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Writing Poetry Against My Will

I don’t write poetry, y’all. But a delightful writing group I’m a member of contains a wonderful and amazing poet. Her writing prompt this month was, “We’re gonna write some poetry.”

Wait. Say, what?

But I am nothing if not compliant. Usually that applies to medical instructions, PT exercises, and spiritual direction, but when a poet tells me to write, I write. (She, biased as she is, would probably say poetry is spiritual direction.)

So on this darkening day in New Orleans in a city known for its rolling thunder when even I concede the dog is not exaggerating how intimidating the approaching booms are, I share with you my stab at poetry:


When New Orleans is overwrought 
with lipstick pink and powdered white and leggy lavender
crêpe myrtle trees 
untrimmed, we have an embarrassment of extravagance.
Don’t these people know
how to keep their exuberance 
in submission?

Yeah, it’s short but that’s poetry.

Share only supportive observations in the comments below. I will choose to take them all as sincere.

In signing off, through any and all circumstances, under duress or free-wheeling it, grumbling at the demands or soaring in an alternate universe of creation, remember: Happy Writing!

exuberance when writing poetry
The city can’t help itself, nor can I when writing poetry

crepe myrtles in new orleans, prose writer writing poetry, writing poetry

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