Random Words

Poetry. 

I'll admit, it was nowhere near to even being close to being on my radar:
"Poetry????! Oh no-no-no-no-no-no-no. Definitely Not. For. Me." .....That's something other - far more creative - folk partake in. That's highbrow stuff for God's sake; dense and impenetrable.

In a nutshell: Poetry? No.

Long story short: I allowed myself to be recruited to a local poetry group. A simple moment of madness, that probably has turned out to be one of the sanest things I've ever done. True, my sanity is questionable at best but still..

I'm sure as this blog grows I will elaborate a tad on my life, me; how I became me; how this blog came to be here; where these words have come from.....I leave that as a (hopefully) enticing cliffhanger.. 


A bit about the group:

We meet monthly.

Each month we choose a "prompt" - a word or phrase to use as inspiration for a poem.

Each month we also each pick one word. The aim is to create a short (the shorter the better) poem or piece of prose that contains all of the chosen words. We call this (imaginatively) The Random Word piece.

Somebody always picks a word that you really wish they hadn't. Therein lies the challenge!


The random words for the following three pieces were:

Fleeting

Purse

Sorry

Moment

Midsummer

Stubborn

Dandruff (yup, like I said, there's always one!)

Agitate

I've included the word count for each poem. Have a go - I'd be really interested to read your attempts to get dandruff in there! 



Vegas

(A Cautionary Tale)

(64)


Her pursed lips agitated him,

That stubborn defiance that lay within,

One moment of midsummer madness,

Now she clung to him like chronic dandruff,

He paused a beat, the blade aloft,

Then down and deep into the soft,

The purse gave way to slackened jaw,

The crimson dripping to the floor,

So too the vows to love and honour,

Sorry Vegas, she's a goner!



Damn Dandruff!

(45)


Fleet of foot he took the moment,

Snatched the purse,

But she was stubborn,

Whirling round with agitation,

Squinting in midsummer sun,

But then, the hint of recognition,

She’d met with him the previous week,

The dandruff lotion on prescription,

She, indeed, was his G.P!




No Tomorrows 

(59)


It was a momentary sorrow,

Just a fleeting agitation,

Born of stubborn fear,

Of tomorrow's cancellation,

That thick midsummer’s eve,

Drenched in rich and golden sun,

They found her pale and lifeless,

Her purse, like her, undone,

Spilling forth like sullied snow,

Or some freshly fallen dandruff,

The stuff that snuffed her out,

Left weaving patterns on the rug.



All poems written by Mel White 2026




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