We’ve been hearing great things about what you’re doing with How to Write a Poem: Based on the Billy Collins Poem “Introduction to Poetry.”
Teachers, students, poets, writers. Beginners and long-time word artists. The results you are seeing make us happy.
So here’s your invitation.
If you haven’t tried How to Write a Poem, maybe you’d like to simply explore this 5-Prompt Mini-Series. Get your feet wet (or your poems precipitated). See what you think.
Click to get FREE 5-Prompt Mini-Series
If you have the book already, then you’ve probably written new poems using it, or you may have general stories about your experience with the book.
Either way, we invite you to share your poems or your How to Write a Poem experiences here in the comment box. If we see something that’s an especially good fit for any of our publications, we might even feature your poem or story.
Happy reading. Happy writing. We look forward to your words.
How to Share Your Poems or Stories with Us
1. Tell us which How to Write a Poem prompt you used, or which part of the book impacted your experience, or how you used the book as part of your teaching (if you are a teacher)
2. Please refrain from sharing poems that you happened to have “just sitting around” (and you thought maybe this would be a good place to drop them off). We appreciate your understanding on this count.
3. Let us know if you are willing to have your poem or story shared. That saves us time (for which we greatly thank you 🙂 )
How to Write a Poem uses images like the buzz, the switch, the wave—from the Billy Collins poem “Introduction to Poetry”—to guide writers into new ways of writing poems. Excellent teaching tool. Anthology and prompts included.
“How to Write a Poem is a classroom must-have.”
—Callie Feyen, English Teacher, Maryland
- Poetry Prompt: Scribble a Poem for “Scribble Day” - March 27, 2023
- Celebrate! A Christmas Carol Illustrated + Poetry Prompt - December 7, 2022
- Making Peace With Paradise—Celebrate + Poetry Prompt! - September 15, 2022
Mary Riesbeck says
The lone walker
I walk alone in a world known.
No one has seen, what I have
witnessed.
A deep dark place, searching
for light at the end of the tunnel.
Every step,I walk not looking back.
I walk alone, unsure where this will take me, but moving forward I will go, never turning back to the dark world.
It may take awhile, I know one thing for sure, by the end of my walk I shall come out stronger.
Laura (L.L.) Barkat says
Mary, thanks 🙂
Take a look at our “How to Share Your Poems and Stories with Us” note above. It has other info that we need for people to see 🙂
Mary says
Thank you, I will check them out. Is this free? Unfortunately I am not in a position to pay any fees or buy anything right now, Also if there isn’t any fees you may go ahead and publish my poems. Again, thank you.
Mary says
I do have FB and Google.
Laura (L.L.) Barkat says
Thanks Mary :). Two important things…
1. We are only looking for poems written with the assistance of How to Write a Poem, or poems written using one of the 5 prompts in the free mini-series you can read about above in this post.
2. We would never ask you to pay a fee. That is (mostly) the stuff of vanity publishers. The exceptions are some small presses that charge a reading fee to pay their editors or ask for a contest fee if you are entering a formal contest. The key is that if you are offered to be “published” and then asked to buy a very expensive book that you and about 500 others have been “published” in, then you can know that’s a vanity publisher. We are not a vanity publisher 🙂 And we don’t ask for a fee to publish people’s poems if the poems are a fit for our publications. Hope that clears things up for you.
Marilyn says
Hello! I am having trouble trying to figure out how to submit the poem I wrote in response to Promt #1. Could you please give me directions? Thanks.
L.L. Barkat says
You’re right where you belong. 🙂 Just put your poem here where you commented about having trouble. 🙂
Marilyn Brown says
Response to Prompt #1 OK to share
Untitled
One must have a mind of theater popcorn
To be snared by the smell stand in line pay the price
And still want to see the movie;
To cheerfully crunch, mindlessly
Munch, handfully hog
And still follow the movie;
To suck and to pick at shells
Maddeningly stuck,
And still observe the movie;
To slimily finger
Striped box’s last crumbs
And still enjoy the movie;
To ignore wanting more,
To forget grease and salt
And still remember the movie.
Marilyn Brown says
Response to Prompt #2. OK to share
Untitled
“Life is but a breeze…”
Aggressive life catches and fills the sails;
Pushed, pursued, perplexed by a bullying force –
Wanting to stay safely leeward,
Blown windward
Beating into the wind
Heave to!
“Life is but a breeze…”
Surges overwhelm –
The rudder is unresponsive to the
Poorly handled tiller
Ease up the frantic sails
Hold the helm to leeward
Heave to!
“Life is but a breeze…”
Perhaps a submissive skiff would be simpler?
Marilyn Brown says
Response to Prompt #3. OK to share
Untitled
Here.
Spirals of lights
Around
Casually bystanding
Trees – Christmas is
Here.
Music that swells
Praising
Inspiring uplifting
Air – Christmas is
Here.
Mysterious
Whispers
Conspiring conniving
Deals – Christmas is
Here.
Away in a
Manger
Rescuing redeeming
Love -Christmas is
Here.
Marilyn Brown says
Response to Prompt #4. OK to share
Untitled
Like crafter’s glitter that fell
Up; glistn’ing, decorating,
Cosmically errant and scattered
Yet patterned, too, into
Story-telling, wish-making doodles
Designed to keep us looking
Up; they have names and they
Snowflake down onto trees
And jewelry, into elderly legend
And sometimes, into my soup bowl,
Tiny, brothy, buttery;
Celestial wonderment that fills me
Up.
Marilyn Brown says
Response to Prompt #5. OK to share
Untitled
Incognito, innately intelligent
…how do seeds –
Buried alive –
Generate incapsulated life to
Send intricate, rooted fingers
On an incursion to find rain and then
Blasting out of interment,
become infused with green,
Imbued with splendor,
Exuding incense?
Travis Blake Allen says
One must have the mind of Christ, to in truth fend off the wolves,
And one must have the mind of horse whisperer, to guide rebellious hooves,
One must have the mind of sleep, if they’re to finally get some rest, and have a mind like mother hen, if they’re to protect the nest,
One must have the mind of friend, if they want friends in return, and one must have the mind of passion, if they want with zeal to burn,
One must have the mind of truth, if they’re to see through man’s fascade, and one must have the mind of child, if they’re to see the Great and Mighty God.
Mary Lewis Sheehan says
Response to first prompt. OK to share
Mary Lewis Sheehan
Jan 4 2017
Snowy Egret
One must have a mind of balance
To watch a snowy egret
Poised on shaggy rock;
And know the subtle breath
That settles him so firmly on
Long pink feet that grip and brace;
Have long borne it so lightly,
Yet strong, sinking it
Through one planted leg
That holds the weight,
Other poised to steady the pose,
Eyes freed to gaze on space,
Have inhaled hot salt air
Gently, deeply into hungry lungs
That wait, and percolate
As, without a movement save a blink
White plumes baffle out
Aglow with celestial light;
One must breathe deeply
And gently sink onto a leg
Or two to bear it all
As passion sweeps up
Both scalp and chest
To feel the cockles fluff.
Katie says
“Snowy Egret” is SO beautiful!
Linda Roberti Herko says
Linda Roberti Herko January 21, 2019
RESPONSE TO PROMPT ONE….”one must have a mind of….” YOU CAN SHARE
The Dancer
One must have a mind of a dancer
To feel the motion in the body;
To see the arching arm’s embrace
Of energy stirred by the sounds of music.
To appreciate a leg extending by the
Timed lift onto the ball of the partner foot;
To note the speed of the pirouette gathering air
And the balance of the body in motion.
To allow the performance to transport one to another realm
One filled with beauty and peace;
To inhale and delight in the essence of dance
To become one with self, movement and music.
Linda Roberti Herko says
Yes please publish
Linda Roberti Herko says
Linda Roberti Herko
RESPONSE TO PROMPT 2: SOUND “You can share”
An Unheard Sound
Anger in itself has no sound but speaks loudly.
You can feel it when your chest tightens,
Your stomach clenches,
And your breath labors.
You can hear it in tone,
Sound it with an attitude,
Yell loudly with voice,
Bang fists on table and slam
a door with sound that startles.
But inwardly, silently
Blood pressure rises
Heart palpitates
Breathing labors
While the body screams.
Sile Mannion says
yes, is this some sort of reading challenge, or treasure hunt? i can’t seem to find how to ‘share my poem’ and i am of average intelligence? you might consider introducing a little clarity to the process?
Cindee Snider Re says
This Crisp Day
One must have a mind of curiosity
to engage with my son, to pique
his interest and draw him below the milky
surface of his days, to where his mind can
play, spinning the pieces of his pain till
it’s edges catch the light, like a moth
to a flame, blades dripping with
derision, wielded toward the snarling
at his heels, relentless and unyielding.
He holds us at all arm’s length now –
enemy and ally, after a decade and days
of growing weaker, sicker, thinner,
cut-off. I watch him dive toward the light
day after day after day, longing for rest, a break-through,
something to shatter the sameness of every single
blessed day. Something to draw him beyond
the compatriot pain, beyond slant and mien,
stance and trim, to taste this new day, bitter
and sweet, a pinch of locust-eaten inheritance,
inexorable, inflexible, inevitable as rain, snarling
at his heels, beat, beat, beating against
his frame, pulse and throb, sob rising
from his bones, railing against loss, desperate
to purge the blackballed bucket of fear coiled
around the mantle of his soul. How he longs
for something to draw him beyond the milky
surface of his days to where he can grasp the
ears of this fresh moment, and ruffle it’s crown,
no longer running beyond, but beside, bestride, within
the mysterious promise of a crisp new day.
( From the prompt: How to Write a Poem: Based on the Billy Collins Poem “Introduction to Poetry.”)
Laurie Flanigan says
This is powerful Cindee. Below is just a sample some of the wonderful lines that caught my attention.
“spinning the pieces of his pain till
it’s edges catch the light, like a moth”
“longing for rest, a break-through,
something to shatter the sameness of every single
blessed day”
“inevitable as rain, snarling
at his heels, beat, beat, beating against
his frame, pulse and throb, sob rising
from his bones,”
I felt like I was pulled into the pain like a moth to a flame, but with nowhere near the level or perspective you have on it. If you are the speaker of the poem, and this is about you and your son, I’m sorry for the pain you each have to live through every day.
Cindee Snider Re says
Laurie, thank you for your thoughtful feedback. I haven’t written poetry in many months. It felt good to write again. And yes, I am the speaker and it is about my son. He’s 23 and fully medically disabled – a brilliant mind in a very sick body. He is completely homebound now and leaves the house less than three or four times a year to see some of his medical team.
Brenda Kay Ledford says
Talking Trees
One must have the mind of fantasia
to hear the poplar trees whispering
words of comfort to their kin.
Mother tree lifts her hands
and feeds the saplings sugar,
friends share a meal.
Light shimmies through the grove
like a cathedral to the crackling
of roots when the sick fall.
The trees send electric waves,
feel the pain of others,
their arms entwine.
Brenda Kay Ledford says
Response to Poem # 3
What Mother Left Behind
Brenda Kay Ledford
A Lone Star quilt
and a box of scraps
from dresses her girls
outgrew and a half-finished
Lake of the Lake pattern:
purple and cornflower blue blocks.
Her sewing machine stacked
with thread, rickrack, and lace;
the curtains she never finished.
Jars of peaches, green beans,
and tomatoes that she canned
glimmer in the pantry.
Pages torn from an old cookbook,
and recipes that she wrote
on napkins, and paper bags.
I found her Blue Horse notepad
stuffed in the dresser drawer,
the journal stained with tears.
Brenda Kay Ledford says
Poem Response #5
My little niece asks,
“Why is the sky blue?”
That’s because God wants
the world to be bathed
with cool, peaceful colors.
“But why are the clouds
black when it storms?”
That’s because the sky
is angry and the clouds
are crying on the earth.
“Why is the grass green?”
asks little Reagan Blanche.
That’s because the paint
spilled and mixed blue
together with yellow.
“But why do the trees
change colors at fall?”
That’s because all the leaves
got together and decided
to have a coloring party.
Donna says
Prompt 1.
One must have the mind of incense
to recognize the alchemy of fire
upon a coil of fragrant wood
the weightiness of life
falls around your feet
in ash
while the bouancy of prayer
encircles your head
in a cloud
(p.s. fine to share)
Sandra Heska King says
I’m smelling sage and sweetgrass…
Donna Falcone says
How did you know? Well, the sage anyway. I am fresh out of sweet grass smudge. 😉
Bethany says
Love this:
“the alchemy of fire
upon a coil of fragrant wood”
The weight and the buyonacy images are just beautiful too.
Michelle Ortega says
Weight falling to my feet and prayers buoyant…perfect for me today!
Joyson C. J says
An uplifting poem that runs deep. It’ s beautiful
Sonia Joie says
Prompt 1 (okay to share)
One must have a mind of stars
to glint and shine and light the dark
or line a sunlit purple sky
and glitter through a lingering sigh
One must have a mind of pearl
to hear the sound of shells unfurl
or paint the sand with marble lines
and read the needles on the pines
One must have a mind of coal
to spark a fire in their soul
or stand against the gaining crowd
and know their heart and speak it loud
Donna Falcone says
When I read this, I have so many questions – fun wonderings… like “who does this remind me of?” or “which is my mind?” and “is a mind different with on different days?” I love this poem, Sonia Joie. 🙂
Donna Falcone says
… or, “Will Donna ever learn to carefull proof read comments before submitting?”
Sandra Heska King says
I especially like the second stanza… I’d like a mind of pearl.
Michelle Ortega says
I’d love the mind of coal…Sonia Joie this poem is a jumping-off place to so many possibilities!
Bethany says
Beautiful piece, Sonia.
