Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 119

As I started writing this post, I realized that today’s prompt number (119) is the same as today’s date (1/19). How funny is that! Because of that realization, I’m going to change today’s prompt.

For today’s prompt, write a serendipity poem. I’ll let you decide what a serendipity poem might be. If you’re unsure, here’s the Webster’s definition of serendipity: n. the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for. I’m sure we’ll all find some serendipitous poems with this post.

Here’s my attempt:

“Serendipity 3”

We don’t always know our destinations
even if we think we do
when we start our journeys separately.
Give me your hand for
my heart beating across your blue eyes
that kiss me every time
I see you search for me in a bookstore.
Even after ever after
you’re the only one I want to find me
when I return home.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


Publish your poetry!
Get the contact and submission information you need with the 2011 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer. In addition to hundreds of publishing opportunities–including book publishers, magazines, contests, and more–the 2011 Poet’s Market offers articles on how to submit your work, keep submission records, read poems in public, and more!

Click here to learn more.

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

66 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 119

  1. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    Finding you

    I was sure
    I wasn’t on your course
    And I’m sure
    You weren’t searching either
    For someone like me
    But our star paths
    Collided suddenly
    And have been entangled
    Ever since

  2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Vigil For Aunt Janey
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    We keep a vigil simply because she is who she is,
    the finest human being to ever run with coyotes.
    We light candles and mumble novenas in her honor,
    red new mexican clay scrubbed deep into her pores.
    How serendipitous that while those left behind still mourn,
    her soul flits about among us, awaiting last minute
    channeling from friends and loved ones before moving on.

    They say that the next realm is as close as next door,
    a nice place to visit, nibble sweets, play scrabble,
    pass the time ‘til the rest of us can straggle in like strays,
    one at a time. If it’s true that death is but a wooden door
    separating the living from the departed, then at first crack
    I would bolt for the opening, press these lips against the
    length of door chain long enough to lament

    Sweet Janey
    thank you for being my friend,
    for putting up with my corny jokes,
    silly love poems, wicked sense of humor,
    and insecurities large enough to choke a horse.
    Had it not been for your loving wisdom and maternal voodoo
    I would have missed the opportunity to run with other coyotes,
    learn their secrets, taste their valor, suffer their bane.

    But most of all, I wish I had thanked you
    for accepting me for who I was on the inside
    when the world was more preoccupied with the outside.
    Thanks for the reminder that no a piece of paper
    nor warm body was ever necessary to validate my existence,
    for I already counted. I always had.

    Hope you can see the moon from where you are now,
    hope you can still run with the pack.
    I will miss howling my lungs out alongside you,
    oh Woman Who Runs With Coyotes.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  3. AC Leming


    I pick up the phone,
    dial her number
    and her questioning
    "Hello?" startles me.

    For a moment, my
    fingers ignore her voice
    and keep punching
    numbers no longer

    necessary to hear her voice.

  4. stu pidasso

    Serendipity of Slutdom
    by stu pidasso

    My path to ruin
    has spanned the years
    My choice of actions
    has elicited tears
    the consequences of which
    has stoked my fears
    and left me a debt
    which is still in arrears

    The descent of my honour
    is a pitiful ordeal
    My shame and my sorrow
    are hard to conceal
    Chasing life like prey
    has passed with the thrill
    for my wasted life is
    the true victim of my kill

    For one of the young ladies
    I bagged in the hunt
    wound up carrying child
    due to my callous want
    The untimely occurrence
    led me to the church front
    then to child number two and
    a role much more important

    But somehow amidst
    this life long mess
    the only trophies I have
    I stumbled upon, I confess
    Now I strive to atone
    without an ounce of duress
    or a single iota
    of intent to impress

    For during all the time
    I was trying to feel
    any and all of the pleasure
    the Devil used to appeal
    to me to lead me astray
    so my soul he could steal
    has led to my salvation,
    and that, I find is surreal.

  5. Bruce Niedt

    Sorry for the repeated postings, but I keep thinking of improvements on this little limerick:


    A diner complained to Chef Crum,
    “These potatoes are thick as my thumb!”
    So the chef sliced them thinner,
    deep-fried them for dinner,
    and invented potato chips – yum!

