Challenge
Prose Challenge of the Week #52: Pick a classic poem and re-write it, modernize it, and share your poetic interpretation of the piece. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100 and will be placed first on our Spotlight page and the runner-up will receive 1000 coins. When sharing to social media, please use the hashtag #itslit
127 reads
Skiing Through Woods, Winter Dusk
Whose woods these are, I think I know.
He's never seen them, sun or snow.
They're just a line of numbers in his
Resource Play portfolio.
My little dog sits in my track
Sniffing forward, gazing back,
As I stand still and silent, mourn
That grasping bastards still are born,
Who buy and cut and sell and bleed
A world subjected to their greed,
Who turn earth's joy to barren grief:
Bole and branch and twig and leaf.
These woods are part of me, as true
As winter's cold or sky is blue.
And now I know what I must do,
Now I know what I must do.