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Get in Our E-Book: Every Day Ideas

By L.L. Barkat 127 Comments

Every Day Ideas Poems in Window

Every Day Ideas: Poem Starters

Are you an Every Day Poems reader yet?

In a recent survey, we asked our readers how they furthered their experiences with their daily poems in the past year. For some, reading the poem each day (or every few days!) was enough.

But others revealed a variety of ways to bring the poems to life beyond the inbox. One way: use a line from the poem to start your own poem.

Now, when you share poems that you started from one of your Every Day Poem lines, we’ll save them for possible inclusion in a special Every Day Ideas ebook in 2016. The ebook will also include other Every Day Ideas, such as Poem Pinups (and more ideas to come).

So, if you like…

1. Choose a line from one of the Every Day Poems you received in your inbox

2. Use the line in a new poem of your own

3. Include a credit for the original poem you borrowed the line from

4. Send us a link to where you post your new poem online (anywhere is fine: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Google+). Just drop the link in an Every Day Ideas comment box so we can find it.

And, happy poem starting.

Photo by Pascal Maramis, Creative Commons, via Flickr.

_____________

Want to potentially be in our Every Day Ideas 2015-2016 ebook?

Subscribe to Every Day Poems now and join in our Every Day Ideas projects. Just $5.99 annually.

Click Subscribe…


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What Our Readers Are Saying About the Casual E-book

This year we published some of your poems in an another anthology called Casual: A Little Book of Jeans Poems and Photos. Here’s what some of our readers are saying about it:

I’m over the moon about being included. This is beautiful. —Sandra Heska King

Wow! The book is beautiful! —Amy Billone

Delighted to have my photo grace your book. —Susan Etole

What a beautiful final product. Grateful to be included. Thank you for investing in us. —Elizabeth Marshall

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L.L. Barkat
L.L. Barkat
L.L. Barkat is the Managing Editor of Tweetspeak Poetry and the author of six books for grown-ups and four for children, including the popular 'Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing.' She has also served as a writer for The Huffington Post blog and is a freelance writer for Edutopia. Her poetry has appeared on NPR and at VQR and The Best American Poetry.
L.L. Barkat
Latest posts by L.L. Barkat (see all)
  • Where Poetry Lives—Interview with Beekeeper & Poet Sara Eddy - August 16, 2022
  • Tell the Bees: A Little Chat Highlight - August 9, 2022
  • Tell the Bees—Event This Friday, August 5 + Prompt! - July 11, 2022

Filed Under: Blog, Every Day Ideas, Every Day Poems, How to Write a Poem, poetry teaching resources

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About L.L. Barkat

L.L. Barkat is the Managing Editor of Tweetspeak Poetry and the author of six books for grown-ups and four for children, including the popular 'Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity & Writing.' She has also served as a writer for The Huffington Post blog and is a freelance writer for Edutopia. Her poetry has appeared on NPR and at VQR and The Best American Poetry.

Comments

  1. Richard Maxson says

    February 6, 2015 at 7:40 pm

    From today’s EDP — Victims the lines:

    “No monster is responsible
    For his enormity.”

    http://theimaginedjay.com/grendel-in-dawns-early-light/

    Reply
  2. L. L. Barkat says

    February 6, 2015 at 7:56 pm

    I like the way you chose his end line as your beginning line. The end of one thought is often the beginning of another 🙂

    Reply
  3. Sandra Heska King says

    February 6, 2015 at 8:01 pm

    Bluebeard blamed his parents,
    not the silver spoon or the man in the moon.
    He should have just bought a Schick.

    (First line from Victims by Mark Jarman, poem in my box on 2/6/15)

    Posted at this thread:

    http://www.facebook.com/sandra.h.king.9/posts/10206380062328636?pnref=story

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      February 6, 2015 at 8:59 pm

      Ha! 🙂

      Reply
    • Donna says

      February 11, 2015 at 1:09 pm

      🙂

      Reply
  4. Donna says

    February 6, 2015 at 9:32 pm

    I’m so glad for this post because, although I enjoy my inbox goodies, I had forgotten about how I got started… finding poems of my own …. Geesh. 🙂 So glad to be reminded.

    Reply
  5. Donna says

    February 9, 2015 at 2:31 pm

    Richard, I loved your poem. The title inspired me to write this, and in the process, conquer the Villanelle. 😉 It’s a start, anyway.

    The Warrior’s Song http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2015/02/warriors-song.html

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      February 10, 2015 at 7:38 pm

      Donna, I commented on your website as well. Wonderful Villanelle and subject. “A painful life is still a life.” Love your play on still life in each stanza.