This: “One must have a mind of pearl
to hear the sound of shells unfurl”
Joyson C. J says
I love your poem Sonia Joie. It’s beautiful. Especially the lines, ‘ one must the mind of pearl to hear the sound of shells unfurl’ and also the last lines of the poem,’ one must have the mind of coal to spark a fire in their soul…’
The play of sounds in the lines makes it musical
Sandra Heska King says
One must have a mind of drywall dust,
scattered, because then, perhaps,
one might not mind
the dust that settles in the crevices
like overzealous shaken baby talc,
that smooths itself like white velvet
across every surface, that turns one
into a powdered ghost, a strolling Pig Pen.
Achoo!
Sandra Heska King says
Fine to share…
Sandra Heska King says
Prompt 1. (Sheesh)
Bethany says
Fun poem, Sandra. Love this image: “the dust that settles in the crevices/ like overzealous shaken baby talc”
I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the poems when things settle down here. 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
I’m looking forward to reading yours. 🙂
Donna Falcone says
Sandra, I almost cough reading this! It really describes your current … uhm… project. 😉 Lots of great sensory stuff here! Achoooo!
Sandra Heska King says
It’s definitely coughable around here.
June Perkins says
That over zealous talc brings back some memories !
Michelle Ortega says
How poetic is the scattering of all that drywall dust! See how far you’ve come?
Sonia Joie says
Prompt 2 (ok to share)
Pressed
red brick bindery
bronzing the dyeline,
burst perfect bind,
grain long
pages creep,
halo, ghosting,
red ink bleeds
Bethany says
Condensed, powerful.
June Perkins says
Powerful in its economy!
Pithy as one of my uni creative writing teachers used to say.
Michelle Ortega says
red ink bleeds…brings me to a deeper place of the writing life. Wow. 🙂
Laurie Flanigan says
Love this!
TINA COLE says
re prompt one – how to write a – one must have the mind of –
One must have the mind of a sunset
fire in the sky spread across the city
lighting the great conurbation in black silhouette.
Ribbons of commuters threading streets
office girls in tabasco and vermillion
too high heels sashaying home.
The sinking hearts of those crammed down
into the subway
the old watch the sideshow of youth.
Fading Plane trees
bristling with rust
apocalyptic light at the end of the day.
Donna Falcone says
Tina, so many wonderful visuals here… I really like this poem!
My favorite is this, I think:
Ribbons of commuters threading streets
I can almost see those ribbons threading…. 🙂
Bethany says
Yes, I like that image too. And the one of the trees, “bristling with rust[.]”
Thank you so much for sharing this with the Tweetspeak community, Tina.
TINA COLE says
and thank you both too – these prompts are really useful x
June Perkins says
Tina I really love this stanza
“Fading Plane trees
bristling with rust
apocalyptic light at the end of the day.”
Michelle Ortega says
“The old watch the sideshow of youth.” I love this line.
My nana was 99 1/2 when she finally passed and as she told us stories of her life (she lived in the same town with her 9 siblings her whole life) I listened in awe at the way our daily lives had changed over her nearly 100 years, and what she had witnessed.
June Perkins says
Prompt one ‘One must have a mind of’
I
One must have a mind of forests
branches creaking with the wind
song of long forgotten ones
that fell
to be covered by shades of green, rich and velvet
tasted by the eyes
cupped in bowl like hands then
sung for future dreams.
Light sneaks in from the sky
melodies to streak across the
pathway below
through the gaps of green
lines of warmth
awakening the green.
I look to the leaves
dancing velvet canticles
praise to the sky.
II
Songs of the Forest
One must have a mind of creaking branches
singing to long forgotten ones
that fall
to be covered by shades of green
rich and velvet
tasted by the eyes
cupped in bowl like hands
sustenance for future dreams.
Light sneaks in from the sky
streaks across the pathway below
melodic lines of healing warmth
awakening more and more green
to turn into leaves
dancing canticles into sky.
(c) June Perkins
I am still playing with my response to this prompt, and began with the idea of forests.
Bethany says
Gorgeous words:
“One must have a mind of forests
branches creaking with the wind
song of long forgotten ones
that fell”
So glad you shared your writing here with us, June.
June Perkins says
Thanks I am enjoying the prompts, and will be back.
Donna Falcone says
Your poems are so filled with beautiful images and they flow so smoothly…
I especially love this line the most, though I love them all:
to be covered by shades of green, rich and velvet
tasted by the eyes
ahhhhhhh tasted by the eyes… mmmm so nice. 🙂
June Perkins says
Thanks so much Donna. Really enjoying the prompts and hope to do some more of them soon.
Michelle Ortega says
“One must have a mind of creaking branches
singing to long forgotten ones
that fall”
Such a sweet window into aging. Love.
Scott-Patrick Mitchell says
PROMPT #1
how to find perth canyon
one must have a mind of
air to travel down there
, 10K years beneath the
sea where they ask the
question: how many gallons
does it take to fill a hole in the
ocean
one must have a mind of
water if one wishes to fin
& saunter: oxygenate aorta
as coral quarrels about how
deep it can reef. leviathan’s
sleep this far down: bloop
sound
one must have a mind of
topographical lines if one
hopes to find any sing of
perth canyon: descend &
around lungs let air bend
, into water upend & swim
down
one must have a mind of
fishiness: if you believe in
this grow scales & abseil
current’s tale, take in big
breaths, swim great depths
sail as if you own a whale’s
tail
one must have a mind of
water tables to deluge be
-neath water tables: darken
light, let bioluminescence
ignite, see with sonar sight
how pressure holds tight. give
in
Donna Falcone says
Oh this is so much fun! I really smiled at this line: sail as if you own a whale’s
tail… oh, how we would all sail, if we kept this in mind. Really nice!
And, I am always thankful to poets who send me searching – so I looked up Perth Canyon! Wow. That’s quite an interesting spot. 🙂
Thank you for sharing, and for show me Perth Canyon. 🙂
Katie says
Sensory Seashore
One must have a mind of summer
to see the shimmer of heat hover over pavement
like hot waves above a grill.
To smell the salt laden breeze
as the bridge comes into view
knowing the island, shore and ocean, lie just beyond.
To hear the foamy splash
slap onto the beach
chilling ankles, making toes pruney.
To feel the prickle of goose flesh
upon arms and shoulders
as the swells recede.
To taste the salty spray
when waves break over your head
running down your face into your laughing mouth.
Bethany says
Thanks for writing and sharing your poem, Katie! 🙂 Happy to meet you here. Love the fun concluding lines:
“salty spray
when waves break over your head
running down your face into your laughing mouth”
Katie says
Many thanks for your kind welcome, Bethany!
These prompts have been a fun challenge.
June Perkins says
Prompt 3- Using Line Breaks
Losing the North
I lost your Licuala fan palm once seen everywhere
unless I found it in a special garden collecting
palms from every land and then
I lost your rhythm of heavy rain falling
again and again until the garden was
a lake and the day off work –
that might bring to family rained in
some respite from the demands of everyday life
to just sit and be family in song.
I lost that feeling of catching your
sun rise above the ocean if I felt so inclined or
sunrises above the cane
-across the road
I saw an ibis on a rooftop,
wondered if she dreamed herself with you.
A baby butcher bird adopted my family by the clothesline
sang to them life’s mysteries of
the lost and found.
June Perkins
[I enjoyed this prompt and found myself thinking how to best use line breaks – will try it again soon]
Bethany says
Interesting piece, June, thanks so much for letting us read it. Such captivating lines here:
“I saw an ibis on a rooftop,
wondered if she dreamed herself with you.”
Donna Falcone says
The lost and found – yes, so many mysteries there. And that butcher bird who found a family who had lost the North – and it makes me wonder, then, if the North has lost something that something/one else has found, and so on … and that’s one of many reasons why I really like this poem… because it sends my mind wondering about things like this. It gives the reader a lot of emotional options – I like that. 🙂
Katie says
My Daddy’s Legacy
Saturday night prep
for Sunday morn:
bath, shoe shine, lesson –
read and studied,
equipped to give an answer,
to share the hope within
spoken or lived
whether throwing horse shoes,
mixing mortar, laying brick
upon brick, to build a house
to shelter his family
so they may weather any storm.
Bethany says
Sounds like a wonderful father. So glad you shared this tribute poem with us. I enjoyed the playful image of throwing horse shoes alongside the responsible one of laying bricks.
Katie says
Thank you June.
I love to honor my father as he gave and meant so much for me and my sibs. He definitely had a servant heart, always looking to help family and contribute to his community.
Katie says
Bethany,
He was a wonderful Dad – hard working, strict, but lots of fun. I fondly recall bike rides, beach days, camping trips, . . .
He expected much of us and was a steady example.
*(not sure why this reply keeps ending up below June’s comment – have tried multiple times to reply to Bethany)
Bethany says
Katie,
Thank you for sharing about him. It sounds like you have a host of beautiful memories to keep coming back to, and possibly even write more about (if you haven’t already). I’ll echo June’s comment that poetry is such a gift to those who have lost a loved one (I know it has been to me), in that we can keep some part of their touch on our life — active.
June Perkins says
I love personal poems like this as they keep those we lose alive in words and images.
Katie says
Sparks Fly Upward
Vertical shooting stars
zigzag into a darkening sky
Faces glowing, eyes sparkling
follow as they soar high
Bonfire popping and crackling
sends grains of light up
To dance on the evening breeze
swirling and twirling above
Craning our necks
we follow their flight
Disappearing over tree tops
Well out of sight –
but not out of mind.
Katie says
Rise/Fall
How is it that ashes fall down?
Down, not up.
Down, not sideways,
Down.
Water falls down,
Down, not up.
Down, not sideways,
Down.
Cold air falls down.
Down, not up.
Down, not sideways,
Down.
Sand falls down.
Down, not up.
Down not sideways.
Down.
So . . . How is it that sparks “fall” up?
Up, not down,
Up, not sideways.
Up.
Marjorie Maddox says
Prompt 1 (Just back from traveling, so getting to this a bit later.)
Drafty
One must have the mind of wind
to wind along a line as thin as whispers
between night breezes, a mind that stops
and drops into caverns, or picks up to whistle
you back home from where you lost
your long trail of words in a tornado
thick with tangled thoughts. To chase
cyclones, see into the being of chinooks—
mind you—that is the mind’s whiff and whisk,
flutter and flurry, blast and blow. The zephyr
of sentences in a puff of poem:
the blessed drafts that makes the mind go.
Katie says
This is wonderful:)
Gave me goosebumps!
Thank you for sharing.
Marjorie Maddox says
Thank you. An interesting prompt!
Debbie says
Prompt 1
One must have the mind of stars
To shine boldly in the darkness
Among millions gleaming;
Named by God
Longing to be the first
As dusk arrives-
The one a child wishes upon
A cancer to be gone
And the wish turns reality.
Silence reigns in the radiance
Of the heavenly hosts
Led by Maestro Moon.
Until dawn breaks
And they scatter without a trace
In wake of the morning sun.
Marjorie Maddox says
Ah, I like “Maestro Moon.”
Marilyn says
Prompt 1
One must have the mind of a mother in the gallery
rising
finally free of the surrounding chatter
about who wanted to come but couldn’t get the time off,
the latest episode of a show
and where people were when they heard the news,
the shock of it all,
hear, between gavel strikes,
charges,
a plea,
prosecutor’s summary of evidence
that would have been presented
if it had gone to trial,
the judge confirming
the defendant’s desire to plead,
view the back of the orange jumpsuit a few feet away,
feel the hand of the 4 year old
that always reached up for yours
now slipping away,
to know just how high the bar that separates is.
Marilyn says
Within a few hours of posting this, I’d already tweaked the last line a few times and completely changed it once, but no matter. Posting it was a milestone. I find it quite difficult to write stuff that isn’t cheerful, so to write and share is a victory.
Onward to the next prompt!
Katie says
Thank you for sharing this poem Marilyn.
I agree that it is difficult to write and share “uncheerful” thoughts and words.
Yet, I applaud and appreciate your post.
I, have a family member who is incarcerated. I truly have found what a prideful person I am in not wanting others to know. Your post reminded me to pray for and write to this person and ask close trusted friends and relatives to do the same. May God even grant me the courage to visit if possible (this person is in another state).
Marilyn says
It’s a great encouragement to me to know it made you gravitate toward reaching out. I wasn’t expecting it to connect with anyone, so it’s a nice surprise! I’d like to write more about things outside the realm of happy, peppy, perky. I mean, if that’s what rising to the surface. I think I need to 1) for me and 2) for someone out there who might need to know s/he is not alone. I wrestle with doing it, though.
Katie says
I did connect with your poem and it was a nudge for me to get over myself/go beyond myself.
So get that wrestling with sharing outside the happy realm! It reminded me that my family is not alone – we all experience the good and the bad times of life.
Gratefully,
Katie
ruth pallek says
Drought
How is it that this
dry and parched
and thirsty land receives
no rain again today?
The sun beats down
and morning trembles as heat
re-claims another scorching day.
Grass crunches underfoot
and ponds that were once full
with frogs and life,
have died and flats of waiting
clay languish in vain
for drops of healing rain.
Berries dry on desperate vines
and hungry birds tormented,
find water baths and dew in
leaves of mercy,
that last night’s shade
has left behind.
We all suffer.
We all say.
How is it that this
dry and parched
and thirsty land receives
no rain again today?
Katie says
Wow, you made this landscape tangible!
Thanks for sharing.
Katie
ruth pallek says
Hello Katie
Thank you for your kind comments..I guess because I am in the middle of this reality, words flow easily as this is my world that I am experiencing.
