Friday, March 06, 2009

Flex Your Muscles

Go Ahead. Flex those muscles. I meant your creative muscles. That's right.Now get your creative juices flowing. Very nice. Alright, ready? You have an assignment for tonight. In my poetry class a few years ago, we were given a series of words that we had to include in our poems. We could create whatever poem we wanted as long as we used each word listed once and only once. (That's right, don't repeat any of the words.)

Anyways, it's been a few years, so hopefully I'll have every original word listed and you can work your magic. After you're done, you can read my original poem that I created from the list of words.

  1. O’ Clock
  2. vole
  3. politics
  4. candle wick
  5. blue jay
  6. phone
  7. tenacity
  8. bowl
  9. pears
  10. stetson
  11. west wind
  12. interstate

Ok, scroll down for my poem!

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Sundays at Mr. Boulderfield’s (2006)

Using the phone only once a week, four O’ Clock to be exact Mr. Boulderfield calls his grandchildren to come hear stories about the runaway vole who bolts across his kitchen, stuffing stolen crumbs with a wee hand into a make believe pocket.

And they love to come, as soon you’ll catch my drift. Despite their parents’ drawn out conversations about politics, which they patiently endure in the long drive along the interstate sitting as stiff as a candle wick that knows it’ll soon be lit

They know it’s only time before they’ll run through the doorway, begging their grandpa to join them on the old porch, a practice which has become law, with the hope that a blue jay will mingle in their presence as they picture the tiny mouse in the comfort of their imaginations

And they always believe their favorite storyteller Who gives out peeled pears to accommodate his audience. And wears the stetson hat over the shiny baldness of his head a smooth, glistening bowl surrounded by stark white hairs

Yes, they always believe their favorite storyteller Who hugs them with the tenacity of a west wind And because the slight curve in the bill of his hat always gives credence to his stories

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Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words – the words live on
for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is
immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.
-J. Michael Straczynski

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