Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 091

For today’s prompt, use the following three words in a poem: clodhopper, flash and satellite. Put the words anywhere you like in the poem and use them however you wish.

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“Nexus”

We set up shop on the wrong side
of the tracks. One train passes, then
another. They pass in a flash,
those satellites. I chase napkins
around the shop and tell the kids
not to touch things they cannot kiss.
The dolls hold out for licorice,
but they’ll be waiting and waiting.
I may be a clodhopper, but
my brain is a pipe dream covered
in soot. My eyes, little moons, chase
lickety-split those cabooses–
aching to hear the whistle, but
afraid to stand on the platform.

*****

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*****

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183 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 091

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  4. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    Miss! Miss!

    "Miss! Miss!"
    The child reaches heavenward
    His face fit to burst
    I beam, so happy a child
    Has something to add
    Or question about this world
    Maybe a question about his universe
    Why he is here, what we do,
    What is our purpose?
    Maybe something more specific,
    Like how are trains made,
    Or how do satellites work.
    In a flash, I’m over to him
    Smiling
    "Yes, my lad, what do you need
    To say, that will deepen all
    Our knowledge further?"
    The boy frowns
    As if in deep thought
    "Allan called me a clodhopper."
    My face falls.
    Sigh.
    Another mundane task.
    "Miss? What’s a clodhopper?"
    Well, at least we’ll all learn
    SOMETHING today.

  5. Kimiko Martinez

    Better late than never, I suppose.

    <a href="http://neversayacommonplacething.blogspot.com/2010/06/crashing-down.html=>CRASHING DOWN</a>

    And in a flash
    she was gone
    a burning comet
    crashing out of
    his orbit and
    out of his life

    No longer would
    she hover like
    a satellite, pushed
    and pulled by the
    atmosphere of his
    moods and mania

    He would trample
    her love with
    those god damn
    cloddhoppers of his
    and let another
    woman make him
    her whole world

  6. Jacqueline

    Colette – Six-foot-Six-And-Then-Some – awesome! Happy belated anniversary! That is so romantic! <3

    S.E.Ingraham – If you knew… Love it! <3

  7. Hannah Gosselin

    Walt, nothing but well-rested, BIG smiles from this state!

    Marie, I love your latest!

    I dare not attempt to catch up this late in the game but I hope to be more present this next time ’round!

    Smiles to all my poetic pals, it’s always so nice to see inspiration coursing through this community!

  8. DrPKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Ian…. How sweet off into the night
    Amy… Thanks for the steaminess whew!
    Geoff Agree with Barbara achingly lovely imagery and an anachrostic too!
    Marie…"Clodhopper grace" indeed
    Rialto Shaking off a chill…
    Taylor "the code for breathe" can relate to that one
    SaraGwen yes the PA’ers going to the "grave" with the prompt even when dry
    Sheila.. thanks for the mentionS! Respect your work and means a great deal

    Ah looking forward to tomorrow and another prompt!

  9. Sara Gwen

    Re "Miraculous Mistake" a dark quiet nod of thanks Pearl, Barbara too, for the time I monopolized for its twisted rant and for finding anything in it to take, perhaps the only real miracle writing and reading can offer. I myself still find changes on each reading, might keep on doing so. It was what my earlier "Instead Of" was written for, and if the internet had no memory and I were working with just the delete key, it might still be the only one of the two to survive the crash. Thanks for giving it another breath or two…

  10. DrPKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Sara Gwen… A Miraculous Mistake (needs a ? at the end of the title)…
    The only miraculous mistake is your utter lack of hubris as you fail to see the ballet slipper… the pure silk ribbons the exquisite flutter of your dance as you, sparkling center stage, no one’s satellite holding all transfixed by your music.

  11. Barbara Ehrentreu

    sheila, thank you for the mention and the enthusiasm.It isn’t often that my work is described as "golden". So I’m blushing!!!!! The actual title of that poem is WHO WILL TALK FOR THE BIRDS? I posted it on my IPhone and that is why it is so garbled and posted so much. I was so embarrassed, but I was the only one I guess. Thank you all for accepting such a screw up!! On the news war pictures have been replaced by devastating glimpses of oil-soaked birds and it makes me sick.