Tamara Miles says
Prompt 1 (after Wallace Steven’s “The Snow Man”
The Sandman’s Soliloquy
(after Wallace Stevens’ “The Snow Man”)
One must have a mind of sleep
if she is to know dreams –
accept the rendering of temporary dark,
eyes dipped in ether, turned upward
to the mysterious afterlife
from which we all return at morning.
One must give up fear of rest,
the full stop and lying down
with silent feet and fingers pointed
toward Sartre’s being and nothingness.
Let the burden of restless thoughts
be bound in an ancient holy book,
housed for a season in yesterday’s
dimly lit vault, where still
it fades, brought out to read in the Divine
office of the waking soul at distant
appointed hours —
Let present hours be dealt like moon
cards, a rummy of night royalty, counted
and played in no particular order
on the mind’s rented table,
all the players wearing dark glasses
to hide their secrets.
(do share if you like)
Bethany says
Tamara, thank you for sharing your poem with the Tweetspeak Community! I enjoyed reading through your piece and was particularly struck by:
“Let present hours be dealt like moon
cards, a rummy of night royalty, counted
and played in no particular order
on the mind’s rented table”
Marjorie Maddox says
Yes, I enjoyed those lines as well.
Laurie Flanigan says
I like those four lines too.They tell a vivid and interesting story.
Marilyn says
Mmmmmm. I want to fall back on my pillow…..:-)
This line especially caught my eye: “One must give up fear of rest…”. I reread it a few times. Do we have a fear of rest, some of us? Is that a cultural thing at this time in history? Or has it always been so? I think there have been particular seasons when I’ve needed rest and needed to give myself permission for it. Thought-provoking line!
Marilyn says
Prompt 2 – a poem that catalogs a variety of words from a specific field
TEACHING REFUGEES
I leave at home
concerns about split infinitives,
dangling participles and
subject-verb disagreements
and the eye that spots
from across the room
and before anyone asks,
misplaced commas
and breaches of capitalization rules.
And Dickens. Yes.
We will not have page-long paragraphs
comprised of a single sentence
with a dozen dependent clauses,
much as I may love them.
We will not be searching for antecedents.
No, this is seats-of-the-pants
language training,
where, when a refugee learns to say
“Bathroom, where?”
“In pain, me. Go see doctor.”
“How much?”
we hear success.
The finer points will be tended to down the road somewhere.
This is not work for elitists.
Sticklers for form need not apply.
Lovers of people, yes.
(can be shared)
Marilyn Yocum says
Prompt 3. Suspense Breaks
THE BOOK in THE DOOR POCKET
My subject today
will not make a good poem.
It barely makes a good story,
but I can’t shake the image
of the book stuck in the car door pocket,
the one I bring with me just in case
I need to slip out,
my Plan B.
I used to be more easygoing, but
I haven’t the wiggle room I once had
to sit politely, absorb, smile benignly
and run out the clock, nobody knowing
the pain I’m in
when the sub comes
and every road to good discussion leads him to
what’s wrong with this country
and a railing against something,
not after I’ve so carefully placed
boundaries around what I take in,
even unfollowing and hiding, temporarily anyway,
a few friends I love dearly.
Just as a personal mental health initiative, mind you.
And now, in what should be the safest place,
I find myself
sitting in the 3rd row of class, feeling bombarded,
hoping we’ll get back into Hebrews 13,
pining for last week’s insightful and profitable exchange,
my bag of tricks for turning a discussion, empty,
craving escape, weighing options,
dreaming of the book in the door pocket,
wanting to slip out,
but not wanting to abandon my classmates and
praying for relief.
A lot of “-ing” words there.
Present. Continuous.
Tense.
And a voice in my head,
saying,
“Stop being so sensitive.”
* * *
If the sub had not approached after class,
to say he appreciated my contributions the last hour,
if he’d not come between me and the door,
it might not have come over me,
it might not have happened,
what happened next, my saying
how I’ve needed to place limits
and how I hope he’ll excuse me,
if ever the conversation turns political
and I need to slip out,
I hope he’ll understand
and not take it personally.
Honestly, in all my weighing and strategizing,
it never occurred to me before
to just tell him the plain truth.
Marilyn Yocum says
(May be shared, yes)
Katie says
“Just as a personal mental health initiative, mind you.”
Oh, Marilyn – that we would all be able to take care of ourselves in this way – through boundaries and honesty!!
SO appreciate your authenticity.
Katie
Paul says
Love this, Marylin.
Robin says
Prompt 1 (may be published)
One must have a mind of steel
To not believe the world must heal
Before it blooms another time…
Yes, one must have a simple mind.
But to live with love and OPEN minds,
To let the heart be kind,
Is what the world needs most right now,
To mend our broken times.
Robin says
Prompt 2
A crinkle here, a wrinkle there-
A dusty smell is in the air;
I walk the aisles for quite a while,
Sans a single care.
An amber light- not too bright,
Helps me as I look;
Leather, paper, spiral bound-
Oh, these gorgeous books!
To pick just one is just no fun,
Which will steal my heart?
Bookstores have so many-
That’s the hardest part!
Robin says
Sorry! You may publish Prompt 2.
Thank you so very much for these daily writing prompts…they are tons of fun~
Robin says
Prompt 3 (may be shared)
So we brought a puppy home,
She was cute as cute can be;
New pup smell, wiggly tail,
Happy, silly, friendly.
What a playful little thing!
The energy that she had-
She was here, and there and everywhere
Doing SOMEthing bad-
My shoes she chewed in no time flat,
And the sofa, springs and all!
How is it that one small dog can-
…Oh no! She ate the wall!
Where was that little-
Grrr…she was a chore!
We needed her to come straight back-
For she had dragged away our door!
Yes, we brought a puppy home,
And she was lucky she was cute-
Who would have thought she’d be so wild…
And such a crazy hoot?
Robin says
Prompt 4 (may be shared)
That beautiful face! And his sweet embrace~
Baby has stolen my heart;
A blessing from Heaven- a gift from God,
I knew right from the start.
My baby boy, my pride and joy,
Grows in spirit and years;
In no time at all, he’s gotten so tall!
Each moment held so dear.
Life has a way of keeping our days
Full of ups and downs;
Doctors’ praise and hospital stays,
He never wears a frown.
Medication he takes, some progress he makes,
My “baby” becomes my hero;
He plays as he can and works hard to make plans
To keep up with other kiddos.
From the soccer ball to wanting it all,
He’s much like other boys;
But at times he must trade a few medical days
With his beloved games and toys.
He keeps himself still, hanging on to his will
To forever be strong and brave;
My baby, my hero, this gift from God
Dons a light which never fades.
His future unknown, he heads off on his own,
I know he’s in God’s hands;
I’m proud of this boy, my happiest joy,
And I tell him whenever I can.
Bob McGinness says
The only response to prompt four that I can currently find on this page, this is impressive. I like the way you used time and growth as the changing perspective. Well done.
Paul Walker says
Prompt 1 – fine to share
One must have a mind of glass
Hot moulded, flowing slow
Host of pure cool water
Refractive, and
Indistinguishable
In its transparency
Found deep in earth
And on strange, distant moons
Knowing of time
It will not last
Shattered and reformed
Anew.
Michelle Ortega says
Prompt 1 (okay to share)
One must have the mind of an oyster
who builds a home from her own substance,
to possess the grain of sand that slips in
while she opens her body to the sea.
Not one to expel a challenge
her voluptuous mantle
embraces the grain,
gifting nacre layer upon layer,
until a smooth white gem,
cool to the touch
but radiating an iridescent fire,
is borne.
The oyster knows the sand
is the heart of the gemstone.
Joy Lenton says
Prompt 1 (fine to share)
These hidden depths
One must have a mind of a wave
Barely making a splash they dive
and glide within this stream
Maybe they’re seeking Davy Jones’
locker? Invitation to greed
barnacled with seaweed, silting
of time-encrusted treasure
These hidden depths explored
by the adventurous, thrill seekers
or those with questioning minds
Sometimes an accidental tourist
strays into a watery highway’s
home for curious travellers
Each sigh and swell are subject
to celestial meandering, whim of moon’s
moods affecting circumstances
A shift in the skies influences
tides to turn at will; guided
by an unseen hand they regurgitate
soft spools of lace onto thirsty land
©JoyLenton2016
Irina Dimitric says
Autumn – Prompt 1 (fine to share)
One must have a mind of rain
To feel
The lightness
Of free fall
Down to thirsty earth
To splash
The plants and creatures
Bereft of zest
To also dance with spent leaves
The last gavotte
Of gold and rust
In weary paths
And to listen to the dancers’ steps
If in distress
To gently wash the windows
Of their souls
© 2016 Irina Dimitric
Irina Dimitric says
Gallus Gallus Domesticus – Prompt 2 (okay to share)
In a small suburban yard
A tale of joy unfolds
Cheerful chickens roam
Across the green grass lawn
Scratching here and there
For wriggly worms
And buzzing beetles
Clucking as they peck
Cluck a-cluck cluck …
Softly cackling with delight
At tomorrow’s morning scoop
Laid out neatly
In their cosy coop
© 2016 Irina Dimitric
P.S., Sorry, no time for research.
Irina Dimitric says
The End of Innocence – Prompt 3 (okay to share)
The good old days. No digital technology.
No television, nor transistor radios, just a big
brown box in a corner of the living room. And
a gramophone with a brass horn, His Master’s Voice.
Music of the twenties and thirties, the tango, the waltz,
the foxtrot, and the wild charleston, of course, when I was
just a child in 1940. I was five. The only child. It was
a good year. I loved the puppets in the Montessori school.
We danced, and sang in French, and with our small hands
created things of beauty, hearts of clay
for our mums and dads, our source of love,
who knew more and feared what was yet to come.
That night, in April 1941, my dad looked strange
in military uniform. He came to kiss me Good night.
“I’ll soon be back”, he said with a smile and warmth
in his eyes. “Sleep tight.” He shut the door, I clutched
my white teddy bear, the same I had when I was one,
pressed him to my chest as tears dropped on his head.
© Copyright 2016 Irina Dimitric
Irina Dimitric says
In the Whirligig of my Mind – Prompt 5 (fine to share)
Why have you betrayed me?
Silence.
I can hear my own breathing
in the dark of the night.
Thoughts are dancing the Eternal Dance,
the dance of whys and ifs
in the whirligig of my mind.
Images of Innocence flare up,
childhood joys
and fears,
a kind of longing,
a longing to reach the unreachable,
not knowing exactly what,
yet longing for the Rapture.
Dreams,
sweet dreams
of Everlasting Happiness,
promised at the end of
Each
Fairy Tale.
Why have you betrayed me?
Why have you fed me lies?
Dead Silence in the dark of the night.
*
© Copyright 2016 Irina Dimitric
Linda Kozel says
MOONLIGHT
One must have a mind of moonlight
Driving down country roads
Splashed with stardust and gravel.
Ghostly stark remains of barns
Shelter remains of machines,
Grown rusty, cold and silent.
Musty hay and dead leaves
Scatter in the shadows
Hiding warm furry scavengers
Looking for seeds in loam.
One must have a mind of moonlight,
Driving down my country road
Looking for shelter and warmth
And a remnant of home sweet home.
Linda Kozel
Laurie Flanigan says
Linda, These lovely phrases use sound beautifully. 🙂 “mind of moonlight”, “Splashed with stardust and gravel.”, “Ghostly stark remains of barns” “Scatter in the shadows”
Linda kozel says
Thank you!
Mikels Skele says
Prompt # 1, from Wallace Stevens’ Snow Man.
One must have a mind of sludge
To slog away relentlessly
On poem after poem
After poem
Unaware of any passing beyond
The viscous seconds and minutes
Never mind hours
Though sludge moves even mountains
Into valleys
Please feel free to broadcast this poem as widely as you dare. 😉
Linda Kozel says
I did the first one. Since then I just haven’t had time. I returned to work. I shared my poem, Moonlight.
Katie says
Here is a poem I wrote recently (wish i could recall the prompt)
Frenetically Exhausted
Faster, faster
Run, run, run
E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g
Needs to be done.
Even if I’m out of energy
Tired? Too bad!
I can’t stop
Cause
All these tasks
Literally
Logically
Yell at me until I drop.
Everything
X,Y,Z
Has to be
Accomplished
Under
Strict
Total
Endless
Duress.
*& yes, I’m still obsessed with the acrostic form:)
JoyAnne O'Donnell says
Prompt 2: Poem
Lavender Fields
I sing a song
among the lavenders
of the relaxing color
blowing in the breeze
the sun looks like
she is going to turn in
so the sparkles through the clouds
unto the bed of night.
JoyAnne O'Donnell says
Prompt 1: Poem
Imagination
One must have the mind
to imagination
a step
a doorway
leading to thousands
of flower petals
covered with colored words
scented with genius.
JoyAnne O'Donnell says
Prompt 3:
Rainbow
Lights in the sky
arch across the meadows tie
fields blow autumn color
warm blue satin satire
mother nature
twinkles glamour.
JoyAnne O’Donnell
Linda Kozel says
Prompt 2
Horse Speak
Fetlocks covered in mud,
Hoof pick in hand,
Me, scraping gently,
In measured strokes.
Warm sudsy water
Washes away the mire
That could cause scratches
And sores, an equine malady.
Soft snuffles as I stroke a soft muzzle,
That nudges my back pocket
For something sweet, a favorite
Horsey treat.
Chores finished, halters off,
Stalls are mucked and box stalls bedded
Where half arab and quarter horses sleep
Where oats, alfalfa, and hay smells sweet.
Bridals and girths are oiled and clean,
Stowed on hooks, saddles are neat.
Curry combs, brushes, and blankets away,
I turn off the light, it’s the end of the day.
