In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes*; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?

* C.S. LEWIS, J.R.R. TOLKIEN, SHERLOCK HOLMES, G.K. CHESTERTON, N.D. WILSON, AND P.G. WODEHOUSE, ARE ENCOURAGED

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Microfiction: poetry: triolet pt. 2


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A while

It’s been a while
Since I’ve seen your face
I miss your smile
It’s been a while
It seems a mile
Since you needed space
It’s been a while 
Since I’ve seen your face

Microfiction: poetry: triolet pt. 1


Sailing

Cresting a wave
Chasing the sun
Tomorrow to save
Cresting a wave
Sailing as brave
As the maiden run
Cresting a wave
Chasing the sun

Microfiction: Poetry: Clerihew

some non-winning entries of mine from the writing contest. DEFINITION OF CLERIHEW HERE.



Jane Austen

Writerly Jane Austen
Didn’t live in Boston
But England, writing books on gents
And ladies of romantic bents

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Teddy Roosevelt

The mighty Teddy Roosevelt
Went on safari, procuring a pelt
Rose to president, but went on to bungle
By dying of fever he caught in the jungle

November

November is the pearl-grey month, the changeling between warm crimson October and cold white December; the month when the leaves fall in slow drifting whirls and the shapes of the trees are revealed. When the earth imperceptibly wakes and stretches her bare limbs and displays her stubborn unconquerable strength before she settles uneasily into winter. November is secret and silent.

Alison Uttley