[stylist] Writing exercise

[Barbara Hammel]

I plan on doing another assignment but thought, since everyone else was 
posting old stuff, I would too.
Barbara

  WHAT I DID ONE DAY
By Barbara Hammel

When I was just a little tyke
I went one day upon my bike
Across the grass of em'rald green
That rain had just washed fresh and clean.
And lo! Before my very eyes
I saw a gently sloping rise.
Twas all a mass of flowers bright
Beneath the glow of summer's light.
I pedaled slowly to the brink
But I could not find any pink,
For pink was what I loved the best
So off I went without a rest
Through perfumed waves of floral bliss,
The scent was like a lover's kiss.
I rode in silence what seemed hours
Through all the rainbow-colored flow'rs.
And at what seemed to be the top
There I decided I would stop.
I had not found a single bloom
Of pink to deck our living room
And looking down the other side
I saw no pink so didn't ride.
I went across the top instead
Through vi'lets blue and roses red
Through lilacs purple, orange mums
And yellow-gold nasturtiums.
Until at last I came to face
The edge that dropped off into space.
At least I thought it to be so
For at my feet lay winter snow.
I knew back then as just a child
Snow could not be when summer smiled.
I left my bike and went to stand
Upon what seemed the edge of land.
Then I knelt down to touch what lay
Like snow upon this summer day.
It was not cold like snow should be,
But rather soft and cottony.
So mystified I could not think,
And I forgot about the pink,
I sat right down at flowers' edge
And put my feet down o'er the ledge.
And then I pulled them up again
And my eyes nearly popped out when
I looked down through the hole I'd made
And saw the yard in which I played.
My sister Anne was playing there
With sunbeams dancing in her hair
A drop of rain fell on her head
Then up at me she looked, and said,
"My goodness! there is Abigail!
How'd you get on the rainbow trail?"
And as I waved, behold I spied
Right to my left a silver slide,
I grabbed my bike and without thought
Of consequence that could be brought
I pedaled off that flow'ry shore
And down that silver slide I tore.
I sped without a thought in brain
For I was racing down the rain!
I whooped and yelled as I drew near
And Anne cried out, "Oh dear! oh dear!"
But soft and gentle as spring show'rs
I came to rest beside some flow'rs.
And there I saw the reason why
I'd climbed that path into the sky.
For right beneath my very nose
There grew a pink wild prairie rose.



Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.--Robert Frost
-----Original Message----- 
From: Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Monday, April 15, 2013 2:18 AM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Writing exercise

Dude, we need some writing again, grin. Thanks to the poets who have
been gracing us with their poems, but we need more participation.
Perhaps a writing exercise will include more of us and hopefully prompt
some sharing and discussion again.

So... Let's see, hmmm... I've been reading a lot of fantasy lately, so
how about we all try our hand at some form of fantasy or at least
magical realism. It can be scary, suspenseful, set in our world or in
another, can be Tolkien-like or the polar opposite of Tolkien. Post your
poems, fiction and even nonfiction .

Magical realism, BTW, doesn't necessarily have to have fantastical
characters or plots. Magical realism is essentially a heightened sense
of reality. So if fantasy or supernatural stories aren't your cup of
tea, let magical realism be your guide.

Bridgit


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