Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 134

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For this week’s prompt, write a “let’s get serious” poem. There is serious, and then, there’s serious. I’ll let you decide which serious your poem is going to tackle. Seriously.

Here’s my attempt:

“Apocalyptic Signs”

And just like that, the world did not end.
We waited as if maybe, but not really,
because the world never ends
when they say it will.

You know how little boys are always crying
wolf, though some things did go missing:
random socks, pocket change, pencils
and pens. The world did not end,
but we didn’t let it ruin our day.


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165 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 134

  1. Taylor Graham


    Revolution. Barricades
    in the streets. Out-of-work workers
    heap paving stones and upturned carriages
    against the Garde. Even troops
    can’t map the filthy maze that is Paris.
    Stink and haze of smoke, stagnant water
    that floods the rez-de-chaussée
    when it rains. But our Spring is over.
    It swept through Europe,
    and what difference did it make?
    M. Cabet took his utopian
    ideas to a New World. Herr Marx
    from Germany would spark class war.
    From America, Mr. Burritt hoped
    to organize world peace. They’re gone.
    We’re left with things as they were
    and will be. Slum-streets, refuse
    running in the gutters. Rats.
    A new plague – this year, cholera.
    Revolution? What’s likely
    to burn are the walls around us,
    our roof above, our selves.

  2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Warning Shot
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    The first time you used the "L" word,
    I stopped you mid-sentence and called you
    a user of fine words that leaves only scars.

    Still, on knees and belly, you made
    the decision to brave the no man’s land
    between us — mud, barbed wire, sniper fire
    just to place your hand over the grenade
    seductively serenading my own, and
    simply pull the pin.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  3. AC. Leming


    Steals your breath with moisture.
    Like breathing under water, it’s difficult
    not to drown on Southern air 

    when summer holds you hostage.
    The dogs wake me at 5 am.
    Humid air pours though the door

    my grey dog noses open, a feat 
    which the spotted dog has yet
    to figure out at 9 years-old.

    I shut the door quick before 
    a passing car can see me in my 
    undressed state.  I feed the dogs

    and think I should stay awake,
    write in my journal and walk
    the pups while it’s still somewhat

    cool.  But I succumb to Morpheous’
    arms for another morning and flirt
    with heat exhaustion for the three

    of us on our 9 o’clock morning walk.

  4. Taylor Graham

    “Earth being used as ALIEN GARBAGE DUMP!”
    — the SUN

    Recovered from the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers
    in six years (a very partial list)*: 10,154 car tires,
    7,286 feet of barge rope, 1,900 square feet of carpet,
    737 refrigerators, 420 antifreeze bottles,
    104 water heaters, 88 washing machines, 73 life-
    jackets, 60 BBQ grills, 44 toilets, 21 messages
    in bottles, 12 bathtubs, 12 couches, 6 motorcycles,
    6 Porta-a-Potties, 5 farm tractors, 3 tops of school
    buses, 3 transmissions, 2 cupboards, 1 septic tank,
    1 gas pump (unleaded), 1 piano.

    Does this sound like aliens to you?

    * from Capital River Relief website

  5. Dennis Wright

    A song that might be a poem.

    Walk Just Like a Man

    Southern families came to the toe
    there they lived the same.
    Little Dixie they called the place
    and it lived up to its name.
    Poor sod farmers bitten by snake eyes
    wanting a horse to ride,
    they prayed high for threes and eights,
    and kept their southern pride.

    Oh, your neighbors shaved the dice
    so you would always win.
    Everything they did not have
    they gave to you to spend.
    They made your life so unreal
    you could not fall to sin.
    You never learned to stand your ground
    and walk just like a man.

    Daddy preached the Holy Book
    and then he died out west.
    Momma married another man
    and held a shot gun to her breast.
    Then you were in the field
    as sheriff came for your brother dear.
    You were too young to have such pain
    and to know, oh so much fear.

    Oh, your neighbors shaved the dice
    so you would always win.
    Everything they did not have
    they gave to you to spend.
    They made your life so unreal
    you would not fall to sin.
    You never learned to stand your ground
    and walk just like a man.

