enjoying apples and squash, also parsnips and kale. Yum.

I didn't write more on the severed limb theme, but I did combine the last two prompts into one. Kind of a prose-y poem.

Four lines about purpose

She meant to get to the market, she really did.
But there was a dog. A lumbering hairy thing, dirty blonde, with a big grin and no collar, trotting along the sidewalk, darting across an intersection rife with buses, trucks and cars, all pushing for the green light.
She never could resist a lost dog.
“C’mon,” she called, stooping down, making kissy sounds and wishing she had a treat in her pocket, “It’s OK.”

Four lines about a lunatic

They looked each other in the eye– she thought she saw a glimmer of a dare in that hairy smile right before he turned and headed for traffic again.
The cars dodged and honked and carried on gingerly.
She sucked in her breath and held it.
He was almost across when one car swerved at the last minute. Not the way the others had, but toward the dog, toward the safety of the curb and the sickening sound of high-pitched yelps.

Marc said...

Greg - it actually went quite quickly with all the help we had over Thanksgiving weekend. Otherwise... yeah, probably a day for just the two of us to do.

Yeah, the apples will keep for next week - it's just that we've got a lot more where those came from!

Ah, future in-laws :P

Burndtree - brilliant continuation :D

Sherry - always good to meet someone who enjoys farmers markets! Kat and I started out enjoying them from the customer side before making the transition to being behind the table.

I really liked the way you combined the two prompts into one story - very effective!

Drake Davenport said...

Let's see here...

---
Hiding in the darkness,
He comes from his basement,
Staking out his targets,
To drag to his basement.

Marc said...

Drake - there's a certain... I don't know, crazy intenseness to the way you rhymed basement with itself. I like it :D