Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 167 (Risk Poems)

For this week’s prompt, write a risk poem. That is, write a poem in which either the narrator, a character, or whatever takes a risk, or in which risk is involved. For those who like board games, yes, you can finally write that game about Risk that you’ve always wanted to do.

Here’s my attempt at this risk poem prompt:

“Doe”

I found her waiting–
blood-mouthed and confused–
inside the fence. She
let me approach, though
I heard her breathing
increase with each step,
afraid as I was
she might turn on me.
In silence, we held
our own until I
could unclasp the latch.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer and check out my other blog, My Name Is Not Bob.

*****

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After writing (and revising) your poems, find an audience for them by using the updated 2012 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer. This book is filled with hundreds of publishing opportunities for poets, in addition to articles aimed at helping poets get published.

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163 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 167 (Risk Poems)

  1. foodpoet

    In the grass in shadow and light

    In the grass in shadow and light
    tiger risks man prey risks tiger
    man hunts everything but themselves
    unable to face hidden truths

    man tiger both rule in jungles
    in the grass in shadow and light
    only hunted elude the daring
    and only time will tell who wins

    nature falls to the grip of man
    prey disappears in the concrete
    in the grass in shadow and light
    only illusion of nature is left

    when nature loses to man’s world
    green fades to pavement and buildings
    rise where tigers prowled the long night
    in the grass in shadow and light

  2. Nancy J

    Don’t Open the Door

    Housesitting.
    The doorbell rings.
    A man waits on the stoop.
    He could be harmless.
    He could be selling something.
    He could be in need of help.
    He could be hoping no one answers,
    or glad to see a woman alone.
    We communicate
    through double-pane glass.
    Can I help you?
    What do you need?
    Who are you looking for?
    No acceptable replies.
    Will you open the door for a minute?
    Melville’s words echo in my mind,
    “He was, in the very essence of the word, a stranger.”
    Will you open the door for just a minute?
    Never.

  3. DanielAri

    “Another round with dad”

    He knew he was taking a risk.
    He acknowledged as much later
    when our long debate by email
    entered its bitter denouement.

    He’d thought his point obvious, but
    he knew he was taking a risk
    to point it out to me, knowing
    my politics. We disagreed

    on who was to blame. “I warned you,”
    he wrote. “You could have clicked ‘delete.’”
    (He knew he was taking a risk.)
    I proposed that he who clicks “send”

    on an incendiary text
    bears responsibility for
    what wars ignite. He said no—but
    he knew he was taking a risk.

  4. jujube123

    when

    when you asked
    me to hold
    your hand,
    i did—
    it was warm.
    when you asked
    me to kiss
    you goodnight,
    i did—
    what is night for
    but to kiss?
    when you asked
    me to accept
    your fear,
    i did—
    it was easy:
    i loved you.
    but when you
    asked me to say
    goodbye—
    for good—
    i did,
    though I didn’t
    understand—
    then or now,
    why or when–
    i still don’t…
    do you?

  5. Connie Peters

    Having a Ball

    May as well take a risk, she said with a sigh.
    Might be our last chance to do this after all.
    Must, sooner or later, all up and die.
    May as well go while having a ball.

    After she said this, we leaped from the plane.
    Air rushed by us, as we fell toward the ground.
    And I wondered, by this time, if we were both insane.
    As I said my prayers on the way down.

    Falling so fast, it was now time.
    Fingers quickly found the life saving chord.
    For a moment I thought things were just fine.
    Fine, I knew now, wasn’t the word.

    Amazing to think what my last thoughts were,
    As I bolted past her as she floated along.
    A risk? Having a ball? Maybe for her.
    Ah, but for me something went wrong.

  6. seingraham

    SEEKING TRUTH

    Seeking truth is like wrestling dark angels
    No matter how carefully you try to grasp
    Or take hold of the real, it slides away
    Slips through your grip with the elusiveness
    Of wings worn to whispery filaments from
    Flights flown far too often in the wrong
    Direction; every time you contemplate
    Putting yourself out there again, going for it
    The risk weighs more heavily than the time
    Before and the doing, the actual seeking
    Becomes less important to you, harder
    To believe in, to trust that it matters,
    Is worth the gamble that you might fail
    You wonder when it is you will stop trying.

