Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 129

In just two days, we’ll begin the 4th Annual Poetic Asides April PAD (Poem-A-Day) Challenge. Be sure to invite friends to play along. All the prompts are set, and I can’t wait to start poeming. Click here to learn more about this fun challenge.

As a result of the challenge, this will be the final Wednesday Poetry Prompt until May, when we’ll get back on our weekly schedule.

See y’all in 2 days!


For today’s prompt, write a sound poem. For this poem, you can write a poem like the poetic form (click here to learn more), or you can just write a poem that incorporates a sound (like an ode to the sonic boom or that happens at a nightclub, etc.). This world is filled with sound, so it shouldn’t be hard to come up with an idea.

Here’s my attempt:

“Light sounds”

Thunder huddles the boys into my bed;
they watch the lightning but cover their heads
when the sound echoes across the valley
like an army sending warning volleys.


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75 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 129

  1. Karen Jane

    Sounds Good

    Clickity clack, clickity clack
    Go fingers on the keyboard
    Effortless in their transmissions,
    The original digits of the digital age

    Pat, pat, pat…pat, pat, pat
    Put the love into the dough
    Earn the right to roll it and stretch it
    Taste tender caresses in every bite

    Snap and crack, crackle and snap
    Weary knuckles white as ash
    Grip the wheel and guide the way home
    While wearing proud reminders of a job well done

  2. Mike Bayles


    The ring of an alarm clock
    the song it brings
    it rings true.
    True blue
    day is new.
    Morning stirs my waking
    good for the taking
    the blender whirs
    and the cat purrs
    while plates are clattering
    the sounds of what’s mattering.

  3. Daniel Ari

    "Squeezebox Sonnet"

    Wind whistles through the teeth.
    Mouthy, mountainous moon monsoons push
    from the pump chambers of breath.
    Reeds arrayed, arranged in the rush, they buzz
    the breeze in jazzy choral hallelujahs,
    quivering unclasped in weaving whiskey syntax
    and the whispery clicktrack phrases
    of this mechanical gimcrack of clockwork flux.
    Huge hugging bugbear of a behemoth
    with your monster choir caterwaul overdriven,
    corrugated lungs, a thousand mouths,
    you define the bounds between tune and song,
    squeeze out-of-the-box oompa banter,
    pitch and patter to the paternal rafters, partner.


  4. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    by juanita lewison-snyder

    what bargain
    this gentle nicker
    from noble head,
    deep and low
    with half-closed lashes
    and crush of muzzle velvet
    moist ‘gainst life-lines
    of these out-stretched palms,
    an a-capella of soulful notes
    the tone of which
    endears and comforts
    and humbly binds us
    together, a pause to
    take time by the forelock
    and simply listen,
    to auburn maned
    mulberry greys

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  5. Walt Wojtanik

    Everyone appears to be in fine form as the midnight hour approaches. April looms and all the poets are ready. Good luck and good muse to all who will participate in the 2011 challenge. This community is such a great place to poem. Thanks to all for your support and encouragement throughout this past year.

    Susan, Debra, Kimiko and Marie, thanks for the uplifting comments above.

  6. Sam Nielson

    Another Philly poem.

    Chestnut and Market Streets

    Subway cars rumble levels above me.
    The noise vibrates in the concrete
    Beneath my feet. Iron and steel
    Painted brown to avoid rust
    Seem to hold the weight of the
    Earth above me, the skyscrapers
    Above me, the sky above me
    With their spongy grey clouds
    Hiding within themselves.

    My brain wanders a few feet
    Away on the platform to watch
    Me avoid trouble while I think
    In the dull echoes of other voices
    Coming from people around me.
    The short ceiling considers me
    And I can feel its blood beat
    Through the antennae short hairs
    Standing up in my cowlick.

    I want to close my eyes and hear
    The importance around me, feel
    The boredom of that girl
    At the platform end in the
    Micropuffs of air at my fingertips.
    The blankness behind my eyelids
    Leaves the colors out, leaves
    The intensity of waiting
    Weightless in my feet.

  7. Marie Elena

    STAMPEDE (Limerick)

    I once thought I heard a stampede,
    Like cattle were rushing to feed.
    But wouldn’t you know it,
    It’s every last poet
    Just rushing to get P.A.D’d.

    Can’t wait to get this party started! =)

  8. Taylor Graham


    Last night I rode a silver stallion over mountain passes,
    scouting out the route. OK, it was a small white Honda
    on Hwy 50 headed east. Moon a hair past full.
    A night for pioneers, adventurers who’d pressed on
    through the desert, over granite goat-path, to this
    rendezvous: corral, fire circle in a clearing
    hacked from cedar thicket. SUVs and pickups
    parked in rows. A feast laid out for dusty, travel-weary
    folk, BBQ on paper plates. For entertainment,
    cowboy poetry with sweet accompaniment of bass,
    guitar, and fiddle hired for the country-western dance
    to come. I stepped up to the mic, the crowd went
    silent, chewing on their ribs and buttered
    biscuits. How a poem transforms everything.
    I’ll allow that mine was scant on rhyme, it lacked
    the rawhide meter. It was, I guess you’d say,
    more Pegasus than cowpony.
    But nobody booed me off the stage.
    I rode my silver stallion all the way back
    home with headlights.

