Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 110

First off, I want to throw out a Happy Birthday to my mother! Happy Birthday!

*****

Second off, don’t forget about these two challenges (one will begin in November, the other has already started:

Plus, I’ll be sharing the details on another WD Poetic Form Challenge (poetic form still to be determined) sometime this week.

*****

Third off, let’s get to writing poems.

For this week’s prompt, pick a word (any old word), make it the title of your poem, then write the poem. Don’t think too much about this poem when writing the first draft. Just pick a random word and start writing. (Tip: Try using an object, such as “Rake,” “Scarecrow,” “Apple,” etc.)

Here’s my attempt:

“Impecunious”

The falcon perches on the building
and waits as dinner presents itself.

The squirrel gathers nuts and berries
without worrying about the rent.

Fish swim and hunt and hide and follow
the water where it tells them to go.

I sit at my table and think how
to pay bills and still take a day trip.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

Interested in publishing your poetry (and other writing)?

Check out WritersMarket.com–the top resource for writers trying to get published! For the month of October only, the site is rolling back subscription prices to 2000 rates for annual subscribers. That’s right, only $29.99 a year for access to more than 8,000 publishing opportunities, including magazines, book publishers, literary agents, contests, newspapers, and more.

Click here to learn more.

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

173 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 110

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Hallucinations
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Day 41
    and the melatonin
    is no longer working.
    The hallucinations
    are more frequent now,
    the delusions
    more absurd.
    Everywhere
    there are apparitions
    hiding in the rubble,
    rocky outcroppings
    grains of rice.
    Sudden darkened movements
    poke at the corner of
    my eyes with sticks,
    lining out escape routes
    between blinks.
    I’ve reached the
    dangerous hallmark
    where I no longer care
    because I am
    tired, cornered
    breathing fumes.
    There is only one
    way in and out of
    this confined space,
    the mortar mutating
    between bricks
    against my back.

    © 2010 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Once again strolling on PA street has inspired me. Here is another one of mine. I sent away my manuscript for a YA novel and therefore the word:

    Anticipation

    It’s the quickening of your
    heart as the time draws
    nearer and you face the
    reality of the inevitable
    rejection. The familiar dull
    ache when you see the words
    and the knowledge of failure

    And yet it is there in the quicksilver
    Hope that never leaves despite the
    countless times it has been stamped
    upon and forced to run and hide in
    dark places of your soul
    Yet it continues to survive and causes
    the fluttering of your foolish heart

    Maybe this will be the time for confetti and
    champagne and life will be a festival of happy
    thoughts raining down upon you as you
    can’t control the smiles and Hope emerges to
    stand in it’s true place at your side spruced up
    in fine new garments and shining with the inner
    joy of a winner.

  3. Barbara Ehrentreu

    De Jackson, can you take me with you? I got lost in your words and I was there as "water kisses land/toes embrace sand…and breeze loosens hand/and tide tucks in her soul" Such beautiful words express the joy you found there. How could you have torn yourself away from that? Thank you for sharing it with us!

  4. Arash

    Thank you
    Barbara and
    Amy.

    I am glad it made you laugh. I am not one for cursing but I thought the line needed it. Going from the idealistic and romantic language of a beautiful and memorable line like that, to reality’s mundane concerns and rather harsh naked language can be oddly amusing.

  5. de jackson

    Just fresh back from a few glorious days on the Oregon coast, a place I breathe best. Thus, this:

    Shore

    It’s the profound place
    where water kisses land
    toes embrace sand
    and words, as waves, roll.

    It’s a tangible trace
    of ink spilled on sand
    as breeze loosens hand
    and tide tucks in her soul.

  6. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Yoly! I loved your Sevenlings capturing "the tacky air, dirt and darkness…" of the rescue operation that was able to save all 33 miners and that showed us how truly cooperative these miners were. You were able to sum up the whole experience into seven lines.:) Pearl as always is right and you should send this to the world.

    Arash, thank you for one of the only laughs I have had today.:) It’s been one of those days.

    Jac, thanks for letting me know why you wrote your poem. 🙂

    More later if I can.

    1

  7. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Yoly – (Another Holy Yoly.. with this post I’m beginning to truly believe that there should be such an award). Seriously, I heartily second Amy’s comment…. your brilliantly articulated tribute deserves far wider attention… An international site would be just wonderful.

  8. Walt Wojtanik

    BRONCHITIS

    Tracheal treachery,
    inner inflammation,
    causing my breathing
    much consternation.
    Inhalers and steroids,
    and syrup with codeine,
    making me loopy
    and a might bit mean.
    I pray for relief,
    without coughing up a lung.
    I guess I’ll be distressed
    until the fat lady’s sung.

