#4 in aimtoengage
#64 in Fantasy.. Want to get a collection of stories in all genres, of varied tasted and interests? Here are the yarns of stories I weave... A unique collection of 500 words one-shots of different tastes for the #aimtoengage conte...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Sorry we can't rent the room for a poetry club," the man said, stone-faced.
"But what's the problem if I'm paying the rent?" I snapped.
"Because people won't come and you'll eventually get broke. I'd have to drive you out since you can't pay the rent. And meanwhile I'd lose other potential customers," he calculated.
I stormed out.
With the coming of social media, the reading of books had been terribly affected. Still voracious readers do squeeze in some time for stories. But poetry had no appreciation anymore.
I was walking down the street when a lady appeared before me. She was a shriveled old thing.
"You want to bring back poetry?" she asked out of the blue.
"Y...Yess," I stammered before I could fathom what she wanted from me.
In a flick of a second, I found myself in an unknown grove with swings on which beautiful nymphs sat, everyone busy writing with golden quill on silver papers.
"Welcome to 'Poetopia'. I could help you bring back poetry, but only if you play my game," her voice floated from somewhere.
I nodded.
"But beware," the voice boomed, "If you fail, you'll stay here, composing poetry forever."
"I agree," I gulped, shivering.
"Fine, so it's very simple. I'll put you in different places. You need to speak out the name of the associated poet to get out, or you'll be trapped in that realm, and that time," said she.
"Wait, but I don't know all poems..."
"And you call yourself a poetess? Such a shame! You can't get out now," she mocked.
Suddenly I was on a horse cart, before a forest and it was pitch dark and snowing.
"Stopping by the woods, Frost," I shouted.
Immediately the surroundings changed and I was alone on a beach. And as I turned back, there were footprints left behind.
"Footprints, hmmm... A Psalm of Life , Longfellow," I mused.
I was sucked into another place and I heard the sound of sirens and could see the green fumes of a chlorine attack. To my utter horror it actually burnt my nose.
"Dulce et decorum est, Owen," I gasped.
And I found myself in a posh office. An African-American woman, walked into the office and immediately the men there stood up in respect.
"Phenomenal Woman, Angelou," escaped my lips.
And the whole scene was replaced as I was dropped in the middle of a medieval war, with horses and bows, soldiers, cannons firing.
I was confused. This could be anything.
"I'm sorry, a hint," I screamed.
There was no reply.
A wheezing arrow suddenly hit my arm.
"It's Byron," I winced.
Immediately the pain disappeared and so did everything.
I was standing in 'Poetopia', with the lady smiling at me.
"Congratulations, you passed. I'll return poetry to your world," she offered.
Suddenly I felt dizzy and soon I was in the same street.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, you may have the room," the manager shouted, rushing to catch up with me.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
500 words completed.
A/N This is the 15th entry for the #aimtoengage contest by Ambassadors and WP_Poetry
Dedicated to tanuandchamp my senior and champion poet! Love you so much!