    S.E.Ingraham©

  7. mikeMaher

    Risk

    I promise not to write another poem
    about how the mighty Ukraine finally fell
    to the Green army again shortly after 3am,
    or to fill up space with another cliche about facing the world
    or the cliche of being outspoken against cliches.
    Instead I will promise not to risk inaction
    and miss another week, another prompt,
    and so here were are in flaming limbus again,
    you with an impatient eye
    and this guy with naught with this latest conscious stream.
    No directions but perhaps chalk will lead the way.
    When I came down with that cough for the third time this winter
    it was you I thought of when I woke up at night,
    saw no one and wished I had ventured more to keep you around
    or get you to come around in the first place.
    I didn’t realize how visible loneliness could be
    until my knees buckled at the Hall,
    my eyes locked on the fire in the pit.

  8. Sara McNulty

    Risky Business (a fibonacci)

    I
    am going
    out on a
    limb here, said the cat.
    He padded to the tip, and fell.
    ——————————————

    Discord (a shadorma)

    Come on, take a chance.
    Marry me,
    fly out here,
    a euphony to her ears
    which fell deaf to pleas

    of parents and friends
    who warned her
    that he was
    hot-tempered and unstable.
    She learned the hard way.

  9. Caren

    They Told Me

    They told me things could get bad.
    They told me I might not be
    Able to handle it, not
    Be able to hold her once
    She was born. I’d be too weak.
    I decided to risk it.

    They told me that I’d need help
    But who wouldn’t, I asked and
    Continued on, knowing all
    Would be all right in the end,
    And it was, four times in fact.
    It was a risk worth taking.

    Caren E. Salas

  10. Geoff Munsterman

    Hike & Seed

    Hallmarks from the life once lived
    get crammed into two suitcases
    for the bus ride home.

    Zoot-suited cities buzz past
    the dusty window. Success,
    like sleep, evades.

    Strangers cradle crying children,
    stow possessions must mean much
    against their chaffing thighs.

    Oregon was a risk didn’t pay off.
    Ohio also. Tennessee and DC.
    Somewhere near Amarillo,

    a man mistakes my route for his
    and doesn’t sense it until Lafayette.
    He calls his son to pick him up.

    All is fleeting and died
    except for home
    broken after years away.

    The brick three bedroom
    I still live in in my dreams
    gets sold for asking price.

    It’s windows still unlatched,
    I could sleep there anytime
    so long the owners never check

    the pantry where I’d hide
    to scare my mother making
    casserole or beans and rice

    or the garage once filthy
    with sawdust now pristine.
    Like returning to the womb.

    Like winding up in a coffin.

  11. DemsyMonticello

    Hi Folks….I’m looking for maybe a little help here…(nice to see familiar names on the board, although the layout and design are different….and logging in) I participated in the April PAD challenges going back a few years….I’m gearing up for this April….just thought I’d take a look back…..but on Page 12 of the blogs listings where the 2010 April PAD posts start out, I can visit the page for days 22-30 in April 2010, then below that it skips a whole year! A year’s worth of posts are gone? It goes from April 22, 2010 to April 30, 2009??? Then whenever I try to access one of the April PAD pages from 2009, my computer freezes….every time. Does anyone know what’s up….have any advise……Robert?

    1. Robert Lee Brewer Post author

      When they switched platforms for the WD site to WordPress (which also changed the look and feel of this blog), a lot of posts were lost. Some they were able to restore; others are gone forever, I guess. The only thing we can do is to move forward though. 🙂

  12. Ber

    Throwing it Away

    As i lay amongst the wilted flowers
    The sun shines down on me
    I think of times gone past
    Of what i could of been

    Where would i be now
    If i took that chance you see
    I should of been somebody else
    but now i am only me

    I had it all the money, cars and happiness
    sure what else was left
    I put it in the gambling pot
    I wasted on a bet

    Sure it was a dead cert win
    I could not loose
    I have a better chance
    Of singing the blues

    Come on i shouted
    Run like the wind
    It wasnt to be
    I spent all i could spend

    I took a risk
    Thats the price you pay
    When blowing your money
    happiness and wealth away

    So as i lay here in this field
    In the wilted flowers you see
    The pot at the end of the rainbow
    Doesnt really bother me

  13. Joseph Harker

    First yoga poem in a while; this is my goal for the year.