      Reply
      • Donna says

        February 10, 2015 at 8:30 pm

        Thank you Richard…. I saw you there. 🙂
        I felt a little strange ‘taking’ your words from your piece – it has a sacred solemn reflective feeling and, well, it just felt strange. They were just so striking, though. I couldn’t resist.

        Reply
        • Richard Maxson says

          February 11, 2015 at 12:39 am

          Please don’t feel that way. I very much liked what you did with those words.

          Reply
          • Donna says

            February 11, 2015 at 1:10 pm

            🙂

  6. Sandra Heska King says

    February 10, 2015 at 8:48 pm

    For what is fractured is a near-bitten star
    soft
    sugar dusted
    precisely cut
    baked golden
    still warm
    and fallen from my fingers
    crumbled on the kitchen floor.

    #FirstLinePoemStarters from “Khaleesi Says by Leah Umansky, 02/10/15

    Posted here: http://www.facebook.com/sandra.h.king.9/posts/10206414761716099

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      February 11, 2015 at 12:41 am

      A new pastry called Khaleesies, no doubt. Sounds very good, a little like sugar cookies fall apart.

      Reply
    • Donna says

      February 11, 2015 at 1:11 pm

      mmmmm…. really nice, Sandra.

      Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      March 25, 2015 at 12:20 pm

      Beautiful, Sandra. I can see and feel the fragility.

      Reply
  7. Lexanne Leonard says

    February 10, 2015 at 11:09 pm

    From today’s Everyday Poems – Khaleesi Says by Leah Umansky, 2/12/15

    Posted at http://leximagines.com/2015/02/10/inhale/

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      February 11, 2015 at 12:44 am

      A sensual poem. I relly like:

      “An afterthought

      of day’s swiftness tumbles into moist earth
      beneath her bare feet.”

      Reply
    • Donna says

      February 11, 2015 at 1:13 pm

      Beautiful…. love how it ends…

      Reply
  8. Alyse says

    February 11, 2015 at 9:44 am

    I also took a couple lines from “Khaleesi Says” to write my own. Found on my blog: https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/02/11/woman-poem/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      February 11, 2015 at 9:51 am

      Alyse, I tried to comment at your blog, but the comment system wouldn’t allow. Anyhow 🙂

      I liked the full circle aspect of the poem and the way you switched the lines at the end.

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        February 22, 2015 at 3:34 pm

        I am so sorry the comment section didn’t work! But thank you for your comment here; I appreciate it!

        Reply
    • Donna says

      February 11, 2015 at 1:20 pm

      Hi Alyse… I really liked the way your poem felt like breathing in, and then out – that’s how it made me feel anyway – the first lines breathe in, (that vodka breath line – wow) and the last two breathe out – a satisfied breath? 🙂

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        February 22, 2015 at 3:35 pm

        Thank you, Donna! It was a satisfied breath for me to finish with those lines for sure. 🙂

        Reply
    • Elizabeth W. Marshall says

      February 15, 2015 at 8:19 pm

      Alyse, welcome! We like that you are here.

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        February 22, 2015 at 3:36 pm

        Thank you, Elizabeth!

        Reply
  9. Richard Maxson says

    February 11, 2015 at 10:17 am

    From EDP, Marvell’s The Fair Singer: “all resistance against her is vain.”

    Singer
    —for Whitney

    All resistance against her is vain;
    watching the singer sing her song,
    like the sea sliding on the shore.

    And pausing, her dark eyes,
    with lashes so like wings, tilt
    as she looks down from her flight,

    the echoes of her song still
    in the air, in every ear
    and we are taken to the mountaintops.

    Then the waves resume their tone,
    the flourish joins the blown leaves
    in the wind that carried her away.

    Reply
    • Donna says

      February 11, 2015 at 1:24 pm

      Oh… I really love this:
      the flourish joins the blown leaves
      in the wind

      Reply
      • Richard Maxson says

        February 12, 2015 at 10:52 pm

        Thank you, Donna.

        Reply
  10. Olga Salimova says

    February 12, 2015 at 12:42 pm

    The first line of this poem is from Leah Umansky’s poem Khaleesi Says. It starts with “In this story…” https://olgasalimova.wordpress.com/2015/02/12/meaning/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      February 12, 2015 at 6:33 pm

      Oh, I like this. Especially this part:

      “In this story,

      there isn’t necessarily a motif;

      there are things that go around

      the edges and are as important

      as what’s in the middle.”

