Creativity, Poetry, Writing

what if…?

I sometimes get stuck in ruts.

Thankfully, some of the ruts in which I get stuck are rather fun. Poetry in the style of nursery rhymes, rhyming couplets, and Dr. Seuss is one of my favourite fun ruts. A good 50 per cent of my output these days is in the form of rhyming poetry, and during my once-a-week writing group meetings, it represents almost all of my creative output.

On one recent occasion, our writing group leader invited us to consider “what if…?” scenarios. We each wrote one scenario on a slip of paper, which the group leader then gathered and read aloud one by one. Here’s what we collectively came up with:

  • What if sex was considered therapeutic?
  • What if solar energy proceeded gasoline energy?
  • What if Hillary Clinton had won the election?
  • What if everything could disappear and reappear?
  • What if Mozart wrote terrible music?
  • What if writing had never been invented?
  • What if there were only one colour and it was pink?
  • What if Sir Lancelot had not betrayed Arthur with Guinevere?
  • What if it did not take two sexes to make offspring, but mankind could breed as worms do with a male and female at either end?

We then had 15 minutes to write whatever we wished using one of the scenarios as a starting point. Not surprisingly, given the rut in which I’m currently stuck, this is what transferred from my brain, to the pencil and onto the page:

what if…?

© 2018 punkie

 

what if…?

© 2018 punkie

if we humans bred like worms,
would we think ourselves infirm?

without the need for sex to matter
would we all be mad as hatters?

no more kissing, no more love,
no more need for latex gloves

toss those condoms in the bin
with the funnest of our sins

how would things be in this plane?
sure we’d be forever changed

the bits and bobs we all keep hidden
would no longer be forbidden

the thought of it makes me depressed
perhaps that means i’m oversexed

imagine how we’d reproduce
if sexless sex we introduced

round in circles goes the male
makes a baby with his tail

and when the like of eve creates
with herself she procreates

oh good lord, don’t you see?
i would rather be a flea!

please god tell me it ain’t so
just before to bed i go

 

© 2018 Susan Macaulay. I invite you to share my poetry and posts widely, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.

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