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Golf & Greens: Playlist and Poetry Prompt

By Heather Eure 25 Comments

Golf and Greens Playlist and Poetry Prompt

Once you catch the sharp scent of chlorophyll on the breeze, warmer days aren’t far behind. We think that’s a reason to celebrate—and celebrate we shall, with a brand new playlist! From moment the dew begins to dry on the grass in the morning, till it settles once again in the evening, we’ve got you covered with hours of songs inspired by golf & greens. We hope you enjoy the eclectic mix of tunes from musicians such as: Tom Waits, Yo-Yo Ma, and Mark Ronson (and many, many more!).

It’s clear. Tweetspeak has gone green.

Thanks to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a recent poem from Donna we enjoyed:

Best thing about clothes
dried in summertime’s breath
is they way that you smell
wearing them.

—by Donna Falcone

POETRY PROMPT: Drift back and think about the scent of freshly cut grass. Let the scent-memory swift you away to a happy moment from your past. Write a poem about the look, the smell, and feel of the green grass.

Photo by Ashley Rose. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

________________________

Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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Heather Eure
Heather Eure
Heather Eure has served as the Poetry Editor for the late Burnside Collective and Special Projects Editor for us at Tweetspeak Poetry. Her poems have appeared at Every Day Poems. Her wit has appeared just about everywhere she's ever showed up, and if you're lucky you were there to hear it.
Heather Eure
Latest posts by Heather Eure (see all)
  • Poetry Prompt: Misunderstood Lion - March 19, 2018
  • Animate: Lions & Lambs Poetry Prompt - March 12, 2018
  • Poetry Prompt: Behind the Velvet Rope - February 26, 2018

Filed Under: Blog, Golf & Greens, Golf Poems, Playlist, poetry, poetry prompt, poetry teaching resources, writing prompts

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Comments

  1. Richard Maxson says

    April 6, 2015 at 9:18 pm

    Leaving Carolina

    Birds like black smoke rise
    from Autumn’s fire. Cool nights
    push fescue from its roots,
    and wiregrass hunkers down
    under the brown and amber past.

    Now I must leave.
    The Jonquils here are sleeping fast,
    yet gold lies all around,
    to be, rather than to seem,
    a sign that first green too may last.

    My boot print leaves no trace
    in your mountain streams. Look
    there in a trout’s face for me,
    or on a patch of tended ground
    where rue grows with the columbine.

    What led me here I cannot say
    for sure, nor say what kept me here
    was ever meant to be,
    but I know my heart was blue
    long before I saw your skies.

    Reply
    • Elizabeth Marshall says

      April 7, 2015 at 9:26 am

      Oh how I like this Richard.
      Born in NC living in SC, you’ve captured my home well with words.
      The last 2 lines are perfection.

      Reply
    • michelle ortega says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:26 am

      “My boot print leaves no trace in your mountain streams”
      A nod to our insignificance in comparison to the magesty of nature, but that we leave our traces in the life around us. Beautiful.

      Reply
  2. Donna Z Falcone says

    April 7, 2015 at 1:04 pm

    🙂 Thank you for featuring my little poem.

    Reply
    • michelle ortega says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:27 am

      I took a deep breath and received the refreshing of your words!

      Reply
  3. Monica Sharman says

    April 7, 2015 at 4:40 pm

    I combined this prompt with the jeans prompt. 🙂

    https://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2015/04/01/national-poetry-month-show-us-your-poetry-jeans/#comment-264140

    Reply
    • michelle ortega says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:29 am

      What wisdom, Monica! “Wear the jeans that fit.”
      Love.

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:50 am

      Wise and fun! I haven’t rolled down a hill lately. Here in the Ozarks they are pretty rocky, probably end up in the walk-in clinic. I will roll vicariously and safer down the hill of your poem.

      Reply
    • Olga Salimova says

      April 14, 2015 at 5:10 pm

      This poem visited me and left in good spirit. Thank you!

      Reply
  4. L. L. Barkat says

    April 10, 2015 at 6:07 am

    These are more generally for the theme of Golf & Greens 🙂

    “Game”

    I never learned the words
    nor the swing,
    small distances
    were bigger
    than they seemed.

    ***

    “Spring Gardening”

    What’s this?
    English ivy made its way
    all winter, under white.
    Secrets I will now
    clip.

    ***

    Winter eroded
    all the green, or so I thought.
    Taking my shovel to the concrete walk
    I scraped moss.

    ***

    Mild shoots of wild
    onion, rise.

    Teach me your strength.

    The earth a rock
    I could not shovel
    through.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:27 am

      I love how these hang together, the first with the subsequent three: perception, expectation, endurance and strength.

      Reply
    • michelle ortega says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:34 am

      What a surprise to find all the growth beneath the snow! Just when we think all is quiet, nature has a mind of her own.

      Reply
  5. Prasanta says

    April 11, 2015 at 11:22 pm

    Waiting

    White bell-shaped blooms bend slightly
    Paying homage to depths beneath

    Crisp grass forged upward
    Through a deep darkness
    By a cataclysmic split
    Of a tiny seed

    The ground brims
    With tiny creatures wiggling
    rummaging about the vastness
    of open space, displaced momentarily
    by bursting stalks

    The ground beneath burgeoning,
    Hopeful seeds trembling,
    splitting sides,
    seeping upward,
    awaiting their glorious day–
    and did you catch it, before it died?
    Before it was chipped away,
    Before it faded?