  9. Amy Barlow Liberatore

    Arash, your "adulteration" was too f-ing funny! Caught me off guard, and I really needed the laugh! Good to know you have moments of silliness, too!
    Pearl, my hubby says that ‘stick a fork in me, I’m done’ all the time!
    Yoly, your tribute to the miners is fabulous. I wonder if there is an international site you could post it to. Really, great work.

  10. Jac

    No, Barbara. It was for this week’s. I thought it was great, too. LOL
    Goes to show how much I know. 🙂
    Thanks, Elizabeth. I am actually not quite pleased with it yet. Like a fellow poet used to say… it needs tightening. 🙂
    De, your Autopsy is absolutely brilliant!
    Patricia: That piece about your aunt was so sad. {{{hugs}}}
    Pearl, perfect lines: "Stick a fork in me I say, I’m ready already to call it a day."

  11. Arash

    Okay, one more I wrote earlier today:

    "Messy Ideas"

    How to talk messy ideas, through thin
    slippery letters, handsome spoiled words
    that drop a penny into the hat but stay
    clean and sure, behind the confines of
    chaotic freedom divided by black lines.

    Arash

  12. Yoly

    Two Sevenlings

    (Sixty Nine Days)

    The tacky air, dirt and darkness
    measured thirty three miners,
    even after God registered their wills.

    Rocks buried the men.
    God divided light two ways.
    Mountainous spirits moved the earth.

    People drew together like kindling in a campfire.

    (Rescued)

    A marriage proposal, love letters
    and food were delivered by doves
    through an umbilical accord.

    Miracles, one miner at a time
    emerged from the belly
    of copper, gold and grit.

    The ebb and flow of labor withdrew from the politics of normal birth.

  13. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Congratulations to Hannah .on the birth of her son…..little
    Leland…. One of the most magical wonders Nature can unfold.
    Let he and she sparkle brightly among all those that love them….!
    Welcome to the world Leland…..!

  14. Mike Bayles

    Cupboards

    Secrets hidden await their time,
    the plates and dishes inside.
    At 5 PM a meal simmers,
    as if by magic, all ingredients
    become a delight
    for guests who come,
    at the host’s calling,
    for dinner and conversations,
    some secrets shared
    and some left hidden
    for another time.

  15. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Bruce… Fellow curmudgeon lover…. Absolutely delightful tom first lines " wears the word like a medal" to spitting that pearl right " right back at you" and the process in between….Bravo!

  16. Bruce Niedt

    Probably not worth the wait, but here it is:

    Curmudgeon

    He wears the word
    like a hero wears a medal.
    He pins fools under glass
    like stupid butterflies.
    He tells the world
    to get the hell off his lawn.
    His stare could turn Medusa to stone.

    I know him better, though –
    I’ve seen him with his wife and dog.
    He’s an oyster – a hard, rough outer shell
    that’s soft inside.

    But if you irritate him,
    your grain of sand will grow into a pearl,
    white and smooth, a perfectly-turned sphere
    buffed to a cynical shine,
    and he’ll spit it right back at you.

  17. Linda Robertson

    PENCIL

    The pencil has been around for a very long time,
    and its usage is
    and has always been our first computer.

    It documents our thoughts and feelings,
    our business transactions,
    our whimsical drawings.

    It corrects itself with little difficulty,
    bringing with it a natural ease and comfort.

    No matter if there is a hurricane,
    a tornado,
    or a massive storm that breaks away the electricity,
    we know we can rely on the pencil.

    We can chew on it,
    bite it,
    and scrape away its coloring…
    but it still remains useful and reliable.

    The pencil…
    our first connection with feelings.

  18. Linda Robertson

    NIGHTMARE

    I dreamt I was returning home from living in San Francisco.

    That truly happened.

    I took my two cats with me, in a cage for safe-keeping.

    As I packed up my belongings from a lifetime of employment,
    someone helping me
    tripped over the cat cage,
    and both cats escaped out into the streets
    of that bustling town.

    When I discovered they were gone,
    my heart broke into a million pieces,
    and although I was shocked at someone’s idiocy
    for not trying to catch escaping cats,
    I felt hope that my babies would return
    at any moment.

    As I walked from one end of the building to another,
    my kitten reappeared, but my three-year-old was nowhere to be found.

    Someone had seen her get hit by a car.

    I was breathless,
    sobbing,
    and knowing that my cat was dead.

    Then I heard a faint cry,
    and as I looked down at my feet,
    I realized my nightmare had ended,
    but not before my soul had died away in agony.

    Alas, it was just a nightmare.

COMMENT