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      February 12, 2015 at 10:57 pm

      I like the way this poem never really settles on any of its propositions and ends still in a question, so true to life as it is—persistently unknowable.

      Loved it! Loved it twice!

      Reply
    • Elizabeth W. Marshall says

      February 15, 2015 at 8:21 pm

      Olga, welcome. I left a fresh loaf of bread for you. Do you see it? It is to say, welcome to the neighborhood.

      We are thrilled you are here.

      Reply
  11. Elizabeth W. Marshall says

    February 15, 2015 at 8:31 pm

    We Are Water

    We are water, endless;
    As the sea
    Vapor, liquid
    Silver fish break through the water line
    A thousand punctuation marks
    End the phrasing of our
    Love
    Every drops turns from placid, still and resting
    Into a transfiguration of new birth
    I know now
    Every cloud,
    A gathering up of every drop of us
    The rain will soon return us to the place
    From which
    Our love was born

    From Sara Barkat’s
    Juliet’s Aubade
    Appearing in T.S. Poetry’s Every Day Poems

    .

    Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      March 25, 2015 at 6:53 pm

      What a lovely poem, Elizabeth:

      “I know now
      Every cloud,
      A gathering up of every drop of us
      The rain will soon return us to the place
      From which
      Our love was born”

      Reply
  12. Alyse says

    February 22, 2015 at 3:31 pm

    From Ralph Waldo Emerson’s The Snow-Storm:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/02/22/privacy-of-storm-poem/

    Reply
  13. Alyse says

    February 22, 2015 at 3:32 pm

    From Todd Boss’ Rocket:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/02/22/name-poem/

    Reply
  14. Sandra Heska King says

    February 25, 2015 at 11:08 am

    Here’s one of 34 words using a line from Eich’s The Inventory.

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/02/one-word-less-for-lent-2015-34/

    Reply
  15. Alyse says

    February 27, 2015 at 12:46 pm

    Here’s another one, this time taken from Paul Violi’s Counterman:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/02/27/swell-poem/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      February 27, 2015 at 12:53 pm

      I’m especially liking this part:

      What a swell world!
      I took it all in,
      every swell ounce of it,

      🙂

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        February 27, 2015 at 1:13 pm

        Haha, thank you!

        Reply
  16. Sandra Heska King says

    March 3, 2015 at 9:53 am

    29 words started from “Terce” by Malachi Black

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/03/one-less-word-for-lent-2015-29/

    Reply
    • Donna Z Falcone says

      March 3, 2015 at 10:05 am

      Love that mistiness Sandra – it’s palpable.

      Reply
  17. Alyse says

    March 3, 2015 at 12:12 pm

    [From Terce by Malachi Black]

    But then I think I see the wind:
    it’s a blanket, faded like
    water colors.
    I close my eyes and paint
    it with my mind,
    brush strokes in my hair,
    the dance of fairies.
    I am planted in its movement,
    infused with its breath,
    at once canvas, artist, and
    muse.
    Inseparable.

    Also found here: https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/03/03/wind-poem/

    Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      March 25, 2015 at 12:22 pm

      Lovely piece, Alyse. I was hooked at:

      “it’s a blanket, faded like
      water colors.”

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        March 25, 2015 at 5:22 pm

        Thank you!

        Reply
  18. Bethany R. says

    March 4, 2015 at 6:17 pm

    What a fun idea. I’m reading through batches of Every Day Poems to mine for a line…

    Reply
  19. Lexanne Leonard says

    March 4, 2015 at 11:42 pm

    I used the line “you in themselves, I’ll find you out” from Terce by Malachi Black.

    http://leximagines.com/2015/03/04/tip-and-sway/

    Reply
  20. Alyse says

    March 6, 2015 at 6:38 pm

    Here’s one with a line from Robert Frost’s Dust of Snow:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/03/06/the-attic-poem/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      March 6, 2015 at 9:13 pm

      I like the half rhyme of “frames” with “panes.” 🙂

      Reply
  21. Richard Maxson says

    March 13, 2015 at 1:18 pm

    http://theimaginedjay.com/matins/

    For this First Line Poem Starter I used:
    “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?”

    I used the first half of this line to begin the poem and the last half to end it.

    Matins

    If Winter comes, and the colors
    of my world have not yet fallen,
    I will wear it like the morning snow.

    And though it seems the distance,
    which is only sky between the cliffs
    and trees, is near enough to hold

    my breath in its hands, like a child
    that for a moment I can touch, I’ll hope
    to ask, can Spring be far behind?

