A Literary Jungle

Fickle, freckle, feign, and fawn.
How much longer will this nonsense go on?
Tickle, tackle, tame, and tong.
It’s went on way too long.
Shake, smack, slap, and smite.
I seek His strength to even fight.
Quake, quiver, qualm, and quiet.
It’s hold my pen or let it write.
Mangled, mixed, marled, and marred.
He knows what it’s like to be scarred.
Blare, blast, bash, and bombard.
It’s no wonder, I rely on my guard.
Useless, ugly, unwelcome, and unknown.
For so long I walked this road alone.
Equipped, eclipsed, elated, and empowered.
He walks with me all the way home.
Lit, lodged, laved, and lined.
A little too known to speak my mind.
Caged, cornered, coined, and chimed.
I’m grateful for a Savior’s love so kind.

8-22-2019 Thursday
Written by Gail Brookshire

FREEWRITING

She’s given an assignment
That feels like a test.
To write about the book bag
Sitting on her desk.
It’s purple and big
And lying so still.
Its lifeless structure
Is the ultimate kill
To a writer in need
Of something to say.
It just doesn’t move
Or talk in any way.
So what should I say
While writing to you?
If you can think of something
Then let me know too.
I can’t get this going
There’s nothing in my head.
The idea is stupid.
The book bag is dead.

10-23-1992
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: English Instructor Judith Staples