Today, I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Not of contention, but of expression. Of attention to poetic detail. Today, I want you to use some form of the word bone in your poem.
Still stuck? The human body’s got 206 of ’em. Pick one and get writin’. (The wrist bone’s connected to the poem bone…)
New to the Q? Here’s the bones of it:
Pen us a poem of precisely 44 words (not counting the title), including some form of the word bone. Post your poem on your own blog, and link up with us using the Mr. Linky below. Then spend some time making your way around the interwebs, as you read and comment on the amazing work of your fellow poets. The Quadrille is here all week, so be sure to come back and read (and write) some more!
***
Frozen to the bone, she said
Tried to hear, clear my head
Looked around so helplessly
Not a stick of wood did I see
I only had this book of mine
A diary when I was in decline
Now it too, will suffer dying.
***
And of course, the classic:
The Bag Lady 
Sometimes, we must let our old, hurting selves go just to keep living. Nice write Cheryl. 👏
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Thank you. I’m trying to limit my news watching.
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Depending where you are in the world it’s probably not news but opinion masquerading as fact. 👍
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Neatly said. (What you need, you won’t lose.)
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oft suffering becomes sustinance
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To survive, that diary of decline is best thrown into the fire. Great Q, Cheryl.
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Oh, my. I’d hate to lose all that history, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
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When it’s time, go with a BOOK!!
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Good shape poem, Cheryl. Maybe it was time to ash those memories anyway…
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