    Reply
    • Donna Z Falcone says

      March 13, 2015 at 7:53 pm

      That was so clever, to split the first line.
      Really striking image of the distance being near enough to hold. I really like that.

      Reply
  22. Alyse says

    March 13, 2015 at 8:26 pm

    I came up with a couple line-starter poems today, one from Gary Snyder’s Thin Ice and one from part V of Ode to the West Wind by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Both can be found on my blog:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/03/13/looked-down-through-clouds-poem/

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/03/13/sweet-though-in-sadness-poem/

    Reply
  23. Sandra Heska King says

    March 17, 2015 at 9:30 am

    Just 17 words… but I’ve wanted to use the mango line from Cruz’s “The Problem With Hurricanes.”

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/03/one-word-less-for-lent-2015-17/

    Reply
  24. L. L. Barkat says

    March 18, 2015 at 9:38 am

    Just popping in to say we’re reading these and saving them if they seem like possibilities, and we’ll make decisions later in the year.

    Keep writing, and we’ll happily keep reading 🙂

    Reply
  25. Richard Maxson says

    March 18, 2015 at 7:05 pm

    http://theimaginedjay.com/louder/

    Louder

    than ever now,
    how clever
    the shadow man
    leaves my room,
    and so weaves
    himself from door-
    light as mother
    says how she
    is down the hall,
    and not to fear,
    while in the crook
    between the walls
    he looms.

    Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      March 25, 2015 at 6:56 pm

      Oh, this is haunting–it feels so real. Adding the contrast of the mother’s reassurance brings a sharpness to the experience.

      Thanks for sharing your piece with the TweetSpeak community, Richard.

      Reply
  26. Sandra Heska King says

    March 19, 2015 at 8:02 am

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/03/one-word-less-for-lent-2015-15/

    15 words started from “On Seeing Weather-Beaten Trees” by Adelaide Crapsey.

    Reply
    • Donna Z Falcone says

      March 19, 2015 at 8:22 am

      Fit of feathers… I like that image!

      Reply
  27. Donna Z Falcone says

    March 19, 2015 at 10:05 am

    Borrowing from Lizette Woodworth Reese’s Windflower:

    The wind stooped down and left
    A single feather on my shoe
    And whispered, as it passed by,
    There is nothing stopping you.

    Here, with an image:
    http://thebrightersideblog.blogspot.com/2015/03/fly.html

    Reply
    • Donna Z Falcone says

      March 19, 2015 at 10:05 am

      I forgot to say- the title is “Fly!”

      Reply
      • Sandra Heska King says

        March 23, 2015 at 12:36 pm

        Oh, I love this. Nothing stopping you.

        Reply
  28. Bethany R. says

    March 20, 2015 at 3:25 pm

    I wrote a piece, but it isn’t formatting the spacing/italics correctly on my blog. If I could email it as a Word Document, that might do the trick? In any case, I’ll paste it here. 🙂

    The line, “The wind has lost its will” is found (in a different tense) in William Wilfred Campbell’s, “How One Winter Came in the Lake Region.”

    **

    Do speak of him

    The wind has lost its will

    Who will recreate his likeness
    for us who remain?

    Who will wipe their clammy finger pads
    through a gray clay slab
    and form those lines that once
    moved freely?

    How did you make your knock
    sound warm, nut-wooden
    on my steel door?

    At my opening
    your smile would ease back into itself–
    into the fold-coves of your cheeks

    The soft-shore wave swells as it rolls

    I will carry you in this bone-smooth shell
    I will listen to you echo off
    my inner ear

    where you ever-form
    your own sounds

    Reply
    • Sandra Heska King says

      March 23, 2015 at 12:39 pm

      warm, nut-wooden on steel, fold-coves of your cheeks…

      Reply
  29. Sandra Heska King says

    March 23, 2015 at 12:41 pm

    Still doing my one-word thing… down to 12 words… starting with a line from “Form and Void” by Barbara Crooker

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/03/one-word-less-for-lent-2015-12/

    Reply
    • Donna says

      March 25, 2015 at 10:21 am

      Mmmmm glimmerly and delicious!

      Reply
  30. Alyse says

    March 24, 2015 at 5:10 pm

    Here I used a line from Tiny Blast:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/03/24/this-bingo-shouter-poem/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      March 24, 2015 at 5:26 pm

      Cool images. Love the strangeness of the scene 🙂

      Reply
    • Bethany R. says

      March 25, 2015 at 12:29 pm

      The realistic and unique details are drawn together to say something beautiful that resonates with me. Thank you for writing and sharing this.

