Get ready for this weekend's creativity challenge 😊. It’ll run until Monday.
I dare you to write a 149-word poem or story using the following words: vegetarians, commoner, fulfill, spoonfuls.
To enter just paste your response in the thread below. All 4 words must be included. Whoever has the most likes, wins!
We’ll showcase the top challenge responses in our newsletter. And the best part, you, our readers, decide who wins. The entries with the highest number of likes will be declared the winners. You’ll have until Sunday or Monday midnight to post your response. Once we lock the thread, we give a few more days for everyone to vote. Then we’ll reveal the writing champions and their entries! Are you up to the challenge?
When fitness freak, Gerard, president of the “I am not a Commoner Club,” an organization of devout vegetarians, heard about virtues of beef bone broth, he secretly decided to try it—fulfill his desire to remain healthy. Disguised in wig and baseball cap, he strolled into the restaurant confidently. With one sip of the liquid, he fell madly in love. Then, as luck would have it, he spotted Betty, a member of the Commoner Club. A big mouth! Should he be found eating anything made with meat, he would be ridden out on a rail, so he began gulping down spoonfuls splattering the brown substance all over his shirt and tie, but he didn’t care. Beef bone broth was delicious! The more he gulped, the stronger he became. To heck with kale, and seeds, and Betty! he decided, if eating this delicacy makes me a commoner, so be it.
In my early thirties, I found myself roaming the streets in my neighborhood during the day, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. All my friends from school had settled into stable careers by then. Most of them had gotten married. My driver's license was revoked due to a mental condition, so my freedom was limited. I couldn't apply for jobs that were too far away or that required driving.
So I decided to take up a hobby. I became a vegetarian and joined an animal rights group. I thought that would fulfill my quest for meaning in life, though that kind of thing was mostly for leisured folks with time and money to spare, not a commoner like me.
Within a few months, I lost interest in fighting for humane treatment of animals, and went back to eating meat, after downing spoonfuls of mushroom tofu with rice.
in a quaint village, amidst fields of green
lived a commoner, humble and serene
with every sunrise, his hands toil the soil
in harmony with nature, his simple life’s foil
but whispers spread of his peculiar choice
shun meat, embracing a veggie voice
vegetarians scoffed, “He’s not one of us!”
yet he found solace in his garden’s lush
with each harvest, he felt a joy untold
nourishing his soul, not just for gold
for him, fulfilment came in spoonfuls sweet
of earth’s bounty, his daily treat
the commoner smiled at their disbelief
for his heart knew the beauty of a leaf
in a world of noise, he found his tune
embracing nature’s grace under the moon
in nature’s embrace, his soul enlightens, his troubles release
in the moment of ecstasy and eternal peace gets new lease
let them talk, those who fail to see
his joy in living cruelty-free
Diane Kimbrell May 5, 2024
(Word count 149) THE BEEF EATERE
When fitness freak, Gerard, president of the “I am not a Commoner Club,” an organization of devout vegetarians, heard about virtues of beef bone broth, he secretly decided to try it—fulfill his desire to remain healthy. Disguised in wig and baseball cap, he strolled into the restaurant confidently. With one sip of the liquid, he fell madly in love. Then, as luck would have it, he spotted Betty, a member of the Commoner Club. A big mouth! Should he be found eating anything made with meat, he would be ridden out on a rail, so he began gulping down spoonfuls splattering the brown substance all over his shirt and tie, but he didn’t care. Beef bone broth was delicious! The more he gulped, the stronger he became. To heck with kale, and seeds, and Betty! he decided, if eating this delicacy makes me a commoner, so be it.
Near the sea, there lived a commoner,
Jack was his name,
Animals loved him and vegetarians adored him,
So big was his heart,
Every day he would go out in the open blue,
In his hands, he held the chaos of humanity.
A princess from a temple nearby saw his heart,
Wild,
Beautiful,
Open,
Happy,
She said, "he's the one I will love till the end",
I must fulfill this destiny,
I need spoonfuls of his sunshine,
What I feel in my heart is divine,
But Jack had one love only,
Every night he sat by the waves with his guitar,
Making the moon smile and the stars shine.
The Hobby
In my early thirties, I found myself roaming the streets in my neighborhood during the day, with nothing to do and nowhere to go. All my friends from school had settled into stable careers by then. Most of them had gotten married. My driver's license was revoked due to a mental condition, so my freedom was limited. I couldn't apply for jobs that were too far away or that required driving.
So I decided to take up a hobby. I became a vegetarian and joined an animal rights group. I thought that would fulfill my quest for meaning in life, though that kind of thing was mostly for leisured folks with time and money to spare, not a commoner like me.
Within a few months, I lost interest in fighting for humane treatment of animals, and went back to eating meat, after downing spoonfuls of mushroom tofu with rice.
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
by Bluemoon
-
Poems, poems, poetry all—
form in a brink of darkest nights
In quiet times of an evening
vegetarians shall come and go
before a commoner dreamer speaks
-
Dreams come and go
they fulfill strange nights
Think, says the Genie in
her pearl green gown of 'Golly Eh"
as she roams our daydreams
-
Poetry is a learned craft for
masters and mistresses of
saner days where there is no
time but the right one to learn
a rooster's crowing craft
-
Birds hum spoonful’s of poetry
as writers sing dozy blues
Writers may die aloft during saner
days learning intense rages
Crows croak a million words ... unknown
-
Humming birds flitter and flutter
hens cackle, wrens sing
blue-jays cry the freakish of stares
Authors query a hundred agents
singing lavish songs and praises
Agents dither or deliver negative rejections
or encourage poetry unusual acceptations
He was from a well to do family.
They lived in the most expensive places.
She dressed like a commoner, shabbily.
But she knew how to put on some fine faces.
Her lack of money left no smooth traces.
Fate had something in mind for these young two.
Fate was good at mixing up a good stew.
They both liked to dance at the old Blue Village.
A place with wooden floors and raucous music.
They bumped one night, to both a privilege.
Their words spoken, quietly acoustic.
To fulfill their one fate it was too slick.
They began to dance, grind, jump, shout and grin.
Their rhythm, overt to those who were in.
Had they been sharing love spoonfuls for years?
Fate knew, Fate had intervened quite right.
Even vegetarians had no fears.
Fate was not out to cause a sudden fright.
Love was found dancing that night.
The End of Winter
So now, I have something to do,
watching vultures crawl out of secret nests
to become vegetarians in summer;
it's awesome how things work out
in the last stretch of light of winter
which marks the beginning of summer;
that a commoner like me
from the poorest part of the world
will sit back to fulfil my dreams at last,
where I watch other creatures whip up
their unusual frenzy of being something else
when their favourable season is past
and an unfavourable one begins.
How quickly we wear our dreams on our sleeve
without deep cuts on our hearts,
to be where we desire to be
not where we must have to be by time or season.
By this, we know that we have achieved
spoonfuls of power over conditions
unfavourable to our inner nature.
It’s pure magic to change my skin like this.
Vegetarians are commoner than eaters of meats.
They fulfill their hunger with meters of sweets.