Get your poetry published in Writer's Digest magazine

Are you a poet? Or even a prose scribe with poet-y inclinations
looking to broaden your writing horizons?

In the InkWell section of Writer’s Digest, we publish
WD Books editor Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides
column, a magazine adaptation of his rockin’ blog of the same name.

With the column, Robert has been offering his blog readers a
chance to have a poem appear in the magazine—the WD Poetic Form Challenge. It
basically entails writing to the poetic form he intends to feature in an upcoming installment, which we then use as the example in the column. The next form up is the
Monotetra. Click here to find out more about the form, and to enter your poem
for a shot at appearing in the magazine.

The deadline for this edition of the Poetic Form Challenge
is Sept. 7—hope to read yours when Robert sends the column my way!

And now, for today’s (unrelated) regular Promptly prompt…

* * *

Feel free to take the following prompt home or post a
response (500 words or fewer, funny, sad or stirring) in the Comments section below.
By posting, you’ll be automatically entered in our
occasional around-the-office swag drawings.
you’re having trouble with the
captcha code sticking, e-mail your piece and the prompt to me at, with “Promptly” in the subject line, and I’ll
make sure it gets up.

Write a story about a character who digs up a time
capsule—and within it, a powerful memory.

Want more writing prompts and exercises? Brian Kiteley has packed more than 200 wildly original ones into his 3 A.M. Epiphany. Check it out here.


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6 thoughts on “Get your poetry published in Writer's Digest magazine

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  4. Mark James

    Robert, thanks for filling in for Zac. . . I can’t write poetry to save my life, but I love reading it. I rediscovered Christina Rosetti the other day, “Goblin Market”.

    “How come you’re in a graveyard?”

    “It’s a full moon.”

    Michael looked up at the night sky. “What? Too beautiful for you? Couldn’t sleep?”

    Noah leaned on a tombstone carved in the shape of an angel. His eyes wandered to the high iron gate. He’d locked it behind him. “How did you get in?”

    “Hall pass.” Michael’s voice was on the edge of impatience. “Answer me. You’re not in your house. Your car’s in your driveway. Your mom and dad are in bed. You sightseeing? Robbing graves? What?”

    “You watch my house?” Noah circled around the tombstone so it was between him and Michael.

    “You know I do.” Michael resisted the urge to smash through the stone between them. “What are you playing at?”

    “Who else watches?”

    “I have wars to fight, Noah.” Michael closed his eyes until he didn’t feel like Lucifer’s shadow anymore. “Stop the games and let’s go. I can’t leave you here.”

    “You’re seriously creeping me out,” Noah said quietly.

    Michael, whose idea of a schedule was sketchy at best, suddenly understood the fear on Noah’s face. “How long’s it been since I pushed you from in front of the car?”

    “Last week.”

    “It’s not 2012 yet?”

    “You mean like the end of the world?” Noah was backing away with every word. “Little more than a year. Get your lottery ticket now.”

    Michael couldn’t lie, but he could shade the truth a little. He flipped over the tombstone, landed behind Noah. “I’m your guardian angel. I wasn’t supposed to tell you for a couple months, but I had to take some nights off, then you weren’t at your house tonight. I followed your aura.”

    Noah spun around. His feet tangled in the dirt, and he fell back, dropped something heavy that clanged against a carved headstone between them.

    They both dived for it, but of course, Michael got there first. He held up the silvery oval. “How did you get this?”

    “Found it,” Noah said.

    “In her grave?”

    Noah nodded. “My mom’s,” he said in a low whisper. “And she told me in a dream to come dig it up.” He shook his head, trying to force reality back into shape. “You’re an angel?”

    “It’s complicated,” Michael said. “You walked through a dream into your future.”

    “I saw the dates.” Noah swallowed. “In my dream. On her headstone.” He looked up at Michael. “Can I save her?”

    Michael ran both hands through his hair. “You won’t like it,” he said.

    “She’s my mom.” Noah said it as if those three words explained every mystery in the known universe.

    “You have to open the capsule,” Michael said. “Remember what you did.”

    Noah’s face wrinkled into a mask of horror. “Me? I did it?”

    “Time’s like a river. Mortals drown in it.” Michael slid the capsule into Noah’s trembling hands. “Except ones like you get to take back what they did.”

    Noah curled his fingers around the capsule. “What’s in it?”

    “Your mom put a memory in there for you.”

    “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.” Noah’s voice slipped to a whisper. “Never.”

    “That’s not as long as mortals think,” Michael said. “Open it.”


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