This week let’s write an extraneous poem. I am of the opinion that a poem should have the precise number of words required, no more, no less, but we can still write about the extraneous things cluttering our lives. Post your hat on a cat in the comments below.
Living Poetry 
Crouched in the scraggly, wilted weeds
growing under the weathered, faded, splintered wooden fence
crouched a feral feline, dirty, bedraggled and thin.
A few hand painted ceramic bowls
of expensive, premium cat food
he had been trapped and transformed
into a floufy, poufy, prince of a puss.
Author’s note: I needed every one of these adjectives. Not a one is “extraneous.”
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Posted by JeanMarie | September 1, 2020, 3:26 AMWell done!
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | September 1, 2020, 6:50 AMThe way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Great work!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 1, 2020, 7:18 PMhttps://prolificpulse.blog/2020/08/31/reclaiming/
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | August 31, 2020, 7:24 PMAn excellent portrait. Well done!
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | August 31, 2020, 8:12 PMThank you!
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Posted by Lisa Tomey | August 31, 2020, 9:27 PM