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April 3rd JP Poem Pick

Today’s poem was chosen by Karla Linn Merrifield. Please, for those members that have not done so yet, send your favorite poems to Kitty so we can share them with the group!

Macbeth at the Writers Group – by Tim Diggles

Thank you for sharing that with us William
I hope you don’t mind if I call you Bill
We’re an informal friendly group open to all and here to offer you help

I must say I found your play interesting I’m sure the others did
You have a how can I say it very different style to the rest of us
That’s not saying it’s wrong of course just different

Maybe rewriting it as flash fiction would make it more powerful
We had a dramatist as a member a while ago
Some of you may remember Ken

Ken wrote amusing monologues and a local Amateur Dramatic Society
Performed some but they didn’t go down well and we were told
By the library that if Ken still attended we’d lose the room

Marcia chirruped in have you had anything published Bill I have
Maybe as a fellow writer I could offer you some tips
I think your play is a bit gloomy people like happy things don’t you think

I had my first well my only poem published by an American publisher
The World’s Anthology of Poetry I’m sure you know it
I bought the Special Leather Bound Edition it’s a pity they spelt my name wrong

No I haven’t read the other poems there are so many mine’s on page 497
I read it to Benji every day he purrs every time he hears it
It’s called
The Baby Lambs in Spring happy things Bill that’s what people want

Frank butted in booming from his corner seat
Well I think you missed a great opportunity Bill
Those witches that sort of thing witches wizards sells

Frank is one of our stars four articles published so far this year
Aye one just last week in
Dog Fighting Monthly
I’ve got another soon in
The Slaughter Man’s Digest

Those witches and that bloke Macbeth they could have a naked orgy
Then the witches could take over his body and have lesbian sex with Lady Macbeth
Aye I know who’d publish that aye that sort of thing sells

Walter timidly raised his hand to offer his opinion
I couldn’t see any influence by the working class on this play
We needed to see how the people rise up and overthrow the tyrants

And you should think about the language you use
William I know our brothers and sisters on the street
They won’t understand a word you write

They would sympathise with Brother and Sister Macbeth
Oh and I’m sorry just another minor criticism you don’t reflect the community
You know William in Scotland there are many minorities

You appear to have written only about white Scottish characters
Why not make Sister Macbeth a Muslim shop steward
With a violent husband have you read Trotsky

Well Bill Veronica interjected or as the Garuntians would call you Vog
Well Vog what you write about reminds me of my time on Garuntia
I was abducted by a Garuntian inter stella craft while I was gardening

It’s unfortunate I didn’t have my writing book pencil and camera on me
I do carry them everywhere now so that next time I am properly prepared
But I have all my notes here about the experiments they performed on me

I’ve gone into great detail about the extensive vaginal and anal probing
I can show you the marks some of the deeper ones are quite startling
You know Vog I have been called a genius by my pen friend in Dartmoor

He reads everything I write and is always asking for more detail
When he is released in twelve years he wants to closely examine where they probed
Have you ever been abducted by aliens Vog

Well I think we’ve had a good discussion about your play Bill
It raised some interesting issues and I hope was helpful to you
Maybe when you’ve done some rewriting you’ll bring it back to us

Now Gerald I think it’s your turn to read next
Is it another amusing story of your time as an embalmer

Published in the Winter/Spring 2013 issue of The Centrifugal Eye

Amazing. Great pick Karla! Absolutely hilarious. For some reason, this poem makes me think of my high school English teacher. He was five-feet-nothing, bald, bespectacled, and walked around the classroom like Hitler, whacking the desks of slouching students with a yardstick. I will never forget Mr. Smagin. Let’s write a  poem about high school English teachers–I told you I would try to make today’s prompt more specfic!

Have fun with it!


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