    Sirshasana (Head Stand)

    The worst part is the instinct of terror
    once the legs are freed from the cage of gravity
    and the crown begins to press into the mat.
    You are not Atlas: there are seven bones
    lining the gentle curve of the neck,
    seven chances to split, shatter.
    All of them tumble downward into the mind,
    battering at a skull rolling on the floor
    like a ball full of breath.

    Your spine’s heartwood flexes gently.
    Helium feet begin to rise: not so much
    a leap of faith as
    stepping off the ledge and not looking down.
    The head strains at its forearm cradle,
    waiting for some ancient fault line to snap back,
    taking some nightmare (paralysis, death)
    racing along with it.

    Until you remember to exhale,
    allow the world to invert itself. Feet planted
    on the air, head buried, the whole body
    a dagger stuck in the parquet.
    You’re supposed to hold this as long as possible:
    ten seconds when the lotus petals collapse
    against the scream of what-if-i-fall,
    two minutes once you get used to it,
    and maybe forever, after you’ve gotten so used to
    upside-down,
    that even if the blade cracked in two,
    there wouldn’t even be such a thing anymore
    as surprise.

    1. Willy

      Oh, Joseph! I needed the laughter your words caused!! “…battering at a skull rolling on the floor like a ball full of breath” prompted great visuals. Good luck to you in reaching your goal, my friend.

  14. pmwanken

    OF TEACUPS AND LOVE

    a precious vessel
    (not quite an antique)
    survived years of being used
    in ways other than intended;
    moved from place to place—
    packed and unpacked
    and placed on a shelf—empty

    finally given a chance
    to be filled,
    held in another’s hands,
    the vessel gladly obliged—
    only to end up
    nearly unrecognizable,
    fractured and broken

    loving hands and a keen eye
    beheld the beauty
    within the shards;
    a gentle touch (and glue)
    mended what was broken,
    the vessel, made whole once again,
    is given another chance to risk

    being filled with love

  15. Mark Windham

    Everything

    Risk
    it all
    with each kiss,
    every deep sigh
    skin brush against skin.
    Dance when the lights go down,
    love each time the sun rises
    remove any doubts from her mind.
    Or, let her go and wonder, what if?

    ***inspired by the great Buddah M, ‘King of Romance’***

  16. Connie Peters

    Risk

    Going to the point of emptiness
    Giving all
    No safety net
    Danger at every turn
    One false move—ruin!
    Venturing forth
    Eyes on the prize
    Opportunities
    Adventures
    Fulfillment
    Taking the leap
    A leap of faith?
    Or stupidity?
    Time will tell

  17. Shannon Lockard

    A Risk to Miss You

    It’s a risk to glimpse
    your image
    in a photograph
    or reminisce about
    the good old times
    when you were a
    constant in my life.
    A risk to wish
    for one more touch
    a smile
    a nudge when
    I’m feeling low.
    A risk to hope
    for one more waft
    of your scent
    as you wander by.
    A risk to miss you,
    but I’ll dive in
    you’re worth the
    energy I’ll expend
    treading this river of my tears
    wishing you were here.

  18. J.lynn Sheridan

    “Love risking”

    It’s risky to open a wound and cry
    nose-blowing grief. I never wanted you
    to see me this way, sharing female woes,
    but you didn’t throw rocks or construct me
    into a demon, instead you kissed my
    fingers and tucked my cold toes between your
    aching calves pretending that nothing else
    mattered more than brushing my pain into
    your worn palms.

    Lie if you must but tell me my grief will not
    risk our love forever.

