The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: gathering.
Between Miles' cold getting much worse overnight and a howling wind blowing for 90% of the day, today did not go as planned.
But Kat still made pancakes for breakfast, we had homemade pizza for dinner, and I made oven roasted pears for dessert. So, clearly, turning forty-young was not all bad.
Mine:
The Master heard the shots ring out down below,
Followed by metallic pings,
And with hands made clumsy by panic and sweat,
Began gathering his things
2 comments:
That doesn't sound quite like it gelled with your original plans, but it also sounds like you made the best of it -- and you can still go to dinner later in the week and celebrate then. It'll be just like the days when I used to comment that you had a birthweek rather than a birthday :)
This is a nice sedate verse in the middle of the action that brings us nicely up to date on what's going on! I like it :)
Gathering
They gather round the Robot and confuse
Its electronic sensors, turning them
To generators of white noise. Now miss-
-iles fly to random points but still men die.
Greg - hah, yes. We actually went for dinner last Saturday instead and it was quite lovely.
Thanks!
Ah, but still men die. Hopefully a few less now?
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