Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 172

This is the final Wednesday Poetry Prompt before we begin the April PAD Challenge–a poem a day throughout April. Hope to see everyone on April 1! Until then…

…this week’s prompt is to write a “one last thing” poem. Maybe the one last thing is writing a poem. Maybe it’s finishing a task. Maybe it’s doing a good deed. Or whatever it may be. Many of us do “one last thing” right before we do “one more thing.” 😉

Here’s my attempt:

“One Last Note”

Please leave the door unlocked.
I’ll return as the cuckoo clock
starts going cuckoo, cuckoo,
and I’d love to find that you
are going cuckoo for me too. 


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

Btw, anyone who’s interested in an extra challenge for April is invited to join in on my April Platform Challenge over at MNINB. Click here for details.



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143 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 172

  1. taylor graham


    Spits of sparks leap from the circle
    under stars, flames
    illuminating faces from below.
    You don’t know them
    anymore, you’ve never
    known them. Little girls like you,
    all longing to go home.
    And that stench
    steaming from the fire’s cauldron –
    darker than the night
    around it, bubbling
    tiny explosions on the black
    roiling surface, the deeper turbulence
    within, where iron pot
    meets blaze. They call it
    Witches Brew, and pass it around
    in cups. Ingredients? a secret.
    Someone whispers
    it’s Coca Cola at a boil. A ritual,
    they do this every year
    before they send the campers home.
    But how it fizzes, sizzles,
    teases the nose with ancient
    notions never known
    before. A wish.
    Witch’s Brew, the magic
    of leaving.

  2. taylor graham


    Last night starry, the ram passed over,
    leaving us this morning’s clouds
    and new blood sparkling
    grass nipped clean by sheep’s teeth.

    The old ram could lower
    his head, break his son’s neck with one
    butt. This lamb hangs
    from the back of the butcher’s truck,

    I hold a plastic bag for the heart,
    the liver. Spring offering
    as our planet tips to another season.
    Myths are what we know.

  3. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    one last ray
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    in the sunroom we gather
    my shelter rescue, and I
    in celebration of
    a good day well spent,
    our bodies sore and sprawled
    atop a quilted futon,
    our souls overflowing’
    with scented gratitude.
    how lucky that
    our paths crossed
    he and I,
    and for the chance
    to follow the
    one last ray of
    warmth and comfort
    quietly streaming through
    these large plate glass
    sun-worshiper windows
    as sun exits stage
    behind the wings of
    port orford cedar
    and shore pine.

    shelter dog sighs
    as i reach for a lap throw.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  4. Nikki Markle

    “Patient as the Post”

    You get your mail here, but you’re usually just visiting.
    I figure you have faded jeans and over-bleached socks
    Spread over hundreds of miles by now.

    Envelopes pile up in neat rectangular rows,
    Waiting patiently, more patiently than me really,
    For you to stop being wherever you are and be here again.

  5. bclay

    Hello everyone, I know it’s been a couple years now that I have participated here, but recently the muse has began calling again and I never refuse her to write, so I’m hoping to get these gears turning again to enjoy another awesome April of poeming, great to hear so many familiar voices here, oh and ‘one last thing’ Thanks for the opportunity and all the effort that makes this possible Rob!

    Before it’s too Late

    I want you to know one thing,
    there will be much flirting so I
    ask forgiveness in advance for
    all the teasing, smiling, laughing,
    and these glances into your eyes
    that precipitate passionate kisses.
    And please do not worry when I play
    footsie with you underneath this table
    tonight, tactile touches most basic erotic
    overtones, overawed by pheromones’ tidal
    undulations of our attractions, And before it’s
    too late, know that I know it’s temporary too. I,
    tonight have fallen in Love with potentiality -You,
    and am Head over Heels. But be forewarned for the
    morning, with no guarantees that your partner will be
    there beside you to welcome awakening rays. I may go
    while opportunity still allows you to find a not so hopeless,
    helpless romantic, please forgive me for falling so completely.
    I mean, how could we ever know after being drawn together so,
    and after Love and Lust annihilate each other who will we be then?