  19. RJ Clarken

    The Romance of Necessity

    “Necessity is the mother of taking chances.” ~Mark Twain

    Sometimes you have to take a chance,
    despite your choices, at first glance.
    Remember what your mother said:
    “Necessity makes scared folks tread

    with footsteps that might look askance.”
    Sometimes you have to take a chance.
    I would agree; those words ring true
    ‘though who knows what might then ensue.

    Necessity – thou errant muse.
    You make me doubt when I must choose.
    Sometimes you have to take a chance.
    Why can’t you counsel in advance?

    Does bravery mean lack of fear?
    Why is this road-fork so unclear?
    Some say that risk holds real romance.
    That’s why I’ll have to take a chance.

    ###

  20. Jane Shlensky

    Imagination

    Black, green, brown, or king,
    they pose no threat except to mice,
    lizards, and low flying insects,
    but to you, they are snakes—

    all the same, all dangerous,
    all deserving of a hoe to the backs
    of their heads, minced to avoid
    any chance of their resurrection.

    Who knows what is in your mind
    when I step on a lost and frightened snake,
    inside our house, hold it behind its head
    and carry it to safety in the woods.

    Snake handler, you say, shying away,
    shaking your head as if the hand that
    touches serpent can never again brush
    your arm, fear creating virulent snake germs

    that spawn tiny microscopic serpents
    coiled and hissing in your mind,
    the risk of the real only half the twisted
    slithering danger of the imagined.

  21. Hannah

    I usually never read before writing and so that was the case this time too, only De’s tantalizing last few lines lingering just above the comment box, planted an image of ocean in my mind and thus “In Waiting For Waves,” was born. Thanks, De!

    Thank you Robert for your poem and prompt, I always enjoy reading your words.

    Happy writing and smiles to you guys!

    *****************************************************************************************

    ~IN WAITING FOR WAVES~

    Releasing troubles to tide
    I reside in the space,
    of water receded,
    heeding risk, rising briskly.
    Thick froth remains,
    messages spelled
    in off-white sea foam.
    Released by the flow,
    strung silently
    pliable plume
    tracing the shoreline.
    Seeing sandy beach
    with eyes afresh;
    testing boundaries,
    waiting just a moment
    longer before racing
    from crashing wave.
    Each new surge,
    flourishing;
    lesson learned.

  22. Buddah Moskowitz

    Open Mike

    In my bedroom
    at my parent’s house
    me and my little $28 guitar
    performed concerts
    at Carnegie Hall
    at the Universal Amphitheatre
    in Abbey Road Studios.

    Starting in 1975,
    I strummed and sang
    to adoring, imagined audiences.

    (I even planned for my
    New York debut
    to come out and start
    the show with an
    acoustic version of
    “Nights on Broadway.”)

    But
    I never worked up the nerve
    to sing my own songs,
    my own heart
    for others.

    Flash forward to 2001:
    My father died,
    I lived in a passionless coupling,
    my chippie went back
    to the man she would eventually marry,
    my OCD was at fever pitch,
    and while the Prozac
    didn’t kill my erection,
    I couldn’t come anymore.

    The ad said
    “INLAND EMPIRE
    SONGWRITER’S OPEN MIKE.”

    Dr. Warren said I should do it,
    so I found myself there
    armed with what I thought
    were my best songs.

    They called my name,
    and my nerves jangled
    all the way onstage.

    I couldn’t see
    past the stage lights
    so I closed my eyes
    and
    launched into
    the first song
    I remember
    ever writing
    from 1981.

    By the time the chorus
    came around,
    I could hear
    their laughter,

    and it felt good,
    since they saw the humor
    in a song titled

    “If I Fall In Love
    With You Again,
    It’s My Own
    Damned Fault.”

    It took 20 years
    to get there,
    and I reveled
    in my three minutes.

