Blue bottles, wine bottles, old-tiny-clear-glass bottles. Sometimes we find them in the woods as children, and we sneak them into our forts or our treasure boxes. Sometimes as adults we put them along a windowsill. Have you ever found a bottle worth keeping? Have you ever collected a whole colorful line?
Poetry Prompt
Choose a bottle (or a whole collection) real or imagined. Sneak it into a secret keeping place or put it in a place of honor. What does the bottle look like, feel like? Why have you saved it? Is there something of you in the bottle’s existence? Put it (or the collection) in a poem, so we can understand the keeping.
Thanks to our participants in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem we enjoyed from Maureen Doallas…
Can-ditioned
Nobody goes to the dogs
to ask them what they want
to eat. We throw them
a bone to make them dance
for the crisp, pebbled rounds
of crunchies they crave.
Front paws prodding air,
they never mistake the sigh
that’s let go with the pop
of the top of a can at three,
the opener done teething
its way through aluminum
to expose that solid core
of potato and duck and water
sufficient for processing.
Pavlov got their connection
between having and want,
simple need the greater hunger
measured by an extra spoonful.
Photo by Paul Schadler Creative Commons, via Flickr.
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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!
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Maureen Doallas says
Thank you for including my poem here. I can vouch that I have two Westies who are “can-ditioned” and also know how to tell time.
Donna says
LOL! Love your poem, Maureen! Can-ditioned! HA! Great word! 🙂
laura says
And our Lucy Mae has an ear for the rustle of a shredded cheddar bag.:) So sweet, M.
Richard Maxson says
Penance for Chains and Jars
The slow pulse of the black-water ballet,
in the deep country of the fireflies:
In yellow memory, in chains,
those petals cupped from the dark lawn,
became the dancers, we believed,
born like magic, from a milky stem:
They fell with the veil of night, laden
with the bright of sun, and we would wait
for what was done in the dale of evening,
in the pale of the moonlit grass. They died,
if patience failed to hold us for their flights,
such fragile dolia of blossoms gone to light,
we galled them with a child’s haste,
watched their constellations slide
down blades and on our skin
with the scent of dandelion.
In this world of blind intent,
keep the secrets of your child:
wild flowers can redeem us—
wishes gray make wishes green—
fire hides in the quiet air—
the choired whispers of the seas
are born in the twists of shells—
and this cool water, with its stars,
sparkles briefly in our eyes.
L. L. Barkat says
i especially like the “black-water ballet.” Wanting to see that 🙂
Shelly Faber says
Found
what survives a move?
something I never thought I cared much about.
years later, while rummaging through boxes,
“so sure I still had that thing”,
instead, there IT was.
that fragile, 7UP bottle,
as distorted as life turned out to be… like me…
survived moves of boxes and crates,
in my mind, in reality,
across cities,
across countries.
Lost
gems and sparkling goods that make life more beautiful
maybe even easier…but
… far less charming
Reminders
digging into the past
may require a heavy shovel.
Thanks for the prompts. They are great for inspiring to work!
Shelly Faber says
Title of this Poem : Un- Buried Treasure
Shelly Faber says
Un-Buried Treasure
Found-
what survives a move?
something I never thought I cared much about.
years later, while rummaging through boxes,
“so sure I still had that thing”,
instead, there IT was.
that fragile, 7UP bottle,
as distorted as life turned out to be… like me…
survived moves of boxes and crates,
in my mind, in reality,
across cities,
across countries.
Lost-
gems and sparkling goods that make life more beautiful
maybe even easier…but
… far less charming
Reminders-
digging into the past
may require a heavy shovel.
Thank you for these prompts. It’s great to write for them!
L. L. Barkat says
i love that opening question… What survives a move? And the surprise that something as fragile as a bottle (probably not packed up properly) would be it.
Donna says
Sharing are my words –
skins
overlapping
in the
sun
but to see how they relate to bottles you’ll need the image http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2013/08/bottle-skins.html
Imagine if our own skin could do that?
Donna says
typo… “sharing my words”… 🙂
davis says
i can see them
through the window
all lined-up and cold
bottle caps
there’s grape
but no
i see orange
ahhhhh
yes!
stick the money in the slot
open the door
and pull that bottle out
stick the cap in the opener
and push that bottle down
pssssssst
oh that orange flavor
that sugar water fizz
nothing is better
to a ten year old
after nine holes