  6. Bruce Niedt

    I like this version better – the meter is tighter:


    A diner complained to Chef Crum,
    “These potatoes are thick as my thumb!”
    So the chef sliced them thinner,
    deep-fried them for dinner,
    and created potato chips – yum!

  7. Bruce Niedt

    Looks like we have a spambot on the loose.
    I have some exciting news to share, but I’ll wait till tomorrow’s prompt. Meanwhile, here’s a limerick just for fun:


    A diner complained to Chef Crum,
    “These potatoes are thick as my thumb!”
    So the chef sliced them thinner,
    deep-fried them for dinner,
    and created the potato chip – yum!

  8. Colette D

    Kim Yvonne King ~ thanks lots! I’m glad to inspire and motivate. That inspires and motivates me! I wish I could comment on all posts here, but there is just no time. Thanks again and hope to hear some motivated poetry from you soon!

  9. Sam Nielson


    Deliver an angry teenager.
    Snow-slick roads ice
    A van ride off the city hill
    Into the streetlight-yellow
    Evening valley fog.
    The suffocation growls
    For a heavy V-8 roar,
    Hot asphalt, vibrating
    Press of a bucket seat
    And a temporary burst of

  10. Walt Wojtanik


    Floating in a sea of her own perspiration,
    she clutches the bed sheets like a life preserver.
    Vacant is her stare, a weapon of every ache and pain
    ingrained in her broken heart.
    Showing little life; her eyes clench
    closed to the world of familiarity,
    a similarity to the other residents
    who have found themselves left
    to languish in lassitude.
    Aunt Jane appears to be asleep,
    tears seem to weep through her slumber.
    The touch of a tender hand is all
    that stands between life and the abyss.
    A gentle kiss on a timeworn cheek
    eyes flutter to a bleary peek
    at the face inches from hers.
    “How are you Aunt Jane?”
    Her tired eyes smile briefly.
    “Better” she whispers,
    turning to her pillow with a sigh.
    In that moment, she found recognition.
    In her condition, it was more that I had hoped.
    You don’t care that you’ve been forgotten.
    You embrace that brief flash of lucidity
    and accept that life still caresses her heart.

  11. Kim Yvonne King

    It’s been too long. I’m astounded by the beauty of all these poems. Robert, Wait, Colette, Pearl and Nancy, you are prolific and inspiring. As always, it is a pleasure and motivation to read your words.

  12. Brian Slusher


    As I entered the library
    I recalled you’d inquired
    "Are you checking me out?"
    and I thought how odd as
    I wandered towards section
    540 (which was, give or
    take, the time we met)
    where my eye caught
    a yellow spine that read
    Chemistry for Dummies,
    which reminded me how
    you’d said “Hello” so it
    sounded like “Yellow” and
    as I flipped open the book
    I happened to start at page
    37, the number of minutes
    we talked (more or less)
    and imagine my shock when
    the word “exponentially”
    appeared there in bold
    defining exactly how much
    my heart had grown as you
    played with your hair and
    swirled your drink counter-
    clockwise, just the way
    time seemed to move
    as we spoke. Now I’m
    scanning the stacks, sure
    that your forgotten
    name will leap from the
    caption of a random
    photograph or perhaps
    from the mumblings of
    the homeless guy, nodding
    under the bust of Newton.

  13. Michelle Hed

    My Mother is in the hospital, so during a quiet moment I wrote a few poems. It was a good distraction.

    Unseen Needs

    Life was serendipitous
    on Tuesday when I
    filled my car with gas,
    paid my bills, and
    cleared my docket for the next five days,
    because that is when I got the call
    that you were in the hospital again.

    S miling, can make someone’s day –
    E ntertaining, can bring people together –
    R elaxing, can renew the spirit –
    E njoying the moment, can leave a lifelong imprint –
    N ature, can heal your mind, body and spirit –
    D elighting in the simple things, can make you happy –
    I ncluding a friend, can make the moment more enjoyable –
    P ersonal touches, can mean so much –
    I mproving your health, can mean you live longer –
    T aking the time, can mean all the difference in the world –
    Y es, you never know when a kindness, act, or moment can change someone’s life.


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.