Linda Kozel says
Prompt 3 How to Write a poem
My Inheritance
Linda Kozel
November 30th 2016
My Mom and Dad left us, exactly six years
Ago, today. They left behind the house they
Lived in for almost sixty years. The rooms are
Standing silent, testimony to the wear and tear,
(tears?) laughter, fights, stony silences, joy and
Mystery. Dust collects differently not, not kicked
Up by footsteps that were once quick and sure,
But became slower and even on hands and knees
Did Mom negotiate the scary back stairs that
Curved at the bottom to Dad’s back room. The
Attic, pantry, garage, cellar, and closets were full
Of ancestor’s belongings from civil war and before.
Old radio parts all over, car parts, mufflers, hunting and
Fishing and letters, (fan mail from some flounder?). Dust motes
On sunny days, curling wallpaper, stained by leaks in the roof,
A sad reminder that nothing lasts, nothing stays. Then
I look at the palm of my hand and see lines that
Used to touch and be held by my Mom and my Dad’s hands,
A part of them, that will always be a part of me. More than “stuff”.
Katie says
Linda, what a beautiful tribute to your parents. This reminded me of this quote: “The best things in life aren’t things.” My mother has this on her refrigerator and she gave one to each of my siblings and I years ago – good reminder.
Linda Kozel says
thank you! : )
Linda Kozel says
How to write a poem, Prompt 3
December 1st, 2016
Thursday Morning
Depression Glass
It is another morning, a new
Month has been born and here
I am with chaos surrounding me
As I look for something that resembles
Serenity, calm in the midst of my storm
That may take me away from the
Darkness of depression that has its
Cold fingers reaching and clutching around
My fragile heart that is so easily broken,
Mended cracks threatening to shatter
Into a million pieces and to dust, to be
Swept away. So, I focus on a corner of
My window where a single piece
Of green depression glass sits,
Surveying the mess my camera does
Not reveal, contemplates green grass
Outside my window, beckoning my
Soul to climb out of its darkness
Out of the night and into the
Light. How will I light my candle if
It’s gone?
Linda Kozel
Katie says
Have been in the pit more times than i care to count –
I thank the true Light for not leaving me there!
Hugs & prayers for strength to reach up and outwards:)
Eunice Myron says
Large hearted,though with a weak heart;
With the essence of serenity trapped in her motility;
Her massive heart that readily accepts fate and it’s severity;
Cut off untimely by fate and too much faith on her part;
As harvest time’s bliss lingers shortly before the toils and qualms;
So did she enjoy the briefness of being cradled in the arms of love;
Enraptured by her melodious hums and employing it as an escape from this perverse world as resolve;
Suddenly thrown from the tutelage of warm arms into the cold grip of deaths bloodstained palms;
Having every right for her spirit to be bitter and abhorrent;
Her warm heart was enough to melt the cold glare of revenge’s woeful stare;
Retribution defeated,forgiveness entreated with care;
Alloyed with acceptance and a sweet sleep is hers once more after tears’ torrent.
(Fine to publish)
P.s I want to hear your honest opinions..thanks
Katie says
Oh, Eunice – thank you for sharing this!
Particularly loved –
“Her warm heart was enough to melt
the cold glare of revenge’s woeful stare;
Retribution defeated, forgiveness entreated with care.”
BEAUTIFUL
Mary Saderson says
Prompt: One must have a mind of …
FLYING
One must have the mind of a bird
Anxiety is my new worst friend
Like an unwanted guest
Like mother-in-law’s surprises
Like ugly holiday gifts and speeding tickets
Once I owed the skies; like a bird I was
Gracefully floating through the clouds
Now butterflies flutter against my stomach walls
But still I fly.
Linda Kozel says
Thank you. I think of flying too. Maybe butterflies can become bluebirds?
Mary Saderson says
Prompt: One must have a mind of…
Poetry Helps, Heals
One must have a mind of a poet
My poets do not rhyme
Poems cure loneliness
They heal
Word are my medicine
Thoughts be my companions
They heal
My poems are not conventional
Poems are my thoughts
They heal
Meter is my comfort
Pretty words bring smiles
They heal
Katie says
Comfort, healing, smiles – yes!
Oh, the power and pleasure of poetry!
Love this:)
Linda Kozel says
Very true. I hesitate to share what I write. It is so revealing. And healing for me, to write. and now tx to this site, I read.
Your sharing is healing.
Thank you Mary
Michael says
I can relate to your poem; at times I need it to heal myself and to move on. It helps me express my feelings I have inside. Thank you for sharing your poem.
Michael
Mary Sanderson says
Prompt #5 – Mystery
Title: What Is His NAME?
What is his name?
We flirt and smile.
Have hugged once.
Why is it that we have not
shared our names?
Maybe we like the mystery of it all?
Our good will and gestures are enough.
To know our names would destroy
the fantasy or not?
Why risk it all by speaking names?
Our names would not change
who we are or appear to be.
Or oud it?
.
Mary Sanderson says
Ops… in the last line I meant to write WOULD. Forgive the silly type-o
Mary D.
Mary Sanderson says
Prompt #2: Sound – Irresistible Vocabulary
Title: Bottom of the Ninth
There are two strikes against us.
We come from different worlds.
I am older than you.
Will do what needs to be done for there to be an “us.”
If you can pitch it, I can catch it.
You stole my heart as easily as stealing second base.
I came prepared to play to be part of the game.
Send me a signal of your intentions.
Don’t leave me stranded on third base.
Hit a sac fly if you must.
My feet like wings will carry me to home plate.
I’ll be waiting for you in the dug out.
Beth Werner Lee says
Prompt 1, okay to share:
One must have a mind of Christmas
To see the tree drooping now
Heavily laden with ornaments
That will break and scatter
Its dry unyielding leaves and boughs
And still be glad for each treasure
Taken down and lovingly stored
And hear of the upcoming tree burn
On epiphany day: 100 trees
In Solvang making a bonfire
And choose to go see light and life.
Mary Sanderson says
Merry new year!
Your poem was very seasonal and enjoyable.
Thanks for sharing!
MDS
Michael says
Prompt 1- I was thinking more of the concept than actual imagery.
To be innocent again – what I wouldn’t do
One must have the mind of innocence
to love freely without prejudice
and see with eyes open wide
of what a person truly is inside.
To be free of fear and mistrust;
from which our insides start to rust
rotting away hope and light;
diminishing our souls as it fades into the night.
We must insist on being innocent;
free from the whispers of discontent
from the doubt that drapes and suffocates,
killing our hope the more it permeates.
So resist with every ounce of your being;
we‘re all the same, we want something to believe in.
Whether we make it or whether we fall,
like a child we’ll eventually heal from the scars.
Those childlike qualities is what’s missing,
look deep inside; they’re in each one of you.
Remember what it was to live and love without hate?
It’s the only thing that will save us from our fate.
Never give up believing in humanity
because humans are you, them and me;
embrace others no matter race, creed or color
we are all children of God; sisters and brothers.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Michael says
Prompt 2 – this was pretty easy since it’s one of my favorite pastime when I have the time.
Angling for The Sea
Fiberglass flexibility,
at six and a half feet
it’s half a foot taller than me.
Tip top, tip, windings all secure;
guides to butt guide, top to bottom
all the eyes are aligned.
Male and female ferrule
fit like glove over fist;
make sure there’s nothing I missed.
Oh, man the handle is firm and neat;
there goes the real seat, butt cap
and hook keeper, well that’s that.
Ball bearings all are well greased;
the gears work perfectly
as the reel handle I gyrate
to adjust the drag moderately.
The bail is firm and the line spool is
full of line, now to attach the reel foot.
With the remnant of a salt smell
I gather my other equipment;
aerator, tackle, tackle box,
weights, leaders, popping corks
hooks, and a variety of lures.
Now a drive to the shore and leave behind my cares.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Michael says
3rd Prompt – This one was very personal.
My Son, My Heart
The distinct smell of iodoform permeates my sensory neurons
as I sit in the waiting room with my muted emotions
staring at the television I can’t emote a response to Monday Night Football –
Across the way my wife carries our son in ICU;
he doesn’t cry because he’s heavily sedated
but soon, his heart will no longer beat
because he has a terminal illness. At only
a day and a half old he will never know
what we look like or see our now sad faces.
What is worse, today is April 19th, 1993
and MNF has been replaced with David Koresh –
the TV burns fire and smoke fills the screen –
and my eyes fill with tears – not from the smoke
but from the fire that is being extinguish in my son;
he can hear our voices and softly smiles, holding my finger.
But now he is slowly fading away…he will be
gone but not forgotten; I didn’t hold him
she did – but I will always hold him in my heart.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Laurie Flanigan says
Michael,
This is beautiful and poignant. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Michael Garcia says
Hello Chandra,
No I haven’t used this invitation yet; but I will. I have a lot on my plate regarding my family. I will get to this most likely this Thursday; thank you for the reminder.
Cohl Warren-Howles says
The Stranded Whales
It has been recorded, throughout our history
But it still remains a mystery
Why these leviathans, of the deep water
Come to land and then to slaughter
Themselves, as their numbers rise
And we can only watch their demise
As frequently, we witness with concern
Their inability, to return
To deeper waters, to feed
So therefore we should heed
As these beasts, come ashore to perish
And we should then learn, to cherish
These mighty creatures, of our seas
And listen well, to their pleas
Are we responsible, for the cause
As to why they come, close to our shores
Is it due to underwater seismic surveys
And low frequency sounds, that plays
In interfering with their echolocation
Could certainly be, one explanation
Is it the accumulation of our daily waste
That we dispose of, in our haste
And pollutants, chemicals, acids and gas
That brings them ashore, en masse
The US Navy, plans to deploy
Seismic sonar, which may destroy
These animals, that have no notion
In over eighty percent, of their ocean
Or is it changes, to the earth’s magnetic fields
As the pressure, it therefore yields
Upon these disorientated mammals, of the deep
As they follow each other like sheep
Or are our military ships to blame
As they collide and continue to maim
So they come to shore and die
In their numbers, they’re forced to lie
Or are they fleeing, from a shark attack
And these social creatures, follow the pack
If one of their kind, signals distress
Instinct forces them to coalesce
Their water is derived, from their food
Therefore one can also conclude
That if their food, is in short supply
They will dehydrate and woefully die
So whilst it was not rare, at Farewell Spit
We all have to help, you have to admit
As the volunteers, formed a human chain
To encourage them to stay, in their domain
Those who helped, could hear their sighs
And their splashes and their youngsters cries
As on the sloping beach, they lay
Just beyond, the ocean’s spray
So with its long coastline and gentle beach
Their echolocation, did not reach
The object, which was the shoreline
Which would of course, be their sign
To not enter into waters shallow
To just become, decaying tallow
There is no answer, or definite reason
Why this devastation, seen this season
Is down to humans, as is normally the case
Or just the behaviour, of this incredible race.
Rebecca D. Martin says
One must have a mind of madness
To read the news, hear headlines
on the car radio, dropping the children off
At school just in time, their “Bye Mom”
A back-cast afterthought, the sudden silence,
The morning stretching out
With promise; and not feel a little uncertain,
This world, this day, the classroom activities
Quiet to the minutes that will hold your morning.
Anything can happen, and you would only know
If the teacher texted you to say, “Your daughter
Fell off the swing, and she cried, but
She’s okay now.” You have no choice but to trust that
It’s true.
(First prompt; okay to share.)
Laurie Flanigan says
Response to Prompt 1
Transience
One must have a mind of migration
a view that muses south. While geese
stack in the strata, and heat meanders
out the estuary’s orifice. Stray hairs telltale
my cheek, reminders… in this weakened state.
One must have a mind of migration
to endure the wind the game birds
take. In seemingly weightless pointed
shapes, they perforate the sky and day
with the same amorphous impermanence
that makes me opt to stay.
(Okay to share, but if you do please let me know by email or by replying to this comment. Thank you 🙂 )
Katie says
Laurie, I enjoyed this:)
Thank you for sharing!
You made it so real that I could smell the salt air and feel the wind.
Laurie Flanigan says
Thank you, Katie.
Laurie Flanigan says
This was fun! I used prompt 2 and looked up book restoration terminology. When I saw some of the damage terms I couldn’t help thinking about the poem that the book, and therefore the prompt, is based on. I hope it’s as much fun to read as it was to write.
How to Love a Battered (and Abandoned) Poem
Lift the tortured pages up
Cradle hold the tattered spine
Fingering the threadbare paste
Trembling from the undone twine
Clutch with care the open tear
Watchful of the bumped and bruised
Dinged and chipped and maimed and ripped
Dog-ear folded, soiled and used
Find the place the pulse still wakes
Memorize its rhythmic script
Clasp its digits palm to soul
Ride each wave of dampstain lift
Trace its life lines, with all fault,
On your deepest inner caves
Ventricles and atriums
Take its passion to your grave
Okay to share, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know you’ve shared it by email or by responding to this comment.
Katie says
Oh, Laurie!
SO enjoyed this – it’s marvelous:)
Especially connected with these three lines:
“Watchful of the bumped and bruised”
“Clasp its digits palm to soul”
“Take its passion to your grave”
Thank you for sharing this wonderfully constructed and descriptive poem!!
Laurie Flanigan says
Thank you, Katie. I was a lot of fun.
Katie says
Welcome, Laurie.
I found the limerick prompt the be fun – got mine in a bit late!
Andi Redlum says
I used prompt 3 and it’s ok to share!
Dawn:
light and air,
lift,
slip.
Seeking, then hiding.
Threading through the branches.
Then rushes,
Rising and landing,
the way a child runs, arms outstretched, through a field of wildflowers,
leaving a silent wake.