      Reply
  31. Elizabeth Marshall says

    March 25, 2015 at 9:26 am

    http://www.elizabethwmarshall.com/2015/03/25/Be-Brave

    From Peter Gizzi’s poem “Tiny Blast”

    Reply
    • Donna says

      March 25, 2015 at 9:39 am

      The link,
      I think,
      Is on the blink. 😉

      Reply
  32. Elizabeth W. Marshall says

    March 25, 2015 at 10:07 am

    Somehow I missed all the wondrous poetry tucked into this thread.
    Can’t wait to catch up.
    Such goodness here.

    Reply
    • Donna says

      March 25, 2015 at 10:15 am

      Elizabeth, might you have another link to your poem? I’m getting a whoops message with the one above. Pretty please …. 😉

      Reply
  33. Elizabeth Marshall says

    March 25, 2015 at 11:57 am

    http://www.elizabethwmarshall/2015/03/24/be-brave

    Thx Donna for reading and for catching my error.

    Reply
  34. Elizabeth Marshall says

    March 25, 2015 at 4:18 pm

    And again 🙁
    http://www.elizabethwmarshall.com/2015/03/24/be-brave

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      March 26, 2015 at 11:00 am

      Elizabeth, I could see the poem going untitled and simply being like this:

      “And now that you are here,
      says Gizzi, “be brave.”

      Have you seen
      the size of a radish seed?

      Promise is buried
      in our own backyard.

      Reply
      • Elizabeth Marshall says

        March 28, 2015 at 9:49 am

        L.L. I am rather fond of your input on editing this. You whittle down well. 🙂 thanks, you :).

        Reply
  35. Sandra Heska King says

    March 27, 2015 at 9:50 am

    It’s an 8-word day… so a line starter AND ender from “The Blue” by Joseph Hutchison. Pretty sure it doesn’t count. 🙂

    “And all at once
    I noticed the sky.”

    http://sandraheskaking.com/2015/03/one-word-less-for-lent-2015-8/

    Reply
  36. Alyse says

    April 4, 2015 at 8:24 pm

    I used a line from Joseph Miller’s ‘Outside Monterey,’ found on my blog:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/04/04/ocean-whispering-poem/

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      April 4, 2015 at 8:27 pm

      that is beautiful, Alyse.

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        April 4, 2015 at 8:42 pm

        Thank you so much.

        Reply
    • Donna says

      April 4, 2015 at 8:51 pm

      I love the way it feels to say jelly-fish filled bay…. It feels like soft candy, if that makes sense.

      Really nice.

      So true.

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        April 5, 2015 at 8:52 am

        Haha! It does feel like soft candy, now that you mention it.
        Thank you.

        Reply
  37. Elizabeth W. Marshall says

    April 6, 2015 at 3:48 pm

    From today’s @EDayPoems poem from Kim Addonizio’s — “Where Childhood Went”
    http://www.elizabethwmarshall.com/2015/04/06/Inspired-by-feathers-fur-and-friends

    Reply
  38. Alyse says

    April 12, 2015 at 8:43 am

    Here’s one with a line from No Second Troy by Yeats:

    https://wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com/2015/04/12/what-could-she-have-done-poem/

    Reply
  39. Donna Z Falcone says

    April 13, 2015 at 10:19 am

    Trying to walk that fine line between online schizophrenia and creating new spaces for new content… and so, you’re the first to see my new poetry home on my newish website.

    My poem, Hint, uses the first line from Deep Noticing, by Brenda Hillman.

    http://www.donnazfalcone.com/poetry/hint

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      April 13, 2015 at 10:34 am

      Nice, Donna. I like the poem on the photo there too! 🙂

      Reply
      • Donna Z Falcone says

        April 13, 2015 at 2:06 pm

        Aw, thanks. 😀

        Reply
    • Bethany says

      April 13, 2015 at 2:08 pm

      Lovely, Donna.

      Reply
  40. Lexanne Leonard says

    April 14, 2015 at 12:51 am

    Used “give up the gravity” from Deep Noticing by Brenda Hillman.

    http://leximagines.com/2015/04/13/gravity/

    Reply
  41. Lexanne Leonard says

    April 15, 2015 at 12:16 am

    I am trying to write a poem a day for NaPoWriMo. It is Day 14 and I have 14 poems under my belt.

