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Saturday October 1st, 2011

The exercise:

A four line poem about: control.

It rained on the drive to Penticton this morning, during our stall setup, and for the first hour and a bit of the market. Which kept the customers away for a good portion of the time we were there. Which cost us a good chunk of money (but we still ended up doing okay).

So I was struggling with accepting that the weather is not under my control, no matter how much I might wish it to be otherwise.

Mine:

They tell me that I'm in control
When I'm behind the wheel,
But with all these crazy drivers
That's not how I feel
at

6 comments:

  1. Greg2 October 2011 at 00:45

    If the weather were under your control, you'd have to hide somewhere. As soon as people found out, you'd have no end of begging letters and requests for sunshine for christening and weddings, rain for farmers, and demands for a new ice age for the world from me. Glad you did ok after the rain stopped though; I guess this is another reason for ending the markets when the weather gets too bad for people to come out.
    Heh, great little poem; lovely expression in just four lines.

    Control
    The second step is self-control,
    A conscious slowing of the breath,
    Awareness comes that life and death,
    Are aspects of the whole.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Unknown2 October 2011 at 07:06

    weather control would be nice, but what i really would like control of is the "haze:" it be forest fire season in Sumatra, apparently.

    Mine:

    Life would be easier
    If placed in a box,
    So I could just walk away
    When I run out of quarters.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Denin2 October 2011 at 07:47

    He begged for the wheel,
    a chance at control of this ride,
    forgetting the cliffs,
    and the brakes that were dead.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Marc2 October 2011 at 23:17

    Greg - a new ice age, huh? I'll see what I can do... I mean, um, nothing. Carry on then. As you were.

    Now you've got me wondering what the first step is.

    Jack - sounds like you could use a really, really big fan.

    Gotta love an arcade poem. Nicely done!

    Denin - I was not expecting that final line, at all. Good stuff :)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Drake Davenport3 October 2011 at 09:38

    My, how quickly we lose control,
    When devices of our making disappear.
    My, how hard it is to rise,
    And change the channel by hand.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Marc4 October 2011 at 00:02

    Drake - haha, love it :D

    ReplyDelete

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