The Befuddled Donsy

Posted bywordsandcoffee1Posted inPoetry, W3 PromptsTags:, , , , , , , 
Under the vines marched the gnomes
their donsy formed no aisles or rows
they picked at a green grape
then frowned at the landscape
they were really expecting a plum rose

I wrote this poem for the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt #170. Dennis provided the prompt this week, called “A Donsy of Gnomes”. The details are as follows:

Your challenge: Write a poem of 20 lines or fewer that imagines what is happening in the scene (pictured above).

A helpful word

“Donsy” means a gathering or group, especially of small beings—like gnomes! You must use the word “donsy” somewhere in your poem.

As for the story…
  • Are the gnomes lining up for a beard competition?
  • Waiting for a concert by Simon and Gnomefunkel, Bad Gnomance, or Gnomes and Roses?
  • Queuing for the latest must-have garden accessory?
  • Or something even stranger?
Choose any perspective…
  • One of the gnomes
  • An onlooker or homeowner
  • A goldfish in a pond
  • A detective investigating
Important rules
  • Your poem must be in a traditional poetic form—no free verse!
  • Keep it to 20 lines or fewer.
  • Include the word “donsy.”

Let tradition, imagination, and gnomey mischief guide you!

For a short time in high school college, I collected gnomes. I had three or four garden gnomes and a handful of gnome-themed trinkets. My youngest sister even made me a ceramic one in her art class. I can’t remember exactly what drew me to the gnomes initially, but I’m almost sure it was (as many awkward phases are) born from an inside joke in high school.

Most of these gnomes are still scattered around my house, though they’re no longer in their cozy donsy but placed in random odd corners and shelves. They probably wonder what on earth they’re doing there.

I was excited to learn the word “donsy” this week. I felt that a limerick was the right poetic form to describe some gnomey misadventures. Enjoy!

15 thoughts on “The Befuddled Donsy”

  4. Sarah,

    Your limerick had me laughing with its image of a confused donsy of gnomes shuffling through vineyards, muttering about plum roses instead of grapes, feels like a very specific kind of gnome-related travel disappointment. My wife likes to visit formal gardens with me in tow. I’m more fruit and veg than shrubberies and blooms so I relate to your gnomes’ experience.

    The limerick form is perfect for your tale: compact, a bit ridiculous, and delivered with impeccable timing. I really appreciated your note, too. Your scattered collection of gnomes, once a proud donsy, now exiled to odd corners and forgotten shelves, could be the sequel to the poem. I imagine them whispering across bookcases and plant pots, planning a reunion under cover of night. And if you find your bunch of grapes thrown to one side in the morning, well, you know who to blame!

    Dennis

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