  6. PSC in CT

    OK… this about sums up my week, but I refuse to not get in this one last posting — before the PAD kicks off, so here goes:

    “Just One More…”

    Only one.
    last. thing.
    I (absolutely)
    MUST do
    signing out,
    logging off,
    shutting down,
    brushing teeth &
    hopping into bed;
    just one
    picture to upload,
    message to send,
    poem to post,
    joke to enjoy,
    email to author,
    video to view,
    person to poke;
    virtual hug to convey
    and I’ll be on my way…
    OK. Two!


  7. taylor graham


    I’m following my dog through the woods,
    through oak woods that might someday save us.
    Trees hold onto ruts and survey stakes –
    by a marshy fringe, a bridge of broken planks.

    Through oak woods that might someday save us,
    under a leaden sky, my dog leads me
    to a marshy fringe, a bridge of broken planks;
    ghost of a chimney, cellar cemented in soil

    under a leaden sky. My dog leads me.
    Periwinkle bears witness. Stone steps,
    ghost of a chimney; cellar cemented in soil.
    Someone once meant to live here –

    periwinkle bears witness. Stone steps
    climb a just-greening, grassy rise.
    Someone once meant to live. Here,
    what remains? Clouds pass overhead,

    climb a just-greening grassy rise.
    Trees hold on to ruts and survey stakes –
    what remains: clouds pass overhead.
    I’m following my dog through the woods.

  8. AC Leming

    One Last Thing

    I must do one last thing
    before I close the door on us.

    I must remember
    your words turned me

    on more than your body did.
    I must remember

    I craved the flirting texts
    we sent more than your hand

    upon my thigh. I must remember
    I miss, not your tongue,

    but the words I wish
    you carved upon my body.

    I must forget
    I yearned

    to caress your script
    like braille instead of you.

  9. nikkeyg

    I Came to Play Mahjong

    Her mind swam all day
    in a sea of fragmented memories,
    reminiscing about everything and nothing.

    Skin wrapped tightly around her
    tiny, brittle bones, highlighting
    every battle wound earned over her 89 years.

    In quiet determination,
    she called upon every ounce of energy
    to lift her head and arms to the sky.

    “I came to play mahjong!”

    Her exclamation commanded
    the attention of the entire room
    as she gently reclaimed her rightful place on the bed.

    Her eyes closed as exhaustion
    set in. Peacefully, she drew one last
    breath, leaving a legacy for us to carry on.


    This poem is in memory of the grandmother of a good friend.

  10. DanielAri


    and it appears human science
    believes the sun, our sun, continues
    to get brighter, so that the earth
    in a billion years give or take
    will bake under an orb hotter
    by 10%. All the oceans will
    evaporate, and it will be very
    muggy, “Not a pleasant place,”
    the newscaster comments while
    Alice’s daughter pops her gum
    derisively and casts her mascara’d
    lashes toward the window. But she
    was only just coloring her first book
    (titled, “I like you”) and enthused
    by yams and avocados, and even
    her step-dad got hugs in the door-
    way. Now she is unreadable as
    space or the future, and Alice
    and I reel daily with the change
    suddenly upon us. “Luckily,”
    the newsman jokes, “we have
    a billion years to figure out
    a solution.” “It will be here
    in a blink,” I think.


  11. MiskMask

    One Last Time

    One last time, kiss me ‘til
    I want nothing more.
    One last time, hold me ‘til
    I’m self-contained.
    One last time, drink up my
    every thought, and leave
    me thirsty for you
    ever more.
    Just one more time.

  12. cindishipley


    I have gotten as far
    as the last dish.
    It sits on the counter
    with an eggy grin,
    I smile back in despair.

    I can’t go ‎on I think.
    I’ll never eat eggs again.

    Feverisly I put the dish
    in the silver sink,
    where it multiplies
    in size, from the reflection
    of the polished metal.

    I run the hot water
    and through the sting
    of my tears
    it gets bigger.

    I will get paper plates.

    If I let it sit
    in the hot water,
    the eggs should become loose.

    I fill it up, the steam
    burns my eyes.
    I will let it soak.

    But when I come back
    the water has gone cold.
    The eggs are hard again.

    There is nothing left to do
    except throw away
    this one last dish.

  13. Tracy Davidson

    One Last Cookie in the Cookie Jar (a Shadorma)

    And it’s mine.
    So keep your mitts off
    dear husband,
    sweet children,
    or I’ll rip your thieving arms
    out of their sockets.


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