    1. Mystical-Poet

      I also waited decades before starting to play the open mics, and I have learned in three minutes you can conquer the world, that’s what a good performance feels like! Great Poem ! I enjoyed very much

  23. taylor graham

    TAKING CHANCES
    for these 40 years

    Of course it was risky,
    falling in love with a man so much older,
    a ranger who used to ride 10-day circuits in Sierra
    backcountry on a requisitioned horse.
    What was I getting into?
    Together, we
    tried to drive across the mountains
    to Chihuahua in a VW running low on gas;
    staked land in Grizzly-country,
    mid-winter in the shadow of Denali;
    hiked goat trails 2000 ft. over the North Fork,
    looking for a lost gold-miner;
    followed our dogs down shafts dug
    into earthquake rubble, searching for survivors;
    watch each other grow older
    with failing eyesight,
    working-out harder just to keep moving.
    Isn’t marriage always a risk?

  24. posmic

    Watermelon

    Go ahead and thump it, but
    it may not tell its secret anyway.

    Precut slices eliminate the gamble,
    but plastic wrap wicks the juice,

    smothers memories of sweet air,
    water, sun, best retained in a thick rind

    that might contain magic, or might not
    if the fruit was picked too soon, or

    suffered some other injustice, at the hands
    of man or nature. It is better to take the

    risk, heft the melon (bend at the knees)
    wobble it onto the conveyor; then it can

    ride shotgun, if you have no one else
    with you. “Fasten seatbelts” will flash,

    and maybe this is best, for a fruit that is
    so like a human: round-bellied. Mysterious.

    1. Hannah

      This poem just breathes watermelon, pink and juicy, shining black seeds. Love it Posmic!

      Especially…

      “…memories of sweet air,
      water, sun, best retained in a thick rind…”

      Can almost smell the melon. 🙂

  25. De Jackson

    Swim at your own

    shore, full steam ahead.
    pay no mind to the buoys
    bobbing about, the gulls
    screeching out their own
    instructions. Beware of
    sharks, and currents and
    rips and undertow and
    high tide. And sharp rocks.
    And jellies. Keep a close
    eye on the winds. Take
    breaths, often. Pace your
    -self. Move with the waves
    until it’s time to move a
    -gainst them. You’ll know
    when. Or maybe not. Just
    breathe. Loose debris is not
    to be used as a floatation
    device. Hope is. Don’t worry
    about the sorrow. The sea
    will swallow your tears.

    1. PKP

      Oooh Deeee “swim at your own shore”… “Pace your – self” “Loose debris is not to be used as a flotation device.” “Hope is.” “The sea will swallow your tears.” I know you wrote these words – they are so beautiful just wanted to feel them again and again. A lovely poem filled with meaning for so many – We were both “swimming” today 🙂

  26. ely the eel

    Risk

    The world might end
    by lunchtime, so
    leave this moment alone.
    Let it breathe.
    Grief will come in time,
    in all its untidy dress,
    complicated and deep,
    feeling a lot like fear.
    Lifelong friends may think enough
    of each other
    to lie once in awhile,
    even as we traverse oceans and
    mountains and valleys of emotion,
    preparing to die,
    with certainty that there’s another way
    to be in the world,
    even without a remedy for death.
    Uncomfortable as it is,
    afraid as we are,
    we can only listen to our breath,
    find a calm corner in our inside,
    engage with the world as it is right now,
    and live with an open heart.
    Dawn breaks for me
    as my friends live in twilight.
    Night will come soon enough.
    In the end,
    our lives are simply stories, and
    the world will proceed
    with its plan.

    1. Hannah

      Love where this takes us, creatively expressed, ely. 🙂

      Really was struck by…

      “Grief will come in time,
      in all its untidy dress,
      complicated and deep,
      feeling a lot like fear…”

      Very good.

  27. RobHalpin

    This still seems a bit raw to me, but here it is…

    Coming Out of the Dark

    Her light long ago tamped
    leaving her a shadow
    of her former self
    living in the shadows
    of her former world

    His light tentatively intrudes,
    scattering her shadows,
    the black and gray of her world,
    threatening exposure of colors
    long hidden in her sanctum

    She’s coaxed into his light,
    laying bare her fears, her pain,
    stark and unhidden, still raw,
    trusting in his promise
    of enduring light and hope

  28. leatherdykeuk

    Missed Bus

    Three miles from home, and the last gloam has slipped
    like a shoplifter through the employee’s door.
    She sticks out her thumb and hopes for a lift
    to get her back before curfew, before her dad
    takes off his belt and says “Next time you won’t go.”