    Geoff, I started reading your poem and stopped at: "Centuries old trees lean aching for the sun
    like skinned-k nee children for their mothers." Such an image. Then after reading through to the end I noticed the title and realized as I read the first letters down that you had done an acrostic too! Great! I love multi-tasking.:)

    Amy, very hot scene 🙂

  12. Geoff Munsterman

    The Young Lost Ghosts Acrostic For My Friends

    Centuries old trees lean aching for the sun
    like skinned-knee children for their mothers.
    On the creosote posts, redwing blackbirds sneer.
    Dial their eyes to the green lagoon
    hopping mad with fish and algae.
    Only the dead know this place, the cemetery
    past the bait shop next to the leaky tunnel
    peeling tiles each time a semi slices through.
    Ears pressed tight against the dirty tiles
    rescues you from fates like kids hit like trash,

    flung like satellites in space back to the earth.
    Lungs sucked in or else the wind could catch you
    and pull you in like tide. A dead kid’s clodhopper
    shrinks behind a shadow like a secret or reminder—
    Hell’s little skill of showing you its fingerprints.

    Sometimes in the tunnel dead come back,
    at least the people slamming on their brakes claim
    they do. I don’t have to find them where they died.
    Each one comes up from the levee, wet,
    lace trough blackberry patches and ready to talk
    like couples after fights. They’re willing to talk
    if I’m willing to listen, sit on the swing set
    that in summer sits unused except the dead.
    Even they like it higher, higher, higher.

  13. Sara Gwen

      
    5 — Inconceivably So

      Discarded images, thoughtlessly smeared
      across horizons we’ve been staring at
      are getting dumpsters sentried there too fat
      on every satellite whose orbit’s neared.

      Our inner clodhopper muses, "Hey, that’s weird."
      To which a waxing moon posts copycat
      insinuations. Warning threats fall flat
      against an eye reflection hasn’t steered.

        We’ll catch you next week, Wednesday afternoon,
        when it’ll come back at a blinding flash
        the strategies we whistled out of tune
        as favors we exchanged for travel cash
        to distances we reached in our balloon
        before informed we’d not survived the crash.

      
      

  14. sheila harris

    Amy! Hay Hay Hay…lol..
    too delicious..

    what a week I’ve had!..a bad one..and a busy one..
    my very good dog may have intestinal cancer..
    my very dear friend was rushed off to hospital pending stroke
    and no rest on Sunday as had a women’s flyfishing class yesterday I was committed to teaching (as I planned it!) so no down time and all this while still one of those poor working stiffs..:(
    yeah,it’s crybaby mode for now..

    and my very dear colleagues here at PAD have been writing their asses off..
    and writing very well..

    thank you Barbara Ehrentreu for you very kind remarks of my tale of young infatuation..it is a dated concept of cousins finding attraction,I know ,but in my head was circa post post WWII for some reason..thank you again..
    I thoroughly enjoyed your "Revelation"..the second stanza is golden:
    My clodhopper existence seemed clear
    Even down to the black scuffed leather clogs
    whose comfortable soles held my feet
    secure in warm socks balancing my life

    and
    Flash, satellite, clodhoppers….your bold clarion call in defense of the wildlife suffering a tragic fate in the demise of the ecosystem from that monstrous oil explosion is inspiring..keep it up!
    I hope your husband is doing well..or holding his own..you have my prayers and admiration for your ceaseless courage and support….

    Hannah thank you,too,for your mention..I appreciate it!
    TAKE ME WITH YOU forlorn little poem of a one excluded from her/his circle..
    i truly felt that..you wrote reams in a few sentences..well done..

    Fango..you are so unique! i loved your poem,..

    Pearl PK your wonderful Flash, Satellite, Clodhopper Morning was just a warm up for a greater expansion Flash, Satellite, Clodhopper WHY?
    and the frank honesty in your observations of The New Clodhopper very refreshing!
    and thank you,too,for your very generous comments regarding my ‘stuff’..

    Perseids and Satellites by Sam Neilson …both very ,very lovely in description and reflective in thought
    Joe Harker ..what a solid character,steeped and proud of tradition that arises from your lines..excellent
    Daniel Ari’s "Today I rose, …."..so much love of family ,home and the life created in these lines..exquisite..
    S.E. Ingraham"If You Knew"..this hits home..such truth..
    INA "Clodhopper"..i enjoyed the in your face of your poem..
    Sara Gwen you are giving Walt and Amy the most prolific producers a run for their money;)

    ok..gotta run the phone is ringing..again..

