Just a quick note: If you have any prompt or activity ideas, IC or OOC, please contact me or Calypso Starling! You're all so creative. We would love to hear your suggestions.

Ok, well I've been a little behind with the club this past prompt. I am so impressed with all of your pieces - they're incredible! I actually had individual feedback for each of you, and got behind with giving it. I gave Ashley's and Anja's already, and here's the rest (sorry it took so long):

@Ginger Crowdy I loved the beautiful descriptions! This line pair was my favorite, I think: "To forget all those things./All those things."

@Lucia Fox wow!!! It was so beautiful and melancholy. The whole thing was powerful, but this passage stood out to me: "I sing/And my song is not one of freedom/Or one of capture/Or one of happiness/Or one of mourning./I sing/And my song is full of wishes." And "That is why I sing"

@Rhea Miller I was enthralled from the opening "Look to the skies." It had such an amazing beautiful desperate tone. The way you wrote it in the second person, almost as a set of instructions, but still feeling very personal as if the narrator is describing themselves, is just so perfect. Idk why you say you can't write poetry, that seemed pretty darn poetic to me. I would try to pick out specific lines but it's all flawless to me. Seriously.

@Gabriela Haworth I loved the introspective, philosophical, almost meandering nature of your piece. But at the same time it's almost distressed and anguished. I was so interested to learn about the narrator/subject. The end was so great: "They cannot see it, but all I can do is see it. If anything, they are the mad ones."

@Eliza Corrids what? How can you possibly hate it? You somehow stuck to an alphabetical format without making it obvious or damaging the integrity of the actual piece and how it reads. The almost swaggering vibe was fun to read, and the rhyming was so impressive!

@Aurora Ranvier a song?! That is so above my level lol. It's so bewitching and elegant and melancholy and reminiscent. Tbh it kind of reminded me of Seven, by Taylor Swift. Some of those lines you have in there are killer. "Leaving all the memories/locked inside a rusty wardrobe/It used to be our hideout." And "Tin can telephones/left with no response" Knockout last line: "Are there still things we haven't outgrown?"

Alright, I finally wrote something. I had writer's block pretty much all week last week and I was so tired, but I wrote this yesterday. It's now what I wanted, but I won't get anything done if I'm never satisfied. *Begrudgingly tries to let go of perfectionist tendencies. Keyword being 'tries'*

Whispers rise from the darkness.
What are they saying?
Nothing.
What are they not saying?
Everything.
I turn, but I’m too late.
The figures have turned to smoke, and wisped away.

Frantic
I run.
Run run run;
Away from the lies and fake smiles,
The treachery and slimy slippery deeds
Of those too hopeless to care.
But I am not hopeless
Yet.
There may be a chance
But I’m running
Out of time.
Running, running.

My feet ache
But I don’t dare let them slow
Let them stop
Lest I fall behind and become
Forgotten.
Forgotten like all those centuries worth
Of sacrifices and love
And pain and violence and
Hate.
We forget,
Forget
So that we can justify our passivity.
Our unwillingness to change.
But when we ignore history,
It has a way of catching up to us.

I’m slowing now.
No.
No, I mustn’t.
But I do.
The train tracks below my feet seem to stretch for miles,
Not another soul around.
I am the only one.

It’s too far
Too much
Too hard.
I slump to the brown, shriveled grass,
Defeated.
But then, a sound.
The whistle
Of a train.
I look back, over my shoulder and
Sure enough, it’s fast approaching.
Speeding toward where I sit.
No, stand: I rise to my feet, barely daring to hope.
And the battered, rusted, graffitied old clunker
Is beautiful to my eyes.

I ready myself.
Shaking out my weary limbs,
Sharpening my sluggish thoughts
On the whetstone of my mind.
Here it comes.
I cannot miss it.
Faster, faster,
Closer, closer.
This is my one shot.
I bend my knees,
A newborn fawn, preparing to jump.
My hands outstretched
Like the tree branches of spring.
Here. Now.
I leap.
Freedom.

Reading this over, I realize it may sound kind of suicide-y? I meant for the subject to be catching the train, not throwing themselves under it, to be clear.

Hello all you W.O.R.D.-ies! Today, as it is the fourth Monday of March, we will not be participating in a prompt but rather an IC group rp. For those who are unfamiliar with the club's schedule, we have an OOC writing prompt each of the first three Mondays of the month, then on the fourth we have an rp where our characters participate in the three prompts. Sound good? Ok! As IC Spring Break this year is from March 28th to April 11th, we will be backdating the meeting to Thursday the 25th. Hope you can make it, and here's the link.

Prompt #5

Like mentioned above, you will need a novel for this prompt, any novel. Once you have a book in your hands, close your eyes and flip to a random page. Run your finger along the page and then stop at a random spot. Open your eyes and look at the word your finger landed on. Write the word down (if it's inappropriate or you don't feel comfortable using it, you don't have to). Repeat the process until you have 7 - 10 words. You can use the same page of the book for all of your words or you can flip to a new one each time. When you have 7 - 10 words, use them in a poem. The poem can have other words in it, but challenge yourself to use the words you wrote down from the book. It can be silly if you want it too, or serious, or melancholy, ect., completely your choice! If you want to share, please type in the words you found in the book and the book's title and author above your piece. As always, sharing is completely voluntary and positive feedback is encouraged. Happy writing!

Book and Author:
Anne of the Green Gables (one of my favorites when I was younger), L. M. Montgomery

Words:
white, whole, Anne, crop, clock, shining, now, yourself, her, call

Hear

Do you hear the sky?
For it calls for you, every morning, without fail
And it continues, late into the night

Do you hear the sun?
Do you hear it shining?
Do you hear her, how she sings?

The clock's ticks are all that fill your ears
Aren't they, Anne?
Do you never listen?

The wind rustling through the crops is
but an invitation, girl;
Take it, it's much delayed

Do you hear how it burns?
White-hot, searing
Yet its cries and calls are not of pain

(come on, listen for yourself)

Now, we ask, for what do you wait?
The sun, the sky, the wind, the fire
They all call for you

Do you wait for yourself?
Do you hear, or do we expect more than you give?

Do you hear yourself, Anne?
Do you hear your song?
For there is much to be learned from its words

(come on, listen for yourself)

Not really sure what it's supposed to be about and I think the rhythm's off, but it's not a "rhythm" kind of piece.

Wow, @Ashley Coulson and @Lillian Davis! Great poems!

Ash I loved the whole tone of the piece, the sort of wondering remembrance of it. I would have thought the use of a proper noun would be limiting in this format, but it really adds to the poem in this case. You used your words really well. Bravo!

Lillian what stood out to me was how you used questions to form your poem. I often end up doing the same in mine. One of my favorite lines was, "For it calls for you, every morning, without fail/And it continues, late into the night"; and "Do you never listen?"; and "Do you hear how it burns?/White-hot, searing/Yet its cries and calls are not of pain". Actually, it was all beautifully executed and worded, so I won't go on quoting you.

Imma do mine tomorrow, it's semi-late where I am.