You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘poem’ tag.
Today’s prompt: “For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: “All I want is (blank),” where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing. Some example titles, then, could be: “All I want is to eat fried chicken”; “All I want is world peace”; “All I want is for everyone to tell me I’m beautiful”; or “All I want is a handful of quarters.””
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All I Want is My Mind Back
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Demon depression,
Take your bleak, dark self
Somewhere else.
Take your hell on earth
Far away from me.
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This hopeless, helpless
Feeling’s got to go
Somewhere else
So the sun can shine
Back into my mind.
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Demon depression.
It’s past time to leave.
Let me be
So I can become
Who I’m meant to be.
Today’s prompt: “For today’s prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.”
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Green
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The lawn is patchy with new growth.
Endless budding branches
crown the magnolia tree.
Where we planted bulbs in fall,
tiny shoots poke through the soil.
All around me, spring is springing forth
from its long winter’s sleep.
Even far-flung family and friends are green;
mired in the snow, they growl in jealousy.
Today’s prompt: “For today’s prompt, I want you to take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem. An example would be to take William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow” and change it to “The Red Volkswagon.” Or take Frank O’Hara’s “Why I Am Not a Painter” and change it to “Why I Am Not a Penguin.” You get the idea, right? (Note: Your altered poem does NOT have to follow the same style as the original poet, though you can try if you wish.)”
I seriously thought about not posting a poem today, but I let my inner critic badger me until I finally sat down and wrote something. Now I’m halfway through the challenge, and hopefully I can keep myself writing even when I feel very emotionally fragile, like I do today.
Oh, and by the way… rhymes are hard.
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The Beagle
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He sniffs the scents shed in the grass,
Head down so that no smell will pass
Him by. His nose is in a class
By itself. The trail leads beyond the fence,
But his next step he does commence –
He climbs the links with no pretence
At trying to hide. So off he runs,
His stubborn pace never slackens.
He pays no mind to the urgent summons
Of his people, chasing behind.
They fall back, they have become resigned:
It is simply the way he is designed!
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Original poem: “The Eagle” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
“For today’s prompt, I want you to take the phrase “So we decided to (blank)” and fill in the blank. Make that your title and write a poem. Some possibilities include “So we decided to plant a tree” or “So we decided to burn a hole in the sky.””
My offering today marks the 40% point of the challenge. I am slightly surprised that I have made it this far. Today, I am giving you a fragment of thought (perhaps poetic, perhaps not) that hasn’t been edited or polished at all. It is just what came out onto the paper when I sat down to write. I don’t have it in me today to do anything with it – blame it on the Easter Bunny!
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Untitled
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So we decided to start at the ears –
nothing novel about that.
Silky and thick, we let the chocolate
melt on our tongues.
The dog begged, futilely.
No emergency vet visits today!
We moved from the head down,
and two bites into the torso,
we slipped in to a cocoa-coma.
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(And I’m not even going to give it a title.)
Today’s prompt: “For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don’t have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem.”
I’m running out of steam! Only – ack! – 19 more days (and poems) to go!
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The Legacy
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A scratched and scarred table
Dominates the dining room.
Its cherry surface gleams despite
Six children for three meals a day:
Forty years of spills and water spots.
Every nick and chip bears witness
To games, crafts, homework assignments
Carried out on its expanse.
A new generation now scrapes and scuffs
Their way through growing up
As Grandma and Grandpa smile.
Today’s prompt: “For today’s prompt, I want you write a poem about a memory. The memory can be good or bad. The memory can be a blend of several memories. I suppose it could even be a memory that you’re not sure you remember correctly. Take your time finding a good one (or good ones).”
Today’s offering:
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Small Moments
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My father carefully brushed
through the tangles of my hair
(unlike my mother,
who ripped them out)
and smoothed it into a crooked ponytail.
Later, I came home for lunch,
and my sandwich arrived
in puzzle pieces.
For that day, I felt cherished.
“For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about a landmark. It can be a famous landmark (like Mount Rushmore or the Sphinx) or a little more subdued (like the town water tower or an interesting sign).”
Well, my offering today is either tremendously sad, or brilliantly inspired. I’m too tired to know which! Thanks to Dr. Seuss for the title. (I hate coming up with titles; today, the best I can do is to borrow one.) I think I’m on the “sad” end of the spectrum, but I spent the afternoon at a rally obedience dog trial, so you get what’s left over (which is not much!). I’ll have to come back to this poem sometime when I’m not exhausted and see what I think.
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One Bridge, Two Bridge, Red Bridge, Blue Bridge
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A tale of two bridges:
Hubbub, clamor, controversy.
Whoever would dare to propose
new names?
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One, the Overlander Bridge,
affectionately known as
the “Blue Bridge”,
isn’t a renaming at all
as much as it is an “Oops!”
Call it a correction, if you will:
How many decades has there been
an “s” at the end of “Overlander”?
Who knew, and why didn’t they say something?
The debate petered out, because
who calls it the Overlander anyway?
It’s the Blue Bridge,
and that’s good enough for me.
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The other, the “Red Bridge”,
doesn’t really have a name
in the first place.
Curious…
But if you suggest an actual name,
you will be tarred and feathered
and left at the curb for pickup.
Yes, we like our bridges as they are –
don’t threaten who we are
by suggesting something different!
We like our creativity just as it is:
red and blue, thank you.
“For today’s prompt, I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem.”
I found this prompt to be oddly uninspiring. However, here’s my offering for today; this is definitely a poem I will come back to rework.
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Jaguar
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Sinewy ceramic cat
Crouched on the curio cabinet.
Shades of gold, spotted sporadically,
Green luminous eyes.
You are a cylinder of coiled energy –
Will you spring today?
I wait, like my mother
And her mother before,
Hoping to see your intensity
Explode across the room.
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You once belonged to my
Great-grandmother,
Whom I did not know.
She was a lady, laced up straight,
Quick to correct and shame.
But she chose you, jungle cat,
To decorate her parlour,
To menace in readiness
For an eternity.
The severe and strict Puritan
I know too much already.
Yet I would know, if I could,
That vital and sensuous soul
Who cherished your feline grace.
Today’s prompt: Take the phrase “The problem with (blank)” and replace the “(blank)” with a word or phrase. Make this the title of your poem and then write a poem to fit with or juxtapose against that title.
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No patience or concentration to edit today. Here’s my stream-of-consciousness offering.
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The Problem with Dancing Bears
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The problem with dancing bears is that
They’re never there when you need them.
Wouldn’t it be handy if they
Just appeared, as a distraction?
Think of it: when someone asks
A question you wish to ignore,
Grizzlies in tutus suddenly appear.
Some would stop, just to watch the show.
Others, outraged by ursine exploitation,
Would be on the phone to PETA,
Faster than a furry ballerina
Can point a clawed toe.
No better way to change the subject.
But dancing bears
Are inherently unreliable,
Whether due to a previous engagement,
Or simply the desire to not dance to our tune.
So we are left to struggle through
Awkward situations on our own.
The problem with dancing bears is that
They’re never there when you need them.
Today’s offering is raw and unfinished. Such is life.
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Edited to add: Have I mentioned lately how much I hate WordPress?
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Outsider
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Beloved couple:
She stands, observing
The intimacy.
She keeps her heart
Solitary.
She is meant
To be alone.
The Muse Asylum 