Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 102

This week, write a service poem. Originally, I was thinking of service as a car mechanic or server at a restaurant, but there’s also military service and general services that people provide to each other every day–sometimes even free of charge. Writing poetry could even be considered a service that the poet provides to his or her readers.

Here’s my attempt:

“Good intentions”

Yesterday, a lonely man spotted a penny,
which he picked up immediately, because he
thought they were rather lucky. “Maybe today, I’ll
finally find love,” he thought. Then, a woman smiled
and asked, “Do you, by chance, have some jumper cables?”

The lonely man did not, and he was headed out
to buy some bread. Still, he thought of the woman’s mouth,
how it might kiss or smile from across a table
set for two. The lonely man bought a loaf of bread
and swung by Sears for jumper cables. He wanted
love and had a lucky penny in his pocket.

While there, he decided to purchase some socket
wrenches, because you can never have too many–
just like collecting a hundred lucky pennies.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


Sure, no one can have too many socket wrenches or lucky pennies, but what about dictionaries? C’est impossible! Click here to learn more about The Poetry Dictionary, by John Drury.


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206 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 102

  1. Monica Martin

    "Along with your checking account,
    we can offer savings,
    money markets,
    debit cards and bill pay.
    Internet banking, CDs,
    IRAs, home equity.
    Whatever you want, we have it."
    "Trust accounts?"
    "No, not those."

  2. S. E. Ingraham

    Whatever – It Is What It Is

    Awaking on the ward I am
    Momentarily lost until
    The aroma of hospital food
    Crushes hope and taste-buds

    My head diving back
    Beneath the rock-hard
    Imposter pillow; I am trying
    To block out light of day

    Earplugs – where are they?
    Oh, right – confiscated
    Suicide hazard apparently
    I don’t see how but still

    Sounds here defy description
    Inhumane, inhuman, eerie
    Even, or especially, in sunlight
    At night I can pretend

    They are part of nightmares
    But awake, I realize
    Crazy is winning at least
    For some, and most likely me

  3. Daniel Ari

    My feminine self can not abide Las Vegas
    and will never make the annual trip with me.
    She gets uneasy. The billboards and bodegas
    make her feel less than she is; and in Clark County,
    where even known misanthropes can rent vaginas,

    she guesses the grace of God has gone for many—
    for the waitresses and dealers who purchased more
    breast to moonlight for better money; for the money-
    dancers, looking so young, who’ve heard it all before;
    for the pamphlet men at the curbside vantages;

    even for the any-town stocker at the store—
    this city’s ubiquitous iniquity preys
    on what in our nature makes each person a whore
    on the stroll among plastic chapels and buffets
    of single-sense overloads for one-trick ponies…

    It’s the male caricature of myself that plays
    in Circe’s city, while she wisely stays away.


  4. Hannah Gosselin

    Hey there Beth! I just wanted to say thanks for your comment @ my poems! You may not get this as it IS Wednesday morning but any way! 🙂

    Smiles and happy writing on the flip-side ALL!

  5. Rachel Green

    Mourning Service

    A dozen people are clustered around an open grave
    as a vicar in white surplus intones a minor requiem
    for the departed, a coffin perched on twin beams
    across the waiting pit and a mound of dry clay
    hidden beneath an astroturf tarpaulin.
    At a point in the soliloquy six of the mourners
    — professionals with measured step and breath –
    step forward to remove the planks and lower the coffin
    with safety ribbon into the waiting earth.
    The vicar’s words slow to a trickle and fade,
    a few pleasantries leaking out as the mourners drift away.
    One woman tosses a handful of earth onto the coffin
    but the practice is frowned upon by the vicar who guide s her away.
    The undertaker’s men wait until the mourners have gone,
    gathering their ribbons and cloths, then nod to the gravedigger
    who waits until the car park is empty before he starts the digger.

  6. Walt Wojtanik


    Responsibilities reign down
    a burden assumed and relished,
    embellished by the benefits provided.
    Inside though, an emptiness festers
    getting the best of the best intentions,
    not to mention leaving a void not easy to avoid.
    There is a need. In the beating of every heart
    there is a part that needs that,
    and needs to do something about it.
    A stand-up kind of person willing
    to give what they can to bolster
    a life lacking somewhere out there.
    People care. They just have a hard time
    showing sometimes, but by going
    those extra miles, the smiles that ensue
    provide the fuel to do more.
    A basic human need. Feeding the void.
    Share the knowlege, share the wealth,
    give the time to make a life
    a better place to live. Give.


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