    The daily press printed words
    they thought were in your mind.
    The editor made some bucks
    with his axe to grind.
    And you went along with everything
    that he had to say.
    You loved to much the telling of the tale
    and your killing ways.

    Oh, your neighbors shaved the dice
    so you would always win.
    Everything they did not have
    they gave to you to spend.
    They made your life so unreal
    you would not fall to sin.
    You never learned to stand your ground
    and walk just like a man.

    Copyright, Dennis Wright, June 7, 2011.

  6. Sam Nielson

    Cameron Steele,
    ‘Serious Sestina’ is quite serious indeed. I loved it from the first stanza. Wonderful work.

    I love the imagery for your work ‘Serious’. The black marks, the owls lock, ‘sees me despite death’ ‘failed/To capture what I was’. Keep it up.

  7. Mariel


    I won’t indulge what I can write
    Or type a letter to you to provoke
    The last words I spoke were rough
    And well deserved
    So I’ll build a sandbox out of vanity
    And dig a hole deep to stick my head in
    Carry myself to bed with a pencil
    To ponder Brazil and the South
    To creep soft; slowly pills entering through veins
    With a new lover; who has scars
    Black marks made in Iraq
    Who sleeps well into the night
    As owls lock our lazy eyes into sleep
    Who sees me despite death at the door
    Despite chills in the air that murmur
    Sneak off into the night;
    One a ghost, the other a wife
    Where you seriously failed
    To capture what I was

  8. Michael Grove

    Guarded Heart

    It wasn’t always guarded,
    It’s always pumped out truth,
    and soaked up all the sunshine
    since the warmer days of youth.

    But somewhere down deserted roads
    there is an empty box
    which once held many jingling keys
    to hardened steel locks.

    To understand and sympathize
    and pat you on the back
    would undermine your weapons
    though defensive, not attack.

    It always seems so scary
    to drop your only shield
    and blow right thru the stop sign
    not waiting there to yield.

    It’s only cupids arrow
    firing at the red,
    piercing thru your guarded heart
    which pacifies your head.

    The arrow or the bow man
    or the guarded heart set free
    need air for flight and breathing
    to sing in harmony.

    Unguard your heart and take the shot.
    Drop shields on fertile ground.
    Listen for the heart beat.
    It is a glorious sound.

    By Michael Grove

  9. Michael Grove

    HAIKU – (7) Seriously

    A prince on white horse.
    A brave soldier on a mule.
    It’s all the same now.
    He knocks on her door.
    She leaves him waiting out there.
    He waits and wonders.
    Together a must.
    Separate the love from lust.
    Two shall share a trust.
    This will work, really.
    Love unconditionally.
    Try it, you will see.
    Let’s get serious.
    No more fooling around here.
    Time for going big.
    It is not a game.
    Love is still the feelings name.
    If it’s all the same.
    Now seriously.
    What’s the point in wasting time?
    Except for guarding heart.

    By Michael Grove

  10. Joy Cagil

    Cracks in the Concrete

    The path with cracks
    soil-squatted, weed-sprouted,
    a bother to the eye.
    Those landscapers
    bypassing the fine lines
    to make me frown, until…
    I hear my neighbor’s cane
    tiptap on the sidewalk,
    his other hand holding to the leash
    of his animal companion
    leading him with its eyes.

  11. Sam Nielson

    Let’s Get Serious

    The mortician said to the sexton
    Over a new concrete vault.
    Shall we start digging?

    He said to his body,
    Numbering the decades,
    Let’s get past these aches.

    He said to his wife
    After their fifth anniversary,
    What about a baby?

    She said, a boss addressing
    A waiting employee,
    Let’s start now.

    To a parent, Can I? said a child
    Looking at a clean sidewalk
    Holding a new box of colored chalk.

    An amniotic newborn
    Yelled to any near to hear
    Make room, let me breathe!

  12. Michael Grove

    Limbo Land

    All the thoughts of failure
    racing thru the head.
    Crucified for loving.
    It’s better than if dead.

    Live and learn, not likely.
    Same mistakes again.
    Heart out on the sleeve.
    Pray for trust. Amen.

    Understand objection.
    Always do your part.
    When in limbo land.
    Keep following heart.

    By Michael Grove


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