Would you?

UnderYourSpell

Gerund Whore
Joined
May 20, 2007
Posts
15,794
If I singled you out by name and gave you a subject to write about, could you, would you do it?
 
I used to do this back in school (I was a creative writing student at Cincinnati's School for Creative and Performing Arts many years ago). So I'm a little rusty, but yes, I think I could do it. Bring it on.
 
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Possibly. Ya never know! It depends on whether it inspires me to do so.
 
Possibly. Ya never know! It depends on whether it inspires me to do so.

Ah but isn't that the point of the exercise to see if you're a good enough poet to write about something (and make it interesting) that you haven't the slightest bit of interest in? :)
 
No need, my hubby's a Mackem. :D Any time restraint? Any form?

I thought to myself afterwards 'damn I think you told me you were English born' but too late lol no form at the moment but written and posted here before Friday please
 
Ah but isn't that the point of the exercise to see if you're a good enough poet to write about something (and make it interesting) that you haven't the slightest bit of interest in? :)
..
If someone suggests nano-clams, I'm getting the shell out of here
 
EducatedOwl you subject is a blunt pencil

I could stop for a moment;
I could taper this blunted graphite nub
To a fine point,
Then return,
Needle-sharp
And ready to paint words
As prettily
As any Japanese calligrapher.

My letters are misshapen.
My hand begins to ache
From pressing too hard
Against the desk.
My lines are punctuated
By brown-gray marks
Where wood has scraped paper.

But the words keep coming;
They will not stop for my convenience.
And even if they would,
Who knows if
I could start them flowing again?
So I glance across the room
To the sharpener
Wistfully,
And think,
Not for the first time:
Not yet.
 
I could stop for a moment;
I could taper this blunted graphite nub
To a fine point,
Then return,
Needle-sharp
And ready to paint words
As prettily
As any Japanese calligrapher.

My letters are misshapen.
My hand begins to ache
From pressing too hard
Against the desk.
My lines are punctuated
By brown-gray marks
Where wood has scraped paper.

But the words keep coming;
They will not stop for my convenience.
And even if they would,
Who knows if
I could start them flowing again?
So I glance across the room
To the sharpener
Wistfully,
And think,
Not for the first time:
Not yet.

Shite! That was fast!
 
I could stop for a moment;
I could taper this blunted graphite nub
To a fine point,
Then return,
Needle-sharp
And ready to paint words
As prettily
As any Japanese calligrapher.

My letters are misshapen.
My hand begins to ache
From pressing too hard
Against the desk.
My lines are punctuated
By brown-gray marks
Where wood has scraped paper.

But the words keep coming;
They will not stop for my convenience.
And even if they would,
Who knows if
I could start them flowing again?
So I glance across the room
To the sharpener
Wistfully,
And think,
Not for the first time:
Not yet.

Nice :) think it could be honed even further (pardon the pun) in a few places but it leads to a fabulous ending (envious!) very well done :)
 
Nice :) think it could be honed even further (pardon the pun) in a few places but it leads to a fabulous ending (envious!) very well done :)

Why thank you. I think, in hindsight, you threw me kind of a softball. Others got things like Hadrian's Wall. Giving me a pencil for a subject let me just write about writing.
 
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