Any writer’s group, pick one.
First there was the one who liked whatever you wrote
He praised each and every thing that he read
His commentary was positive, and often with a quote
But you could never quite believe what he said.
Then there was the romantic, who only looked at love
When making any sort of critical decision,
Her thoughts were on philosophy, and all things thereof
And she was against any sort of revision.
Another member of the group was nasty and bitter,
Vitriol was his major stock in trade.
Everyone he chased off he then reviled as a quitter
Every critique had edges sharper than a blade.
There was the earth mother; nurturing, positive and wise
Who made certain every work got a fair shake.
She did her best to carefully and honestly apprise,
And was gracious when pointing out a mistake.
The blue collar heart throb was also a member,
Wrote from the hip and usually scored,
He could fan a flame from the tiniest ember,
No matter what he wrote, nobody was bored.
There was also a timid soul, careful and shy,
Who never quite believed in her writing.
She would always take direction, always try,
But ran away at the first sign of fighting.
We had a vulgarian, every crowd has one at least
Whose crudity both shocked and amused,
His profanity and lewd suggestion never ceased
But his humor sometimes excused.
Then there was the critic, who neither wrote nor created
Instead he spent all of his efforts dissecting
He cared not a whit that he was universally hated
He preferred pointing out errors and correcting.
And we had a bully, let us never forget
A tough guy who pushed folks around
He was never happy unless someone was upset,
Unless someone was whipped and beaten down.
So why did we come to this writing group
Where not everyone was worth being heard?
Because we were more than just the members of our troop
We were dedicated to polishing the written word.
We were friends, and acquaintances, and family too
We listened and we bitched and complained.
We were all a part of the big writers zoo
We are writers, and we all entertained.
A very nice write, Reilly. I could swear that I have known most of these people at one point or another. 
-M
Chris, I know this group and belonged to one like it for about ten years. The poets eventually split off, came up with something like a manifesto, rarely hurt, mostly supported, always remembered, and continuously challenged. They were years I learned and improved. I consider them all my friends still although we’ve all grown older and life has restricted us, there are good memories and genuine respect for one another’s work.
Thanks for this. I need to send some emails 
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