  15. Amy Barlow Liberatore

    HAY, HAY, HAY

    Deep in the hay stacks we lay
    Young lust smoldering; one flash and
    the barn could have gone in flames

    When I first caught a sunlit glimpse
    He was tanned, sweaty, hard at work
    Next to his toolbox sat a lite beer

    Now day’s done, time to get down to it
    No, baby, leave your clodhoppers on
    I love a man in uniform

  16. Rialto W. Jenktaw

    Screaming in Space

    You orbit.
    Jettisoned into the cosmos
    where Major Tom still
    floats by his tin can;
    a hulled out satellite
    no longer holding function.
    You let out a yell.
    A hoot. A holler.
    A scream into the void
    of darkness that no one hears.
    It’s as if the clodhoppers
    have their fingers in their ears.
    The sum of all fears in the flash
    to light speed. They will claim
    a faulty seatbelt as your C.O.D.
    A black hole sucks; submit to its will.
    For yours is no longer your own.

  17. Sara Gwen

      
    Revise, revise, revise . . .
      
    Don’t Have On Your Clodhoppers

      Don’t have on your clodhoppers to the poetry reading tonight
      (although closing out with a villanelle’s admittedly brash).
      Gear, wear cool gear when you bomb like a dying satellite.

      Like wise poets who know their poems’ endings don’t have much bite
      so who dress their words down to tint meanings as gray as ash,
      don’t have on your clodhoppers to the poetry reading tonight.

      Good poets need no schooling nor must even be all that bright
      to dress up for the dance and go out having a grand bash.
      Gear, wear cool gear when you bomb like a dying satellite.

      Like wild poets stripping down to madness to their muse’s delight,
      know it’s never to late to learn how to make a big splash:
      don’t have on your clodhoppers to the poetry reading tonight.

      Brave poets, near PA, who’ll go to their grave with the site,
      do the prompts proud even when dry like they’re out of cash.
      Gear, wear cool gear when you bomb like a dying satellite.

      And you, dear rhymester, sadly hoping you’ll know what to write,
      it’ll come to you in a – oh you knew I had to say it – flash.
      Don’t have on your clodhoppers to the poetry reading tonight;
      gear, wear cool gear when you bomb like a dying satellite.

      
      

  18. Sara Gwen

      
    Don’t Have On Your Clodhoppers

      Don’t have on your clodhoppers when you meet your god tonight
      (although closing out with a villanelle’s admittedly brash).
      Gear, wear cool gear when you’re going down like a dying satellite.

      Like wise poets who know their poems’ endings don’t have much bite
      so who dress their words down to tint meanings as gray as ash,
      don’t have on your clodhoppers when you meet your god tonight.

      Good poets need no schooling nor must even be all that bright
      to dress up for the dance and go out having a grand bash.
      Gear, wear cool gear when you fall like a dying satellite.

      Like wild poets stripping down to madness to their muse’s delight,
      know it’s never to late to learn how to make a big splash:
      don’t have on your clodhoppers when you meet your god tonight

      Brave poets, near PA, who’ll go to their grave with the site,
      do the prompts proud even when dry like they’re out of cash.
      Gear, wear cool gear when you fall like a dying satellite.

      And you, dear rhymester, sadly hoping you’ll know what to write,
      it’ll come to you in a – oh you knew I had to say it – flash.
      Don’t have on your clodhoppers when you meet your god tonight
      Gear, wear cool gear when you fall like a dying satellite.

      
      

  19. Iain D. Kemp

    Oh my! I’ve had a hectic week…this is the first chance I’ve had to even see the prompt.

    At least the blog is still flowing along…some archive pieces you may recognise have been added this week as well as friday’s new podcast…just click my name to visit…if you want me to link to your blog leave a comment with the details.

    Cheers…hopefully will have time to read later…

    Wall Flower

    She took a chance
    at the farmers’ dance

    She felt lost and small
    her back to the wall

    Throughout the night
    she was a satellite

    The world just beyond reach:
    washed up on life’s beach

    She gave her weak smile a flash
    he came over at a dash

    A big man in clodhopper boots
    he picked her up by the roots

    Wallflower, she was no more
    he whisked her across the floor

    The band played and sang
    and in her heart bells rang

    He whispered I love you
    she sighed and said it too

    Off into the night they ran
    and so at last her life began

    Iain

  20. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Sara Gwen Miraculous Mistake was definitely not a mistake. Such images and flow of language. l stopped to read short poems and got trapped in yours. 🙂

    Marie Elena we also had thunderstorms here and a tornado watch. I loved this:
    "Clodhopper grace/ Leaving much to replace" . Having lived near Lake Erie I know what you mean.:)

    This is the prompt that keeps on giving and giving and giving…………

  21. Sara Gwen

      
        A domestic surveillance eavesdropper
        listened in on a local clodhopper,
                but each satellite flash
                picked up nothing but trash
        which – though naughty – was hardly improper.

      
      

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