    She keeps walking, thinking about Gary Davies dancing
    and the way he rubs his hands against his balls.
    Fifteen minutes and three miles left. Easy in a car
    but better late than never, eh?
    Better late than a night of applying Savlon
    to the long welts from a leather strap.

    A car pulls over and she hesitates at the passenger door
    What if it’s Myra Hindley or the Yorkshire Ripper
    or a copycat killer or a lonely bloke
    who wants executive relief as he drives along,
    or a Born-again who know he has only seven minutes
    to convert you to this month’s brand of cock-a-maney;
    Baptists, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Hippies;
    A New Religion for a New Age! Jesus loves you
    (though God hates everybody that isn’t us).

    She slides into the vinyl seat, recognises the tie,
    the jam-jar golly badge, the handlebar moustache.
    The driver half-closes his eyes as if he half-remembers
    her half-completed equations, offers her a Number Six and drives off,
    the radio playing The Moody Blues, rattling
    (exhaust against the road plus her against the seat).

    He drops her at the bus stop near her house but before she leaves
    leans over and says ‘Do you know how dangerous it is to hitch-hike?’
    She nods and slams the door shut, squats at the window.
    “wierdos plus hitchhikers equals Bad Things”

    She slips in through the back door, shushes the dog
    and her dad is asleep in front of Panorama
    the flickering blue playing over his unbuttoned trousers.
    She’s upstairs before the closing credits wake him up
    thinking of algebra and hos
    Gary Davies plus dancing plus three Cinzanos
    equals a fifteen minute snog and a missed bus home.

  29. PKP

    A Risk Avoidant Gal

    Risk Avoidant the doc said she was
    Would jump at the wings of a fly buzz
    Stayed mostly at home
    Wrote poem after poem
    Voided all risk into verse that Emily D did just cuz

  30. Mystical-Poet

    Shall We Duel

    Taunts by sarcasm so twisty of tongue
    Boasts and insults hurled and flung
    Joshing and jesting in humorous spirit
    The prize gets amorous when you’re near it
    If familiarity breeds contempt
    A duel with words we must attempt
    Aggress, swagger, assert such a thing
    Some ritual roosterfied bantering
    A social game of moral turpitutude
    Beware to expose your ineptitude
    Deliciously fractious, a quick retort
    Incite to impress or time to abort
    Reputation, honor, and chivalry’s at stake
    Callin’ muckrakers and mudslingers to partake

    1. PKP

      WOW! …. Terrific… can see the gauntlet thrown the white glove slapped across the face – BRAVO! Now, if we could get all wars to be fought this way… what fun and what peace! 🙂

  31. PKP

    The Lake

    Diving into a lake
    There seemed  a good  swim there to make
    Finding instead
    Muck floating below, an odd tide pulling low
    Took a breath and on shore reviewed her mistake 

    In the sun sparkling light
    Watching the water flow bright
    Decided right there
    The swim worth the dare
    Accepted the mud and the tide not the fight 

  32. laurie kolp

    Breech

    She’d rather be hit in the gut by
    a bowling ball than endure the labor
    pains that crept up in the night like a
    black bear. The doctor said to
    cancel all plans for a natural child-
    birth, the baby was a Buddha planted
    on her seat, breech and budge
    LESS it wasn’t worth the risk; but
    she worked her elastic squeeze
    ball during the C-section anyway.

  33. Nancy Posey

    Her First Reading

    She knew they saw the tremor
    in her hands, shaking the papers
    she held, blurring the words;
    they had to hear the quaver
    in her voice as she began
    to read the words unvoiced
    aloud to anyone before,
    hidden for years in notebooks,
    the sound tested only inside
    her head, but never uttered
    until here in this coffee shop
    among a few friends, more
    strangers, some only boys
    and girls, but brave enough
    to read poems still unpolished,
    hungry for listeners. Taking
    a pregnant pause, one deep breath,
    she plunged on, daring to look
    up, to catch their eyes, fully
    focused on her, on her every word,
    smiling in just the right places,
    leaning eagerly into the turn,
    withholding polite applause—
    the custom here, –but freely
    offering their rapt attention,
    banishing the fear, floating her
    back to her seat on the power
    of her words, her own words.