  9. Walt Wojtanik


    Cha-ching, cha-ching,
    the registers ring tallies
    when the market rallies.
    Cold hard cash is the thing.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching,
    but wealth is stealth in most corners
    when those who are silver-spoon born,
    love to flaunt the bling.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching,
    how ’bout you throw the dog a bone,
    but you choose to "leave well enough alone",
    you choose to live like a king.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching.
    People in the street repleat
    with shopping carts, not much to eat,
    they’ve the saddest song to sing.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching,
    women and children abused,
    battered and ill-used
    enough to set your ears to ring.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching,
    earthquakes, tsunamis; disasters abound,
    environments laid to waste, nuclear melt-down,
    cha-ching, cha-ching.

    Cha-ching, cha-ching, the truth rings clear,
    but help the ones whose lives are needy,
    contrary to you’re being greedy,
    and it’s "Who let those crickets in here?"

  10. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    * Sorry just a quick one…before a long day begins…

    Kitchy Kitchy Kitchy Koo

    Kitchy Kitchy Kitchy Koo
    Laughter giggles startle you
    Shushes, ssshes, sibilants and more
    Zoom from disembodies heads
    Far above an unseen floor

    Continuing until suddenly there
    You stand, you walk move out the door
    Chalk on boards shuffle dust, sometimes squeak
    Chilling spine as there you sit year on year childhood’s peak

    Raindrops, plop onto your head
    The rush of surf the loose spring in your bed
    The sigh you hear from your mother’s lips
    The rumbled roar that from her bedroom sometime slips

    There you stand in arms that start a whirr a ping
    A tiny insistent ringing thing
    As you tumble, fall and listen
    Incandescent pleasure score
    Between two rise and glisten

    To perhaps your own child
    As you look down
    and kitchy koo, shush and
    barefoot shuffle on the ground
    peals of laughter from your face
    surround the air with notes of grace

    Raindrops patter, snowflakes whoosh
    A dog barks, a kitten’s tiny soft meow
    And you wonder, in blaring “HOW”
    You’ve come to this place, here and now

    Lying there in your bed
    As disembodied voices
    Float above your head
    Kitchee Koo and Sssh, sibilant sound
    As they think they speak silently
    Speak wetly, of you in the ground…

  11. Deb Brunell

    The Noise That Woke Me

    There are creeks and snaps all around
    like crickets singing on a warm night
    Louder sporadic cracks are near
    as wood popping on the hearth
    A soft sizzle in the background begins
    with no sign of diminishing, it slowly swells
    The lulling symphony is disrupted when
    a thunderous blast hits the far end of the roof
    It crescendos, moving closer from overhead
    The white noise of the water blinds the fire into silence

  12. Francesco Sinibaldi

    The message of a blackbird.

    Often, in the
    sky, a little
    describes the
    profile of a
    sad persuasion,
    but always
    remains, in
    the light of
    a candle…..

    Francesco Sinibaldi

  13. MiskMask

    Emu and Incas Roam Arrears

    "Emu or Incas
    roam arrears.
    Doodah-Irma, smear?
    Bomb, bleats,
    oar Incas!"

    She tugged at his fingers
    and said again,

    "Remove your fingers
    from your ears.
    Do you hear me, dear?
    Tom, please,
    your fingers!"

    But Tom liked the sound of
    an emu or Incas roam arrears,
    so he stuck his fingers
    back in his ears.

  14. Rachel Green

    Night Sounds

    A motorbike’s roar as it speeds past my window
    in the midnight velvet darkness
    or the sound of a train on distant tracks
    heading toward the dawn.
    As the light begins to grow on the horizon
    the bible-black sky turns to Prussian Blue
    then Ultramarine
    and the birdsong begins.
    Sparrow, blackbird, thrush
    and the cha-cha-cha of a chaffinch
    declaring ownership of the cherry tree in the front garden.

    I sigh, turn over, and try to match my breathing
    with the snores of an overweight Jack Russell

  15. Holly Matison

    The Sound of Night

    Night has fallen on this house
    silence has not.
    I hear you snoring.
    It reminds me that you’re still here
    and that I love you.



    All Around the Office

    goes the keyboard

    goes the mouse

    goes the time.

    All around the office
    waiting for 5 o’clock.


  16. Taylor Graham


    for now. In spite of hum-whoosh heater
    in a dim chill (there are wheezy ducts beneath
    the creak-floor) that never heats. Would
    a cat without purr creep under to keep warm
    or curious? Kill cockroaches underfloor. Keep
    curtains inside walls. Click of lock, quick
    bolt. No window panes but get you hurt.
    Glass is a false lover as something prowls
    the purring ducts. Rain tap-tap at the door,
    shingling into roof over ceiling. It oozes.
    Woozy as How Are You. Who could sleep
    in a whisper room as on the other side
    of walls the song of raw-worlds wet-swamp-
    swarming whistle creak and creep?

  17. Brian Slusher


    I got a rugged ton of
    big dumbstruck for you,
    a rattle of fat chitchat
    nailed to the fail-safe of
    my hairline, nodding to
    prove my true down
    run-around can overbite
    your thorough No.
    I got a pure plea
    have to be grabbing the
    last toast Holy Ghost
    through the settled red
    of your can’t get past
    and probably won’t, and
    I don’t plan contraband
    kicked back-a-block talk
    to fix every leak or
    settle every hash slung
    in the sheer slap needle tack
    of trying, yet my plush fool
    vestibule is full dove fit
    to give up such surrendering
    unless you decide
    to press the point,
    my sharp, my stubborn


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