Dawn reaches to the day.
It is Day,
which disturbs the most.
Its bright unhiding.
A bold gaze-
penetrating,
unforgiving.
Demanding,
tasks to be done.
Careers be made.
Minutes expanded into profit.
The ‘more’ that is never enough.
But dusk.
Dusk:
The falling of day.
Its exhale and gentling,
the quieting.
The weary Sun,
expanding in generous warmth,
Prepares, luxuriously, for rest.
Ignighting trees, stroking petal, blade,leaf alike.
Fondly farewelling
while pulling in the edges of days sprawl.
The Crone of evening presses a finger to her lips,
Shushing the light.
Here begins
the whispering hours.
Velveted footsteps
of the settling and tucking of the day.
Each blossom releasing a silent, fragrant sigh as they close
their petals to the dark.
Day is dismissed
to memory.
Dreams replace the daylight
with her harsh truth.
Until complete
when Dawn trips in
anew.
Laurie Flanigan says
Hello Andi. I like that this is cyclical, ending where it began. I also like that you’ve sort of separated it into sections. Dawn, Day, Dusk… And the phrases “pulling in the edges of days sprawl” and “velveted footsteps” 🙂
Andi says
Thanks for the feedback!
Laurie Flanigan says
You’re welcome. I always enjoy getting feedback.
Andi says
Based on prompt 5 and feel free to share-
Where do days go
when they disappear,
unused?
When pain prevails
And daylight hurts?
Are they gathered,
harvested?
Somewhere wrapped in cotton,
protected,
preserved,
waiting to be restored?
Or, do they linger
In the periphery,
that they may offer up their unused moments,
to unsuspecting days?
Perhaps they merely drift.
Lost, wasted-
a burdened mist,
heavy with the unlived.
Tell me,
where do the days go when we cannot be there to live them?
Ayeyemi Taofeek says
The first prompt, the imagery prompt, prompted this; The poem of Wallace Steven, The Snow Man. It came at a time I found it difficult to wish a friend well on his birthday. I’m glad it inspired me…
Also, I’ll love the poem being shared… Thanks.
THIS IS YOU
One must have a mind of a winsome cat whose nose is crafted to a search engine,
Sniffing the heads of every sands,
Turning the waists of every stones,
Lifting the petals of every leaves, with care,
Like a borrowed dried leaves of bryophylum.
The noblest and best of mankind said
every man was a soul stored in an alcove
before they’re blown into a foetus, And
when we meet our old neighbour on earth,
We’ll be closer than siblings picked from different niche, Malik was on my left side.
D’Hissue, of resolved issues.
I’m the curious winsome cat,
You’re the searched,
Found on the eyes of the mirror;
And when I smile at it and it smiles back,
I know and can tell: “This is You.”
(Ayeyemi Taofeek Aswagaawy)
Donna Falcone says
This gives me a beautiful feeling of friendship. I am so glad you shared your piece with us all!
Ayeyemi Taofeek says
It’s my pleasure and I’m glad you find it enjoyable.
Amy Bellin says
This is from the first prompt that begins with “One must have a mind of…”
Castles in the Sky
One must have a mind of clouds
to comprehend the vastness
of the connection of this planet
To view the exquisite blue and green orb
from opaque billows above
and sense the vital relationship
Riding cumulus vapors
until they hover above the shimmering sea
the misty fog hugging the shore
Children gazing up at the floating castles
their arms stretched high overhead
not realizing they cannot reach
The view from below makes Earth seem small
from above, it is the grandest ball of sapphire
we are not separate
Linda Kozel says
Love this. Thank you!
Katie says
Amy,
Your “Castles in the Sky” is beautiful.
Particularly enjoyed this verse:
“Riding cumulus vapors
until they hover above the shimmering sea
the misty fog hugging the shore”
Katie
Larissa Wildsmith says
TweetSpeak poetry, prompt 1:
One must have a mind of…..
SIP STEP BREATH
One must have a mind of coffee
to complete a half marathon
A shot of Espresso will jolt you
through the first few kilometres
amongst the neatly thundering herd
until your rhythm kicks in
sip step breath
sip step breath
You glide into a creamy Cappuncino pace
the perfect blend of Jamaican strong
and Hawaii Kona smooth
topped with a frothy mess of chocolate
sprinkled affirmations
that you always think are too saccharine
until you reach eighteen kilometres
all bounced out
sipped dry
running on dregs for legs
Now you’re just a sachet of indiscriminate
dehydrated instant coffee
with yet another hill to climb
But the finish beckons like an IV drip of Frappuncino
its icy caramel opiate cajoling you on
with the promise of a second wind
which floods your starving veins
the exact moment you cross the line
OK TO SHARE THIS
Katie says
Larissa,
I’m not a marathoner nor a coffee drinker – but I sure enjoyed your poem:)
Bob McGinness says
Response to first prompt:
“One must have a mind of …”
(OK to share)
Brunello di Montalcino, Caparzo
One must have a mind of mushrooms,
braised in hot rosemary oil,
wild aroma over stracci
(caring not to over boil).
And a thought for Cappelletti,
truffled pasta basking soft in
melted butter, urging gently
for a wine you don’t find often:
Savored glass of red Brunello,
tended Montalcino vined;
Tuscan flavored complementing
all the flavors in your mind.
julie says
simply divine
longing for wine
Katie says
fun:)
Bob McGinness says
Response to second prompt:
“A poem that catalogs a variety of words from a specific field”
(OK to share however you would like)
Helm’s Alee
Look around, catch my breath, clear the deck, untangle feet,
hear the call, “Come About”, grab a line, “Helm’s Alee.”
Lift, release, cockpit cants, swiftly haul the starboard sheet,
tail and winch, steadied course, where’s the mark? Where are we?
Getting headed, need to tack, catch my breath, clear the winch,
straighten snarl, “Come About,” “Helm’s Alee,” free the sheet,
turn to port, pull the line, tail and winch another inch.
Where’s the mark? Muscles ache; adjust the jenny, clear the cleat.
***
We make the turn at Bloody Point, the wind completely sours.
We watch the masthead vane turn round to search the windless sky.
We sit and talk for twenty minutes, turns into two hours.
We gybe the main, set whisker pole; a wing on wing we’ll try.
We’re drifting back toward Bloody Point, the tide has turned the seas.
We note a knot of speed and contemplate the trailing leech.
We sit and sweat and fix our lunch. Is that a puff of breeze?
We see the wind is picking up; considering broad reach.
***
Hour’s gone, reefed the main, furled the jib, radar’s down,
soaked to skin, unaware, should have thought to look around.
Bob McGinness says
I should have shown this to my wife before I posted it. She says I should have called it “Gybe Talkin'” which is a more appropriate title.
Katie says
Bob,
My husband is an old salt and thoroughly enjoyed this!
Thank you for sharing – and he agrees with your wife’s title selection;)
Katie
Bob McGinness says
Thank you.
Bob McGinness says
Response to third prompt:
“Stanza breaks (enjambment)”
(OK to share)
Papa and Grandma’s Visit
When Papa comes to visit us
we all go out to eat,
and Grandma starts her questioning
and tells us don’t repeat
the things that she might ask about
back to our Mom and Dad,
and also not to tell them all
the junk food that we had
to eat, ‘cause you might not approve
of food you give us, never –
a hot fudge sundae will not hurt,
and that we should not ever
tell you that she asked about
the Nanny that you fired,
’cause she was sitting on Dad’s lap,
so scantily attired.
Bob McGinness says
Response to fourth prompt:
“Exploring different perspectives in a poem”
(OK to share)
My Wife’s Cat
Oh, my poor Fluffy must be sick
to vomit up a glop so thick.
Come here and sit upon my lap;
enjoy yourself a little nap.
That food they buy with salmon, chicken,
is not supposed to make me sicken.
The truth is I don’t really care;
I’ll chuck a fur-ball anywhere.
I step into the viscus mess,
I’ve got to clean this up, I guess,
and wondering if he’s overfed,
I scrubbed and sprayed and then I read,
“I am proud to put my name behind,
a product that I’m sure you’ll find,
removes the smell and lifts the stains,
a clean, fresh carpet all remains.”
Larissa wildsmith says
Tweetspeak Prompt 3 – Lines & Suspense
(okay to share)
AFTERNOON TEA
She stares
at me curious eyes
blinking in the sun
crumbly fingers
hovering over the plate
– fluttering
a monarch butterfly
breaks the spell.
It alights on the table
and I am forgotten.
She grins and burbles
incoherent with mute
delight at our vibrant visitor.
It flicks its wings
mesmerisingly
coming-going-coming-going
coming – she seizes
another handful of cake
fisting it between her
toothless lips
guzzling at tiny sticky titbits
decorating her
digits – going
our fiery orange visitor vanishes.
I pick up the tissue tucked
into my sleeve plucked
from the box in her room
a shuffled 246
or so
footsteps away
(what a beautiful view we had swooned
enthusiastically, and she had nodded
placidly) I dab gently
around my mother’s mouth while
she examines her cake-flecked palm – I wipe
she stares
at me curious eyes
blinking in the sun.
Katie says
Larissa,
Poignant.
Thank you for sharing.
Bob McGinness says
Response to fifth prompt:
“Begin with a question.”
(OK to share)
Who’s the problem this time?
Who do I blame today?
Who will be held responsible?
Things didn’t go my way.
The pitcher was tired,
the outfielder missed,
the quarterback fumbled,
the manager’s fist.
The goalie’s a jerk,
the ref cannot see,
the crowd wasn’t with us,
that call cannot be.
The lying salesman,
screwed up tech,
my co-worker’s bush-league,
my boss is a wreck.
Teacher is wasted,
corporate bungle,
society’s problems,
out there’s a jungle.
Immigrant labor,
network chump,
talking heads,
could be Trump.
Mom and Dad,
kids are quibbling,
could be my partner,
or a sibling.
Someone else is the problem,
Finding out is the key.
Might be you, could be them,
it certainly isn’t me.
Katie says
SO good!
Michael Garcia says
Prompt 5 from How to Write a Poem • Mystery: Questions
Do You Know a Moon’s Sorrow
Do you know a moon’s sorrow?
When shrouded by brooding clouds
as thunder and lightning cry out
masking the glory of its brilliant light?
Its luminance not even that of a firefly,
nature’s night light hanging in desperation;
desperate for some kind of cooperation
but this night the tempest just won’t comply.
Hours pass without an admiring fixation,
regretfully the satellite resigns and succumbs.
Push aside from the cyclic rotation;
swallowed up by the brilliance of the sun.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Michael Garcia says
Prompt 5 from How to Write a Poem • Mystery: Questions
It looks like you deleted both versions of my poem; so I’m resubmitting the correct on on this prompt.
Do You Know a Moon’s Sorrow
Do you know a moon’s sorrow?
When shrouded by brooding clouds
as thunder and lightning cry out
masking the glory of its brilliant light?
Its luminance not even that of a firefly,
nature’s night light hanging in desperation;
desperate for some kind of cooperation
but this night the tempest just won’t comply.
Hours pass without an admiring fixation,
regretfully the satellite resigns and succumbs.
Push aside from the cyclic rotation;
swallowed up by the brilliance of the sun.
Copyright by NewLife2008
Joan M Case says
Prompt #1 Based on Stevens’s Poem
Broken Pieces
by JMariah
You must have a mind of a cookie
to face the falling crumbs,
the broken pieces
torn from your edges,
shards and shavings
that dot a hard, cold plate.
And when the world walks away,
leaving that plate for empty,
you tear yourself away
from the pieces you have to
leave behind.
(I bought the Kindle version of this book and look forward to doing more of the prompts. For now, I am going to try my hand at the prompts that have been delivered to my email box. This is the first one.)
Joan M Case says
Prompt #5 Based on Robert Haight’s Poem
Write a poem that begins with a question. Don’t try too hard to answer it.
How Is It The Night
by JMariah
Sep.28/17
How is it the night
steals so softly across the evening sky,
its fingers deep shadows
that snake their way under
the beds of little children,
pulling covers tightly to chins
then pounds itself
so loudly in the ears of lonely mothers
dreading the cold beds,
waiting to suck the last of the warmth
from their exhausted bodies?
How is it the dark
Stays, when eyes pinch tight
against its harsh emptiness,
pushing against eyelids,
tracing the sunken hollows
of sockets without windows
for looking out?
And where does the night go
when the weeping is all over,
when dreams sink out of sight
and are forgotten,
like they had never existed
at all?
(OK to share)
Lucinda Berry Hill says
From the prompt “one must have a mind of . . .” Yes, you may share my poem
The First To Hold Jesus
One must have a mind
Of a manger at night,
Outside of an inn
Where people unite,
To take hold of the fact
That you are a choice,
With the dampness, the stench,
And all of the noise.
It could have been different.
It could have been them.
The people inside.
The ladies and gents.
But God, He chose me,
Just a dirty, cold manger
To be first, besides parents,
To hold the great Savior.
I didn’t have clout.
I didn’t have wisdom.
But I was God’s choice.
His final decision.
All that I was,
I let Jesus have.
I humbly received Him.
I held nothing back.
He filled every inch
Of my unkept being.
With Him there, suddenly,
I knew I was clean.
He gave me a purpose.
He filled me with hope.
With Him here inside me
I’m never alone.
One must have a mind
Of a manager, you see,
Humble and able
To hold the Great King.
Author Lucinda Berry Hill ©
Katie says
Lucinda,
Thank you so much for sharing this.
I really love the ending:
“Humble and able
to hold the Great King.”
Just today I finished reading Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy by Anne Lamott. She includes a poem at the beginning of the book by Naomi Shihab Nye titled “Famous” – the final verse is:
“I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything
spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.”