    Today I used the line – a holy goodbye – from the poem On Music by Rilke. Thank you for the inspiration.

    http://leximagines.com/2015/04/14/consecrated-welcome/

    Reply
  42. Laura Brown says

    April 20, 2015 at 7:11 pm

    Analogy

    the worm, the hook, the reel
    are to fishing
    as squirm, the look, the feel
    are to wishing

    First line by Paul Willis, “Free Verse”

    https://twitter.com/lauralynn_brown/status/590291084665749505

    Reply
  43. Laura Brown says

    April 20, 2015 at 10:17 pm

    First line from Dana Levin’s poem “Sentences.”

    Ship of Tools

    Train of spoons,
    speedboat of forks,
    forklift of knives,
    kayak of whisks,
    wheelchair of tongs,
    toboggan of ladles,
    lifeboat of graters,
    golf cart of corkscrews,
    Conestoga of peelers,
    paddlewheeler of mashers,
    magic carpet of mortars,
    motor home of pestles,
    pedal boat of scoops,
    school bus of spatulas,
    spaceship of basters,
    bathysphere of cleavers,
    convertible of zesters,
    Zamboni of timers.

    http://www.lauralynnbrown.com/ship-of-tools/

    Reply
    • Donna Z Falcone says

      April 24, 2015 at 9:51 am

      Is this what moving a kitchen feels like? 😉

      Reply
  44. Elizabeth Marshall says

    April 22, 2015 at 12:50 pm

    From Maybe This Is, by Rachel Blum

    For every year of us
    There is a place holder
    Space holder
    Joining betrothed in holy we
    There, in lieu of words
    Holding quiet in the cracks of time
    I end your sentences
    You start mine
    We fall into habitual solitude
    Wearing out our words long ago
    Stringing verbs of love in this economy
    Giving up the worn out adverbs, a charitable act of my goodwill

    Maybe this is where the conversation ends

    You use your fingers and I my lips
    Saving the spoken words for the last will and testament

    Of love

    Reply
  45. Donna Z Falcone says

    April 24, 2015 at 9:30 am

    It was Robert Louis Stevenson’s third line that got me today and it landed in the middle of my poem – so it may not count for a first line, but I wanted to share it anyway. 🙂 Just because I kind of like it. Based on Over the Land is April

    Over the Shoulder, Seeds Sprout
    http://www.donnazfalcone.com/…/over-my-shoulder-seeds-sprout

    Reply
    • L.L. Barkat says

      April 24, 2015 at 10:01 am

      Oh, gosh. You could use their line anywhere in your poem if it doesn’t serve well as a first line 🙂

      Reply
  46. Elizabeth W. Marshall says

    April 25, 2015 at 12:31 pm

    From Malachai Black’s “Terce”

    Exposed

    I have known you as an opening
    Always
    Adept at determining degrees
    Thin hair-line fracture in the marrow
    Unwittingly hiding pain
    Wide-open window frame
    Shaken from last August’s violent storm
    Half-way shut, like bivalves at the shore
    Secrets steal away, hidden behind haunting squeaks
    No more
    Pried open, no so long ago
    Slightly cracked
    To air the aging secrets out

    But now you have become unhinged
    Void of open
    Void of closed
    No one can frame the space that you once held

    Lock and key no longer needed
    I now know you as
    Exposed

    Reply
  47. michelle ortega says

    April 25, 2015 at 11:02 pm

    Here’s my link: https://www.facebook.com/michelle.rinaldiortega/posts/929800410375291?pnref=story

    And the poem, with a line taken from “On Music” by Rainer Maria Rilke.

    “The Muse”

    The ancient muse who comprehends

    the unexpected ebb and flows

    and language where all language ends

    relieves the snow with spring’s amends

    while keeping steady in repose.

    That ancient muse does comprehend

    the breath between two souls transcends

    tornadic tangoed lovers’ throes

    and language where all language ends.

    More fragile than the mind intends

    (while hide and seeking) to disclose

    the ancient muse does comprehend

    the cages made to self-defend

    but gently coaxes out from those

    in language where all language ends

    a whispered, “yes.” The heart extends

    a slow-unfolding gossamer rose

    to the ancient muse who comprehends

    the language where all language ends.