    And life is like this,
    This wait, this wait of spring
    This waiting for bloom
    This glancing at the cusp
    Of something glorious
    This waiting of–

    All around me, the ground is plucked
    And picked and upturned and raked
    Struggling to shake off
    the shreds of winter

    And I have been waiting that long
    For the land of dripping green.

    Reply
    • michelle ortega says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:23 am

      Prasanta, you have recorded such beauty in the waiting! I find myself this year so impatient for the blooms.

      Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:34 am

      Poems like this are as welcome as daffodils.

      You paint with your words, Prasanta.

      Reply
    • Olga Salimova says

      April 14, 2015 at 5:21 pm

      Oh, it is a very alive poem: dirt is a microcosm with its own cycles and our universe is right by its side, or rather connects, and so much depends on what’s in the ground. I like it a lot.

      Reply
      • Prasanta says

        April 15, 2015 at 6:21 pm

        Michelle, I too am impatient for Spring and warmth and sunnier days. It’s coming; soon, very soon!

        Richard, thank you, that added a bloom of sunshine to my day!

        Olga, I appreciate your words about interconnectedness. And the ending of your piece below with “lemon sorbet” is just delicious. 🙂

        Reply
  6. michelle ortega says

    April 13, 2015 at 4:17 am

    Here is my poem, just under the wire. 3 am is usually my favorite time to sleep, but since I was awake… 🙂

    Too young to sport the electric mower
    I cut the grass on my own power
    With the whirring of the blade
    A reel mower, a REAL mower made
    Blades were sharpened by my dad
    A set of clippers also had
    Equipped me with the cut I needed
    Though a linear path could not be heeded
    For the yard was not an angle
    That helped avoid a weekly wrangle
    But instead a hill and bumps
    Made by prehistoric rocks
    Drag the mower up some stairs
    Over the roots, move the chairs
    And rush the hill, blades behind
    And then begin a path to find
    The first pass done, then up again,
    Redirect and let her spin
    Avoid the flowers and the garden
    Or hell’s to pay from the Warden
    When at last the job is done
    I sit down and receive the sun
    Sip iced tea and go inside
    Smiling with a quiet pride.

    Reply
    • Richard Maxson says

      April 13, 2015 at 4:44 am

      Happy 3 am, Michelle! I fear I will spread my insomnia among the members of Charity and Ann’s writing course.

      Wonderful natural rhymes in this. I like that it is about an old reel mower (they are the best for the grass). There is something to love about the two lines ending in “bumps” and “rocks” in the center. They are a sort of implied rhyme. There may be a real poetic device at work here that I am unfamiliar with, but I thought it was very cool to pair these.

      Reply
      • michelle ortega says

        April 13, 2015 at 5:31 am

        I was wondering if you were awake. 🙂

        Glad you enjoyed this! I don’t typically write poems in rhymes, and I don’t think I even realized those words don’t exactly rhyme. The 3 am thing.

        But this was an effort of writing as I was awakening which worked itself out!

        Reply
  7. Richard Maxson says

    April 13, 2015 at 5:28 am

    Sifting

    I sift the soil between my hands,
    then part the earth and plant a seed.
    How marvelous these mounds and bands
    will bring us everything we need.

    The rains are late, and as I weed,
    I sift the soil between my hands
    and pack it down, and maybe feed
    the wintered ground with mulch and sand.

    Then comes the rain and soaks the land.
    By May the tender sprouts are freed,
    I sift the soil between my hands,
    and help direct them where they lead.

    Days grow short, the rows are screed.
    The berries jellied, beans are canned.
    Winter snows that Spring succeed.
    I sift the soil between my hands.

    Reply
  8. Olga Salimova says

    April 14, 2015 at 5:39 pm

    We saw winter freezing into solid crystals and columns.
    Fine needles and plates on windows multiplying and coming together gradually to form a crust.
    We usually loose a lot of skin and the residual wear and tear is engraved into the ragged landscape of our bodies and eyes.
    And we dream of being sun-weathered and soaked in juices of freshly cut grass or… give us another palate cleanser.
    Like lemon sorbet.

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Golf & Greens: Playlist and Poetry Prompt -... says:
    April 6, 2015 at 3:53 pm

    […] “Once you catch the scent of chlorophyll on the breeze, warmer days aren't far behind. It's time to celebrate with an all-new playlist & poetry prompt!”  […]

    Reply
  2. Photo Play: Golf & Greens - says:
    April 13, 2015 at 9:51 am

    […] to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here is a poem from Prasanta we […]

    Reply
  3. #NationalPoetryMonth Round-up (Day 9) | Bonespark~ says:
    April 20, 2015 at 3:33 pm

    […] Shop Talk & Famous Poet Name-drop” NaPoWriMo’s “Visual Poems” Tweekspeak “Grass prompt” 5 Prompts from poetry enterprises Anjie Kokan’s “I AM prompt” […]

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