    1. Zienna

      Consistent voice. Nicely done! Would the image be stronger with a change from “pregnant” pause and “rapt attention” to something less worn? At first look, it appeared to be a little bit long, but it read quickly and kept my attention all the way. You stuck to the ‘story’ and in few words painted a complete image. Good work! Enjoyable read.

  34. Nancy Posey

    Peacemaker

    How strange to learn, after years
    believing myself a peacemaker,
    I am instead a peacekeeper.
    Unwilling to rock the boat,
    to take a risk, paralyzed by fear,
    should I fail, of making matters
    worse with my words, mutely
    I avoid any conflict, choosing
    flight over fight, keeping a peace
    so fragile, so precarious as to be
    no peace at all. Now to begin
    to make peace, I dare to break
    the spell between us, frozen
    into an uncomfortable quiet,
    refusal to make eye contact,
    feeling a chill so out of place
    no quilt or hearth fire stands
    a chance. When I weigh the risk—
    harsh words, sustained silence,
    tension sparking like static—
    against that possibility of peace,
    real peace unencumbered,
    peace restored, I summon
    courage, strength, and yes,
    I summon love, daring to speak.

  35. PKP

    To the land of Risk

    The young girl slips from her tumbled sibling shared
    Bed and walks on soft soles from the faintly fetid
    cottage through the shard thrown garden – sun fingered
    Dawn tousles her hair as quietly she lifts the latch
    Onto night cooled fields and begins the walk toward her
    Unknown reflection shimmering in the distant horizon

  36. Walt Wojtanik

    LEAVING POETRY IN MY WAKE

    Just up, and walk away.
    The rhymes were fine in their time,
    but mine are reasy to retire.
    Poets for hire, never entered
    into any thought worth transcribing.
    Been imbibing in the froth of frenetic fiction.
    Each depiction goes further than verse
    but the worse case scenario
    is no less scary than fading to where
    no rhyme has gone before.
    Maybe I’m done. Maybe just tired.
    Maybe just sick of the bullshit
    that has transpired. Words mangled
    and mired in memory offers this remedy,
    not sure of how much more to take
    maybe I’ll be leaving poetry in my wake…

  37. Ber

    Stormy Paths

    Move me like a mountain
    Shake me like a leave on a tree
    Share our lives together
    In the here and now

    When the rain stops
    The sun comes out
    Be my knight in shinning armour
    Take me in your arms tonight

    You rock my world
    I hope i move yours too
    Two peas in pod
    Stuck together like glue

    Who needs money
    It cant buy my love
    Who needs fancy gifts
    All we need is each others love

    Time is precious
    Your my sand in a glass
    Im your storm in tea cup
    Love like ours will forever last

    We will make our memories
    Like everyones does
    We will carve our path in life
    This one with me you have chosen

    Lets explore our world together
    Lets dance in the rain
    Lets make foot prints in sand
    And across the mountains plain
    We will struggle
    But we have each other to help through the troubled times

      1. Ber

        Thanks glad to hear you enjoyed the poem. I think dancing in the rain is kind of romantic in a way its like even tough it is uncomfortable on your skin, you would not mind once your in the arms of the one you love.

  38. Genevieve Fitzgerald

    At Risk

    My mother talks just
    To her reflection
    Dressing for a date.
    My father is never
    Home at night;
    He gambles or works late.
    No one asks why
    I do not eat
    Or where I ride the bus.

  39. Jerry Walraven

    “So, here is your ‘yes’ for the day”

    There is a bravery
    in getting up
    and facing the world
    with nothing to protect you
    but a smile
    and a willingness to understand
    that NO
    for the thousandth time
    doesn’t cut
    as much as YES
    for the first
    heals.

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