    Reply
  48. Alyse says

    April 28, 2015 at 3:18 pm

    [The first line is from The Alien by Greg Delanty.]

    of your ultrasound, scanning the dark,
    she tells you that the red color means blood
    and also that your uterus is backwards.
    (she calls it ‘retroverted.’)
    a stranger’s hand between your thighs,
    and you think, this is familiar,
    and also, what the hell does that mean?
    no one is there to hold your hand,
    and you slip on your panties as the nurse waits.
    this explains so much, you tell yourself when you look it up later,
    but what exactly does it explain?
    why it hurts to be on top?
    you can’t come up with anything else.
    you wish all the prodding would result in better answers.
    instead all you get are weirder questions.

    Reply
  49. Alyse says

    April 28, 2015 at 3:37 pm

    Here’s another one, based on my experience as a foster parent.

    [The first line is from My Sentence by Dana Levin.]

    train of spoons,
    a voyage across the carpet–
    this life is imaginary
    and all too real.
    where do they come up with this stuff?
    a pillow becomes a doghouse,
    and then it’s a pair of hair clippers.
    they don’t stay like this forever.
    in fact they don’t stay at all.
    a few weeks, a few months–
    they come, and then they leave.
    we start over:
    the crying, the readjusting.
    sometimes I think it’s too much.
    I wish that train
    would take me far away
    and never return.
    but then the moment comes
    when she lays her head
    on my leg, and I think,
    this carpet isn’t so bad.

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      April 28, 2015 at 5:27 pm

      Enjoyed both of these today Alyse. Hard poems, but good reads.

      Reply
      • Alyse says

        April 28, 2015 at 5:40 pm

        Thank you.

        Reply
  50. Richard Maxson says

    April 30, 2015 at 12:49 pm

    Last line (without breaking anything) from e.e. cummings’s “Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand”
    http://theimaginedjay.com/light-on-white/

    Light on White

    without breaking anything
    the cat lands invisible,

    at first, the window light
    illuminating eyes
    that seem stolen
    from the green vase
    on linen draped

    over the table, round
    like the morning sun.

    Reply
  51. Lexanne Leonard says

    May 5, 2015 at 9:44 pm

    from The Robot Scientist’s Daughter by Jeannine Hall Gailey I grabbed the line “In her hands a piece of paper becomes a bird….”

    http://leximagines.com/2015/05/05/crinkled-missives/

    Reply
  52. Alyse says

    May 12, 2015 at 3:32 pm

    [The first line is from Spring Is Like A Perhaps Hand by e.e. cummings. This can also be found on my blog: wordsnotmadewithlungs.wordpress.com.]

    people stare carefully
    so as not to disturb.
    they look with their
    eyes so no harm is
    done. they turn around
    only when you’ve passed
    to save you from knowing,
    and then they whisper to
    each other to save you
    from hearing. you are
    impervious, oblivious–
    playing the part of the
    deaf and blind. you look
    straight ahead, at the
    ground, away from them.
    you hear nothing, see
    nothing. people stare,
    and you– you have
    nothing to look at.

    Reply
  53. Lexanne Leonard says

    May 25, 2015 at 10:45 pm

    Using Charles Bane Jr.’s My Old Soul line: He is a petal, I see inside his heart.

    Fingertips

    He is a petal, I see inside his heart.
    He loves me, he loves me not.

    I hold him up to the sun, trace veins
    from tip to stern, watch blood flow,

    and feel his pounding heart
    between my fingertips.

    I cannot love him more.
    He loves me, he loves me not.

    Reply
  54. Richard Maxson says

    June 3, 2015 at 10:16 am

    From Jennifer K. Sweeney’s poem (6/03/15), “Beyond a Longing Lying Bluely.” Using her lines,

    “The world conspires to make more
    of itself with its not-much spark and sap.”

    Blue Berry

    How merely a cup of milk
    and the morning’s last blue berry,
    rising slick,
    with wisps of white rolling round
    over its sides,
    lost in a dark thrown bowl
    made firm by fire,
    for a moment holds us all in its form.

    The world conspires to make more
    of itself with its not-much spark and sap.

    Reply
  55. Lexanne Leonard says

    June 6, 2015 at 2:51 pm

    Still finding wonderful lines to start a poem of my own. This one is from Is That Your Body Blocking The Light by Bethany Rohde: Darkness you did not intend.

    http://leximagines.com/2015/06/06/pitch/

    Reply
  56. Donna Z Falcone says

    June 24, 2015 at 9:22 am

    Eday Poems sent this today:

    A Fly and a Flea in a Flue

    A Fly and a Flea in a Flue
    Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
    Said the fly, “Let us flee!”
    “Let us fly!” said the flea,
    And they flew through a flaw in the flue.

