Those cornish game hens that I bought were a mixed bag, to be sure. Gave one to my daughter who raved over the taste and texture, but the one I baked might as well have been a feral bird harvested from a parking lot. Tonight I’m giving the tough meat a second chance as soup stock. I’ve read that adding a little vineger will help the calcium out of the bones and into the broth, so I write as the pot simmers.

 

A peek into the trunk of my car after lunch brought a smile when I recognized this long lost page in a notebook I’d recently tossed in there. It’s a page of topics for the Poetry Game that I came up with as a fun thing to do with another daughter. We’d pick any word on this page then write poetry using that word.

For me it was entertaining. For my daughter, not so much, mostly because I put time constraints on the game to move it along. That’s a good idea for the same reason that a timer should be part of any scrabble game.

The theory is that fun ideas don’t need some grand beginning, just a personal take, well described.

Since the best ideas are often worked loose in a common exchange such as a conversation, this random word approach causes the mind to search for the response to the word as would happen in that setting where there isn’t a long time to ponder.

 

So, as a little experiment I just now selected ‘pulled along’ from the word list and wrote prose, just like in the old days.

 

“Pulled Along”

 

She sought out the wisdom

while he went after food

both were set to conquer

and wore the conquerers ‘tude

 

He soon obtained free samples

while she, a little friend

both pulled along in earnest

to where their fates might send

 

She helped the little traveler

find parents and their car

and reunite that lost one

who’d walked behind too far

 

Her guy went to the counter

where wafts of Thai abound

that filled his nose with splendor

from rice bowl’s tasty mound.

 

And when they met up later

both filled and satisfied

they talked about the treasures

their fates that day supplied.

 

Though soon enough his faded

(he had to eat again!)

she long enjoyed her memory

of found-child’s happy grin

 

Well! the soup turned out just fine. The vineger seems to have boiled away as hoped, and the broth is stocked with the barley, quinoa, and other grains.

 

And I still love writing prose : )