Very good, Judy.  The last word especially witty, unexpectedly understated.


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "judy prince" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, August 09, 2006 3:18 PM
Subject: Poem: Bea's Lovely Poetry Workshop


Bea's Lovely Poetry Workshop


"We've been coming to this workshop for upwards of 6 years now," said Evelyn 
Utter, "and after last week's workshop we met for tea, coffee, crackers, 
biscuits and scones at the Buck and Ram.  Once Oliver had gone home, we 
swiftly came to a decision---not one dissenting vote!"

"Well?  And what was it?" said Bea.

"We want to change everything we've been doing in the workshop to make it 
more ... interesting."

"I'm all ears!" Bea said, listening with only half an ear.

Evelyn had lost her courage.  After all, she had only written 14 poems in 6 
years---which the other participants had told her was because of the 
boringness of the workshops.  She nudged Angela.

Immensely uncomfortable in confronting The Poetry Authority (which was Bea), 
Angela nevertheless proclaimed:  "We want things to look at!"

"Like what?"

"I should think a good start would be flowers ... " Angela said, beginning 
to falter.

"Fine.  Why don't we arrange for one of us to bring flowers from home each 
week?  That settled?  Ready to do poetry, my dear workshoppers?"

Angela seemed comforted.  But Evelyn was clearly not to be put off so 
quickly.  "We need more than flowers!" she yelped.  "We need something more 
than that!"

Bea determined that she would not only make her participants happy, but she 
would give them quite a surprise.  "Tell you what.  Next week I'll arrange 
for you to have 'something more than that', and if you're still wanting 
more, we'll discuss it again."

The participants, in various postures and expressions, relented.  They'd 
give it a whirl.  Nothing to be lost by seeing what happened next week. 
They took up their notebooks and scribbled their versions of what had just 
happened, trying to make it sound poetic.

The following week, Bea came into the bare workshop room with a bouquet of 
gardenias in a glass vase.  Evelyn and Angela sat in front and exclaimed at 
the flowers' beauty and fragrance.  You could see that they felt it was 
fine----but not enough to be 'something more interesting'.

The other three participants came in, followed by a tech person who brought 
in 5 easels.  He put them in front of each participant's chair, and then 
brought in a chaise longue which he placed in the center of the room in 
perfect view of the workshoppers.  Then he left.

The door opened and an arm extended, its fingers holding the tip of a black 
velvet something.  In came the rest of the person, a red-haired man covered 
with a full-length cape.  He strolled past the workshoppers toward the 
room's center, bent and smelled the gardenias, selected one and gave it to 
Evelyn.

Then he unfastened the braid frog at the cape's top, swished off the cape, 
twirled it around and flung it onto the chaise longue.  Then he reclined, 
nude, on the chaise.

Evelyn's gardenia trembled.  Angela gripped her notebook.  No one, not even 
the naked man, moved.

"We'll have him do 60-second poses first so that we can write or even sketch 
on the easel with heightened emotions and rapid reactions.  Since we've 
become such a democratic group of late, perhaps you'll have suggestions as 
to his poses,"  Bea said and waited.

"Yes, I should think he'd be more comfortable if he had a pillow behind his 
head," Angela ventured.

She always sat on a cushion brought from home, so she stood, took the 
cushion to the chaise and placed it under his head.  He thanked her with a 
gleaming smile.

Evelyn stood up suddenly, walked quickly to the chaise and moved the man's 
left leg up onto it.

Angela was shocked.  "Don't you think that's a bit forward!"

Evelyn countered, "It's up, not forward."

At last the man spoke:  "I am perfectly comfortable with however you decide 
to arrange me.  Feel free."

The three other participants rushed up and began arranging the man who was 
beginning to enjoy himself immensely (as was difficult not to notice).

Bea thought, on balance, that her solution had caught on quite nicely and 
that her husband wouldn't mind.  He was always a good sport and didn't mind 
drafts.