AWOL Week #20 Responses

Our exercise this week is titled: 

If I Could Write Like ******

Based on the poem by Laura Scott titled ‘If I could write like Tolstoy’.

It’s got lots of Tolstoy novel details in it, which I don’t understand but I enjoyed the poem.

All you need to do is replace ’Tolstoy’ with any other word you fancy – could be another writer, or anything else you wish.

‘If I could write like the Krankies’ ‘If I could write like a Frog’ ‘If I could write like a Tesco Superstore’. Get the idea?

Your response should contain some detail about your choice but doesn’t have to. Unrestrained imaginative interpretations are welcome.



 If I Could Write like T S Eliot…..   by Kathy Low

 If I Could Write like T S Eliot…..  

             I’d tell you how time is timeless 

                    and how the past and future are here right now.


             You could read of Greek myths (sometimes in Greek!)….

                    gender-shifting Tiresias, seer of mundane futures,

                    and of the haunting Eumenides (don’t look out the window!)


             I could entertain you with accounts of Cats,

                     mischievous and anarchic and

                     the never-to-be-seen One

                     whose only presence was the evidence of mayhem. 


             You would see a different story of the Nativity….

                      the Magi grumbling and complaining, their journey long and tedious, 

                      missing their women and sherbet. 

                      Perhaps too, that the shepherds had a long weary climb 

                      back up to the pastures. 


             And oh…. I would mayhap write of lilacs and hope,

                      and the kindness of strangers,

                      and fires of renewal and beginnings. 


             I would fill the hollow men with something akin to that hope 

                      and would I dare to write an ode to joy?


             And this. I would set down this: 

                      “And all shall be well and

                       All manner of thing shall be well”…..

Kathy Low



A Silent Prayer by Elisheva Katz

A Silent Prayer


God can you hear me?

Can you hear me God, can you hear me?

In the depths of my broken self, I turn to you, my one remaining hope.


Are you there?

Look at me God, look at me!

Down on my knees am I pleading with you, pleading for wings of a golden eagle. God if you were to bless me with these golden wings, then I could escape the desperation of my cracked, haunting world. These wings would give me courage to fly away from this cage, I will be soaring high in the sky on the breath of freedom, after all these years of prison, I will be soaring high on the breath of freedom. 

I will be free! 



God can you hear me?

Can you hear me God, can you hear me?


Are you there?


by Elisheva Katz



My Own Rainbow   by Lotty

My Own Rainbow  

From a young age I was set on a journey into dark forest with tangles of disapproving trees that had high-pitched mocking laughter. I was unprepared with no torch or light to hold in my hand and guide me through this frightening also lonely fight as my insides became enveloped in in this long and cold night.

For many miles I twisted and turned through soggy ground in which I was burned. Still walking, I pass by rotten carcasses and bones of failed relationships. Hopefully I have given myself some useful tips, knowing that I will have to come out of here and get rid of every shred of fear.

At last I make the final push uphill, where my true self cannot remain, still moving through the clearing into the light. Finally I have won the battle and the fight against ignorance and prejudice.

Hopefully not too long now till I meet that special girl who will set my soul alight  so i can finally experience happiness and love as I take the first tentative step onto my own fluffy cloud that well take me to my own rainbow.

 by Lotty 28th Jun 2020



If I Could Write Like A Whistle   by Peter Marshall

If I Could Write Like A Whistle  

If I could write like a whistle

I’d tell you such a tale.

It’d be quite some epistle

where bits still make me wail.


Hudson and Co have made a billion

since eighteen eighty-two.

Heard on ships and floated to pavilion,

even mountain rescue’ve sought a few.


But I’m a certain patent type

mostly made for the military

and so often when you hear me pipe

it could perchance be rather scary.


I was bought for a Scout troop assistant –

a usefulness of well-trained boys

ran back and forth to my peep so persistent

still playing, though with complex toys.


Then came the war to end all wars

Boy became man and was called-up,

really just to settle border scores,

whistle in knapsack along with tin cup.


I never was borrowed for harrowing job

of signalling over the top of the trench

whilst others would make the mortars lob.

That task would’ve been an emotional wrench.


As lucky charm, I was kept close at hand

warding off many a profound scare

as bullets and bombs cratered the land

through four long years of warfare.


2871 Marshall T L was still young enough

when war came again to join in the fray

even though his family found it tough

they knew I was with him each day.


How to cope with gas is what he taught

one toot from me to take off their masks,

another to don them before breath caught,

all in all, a most horrid of tasks.


When his lungs were done in, he got to go home

and die from the miasma he’d used for my noise

and not for a long time did I get to roam,

left as memento under bed was my poise.


Perhaps I am a lucky charm, for I’m in Dundee

with one of his grandkids; they’re quite a flock,

as part of such a vigorous worldwide tree

that I think I’ve helped them with good stock.

2020 08 06 Peter Marshall



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