Thumb Dance

When my writing group friends went a little silly texting yesterday…

WL: NO MORE RHYMES…NO MORE RHYMES…
HAD ENOUGH OF THIS STUFF.

JB: One more rhyme;
just this time;
there’s never enough;
when you love this stuff.
Sorry Wayne, to cause you pain;
this may be rough but suck it up,
be ye tough;
in time you’ll find,
to rhyme is sublime.

SB: Dear Mr. Beach,
You need to teach
Your self to spin one yard of each
a symbol on a beach — a metaphor to reach
the inner guidance of your soul
a way to say
I’m here to roll
away the simple childlike stroll
into a symphony
perhaps a bowl
Of cherries by a seaside view, 
Or woman sitting in a pew, 
Two children playing in the sand AND
A man with prompter in his reach
who trys to change us — each, Mr. Beach
is that not what you tend to seek
a rhyming trend that’s reached its peak?!!?

Best regards
An experimental word — Freak!

JB: My dearest Teach,
I do seek to reach
within myself, high
upon the highest shelf;
where lofty thoughts
are within sight;
maybe I ought
to let go of fright
and release the bindings
that keep me uptight,
so when I occasionally
spot a peach,
get out of myself
and let Mr Beach
extend his reach
and take flight
upon the soaring drafts,
and go the way of magic rafts;
fly away, off the highway,
drifting unrestrained
through all terrain,
instead of following the main
line of my trained brain,
engineered
by years of fears and tears
that won’t let me go
where I want to go
without help from you,
my friends,
on this crazy alternate plane
where I’ve been
many times past
and love the feel there,
but from which I
often retreat to safety,
reinforced daily
by responsibility
and duty to fulfill
obligations squarely met
and which are yet
just out of control;
let go the fucking control stick;
go where the coaster goes;
the knower knows
joy is around the corner, Jack;
it’s where the magic lies;
homemade pies, greasy fries,
and ease and comfort
are an illusion;
where much of my world
seems in collusion to
force me back on track, Ms Black.

SB: Woooooweeeee — you ‘re on a roll
far be it for me to take control — you go, boy, keep rhythm going
i may just go back to sewing! 😜

JB: Go back to sewing if you must but I hope you keep throwing me your knowing because I keep growing and wouldn’t want you to go to rust.

SB: Ha ha ha ha ha sadly is a little late — already think im considered crowbait!

CS: You two are too much!!

JB: Oh, you said rhythm not rhyme. When they said it has a good beat and you can dance to it, did you wonder who says it has to have a beat before you can dance to it?

JB: Crowbait, scmrowbait, you’re never late, always right on time.

JB: Oh look, there’s Courtney — ready to party. Feels like a writing day, wouldn’t you say?

JB: And isn’t that just like Wayne — drop in, leave a prompt and split before the romp.

JB: See what happens when you’re addicted to your phone?

SB: You bet little waynie — what’ you got no brainey! You would not even break that tie last night — on where to meet until I I I made the call and u u u made the stall!

SB: I’m becoming incoherent — bow out to u naughty aberrants. Gotta wash more clothes now- jim — you have last word with last 
Synonym

JB: I’m done, hon; gotta haul, ya’ll; later, tomater.

JB: And, btw, that’s all the writing I did this week. Want me to print it for the group tonight?😂

SB: Yes Les