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
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 :)
ReplyDeleteThis 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.
ReplyDeleteThanks!
Ah, but still men die. Hopefully a few less now?