Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 017

For today’s poetry prompt, let’s write a poem about finding something. You can find an old award, photograph, or sense of humor. You can make it something funny, sad, or angry. In the process of finding something, I hope we all find ourselves with another poem.

Here’s my attempt for the day:


He discovered them half-covered by a bush
as he walked his dog in the morning. They were

lined with blue and looked brand new. But
no owner in sight. No sign of why they might

end up beneath a bush. His dog immediately
tried peeing on them, but he said, “No, Kilgore,”

and picked them up. Attached to the rubbery
strap was a note that read, “The man who picks

up these goggles will today meet the woman
of his dreams.” “These goggles are not meant

for me, Kilgore,” he said, “I’m not meeting any
one today.” But he still carried the goggles back

to his apartment and laid them on his kitchen
countertop. Then, he got to work by writing

copy for his garden gnome stock photography
business. As he waited for a mail merge to finish,

he heard a knock on his door. Thinking it may
actually be the woman of his dreams, he grabbed

the goggles and opened the door. In fell a woman
who he’d dreamed about multiple times, a woman

he had never actually met until now. She was
struggling to breathe. “I looked for you at the bush,

but you weren’t there,” she said. “But I had work,”
he said, “I had spreadsheets and mail merges

to complete.” “I don’t want your excuses,” she
said, “I want you to save me.” So he did what

was needed. He put on the goggles, held her
close to him, and swam them both to safety.


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60 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 017

  1. S.E.Ingraham

    Gulp Lori – my hat’s off to you…hope you find room at the inn, and some rest too. Unbelievable that this is happening to that area again. Take care. Sharon I.

  2. Lori

    Sorry this is late. My poem will explain why

    Finding a place to stay

    “Where are you going?”
    Everyone’s question for everyone else
    As Gustav threatens and still Katrina/Rita-shy
    Louisianan coast.
    My reply, the only one I could give, was
    Obligated to stay
    until the last patient was shipped out
    left me no idea of when I was leaving.
    You can’t tell a hotel to reserve a room for
    “when I get there.”
    No hotels til Arkansas anyway.
    Last patient out at 1130pm Saturday night.
    Sleep, hit the road.
    Seventy at first with contra flow,
    making good time.
    Then hitting traffic, five miles an hour,
    at this rate I’ll make it to Arkansas by Christmas.
    Spotty cell phone connections,
    but Mom says she can book me a room in Braynt, Arkansas
    If I can make it.
    Traffic clearing up the further north I go
    As I near the Arkansas boarder I see
    a big blue home made sign
    “Welcome Evacuees.”

  3. Carla Cherry

    The Mirror

    With an armful of apparel draped over one arm,
    I entered the fitting room and closed the door.

    After I undressed, my eyes roamed
    over the dimples in my thighs.

    I stepped into one pair of pants and pulled them
    over my hips with ease. Slipped on a matching shirt.

    I turned around, and seeing how the outfit firmly hugged
    what my man likes to hug, I grew brave.

    I tried on another shirt, a skirt, a dress, and more
    pants. Each time, I found beauty.

    I bounced out of the room, and the glitter of sterling
    silver brought me to a rack of jewelry. A sale.

    I brought two pair to my ear. They gleamed against
    my skin.

    The cashier rang me up, plunging me a little deeper in debt.
    But as I walked down the street, I swung my bags.

  4. Linda

    Connie, congratulations. Always nice to hear that someone in our April PAD group is being published.

    Heather, you poor thing. That long wait ended in disappointment. Your poem made me think of my 5th grade class play. We did Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The costume crew teased the hair of the boys playing Oompa-loompas. It was a riot. Anyway, I liked the poem.

  5. Rodney C. Walmer

     Seeking and Finding

    We never seem to find
    what we seek
    Not that life is so unkind
    nor that we are just that weak

    We often seem to find
    that which we did not seek
    In which life can be so unkind
    as to show it’s ability
    to our curiosity it might pique . . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 8/29/08 Find prompt. A little bit of my abstract side.

  6. Iain D. Kemp

    Finding the Blues…

    I always loved FleetwoodMac
    and rocked on
    to their sound
    and then one day
    searching the archives
    (as an avid blues fan)
    I found this… (oh, sorry
    you can’t hear it…)
    In 1968 they were a real
    gone solid sounding blues
    band and it kicks my soul
    and shakes me wicked bad cos
    I loves it, yeah, man I loves
    it all…
    Like the man said when the fuzz
    was a talkin’ to Dylan at Woodstock…
    “Can ya dig it?"

    I can


  7. ann malaspina

    Not Found

    He was never found,
    not by his dog who never
    left his side, or his
    daughter who thought she
    knew him best.
    He was not found by
    the Black Hawk Helicopter,
    dipping low into the canyon,
    or the teams of searchers
    carrying lanterns
    deep into the first nights.
    He was lost, it seemed,
    for good. But even
    years later, after his
    bank account was closed
    and his grandchildren no
    longer remembered how much
    they missed him,
    we still believed that
    one day he would appear,
    his voice crackly and sure,
    telling us all he’d seen
    while he was gone.


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