Your “humble and able manger” conveys much the same idea:)
Actually the penultimate verse in “Famous” is in my opinion even more powerful, so I encourage you to search for it.
Gratefully,
Katie
Lucinda Berry Hill says
Thanks, Katie, for your comments. I’m glad you liked my ending. I’ll definitely have to look up “Famous.”
Lucinda Berry Hill says
From The Prompt, Based on Barkat’s Poem. Yes, it may be shared.
The First Cup
My eyes are open, I say a prayer,
Everything else, a blur.
I stumble to the kitchen
Where things begin to stir.
I reach into the cabinet
For a paper, feather light.
It’s supposed to catch the coffee grounds
If you get it in just right.
The beans, already grounded.
I haven’t got the time.
I need that coffee yesterday.
It helps to wake my mind.
I fill the basket with a scoop.
Then add another more.
My hand, it slips and hits the side.
Grounds of coffee hit the floor.
I kick it to the left for now.
More important task’s at hand.
I pour into the reservoir,
Water, for it to blend.
Coffee black or with cream.
Sugar if you will.
Any way you serve it
I will drink it still.
I hear the motor running.
It begins to percolate.
I grab a tasty donut,
Another coffee mate.
My mouth begins to water
As I hear the coffee drip.
It’s made about a half an inch.
Enough for me to sip.
I grab my favorite coffee cup.
(They’re all my fav when filled).
I quickly pour that half an inch.
Careful not to spill.
Oh, how I love Columbia.
It makes for a good day.
With coffee and my Jesus,
I’ll, now, be on my way.
Author Lucinda Berry Hill ©
Florence says
Prompt 1
One must have a mind of early morning light
To toss aside a soft comforter and warm clean sheets
To put on well-worn shoes and lace them up
To head out into the crisp, dark world
Where breath pours forth as steam
And know that trusted habits like these
Shape the mind and heart and body
In ways that only time will tell
And even when the dark is cold
And the light’s warmth is not close at hand
One knows that each step into the darkness
Will move them closer to the break of dawn
Believing that time builds on time.
Lucinda Hill says
Love it!
Florence says
So fun!
Candace Kubinec says
Prompt 1
The Mind Of Cats
one must have a mind of cats
brave enough to venture far
cross streets that hum with
traffic to find new neighborhoods
exploring, seeking, conquering
filled with the assurance
of your place in the world
yet still wary of danger
lurking -sometimes among
the familiar green bushes
in your backyard -with hissing
curse, defend this sacred territory
find pleasure in a warm
sunny spot where you can
curl up, purring in contentment
then, when the day is through,
put aside defeat and victory
and sleep undisturbed
Candace Kubinec
(you may share)
Candace says
Prompt 2
Sound – using an”expert vocabulary’
Early Morning Snapshot
There was just a slight film
Of ice on the birdbath
Evidence of exposure to
A cold snap overnight
From the fog covered window
of my dark room I wipe a
small aperture from which
to view the depth of the field
beyond the fence
as I watch a cardinal bursts from
the bare branches of an
old oak tree in a flash of red
Candace Kubinec
( please share)
Laurie Flanigan says
Beautiful! I love that you’ve used the vocabulary in a different, yet connected, way.
Candace says
Thank you!
Candace says
Prompt 3 – line breaks
Sweet Dreams
When there is nothing left
Or even right
About this dying day
When night appears
As a relief
A balm to sooth the blisters
On my aching heart
When sleep
Provides a healing touch
Then, only then
I dream of you
Candace Kubinec
(please share)
Malsawmi Jacob says
Imagery: One must have a mind of
Mountaineer
One must have a mind for mountains
to be undaunted by bare height,
sheer rocky cliffs towering to the sky
hard grey walls, inviting none
to scale the vertical surface
leading up to who knows where?
As the climber reaches higher
the wind picks up speed and strength
screeching, howling, ever louder.
How much nicer to common men
to tarry in the vale below
on grassy patch by rippling stream!
Christos Victor says
Savior
one must have a mind of Christ
to see folks as molded clay
rising from the soggy mire
a pitcher, a cup, a plate
to serve another fare
a bite food or pacific touch
binds the wounds that kill
removes the pus of error
offers tender words that heal
shepherd hooks the drowning
washes dusty feet of disciples
carries rood with head high
the sheep know the shepherd’s
voice expecting no rewards
knowing the Father is smiling
This can be posted
The Prompt, Based on Stevens’s Poem
Start a poem with “one must have a mind of . . .” and choose a word
to complete that first line and explore through sensory language.
Christos Victor says
The Prompt 2, Based on “Gerda in the Garden” by Sara Barkat
Gerda in the Garden
Vineyard Harvest
birds sow wild grape seeds
roots thrust grow deep in loam
male and female flowers bloom
forgers harvest fresh grapes or raisins
blush rests on autumn’s exocarp
fermenting wines; millennia’s husbandry
climat and lieu-dit plows terroir
Bacchus’ grafts red and white cultivars
trained on trellises and pruned
the vintner hires vendangeurs
sweeps clusters ripening each day
“I am the vine, abide in me”
John 15:5 New International Version (NIV)
5 “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.
Christos Victor says
Prompt 3 line breaks
The Kiss
eye’s fervor captures silky lights;
a spark feeds hormones wildfires
a butterfly draws on nectar sweet
and lounge in tilted cherub’s smiles
Victory over Japan ticker tape parade
grasps bodies, two heads bend near
as lips greet soft, warm and wet
Klint’s gilded painting captures gold
liquid talk shares lover’s code
floods wash and fill with quiet glee
friendship fires as the days stretch
into weeks and scores of years
we’ll bear life’s storms together
but as the last frenzy breaks, I lie
sick and dying, my lips chapped;
you soothe them with a sultry kiss.
Copyright 2018 Christos Victor
Victory over Japan kiss photo (Alfred Eisenstaedt/Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images)http://cdn.history.com/sites/2/2015/07/vj-day-eisenstadt.jpg
1 Rodin’s “The Kiss” http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/rodin-the-kiss-n06228
Gustav Klimt “The Kiss”
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/40/The_Kiss_-_Gustav_Klimt_-_Google_Cultural_Institute.jpg
Line: A Sample Poem
What My Father Left Behind
Chris Forhan
The Prompt, Based on Forhan’s Poem
In Forhan’s poem, not only do the line breaks, but the stanza breaks (breaks between groups of lines), carry a lot of “weight”: half-finished—, he might be, and it arcs, for instance. Write a poem in which the breaks
at stanzas suggest emotions, multiple meanings, themes, or suspense. Challenge yourself further by making each stanza the same number of lines.
Christos Victor says
prompt 3 A-Ha!: A Sample Poem
Paintbrush
yellow ochre crushed from terra’s womb
paints hillock wastes with tumbleweeds
a sauntering arroyo divides and fills
with winter’s rains as poppies spring
and peek from Antelope Valley’s meadow
pronghorn calves birthed, the dance has stilled
paradise paved for metal rubber monsters
oily pitch and gasoline scent the winds
millennia of skeletons line La Brea’s
tarry pits preserved as flesh decays
California’s poppies dress for April’s fool
by May are burnt with umber’s shades
Copyright 2018 Christos Victor
yellow.
“Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot, others transform a yellow spot into the sun.”
-PABLO PICASSO, attributed, Managing Creativity
The Prompt, Based on McFadyen-Ketchum’s Poem Constellations
McFadyen-Ketchum “catches the light” of these fireflies from a variety of angles, describing them in different settings, times, and imaginations. Each stanza presents its own flash of insight about these creatures. Choose an object to explore from a few different perspectives in a poem.
Christos Victor says
Prompt 5 question
what’s in a kiss?
Is a kiss on my list?
tenor of a friendly voice,
spark of honeyed lips,
scent of a slow caress,
chasing close embrace.
Is elevation in a kiss?
traversing distant mounts
veiled by mystics and mists
discovering worlds seen
only through lover’s eyes.
Is Eros’ kiss I can’t resist?
encounters serendipity
melody below my window
sure you’ll stand near
if I bruise, fall or rise.
Is transport in a kiss?
life jacket cinches
surging tides deliver
breathing mouth to mouth
revives on isle’s shining shore.
2018 © Christos Victor, All rights reserved
The Prompt, Based on Haight’s Poem
Write a poem that begins with a question. Don’t try too hard to answer it.
Joanie Roberts says
March 24, 2018
From Poetry Excercise Prompts, Tweetspeak Poetry with Mary Oliver’s How To Write A Poem!
Find below in reply my first poem of five in series. Joanie Roberts
One must be a mind of spring
To feel the rich coolness in the air
And the ground unearthed
To behold the Ozark hills adorned
Sprinkled in spring pinks and service whites
And hold their softness in your arms
To be out and about roaming
Walking boldly among the blossoms
Feeling each new petal and young green leaf
And in April still breathing in pollen storms
While braving the weather forecasts anyway
To walk through the back hollows
Go down by the creek rock springs
And watch the clear waters flow
Then hunt for morels underneath an old elm tree
Sit in wonder at a mountain lake
To see the sunlight play
And watch the southeast winds hit water tops
Making new disappearing wind-fans
One must have a spring mind
To know what is new
And to find their roots again
#poetry #amwriting #fearlesswriting #nature #spring
Carrie Tangenberg / Philosofishal says
Response to Prompt #5 OK to Share
How is it that of all
the signs of spring
—bulbs budding and
blooming, birds once
away returning, catalogs
for summer clothes and
swimsuits, lawn-greening
trucks and greening lawns
bloated by the cause of mud,
rabbits, baby rabbit-ventures,
showers, thunder, thunder-
snow, swift snow-melt, even
high winds, high clouds long-
wanted warmth, and light’s
longer days—the least
welcome harbinger
should be, over all,
the shining sun?
Why does the bright light
—its crisp, brassy heat and
golden hue causing such stir-
rings and deeper, lovelier blue
of sky; why does the very sun’s
shine
portend that inner dullness, an
inescapable oppression of the
heart, the soul’s own shadowing
over, a deadness of ashes turned
blacker for the beams cast on their
heap, and so fully the more I look,
the more I sit and stare out the
window that is a door I could
open but for my blanched
sight and just this one
globe’s eyeless
glare?
(C) C. L. Tangenberg
Cindee Snider Re says
Poem from Prompt 2
Canticle of the Cranes
They arrive with the first breath of spring, still
weeks off, as if it trails behind them, pulled north
along their migratory routes. Do they sense it
on the horizon? Do they taste in the tender
tuber shoots? Or is this annual convergence
of half a million cranes along the Platte River
(tributary of a tributary flowing into the Gulf
of Mexico) a date imprinted on their DNA,
a primal tug to pull up stakes and log nearly
500 miles a day en route to their summer
nesting grounds? They must be exhausted,
this mating pair who soak up the afternoon
sun. But the sedge is here now for the
summer, soon to prepare last year’s
mound for this year’s chicks. But first …
they dance! Pumping and bowing crimson-
capped heads, leaping and stretching wings,
tossing small sticks to the wind, and inviting
their life-long mates to copulate. I wonder if
they miss their days in the bachelor flock?
Or if they’re content to raise their young,
a doublet of colts, impatient to run, striking
out from the nest in less than a day – easy prey
for a sharp-eyed owl or a scavenging coon.
How soon are they taught to beware of
their predators? I’d love to capture them too –
not to band or clip or harm – but to photograph
them – mother and chick, adults asleep flamingo-
style in the icy bog, balanced on one leg, sedge
mates preening with iron-rich mud. How stirring
their rolling, rattling call, rising from throats
shaped like a brass trombone. I wonder
how many springs these Sandhills will return?
Will their duet outlast my own?
Martin Brook says
I’m new to poetry. I found your site through Megan Willome’s book, Joy of Poetry. This poem is inspired by the first prompt, ‘ One must have a mind of….’ Certainly okay to share. Thank you for your site!
One must have a mind of desert
To delight in gale and dry heat of day giving way to
Cold brittle nights forcing stars awake from under their blankets
Waking the coyotes who dig for water that
Surfaces for Bighorn sheep and Cottontails,
Water that San Andreas fault and fissures force into springs,
Hot saunas, cool oasis flowing through aeolian dirt that
The permanent shelled turtle thrives in though always sifting,
Like the wind always blowing dust, barely bringing wild rain
Pounding rapidly, soaking soil that can’t grasp precipitate but
Creosote, Cholla and Ocotillo, deep rooted, thick skinned,
Grab hold of moisture and fight to hold tight until Spring
Loosens calloused fingers, rough, brittle, from cracks grow
Fairy Duster and Paintbrush; polychromatic on stark backdrop
They make their stand; dig in for one more season.
Martin Brook
Sue Edmonds says
THE WARMER TIME
Sue Edmonds
One must have a mind of summer
To watch the petunias flourish their colours
The flax flowers multiply, bloom and seed.
And enjoy long days and sticky heat
Despite the growth of weeds like docks
When lawns need mowing every week.
The breeze shimmying through the leaves
Of trees planted and matured in twenty years
Hydrangeas of massed purple at the gate.
A mass of sparrows hopping round the door
Waiting for birdseed breakfast every day
And baby rabbits watching for the cat.
A time of sweat and chores and fun
When combing moulting donkeys till
Their coats can glisten in the sun.
Sue Edmonds says
A COUNTRY START
Sue Edmonds
The rooster next door knows when it’s morning
Telling the neighbourhood all about it
A bird in a bush near the house tries its voice,
Amid rustling the sparrows start their day.
The milking shed on next door’s farm
Cranks into action, hissing and plunking
Cows stand quietly, waiting their turn
To be relieved of overnight production.
