Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 168 (Preparation Poems)

Okay, so I’m getting ready to attend my first AWP Conference ever in Chicago, which means that I still haven’t packed anything, and I’m scrambling to get as much work done as possible before forgetting half the things I should bring with me to the airport. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about forgetting my ticket–as I receive that at the airport (whew!). Anyway, real life can sometimes prompt my prompts, soooooo…

For this week’s prompt, write a preparation poem. A poem in which you either get prepared in the right way, or handle things like me. Of course, the poem doesn’t have to be about you; it could be about someone else. Or you can play around with the ant and grasshopper fable. Or you can take a completely different angle (as most of you know, I’m totally supportive of getting creative with your interpretations).

Here’s my attempt at a preparation poem prompt:


The pants are in the dresser, the shirts
are hanging up, the shoes need polished,
and the socks are nowhere to be found.

I got no cell phone (but I got the charger)
and no guide book, though I’m all right
just as long as I got you by my side.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer and my personal blog My Name Is Not Bob (which will include information about my AWP panel tomorrow morning).


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141 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 168 (Preparation Poems)

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    it’s all in the prep
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    she lays out her finest,
    fluffs the ruffles
    smoothes the hems,
    tops it with her favorite brooch
    and perfumed note.
    pinning up long dark strands
    of tangled hair to the muse of
    rhythmic running water,
    she tosses lavender salts into a
    tub sudsing over with promise.
    even the vanity mirror steams
    as the white robe comes off,
    followed by the contours of
    ruby-throated hummingbirds
    down a freshly inked back
    she dons proudly like
    skin poetry.
    at first contact
    with the heated water
    the words swell and redden
    into a poesy meter all its own,
    then slowly water logs into
    a sweet narcotic anchor,
    coaxing shoulders
    then nape,
    lips and finally
    pierced brows
    to slip unconsciously
    just under the water line,
    and bloom like lotus tea
    on its way to a porcelain bottom.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder


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