Hello readers, regular and visitors. This is Brenda’s Wordle #9. Click the image to read the words.
Those of you who have not given wordles a whirl, hurry over. They are fun. Even if you don’t write one, it’s fascinating to see both the diversity and the commonality of the poems written to the wordles. Here is mine:
Black night and only the fire’s light sparks
the face of the storyteller as he looks at the people
seated around him, nods his head, and tells
them of stories etched in stone and bone, no
gossamer creations, but ancient truths of temples
where their ancestors worshipped sky serpents, no
stardust creatures, but fearsome dragons sliding
through slits in the sky’s fabric to tangle tooth
and claw the threads of their ancestors’ lives.
Sometimes there are no process notes. Sometimes the poem is there, full born from the moment the words meet the brain. Those fascinate me the most, as I want to know from what subterranean cell they came from.
I shall see you Tuesday for an open prompt — that’s right, you don’t have to use a form, but you can; Thursday we discuss poetic inversions; and Friday I shall see you for the roundup.