When the back door clicks open
Donkeys rouse and start whiffling
I tear at the hay bales and stuff it in bins
Two goats and two cows arrive at the gate.
The cat indoors yowls for its breakfast
Seems everyone here gets fed before me
But having the tribe fed means that its peaceful
As I wait for the mail and read all the news.
reena choudhary says
The Life Of A Soldier
We have an understanding, you and I.
We sit in silence; nothing needs to be said.
I know the weight you carry.
You hold your head high, but inside you cry.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
Memories haunt you!
But you stand tall and show no fear.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
You hear voices of days past come rushing to your head.
You think to yourself, “He was a good one; why is he dead?”
You wonder if you should have done things differently.
No time to think, only react.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
The guilt is too much to bear.
Although you were wounded, you question,
“Why him and not me?”
You can’t forget the faces that were there.
The life of a soldier is not an easy one.
We have an understanding, you and I.
You’re a soldier for life; and it has not been an easy one.
Carrie Tangenberg says
reena,
Thanks for sharing!
I love the fitting effect of the repeated line and its variation at the end. Nicely done.
I also like the rawness, the simplicity, of it. That really helps the emotion penetrate.
Good effort!
Narelle Hancock says
This is my response to prompt 2
Alley
Behind the glare of neon lights
In alleyways long hidden
We find the evidence of lives
Displayed
As debris, dross and litter.
A midden built of rubbish bags
of refuse, waste and spoil
Discarded tat, an odorous heap
That’s pungent
Foul and fetid.
The facade of the city
Denies it’s squalid side
With opulence and empty smiles
It charms,tempts and beguiles.
Reena Choudhary says
I am very much thankful to you that you and appreciation, its my honor and i am glad.
It’s my pleasure to introduce myself. Well, I’m Reena Choudhary born and raised in India.
As i am a Mother of 5yrs old son I found the courage to write Poetry and short stories.
My strengths are my attitude that I like to take challenges that I can do it, my way of thinking that I take both success and failure in a balanced manner.
I don’t like to say weakness but I like to say scope for improvement that is I won’t leave any ask in completely, I believe in myself and my hard work and I want perfection in everything.
My short term goal is I want such a platform where I can grow my career. My Poetry also published in the Magazine called ” The Pangolin Review” Country Mauritius.
I am very much looking forward to hearing back from you, i am positive.
Thank you once again for your time and regarding for next process.
Thanks & Regards
Reena Choudhary
India
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
Isabelle G. Schlegel
In response to Prompt 1
You may share if you desire 🙂
One must have a mind of Stars
A map of midnight where
The sundial is no longer golden.
Shadow tracks the light
And nips at Daytime’s heels
Gulping, she is never quenched.
Moon drapes her
Silver song, and runs a river
Down Earth’s cheek-
But Shadow isn’t finished yet.
She blows an icy breath
Upon the ocean breast
And one by one,
Weary eyes become
A beacon, for which Stars are drawn.
They march to a rhythm
Only known by time,
And dancing in your
Frivolous glance,
Sink in the horizon’s
Wildfire, whispering
The last words to Night’s
Divine.
Renay Intisar Jihad says
PLAY
(All rights reserved)
Avoiding the drama that lags and lolls
In the cryptic kingdom of life’s never-ending droll
Two animated kids avoiding confusion
Life, for them, is a happy illusion
Laughter, like hyenas, on an African plain
Drenched in joy, embracing pleasure, not pain
They are the diamonds in a graveled walk
They are the diamonds in coal’s black chalk
Finding bliss, that’s what matters, not idle talk
Avoiding harsh words that make others cry
Playing in the sun like there’s no tomorrow
Swinging on the wings of the by and by
Without marks of cowardly dowry.
By Renay Intisar Jihad
(All rights reserved)
Kathleen Yeadon, osb says
Prompt #1 ok to post
One must have a mind of the wind
Blowing where it may
for seeds to land anew
destruction to change a landscape
hair blown in a sense of freedom
Wind blowing in the right direction gets a plane
To its destination early
Blowing in the wrong direction a bit off scheduled.
But blowing wind knows no right or wrong direction
Only blowing
What would it be like to live like the wind
No sense of right or wrong
Only sense of being.
Andrew Wright says
I don’t usually write poems with a religious twist, but that’s where this one ended up…
One must have a mind of friendship
To offer food, to break bread with
A stranger
One must have a mind of kindness
To smile authentically, openly at
A stranger
One must have a mind of empathy
To sit with, to listen to the story of
A stranger
One must have a mind of life
To hang between, in the place of
A stranger
L.L. Barkat says
I really like the idea of having a mind of “life.” Yes, and yes again.
HARPREET SINGH says
My First poem in response to 1st email prompt The Prompt, Based on Stevens’s Poem
Start a poem with “one must have a mind of . . .” and choose a word
to complete that first line and explore through sensory language.
For example: One must have a mind of salad. One must have a mind
of seahorses. One must have a mind of roller coasters
The word “roller coaster” touched my heart so written
Roller roaster
Life is a roller coaster to ride,
Perhaps its the utter truth of time…..
Which gets confirmed as time flies……
Highs and lows, ups and downs,
Crazy stuff of jiggle around…..
Wins, defeats, make us live,
Sometime happy, sometime cry…..
The friends we met on the ride,
Makes our journey worth of pride…..
To be like one,
In others life…..
For a time or a life time…….
To give the love,
That we wish to have……
To help others rise,
When everything on line….
To say the words,
That embrace the worlds….
The affection which grows,
through the air…..
The aroma which flows,
Through the lakes…….
The care we feel,
With our friends…..
If sometime ends,
Gives us surprise….
Suddenly life stops,
At a full stop…
Make us realise,
How trivial we are….
In this world to have few moments,
That gives our coaster memorable moments…..
It is to relish,
This ultimate treasure……
To such friends,
I am with them….
Longer than Always……….
and longer than Forever……..
Harpreet
Christa Carter says
Prompt 1 ” One must have a mind of…”
** okay to share**
Title: A song that makes the heart stop
One must have a mind of silence to sing
a song that makes the heart stop
An antelope staggering in the forest heard
a song that makes the heart stop
Taken together eyes mesmerize
a song that makes the heart stop
I heard you before I saw you
a song that makes the heart stop
Silence is my virtue, I sing
a song that will make your heart stop
Katie says
Christa,
“Taken together eyes mesmerize”
Love that!
Thank you for sharing:)
Katie
Christa Carter says
Prompt #3
*** okay to share***
Number 332
This is it, turn right
on Rose Street
left on Perdue
ours is the brick house
number 332
and the door is
red? It was yellow
with one bike
not two
ours is the brick house
number 332
and when you walk there is
a table? We had a chair
we both loved
it was blue
ours is the brick house
number 332
and to the left on the mantle is
a vase? Not that picture
the good one of
me and you
ours is the brick house
number 332
and when we said forever it was
only 4 years? from the time
innocent lovers
first said I do
ours was the brick house
number 332
and now it belongs to you
Linda Trott Dickman says
Linda in the Hardware Store
She was met with eau d’ fertilizer,
Paint, years of cast iron, aluminum,
Key filings, aerosol insecticides,
Bulbs gone wild, seeds in season.
There were washers, wingnuts, screws
Light bulbs and fixtures, radiator keys, hammers, nails
Birdfeeders and seed.
There is bicarbonate of soda, slaked lime,
She walked among the garden art, the flags,
The poles and hardware to mount them,
There were screwdrivers of every kind,
Allen wrenches, borax and vinegar.
Hours and hours of conversation.
A safe haven for plumbers and pilots,
Gardeners and handymen alike.
“He is here.” her eyes watered.
All she could smell was Old Spice and Saturday mornings.
by Linda Trott Dickman
Linda Trott Dickman says
Prompt 1
Al Dente
After Wallace Stevens
One must have the mind of pasta
To regard boiling water and salt
In the big red pasta pot
And be boiling in it for minutes
Then two more minutes, to arrive
At just the right texture
To compliment the sauce,
please the palate, not think
of the finality of the same
Water which brings a lobster
To its end, a slow death.
Boiling in the same pot.
Bubbling, filling the air with steam
For the hungry one who waits
For the stiff that was, to be the soft that is.
Linda Trott Dickman
C. S. E. Cooney says
This is from Prompt 1 “One Must Have a Mind Of”
The Window Woman
By C. S. E. Cooney
one must have a mind of quarantine
of clean, sterile surfaces, a surfeit of paper
supplies, sustainably made, bamboo or DIY
and have been altogether distant for so long
so calm, so detached, watching the world through
glass, listening to the far-off song
of the cactus wren, and the mangy cat in the Bermuda
grass, filthy and desperate, eyeing the hummingbird with
lust, one eye crusted over, one ear bent, tail broken
there is the sound of muted traffic, and the smell of
not-as-much smog, mosquitos batting at the screen
like small anxieties, homing, homing in on heated blood
and protected I sit, quiet, contemplative, not much
different than before, yet trammeled, yearning for more
resigned, a watchdog, slavering for signs of my time
Shelly says
You really nailed the feelings of quarantine in this poem. I especially liked the description of the cat watching the hummingbird.
C. S. E. Cooney says
A Day In the Recording Booth
by C. S. E. Cooney
plosives are plush explosions, plummy and plumy, breathy and balloony
blowsy as tulips, effervescent on the lips, bubblebounce of sound
need a popscreen, angled jaw, distance from the mic (or put a sock on it!)
the “r’s,” however, more approximant, are rounded, restful consonants
though by weary end of day, they rasp and fray and deliquesce to “w’s”
sibilance is easy-peasy, susquehanna-Sasquatch-squeezy, yes but even they
sometimes slide to lisping fricative, voiced or voiceless dental fricative
“Thuffering thuccotash!” crieth Thylvethter. “Thith tongue ith tired!”
the lateral is lulling, liquid and compelling, but in the end, all there is, is
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Arthur Turfa says
Wallace Stevens prompt fro 19 May 2020 You may use if you wish.
One must have a mind of delicacy
when preparing an omelet. Pieces
of shell dare not float with what
was inside of it, Enough milk added
but not for the whiteness to dilute
the vibrant yellow. The right amount
of time before flipping; but only
after gently lifting it four times’
to ensure even cooking. Then
a dusting of parsley , some paprika
for mine, but not my wife’s. A moment
to admire, before savoring.
Muhammad Bashir Umar says
One must have the mind of water
To regard the serenity, calmness
And formlessness.
In Summer,
To behold beautiful fragrant water lilies,
The strong and weak currents.
In Winter,
To feel it’s cold and icy texture,
It’s motionlessness.
One must have the mind of water,
To admire however it alters.
Joyson C. J says
(Poem based on prompt Ni. 2)
What a fusion that was, the immiscible elements
Of life exploding into surprising creative spurts
Causing quite a furore, upsetting and raising portents
But things settle into crystalline precipitates
In the spine of fusion lies a thread invisible
Of pure divine reckoning which rises invincible
From the ardent thermidynamics of hearts’ crucible
There arises passion so resolute yet malleable
Life’s amorphous joy particles get seeded in bondings
Around the nucleus of bliss do we have our true moorings
Struck by grief and isolation in life’s cold winter bearings
Grief convalescing, coalesces with joy into meanings
Before being soiled by desire, everything was pristine
Let me just touch or use but not covet, for it’s all Thine
And tie them together but not with an ignorant twine
With the glow of true faith and love, let me sparkle and shine
Brittle is all earthean matter as it’s wont to be
Bridling density and gravity through humility
And self annihilation, you are blissful as a bee
Lo, the subtle truth circumambulates in gleeful spree
Finding the equilibrium amidst all the fuss and fret
Keeps you always so buoyant and blissful, for you get
To become a benevolent catalyst to turn debt
Into supreme wealth, a quirk of life’s chemistry, I bet.
Shelly Kopol says
Response to Option 1 One must have a mind of Winter
The Monarch
One must have a mind of butterflies
To watch the flutter of orange wings
On the milkweed with sweet flowers;
They lay their tiny eggs on the
bottom of each emerald leaf
Minute white nonpareil babies.
Hatching into caterpillars
Voracious milkweed eaters
They quickly grow; 2 thousand times
Then build their jeweled miracle
chrysalis transforming a month
Slowly unraveling curled, damp wings
Surviving disease and hunters
Migrating three thousand miles
To the woods to mate and return
One must have a mind of butterflies
to watch the flutter of orange wings
They lay their tiny eggs and die.
Katie Brewster says
Very descriptive.
Favorite line: “minute white nonpareil babies”
Veteran Henry Mworia says
The poem I did is the first Prompt “One must have a mind of…. ”
STUCK TOGETHER
One must have a mind of glue
To explore the many surfaces
Untouched and unsmothered
with affection.
Binding the distant memories
With the sudden broken reality
That life is a tragedy
And atonement a sacrifice wasted.
To adhere to the rules
Adhesive
To stick to each other
Cohesive
But move like a well-oiled machine
Impressive.
Every single touch
Brings meaning to hold
And once running stops
Can you stand me
Once you run dry
Like dried up glue?
-By Veteran Henry Mworia
Shelly says
Beautiful!!
Veteran Henry Mworia says
Thank you. I can recommend you to check out my blog if you can to see more of my poetry.
https://ricoveteran.wordpress.com/
Veteran says
Prompt 2
1000 Words
Opening and closing.
Stomata?
No, aperture.
Emotions can be captured
F-stop
And take a picture.
What about the crop?
What about the background?
That information cannot be lost
In a loss free.
Unless you are an expert
Of Bokeh!
And with a burst
And a flash
You risk exposure.
Just know when to flash sync
And where to focus.
They say a picture is worth 1000 words,
But what if there is a time lapse?
