Today’s workshop consisted of writing a number of words (a name, a place and four descriptive ones) and then passing these to another person to use as the basis for their writing. This writing had to be produced within a time limit of ten-fifteen minutes.
My words (courtesy of Ken) were:
John Dobequick, Wizened, at the Greyhound, Cromford, Wizened, Threatningly, Devastation, Totally
This provoked the following poem (and also a short piece of prose).
Thick as an old Ent,
Though not as mobile
Smiles as he sees someone
Trying to triple-barrel his name
Prefers to leave his roots awhile
Still in the earth,
His trunk of burnt, pirate dirt
Not yet opened.
At The Greyhound, Cromford
The old seafarer keeps a wary eye
For the wizened wanderer
Who might stay too long
drawn-out, just-popping-in-to-make-fun-of someone
Is totally unruffled
By the falling of such leaves
And the apparent devastation
these humans preach,
breathing subtle whispers upon each other.
He is not yet quite as wise as an Ent
But each winter does not dent his resolve,
Only armours deeper his old skin.