Sunday September 7th, 2008

The exercise:

Stealing something I wrote today for Protagonize: write a poem from within a favorite fairy tale.

I was going to do something else entirely but this took so long to finish up and I've got too many things to do today, so... there we go.

Mine:

My youngest son's name was Bob,
He was such a dirty slob;
He made his house out of straw -
Dumbest thing I ever saw.


One day Bob hosted a bash -
He invited me, how brash!
"It will be such a corker!"
That stupid little porker.


The wolf came that night, of course;
He took the party by force.
He ate Bob and all his friends -
Must have been a nasty blend.


Joe we named the middle son -
He was such a simple one.
He made his home out of sticks,
Can you believe it? How thick.


We begged: use something stronger,
Bricks would last so much longer!
But did he listen to us?
No, bricks would be too much fuss.


Those twigs couldn't stop a fly,
Much less a wolf's hungry sigh.
So Joe's wooden walls did fall,
Wolf ate him up, sticks and all.


Our eldest lad's name is Lee -
Oh he's such a smart piggy!
Lee listened to us right quick -
He built his house brick by brick.


When that big bad wolf arrived
We heard only one survived;
It was not that stupid beast:
Lee was not hurt in the least.


Now I really must be off:
Lee's prepared a lovely trough.
You'll be joining us, won't you?
Dinner is a nice wolf stew.

Saturday September 6th, 2008

The exercise:

It's funny that I had originally decided Saturday would be four line poem day so that I could have a pseudo day off but the reality is that the challenge of getting a point or story across in four lines can be more difficult that writing a poem with no restrictions.

But I shall continue on because I do enjoy a good challenge. This week the topic shall be: endless meetings.

Mine:

Winston the worm was restless and bored;
He wished he wasn't chairworm of this board.
Hearing enough, he stood and he squirmed:
"This meeting of worms is now adjourned!"

Friday September 5th, 2008

The exercise:

Def Poetry Jam Friday says: go watch Idris Goodwin performing What Is They Feedin' Our Kids?

Mine:

I know there have been some improvements in our schools recently, in particular the banning of junk food (which I'm a huge fan of), but man... it's hard to forget what I grew up with.

Vending machines where the healthiest option was salted, sugared, preserved better than a mummy peanuts? Check.

Hot dogs with white buns with toppings that were more chemicals than toppings, with a wiener made of... only the good lord knows what? Check and double check.

Your correct answer is rewarded with candy so full of sugar you're so hyper you can't sleep that night? Yeah.

I know so much more about proper nutrition now, I guess we all do. I just hope we find a way to get the message to the kids in high school who react to the junk food ban by going for lunch at the McDonald's around the corner.

Apparently Mr. Goodwin is also a rapper? I approve.

Thursday September 4th, 2008

The exercise:

I was feeling a bit stuck while working on the next chapter of Spare Change so I thought I'd make use of this blog to help with that blog. If I scratch this blog, maybe this blog will scratch that blog? Or something. Leave me alone, I'm crazy.

Aaaaanyway. The topic for today is: a gun is not the answer.

Mine:

The unthinking piece of steel in your hand is not your path to salvation. It will not bring you to the pearly gates, only to damnation.

Pulling the trigger will not clear the fog of confusion that has settled on your head. The only thing you're pulling is the wool over your eyes and your delusion will spread.

The bullet in the chamber cannot set you free. It will only dump you behind bars, can't you see? Please, please just give the gun to me.

Wednesday September 3rd, 2008

The exercise:

I came across an interesting site through Facebook the other day called Protagonize. It's an interactive fiction site, with the basic idea being that one writer contributes the first chapter then anyone else can write the next chapter, then the next, and so on. I think it's a pretty cool concept and I urge you to check it out even if you don't want to write anything. There are some very good stories going on right now.

Anyway, to the point, at last! I wrote my first piece there in a 'story' where the first chapter was a poem about the number one, the second about two and yadda yadda yadda. I came in for the poem on ten and I thought I'd share it here. So the exercise is to write a poem about a number, be it ten or twenty or whatever you decide on.

Mine:

Alright it's time right now for ten to shine,
This poem will be ten's very own shrine.
For the number that signals perfection,
Let us take a moment for reflection.

Without ten, coveting our neighbour's wife
Would simply be a normal way of life!
What would Letterman be without his Top Ten?
Would we ever watch his talk show again?

One plus none is 10, this is strange new math -
Must be the effect of Sylvia Plath.
At least there are still ten cents in a dime;
I'd say more but it's time to end this rhyme.

Tuesday September 2nd, 2008

The exercise:

Go here. Find a radio station that appeals to you and go to their website, the majority of which should have a 'now playing' listing. Use the next song title that appeals to you as your starter - it doesn't have to be your first line, just be the foundation for today's writing.

Mine:

Cold Driven - Heavier than heaven

Thomas wiped his mouth with the back of his over-sized right hand and let loose a belch saturated with chicken grease. He had begun his lunch two hours ago but he at last felt sated.

As he rose from his cumulus chair the angel Anthony materialized before him. Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes - he knew the lecture by rote now.

"Dear, dear Thomas," Anthony said without speaking, "you have been warned countless times, yet you continue to insist on indulging in this Gluttony."

Thomas could hear the capitalization of that silly word, could feel it settling into place around his neck like a pillory. What he did not notice was that he had sunk into the nimbus ground up to his ankles.

"You know it is one of the Seven Deadly Sins," Anthony continued. "We cannot allow this to continue."

"This heavenly food must be appreciated!" Thomas cried defiantly. "If it is not... what is the meaning of this?" He was now submerged up to his knees, he could feel the clammy cold inching up his thighs.

"You have been granted too many chances," Anthony said as Thomas began to flail about wildly, now waist deep; his bulging belly made him look like a demented fallen church bell. "We send you on your way this day, to the punishment your actions have made necessary."

"You can't do this!" Thomas screamed as he plunged suddenly to neck deep, the once comforting ground now clawing at his throat.

"Goodbye dear Thomas," Anthony said as Thomas began the final stage of the fall that had begun so many centuries before. He sped through the air, dropping to earth like an overripe fruit, threatening to burst before impact.

But his descent did not stop at ground level. Thomas fell through the cracks of the earth until he landed in the warm, welcoming dining hall of Lucifer, where a feast of fire awaited.

Monday September 1st, 2008

The exercise:

Today's prompt is: Labour Day. Sometimes it's best to go with the glaringly obvious. Especially during times when creativity is apparently taking a vacation with the rest of the nation.

Mine:

We do not work on Labour Day;
We do not fight on Boxing Day;
So why do we name them this way?

On Labour Day we celebrate
The working class' hard earned fate -
And it's summer's last camping date.

On Boxing Day (or is it Week?)
We honor our poor and our meek.
But really? It's the sales we seek.