What if there is a long exposure?
Tell me, when you see an image
Do you see a picture or pixels?
By Veteran Henry Mworia
L.L. Barkat says
I love what you do with sound in your poems. Also, the twists and turns of thought. 🙂
Veteran Henry Mworia says
Thank you
Veteran Henry Mworia says
This is the 3rd poetry prompt
THE FIRE WAS MY PRIZE
To be or not to be,
The question lingers
like a long line of
a fisherman’s uncaught
menace!
And as I lay back
On the uncomfortable chair
I am caught
sleeping on the job.
That last warning that
seemed so long ago
Must be laughing hard
at me. My work
proves dramatic in
every sense of way. I
do not feel the tension.
Maybe because of pension.
Maybe because of the being
hanging over me like
an omen, but still omens
can be warnings of forever
without ever happening.
Another warning strikes
and I get back to hard
work. Smiling back
I type anxiously
knocking sleep from my weary
unsatisfied body. Now I’m
halfway there. I rest easy
As the end of day cracks.
Home is where the heart sleeps.
Email of discontinuity wakes
a resting body.
I am awarded with a wordy
tale of how unsatisfactory I did.
Getting fired was my prize!
By Veteran Henry Mworia
Arnold Mühren says
(prompt 1 – ok to share)
One must have a mind of hope
To see Hope as a feathered thing
That traverses lands and seas
And has its sojourns in the soul
Or so the poet’s mind creates
In her superb, immortal lines.
L.L. Barkat says
I like how this somehow echoes the sonnet form. There’s just a feel about it, even though it is not a sonnet! 🙂
Arnold says
Thanks L, for your comment. See what you mean but wasn’t aware of this :-).
Teresa Countryman says
COLD…
One Must Have A Mind Of COLD…
The air tis so frigid, yet so bold…
Tiny Crystal’s form upon your breath
The frigid cold turns vapor crystalline
As the dark of night awakens death.
The cold tis unseen but felt by all
Beckoning call that it tis no longer fall…
Crispy Cold cuts like glass
Obstinate ARCTIC BLAST
Lingering GLACIAL freeze
DANGEROUSLY low degrees
One Must Have A Mind Of Cold
Bitter and mean as a snake he be
Shady untrusting harsh tis she…
People without feelings for thee
Unscrupulous, unsympathetic they be
Harsh, heartless, icy, and aloof you see.
Cunning, and inhuman they are
Oddly – emotionally alienated by far
LYING, and loveless – how bizarre
Distant, and manipulating they are
One Must Have A Mind Of COLD….
©2021by:Teresa”Eileen”Countryman
©2021by:EibhlinnAnCalleach
ALL Rights Reserved
(Poetry Prompt # 1)
(Cold can be environmental or internal….)
*Eibhlinn An Calleach is my pen name
L.L. Barkat says
Teresa, I like the sudden break into Acrostic form, within the poem. Like a cold snap! 🙂
Teresa says
Thank You… On my site on Facebook Eibhlinn An Calleachs Fantastic mind poems to inspire and entertain… I have a large assortment of poems… Including visual poems and poems of all kinds and sorts….. Thank You again…..
Teresa Countryman says
ERA of The Castle….
Historically, Life in a castle tis quite complex – persay
Knights, Harems, Kings, and Queens – back in the day.
Jousting, Hunting, Going to war – all in a days work.
Royalty can be lonely, however; the title – tis the perk.
You live in a home that is built of stone, tis quite cold.
The rooms are huge, breezy, big, foreboding, and bold.
Stone structure, BIG. Guarded by knights, sword fighting- training.
Pomp and ceremony, jester visits, the medieval society- reigning.
One must be strong and brave. A royal blood heritage is required.
One may ask, “What is life like in a fairytale castle?” – they may inquire.
Old and smelly, cold, and lonely. Haunting fairytales, familiar to thy soul…
The hardships of medieval times – upon ones health will take its final toll….
Dungeons, and fire breathing dragons, spellcasting, folklore for Real?
Rolling meadows, and gallant horses, swords made of sharp steal.
Witchery, sorcery, black magic runs cold tonight, my friend – beware.
Date with a prince in a castle, much to my fright, ghosts are everywhere.
Luxurious, gothic, drafty, a beauty – the castle was – once upon a time, so I’m told…
Tall and towering, gothic majesty, historic, were her feudal gains – foretold.
Bloodshed for power, and reigning throne, over the land…
Long gone, tis historic battles, over the land where I stand.
Knights, Harems, Kings, and Queens back in the day.
Historically Life in a castle tis quite complex persay.
Chivalry – courage, honor, courtesy, justice
– during this time
Amercement – twas a fine
Serfs – laborer bound – to work on his
lord’s estate – king?
Troubadours – medieval lyric poet
composing / sing.
Landgable – payment, normally
made to the king- grudge?
Eyre – court held – medieval
England by a traveling judge
Languages from long ago, my dear friend. Words not spoken today, never again.
Now, all that remains, are the stories and fairytails from a time way back when….
A time from history, that I for one, longingly find very interesting, I state.
To live in a castle – during the era of the knights, would have been great.
So, my poem tis at an end, on Castles and the long lost era from so long ago, my friend.
A place where mystery and fairytales exist, imaginations takes flight… This tis the end…Loving Blessings I send.
©2021by:Teresa”Eileen”Countryman
©2021by:EibhlinnAnCalleach
ALL Rights Reserved
Prompt 2…. Tweet Speak Poetry
Teresa Countryman says
Prompt three – Tweetspeak Poetry
“What did my child leave behind…”
A dolly that pees and poops…
An old red sand scoop
A pail, empty, no longer any sand
At the grave, with tears, I stand
A giggle a laugh that sounds like heaven
A sparkle in her eye, she was only eleven.
She was Called home to be with Jesus and God
She was An Angel, her wit, and bravery, I applaud.
Her Old english papers from school I hold in my hand
All A’s she had received, no lesser grade, understand.
Teachers comments were encouraging, filled with praise.
My little girl, sick in bed, she still wrote, where her body lays.
A necklace was laying on the counter you see…
Her favorite unicorn BFF necklace, broken, like me.
Tears stream down my face as I pray with grace…
My little girl died of Cancer, her memories I retrace.
As my heart breaks into pieces, I see her stuffed kitty cat…
BFF got it for her, when she was diagnosed, there it sat.
The tears that kitty soaked up… I hold that cat each night
Tis the last thing my daughter held before her soul took flight
She fought so hard to survive. A battle she could never win.
A disease so bad, cancer, she battled, again and again.
She beat cancer at three, seven and at eleven she lost
Cancer took her life, and my heart and happiness, it cost….
I hold her blanket that wrapped her tiny body that day…
Favorite colors, so bright and soft, she wanted to stay…
But she said Mommy I love you…. Jesus is here for me.
I have to go. I Love You. Jesus said I will be ok, you see.
My little girl died of Cancer, at the age of eleven.
Now, Her pure sweet little soul is playing in heaven.
She left me with all these memories, of her love
She was my precious angel from heaven above.
I close the door to her bedroom. The pain is too much.
I enter the living room, heart is hurting and such….
I turn the TV… She loved the old series, The Brady Bunch.
I put away the peanut butter, it was her favorite Lunch….
My sweet little angel left her dolls and toys….
You see, She left, and her death took all my joy.
I cry tears everyday, as I fall to my knees…. Why? I plea…
You see… What my child left behind…. It was Me…
Buuuzzzzzzzz… Buuuuzzzzzzz… Buuuuzzzzzz… Buuzzzz…
I open one eye, then two. I sigh. What a nightmare that was.
I look around, relieved…. It was only a very BAD dream….
What did my child leave behind…. Good Memories I beam…
For my child is twenty today. Love and Happy birthday, I say….
©2021by:Teresa”Eileen”Countryman
©2021by:EibhlinnAnCalleach
ALL Rights Reserved
Teresa Countryman says
SUN / MOON?
How is it that the SUN is in the day
But yet the MOON is in the night to stay
The SUN heats up the earth so well
Yet the MOON allows the cool in
and then the tide do swell.
The light beckons activity you see
Energy exudes from you and me…
The flowers flourish under the SUN
Growth and feeding has now begun.
Nights awakens, sadness, fun is done.
Heat from the SUN tis warm
The bees and birds do swarm.
The SUN burns the fair today…
The Tanned can play all day.
As The night cools this way.
How is it that the SUN is in the day
But yet the MOON is in the night to stay
They say, Day begins with darkness – at midnight
As the Night turns to daylight – tis a beautiful site
The day tis at an END, with a sigh, for it tis night –
AGAIN.
©2021by:Teresa”Eileen”Countryman
©2021by:EibhlinnAnCalleach
ALL Rights Reserved
Poem Prompt #5: Tweetspeak Poetry
J. Lorenzen says
4- An A-Ha! prompt from How to Write a Poem
She Sees Cotton Wood Seeds for the First Time
Out the window she sees, white fluff drifting by
in light swirls—like snow in a shaken snow globe—
then piling along the roadside.
Outside, green grasses, trees and blue skies look like Candyland, she says,
white pieces of cotton candy thrown upward, cascading in celebration
of this sweet spring day as she twirls around in nature’s confetti.
In these white puffs, these altocumuli descending,
she cries with Chicken Little,
“The sky is falling. The sky is falling.”
The cotton wood seeds laurel in her hair—
in these snows of early June.
Katie Brewster says
“nature’s confetti” and “snows of early June.”
LOVELY:)
Laurie Flanigan says
Lovely! “these altocumuli descending” and “the cottonwood seeds laurel in her hair” are two of my favorite image-creating phrases.
Judy Lorenzen says
Prompt #5 Mystery
Pristine Morning
Have you watched the breaking
morning light invade the canvassed darkness—so loudly,
waking every blade of grass and leaf,
without a sound?
The light is as quiet as the deer standing still
at the edge of these woods. I see her brown fur palpitating,
yet she maintains her statuesque pose, waiting for me to make the next move
in this luminescent scene of solitude.
The silence stops when the woodpecker starts
building his house in the brilliance of this sunrise.
The doe quickly slips from my sight as you emerge at the entrance,
radiance spraying out behind you as you approach in your angelic form.
Paige Jacobson says
Prompt #1 – Okay to share
Salad
One must have a mind of salad
to select a bowl of crunchy greens
mixed with nuts and seeds
as the only course of which to eat;
And there must be a craving for oil
tangy or creamy poured over food from the soil
raw and cold, each bite requires teeth and time
to taste every curl of kale, every crunch of almond,
every burst of citrus vesicle and pomegranate seed.
Perhaps the softness of bread bore a burden too heavy
or the warmth of baked potato, the strain of spaghetti
perhaps a sauce dripping sandwich does not fill
the stomach as much as it appears to fill the soul.
Judith Anumo says
Friends
How sweet to lie gently
And look up the sky
Oh!
What a gorgeous smile
I see bent over me
The sunshine glimmers
Amidst the leaves, above my head
And blows a kiss on my face
Like mother before bed.
The wind ensues heisting through the grass
Whispering pretty things,
I fee it’s lovely touch
Though I can not see it
Gentle, gentle friends are always near
Whom one can hardly see.
Katie Spivey Brewster says
Beautiful, Judith:)
Deborah Hunt says
Prompt Number 1
In praise of elm trees
One must have the mind of an elm tree
To produce offspring that rain like brittle sleet
Mulching indiscriminately the garden the grass the sidewalks
To endure the scorn and curses of the gardener
To gather progeny on dry wiry overgrown limbs reaching for the sky
A transformative downpour triggered by a timid breeze or forceful gale
Searching for life itself against all odds
To need no water to grow into a forest in an unsuspecting lawn
The dry earth reaches embracing the delicate papery host
Knowing that one day these cursed ones may be exalted
Holding back the parched ground from evaporating into dust
And offering precious oxygen to sustain life forms on Earth
One must be an agile grandmother to tug loose tiny sprouts
That hold on like the earth’s future depends on it as it truly does
To apologize to every little seedling for ending its life knowing
That one day its future relatives will be praised
(This may be shared)
L.L. Barkat says
Deborah, thanks for sharing your poem. 🙂
Do you have a favorite elm? From times past… or currently in your landscape?
Deborah Hunt says
Ha! I’m the grandmother who plucks the seedlings. I am a lover of trees. All trees be praised. I’ve never met an elm that I liked, but I love them just the same.
Amy Sorrells says
Response to poetry prompt #1, “one must have the mind of…”
One must have a mind of a zinnia
Opening later than other blooms
But lasting way past the first frost.
Set your face to the sun
And don’t look down
Even when the night falls.
Stand tall in the pelting rain
Perfect petals in neat, straight rows.
Yes, one must have the mind of a zinnia.
Andrea Schosk says
Prompt 1, ok to share
One must have a mind of coffee
To absorb the bitter heat
Of the daily headlines
And armored with caffeine
To survive the rough tumble
Of hard words
To step quickly through
The misery of images
That should pierce the shield
To accept at last
That nothing changes much
And sweetness must be added
Heidi J Smith says
The Mind of Trees
One must have the mind of trees to live life
Grounded~
Rooted in the sacred earth upon which we walk.
Expansive~
Reaching for every nurturing ray of sun, breath of wind and drop of rain.
Patient~
Letting cycles of inhalation and exhalation sustain us through the seasons.
Purposeful~
Giving and taking in turn for the benefit of all beings.
Beautifully~
Expressing our unique gifts in ways that paint lovely pictures in the annals of time.
Heidi Hanley
Based on Prompt 1- Imagery
Okay to share
Katie Spivey Brewster says
Heidi,
You have expressed your thoughts in a lovely and insightful manner in your wise poem.
Gratefully,
Katie