    — Anonymous, more Child Life: A Collection of Poems

    And now… the rest of the story (or at least the next little bit…)

    That Fly and that Flea from the Flue
    Flew freely the happy day through
    A home they did make
    On the top of a cake
    In a sugar dust rose built for two.

    Reply
    • L. L. Barkat says

      June 24, 2015 at 6:26 pm

      oh, very fun 🙂

      Reply
  57. Lexanne Leonard says

    June 30, 2015 at 3:03 pm

    Our writing group met this morning on my deck among the flowers and bees and squirrels. We each chose at random an Every Day Poem and wrote. I am the only one who writes poetry, the others have their own genre and style. It was lovely and perfect and the writing incredible. Thank you for the inspiration.

    My poem was Delphiniums In A Window Box by Dean Young, author of Fall Higher. I used the line:…because of you I’m talking to crickets, clouds….

    Because Of You

    Because of you I’m talking to crickets, clouds,
    like a madwoman with thistles braided in her hair
    a band of daisies round her waist, forget-me-nots
    between her toes.

    Because of you I laugh with lady beetles scurrying
    on their way to drink a draught of nectar wine
    in hopes of intoxicated stories shared.

    Because of you I plant sweet peas to trace a lacy frame
    girdling my womb and blue delphiniums to reach the sky
    to become our lure to ladder up for us to disappear
    into Arcadian azure.

    Because of you I will go mad with lavender sprigs as
    arrows to my heart, lemon balm to soothe my wounds,
    and spearmint tea to bring the night of moonflowers
    as our bed.

    Because of you I am possessed by the marrow of creation.

    Reply
  58. Rick Maxson says

    August 17, 2015 at 10:53 am

    The Way Light Changes

    —from a line in Burlington Arcade by Julian Stannard

    They’re always going through
    tunnels, those days
    the winds rocked
    the trees I scaled high
    over the quilt of rooftops.

    Weightless as a cloud,
    in the blue of my eyes,
    I lifted myself
    into the world of wings.

    That was the distance of a life
    away. Now, my feet remind me
    each morning that I am
    no longer, even for a moment,
    one of those birds few watched,
    small and quick as a year.

    I go there, nevertheless,
    and maybe it is practice for a time
    to come, the traffic of so many days
    surrounding the way to the light
    at the top of a tree, so much taller now,
    so bright among the stars.

    Reply
  59. Rick Maxson says

    November 8, 2015 at 5:41 am

    In a Light Rain
    — from Matthew Rohrer, “There Is Absolutely Nothing Lonelier”

    In a light rain, I wonder
    at the gray sky, releasing drop
    by drop. Fearless of thunder,
    in a light rain, I wonder,
    do the deep droughts stop
    gripping ground, give water up
    for a light rain? I wonder
    watching the lake’s light chop.

    Reply
  60. Rick Maxson says

    November 8, 2015 at 5:51 am

    Correction for this Triolet:

    In a Light Rain
    — from Matthew Rohrer, “There Is Absolutely Nothing Lonelier”

    In a light rain, I wonder
    at the gray sky, releasing drop
    by drop. Fearless of thunder,
    in a light rain, I wonder,
    do the deep droughts under
    gripping ground, give water up
    for a light rain? I wonder
    watching the lake’s light chop.

    Reply
  61. L. L. Barkat says

    November 23, 2015 at 3:00 pm

    Thanks for all these submissions! Just an update: we are going to continue to accept submissions through National Poetry Month 2016 and then look to publish within 3-6 months after the April 30 closing date.

    Reply
  62. Christina Hubbard says

    April 30, 2016 at 5:49 pm

    I love the poems in my inbox. And the challenge was just what I needed. Thanks!

    Unshelled

    Naively, I expected more from life,
    The one I scratch here on blue lines.
    Won’t words reincarnate me into a leopard,
    An eagle, or butterfly?

    Pens have power to change us,
    Baptizing us black with ink.
    I had hoped to roar, soar, or morph
    From under the page corner, reborn.

    I fear I am a turtle
    After a run-in with a lawnmower’s blade.
    Shell smashed, six months to heal.

    The little toil of love, I thought,
    Was large enough for me
    Shrinks with each stroke.

    The whole menagerie I imagined
    Myself to be,
    Crossed out,
    A reptilian spine exposed.

    The line: “The little toil of love, I thought
    Was large enough for me”
    From Emily Dickinson in “I Had No Time To Hate, Because”
    https://www.instagram.com/p/BE1wl4DFC3T/

    Reply

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