Word Box

Write a 15-line poem using all 15 of the words in the word bank below.

Orange Tuxedo Kangaroo Computer Wrap
Yogurt Book Coffee Staple Paper
Ghost Ron Beige Green Crunch

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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364 thoughts on “Word Box

  1. shrimpsalad

    Sitting at the computer next to mine,
    She wore a beige sweater, orange headband, and a scarf wrap.
    “Will you go to the dance with me?”
    I could jump like a kangaroo when she said yes.
    I pick up my history book and I staple my essay paper together
    “I’ll pick you up at six, let’s get a coffee together… or do you like yogurt?”
    I wore my brother Ron’s tuxedo and my new green suede shoes.
    “Hey, orange you glad to see me?”
    I watched her look away and cringe a little
    At the dance, she left me for her friends.
    I felt my heart crunch
    I felt like a ghost

  2. KapriceDane

    The ghost of Ron sits in thought before his love’s coffee table,
    Heartbroken over the years spent with his beloved.
    His Bianca, her red hair wrapped up under a baseball cap rim,
    And her Australian accent thick as yogurt with her lust for him.
    He comforted himself sadly and remembered some more,
    His shame turning the beige, weathered papers in the book of love.
    A staple of passion they once were, and never a moment sore,
    Their frolicks amongst the kangaroos in the green pasture.
    The orange walls seemed to close in and crunch him as
    He yanked his bowtie loose on his tightened throat in sorrow,
    His old tuxedo tattered and bloody from his drunken night and demise.
    His only hope of releasing his one true love and to part ways with tomorrow,
    Was to have this one last chance to see Bianca’s face once again.
    And as if in answer to this a beep startled him out of his pain,
    And brought his gaze to the computer across the room—those smiling eyes and fiery mane.

  3. littlegirl_223

    A little girl sat in her bedroom
    With her computer laying on her bed
    When on sent her a dreadful text
    Saying I’m over and I’m done
    Her heart sank like a crushed paper
    Then the tears starting streaming down her face
    She started breathing shoulders hopping like a kangaroo
    Then wraps herself in a green coffee-stained dress-shirt
    The one from Ron’s prom tuxedo, wipes her eyes on the cuff
    And pulls out her favorite beige book
    Opens up to the first page and sees his name
    Stapled in and covered in yougurt stains
    She stops for a second and grabs that orange she’s seen before
    Slides up and down both of her arms spelling
    See you tomorrow my ghost
    _________________________________________________________________________________

    (Sorry for it being so sad it just came to mind since i have a sad song stuck in head)

  4. loudwords94

    The desk was busy
    An empty cup of coffee
    A small empty tub of yogurt
    A half eaten Thai wrap
    A stack of paper
    With a staple on the corner
    And an orange post-it in the center with the word “finalized” in bold
    A how-to book on ghostwriting weighed all of this down
    Overlooking, was a calendar with a picture of a kangaroo
    And a framed picture of a man made handsome with his tuxedo
    A green knit sweater slumped over the chair
    A pair of beige shoes hidden next to one of the legs
    “Ron” was etched on a brown placard
    A crunch coming from the floor
    A ghost perhaps

    1. loudwords94

      (I turned in the rough draft on accident, here’s the actual one)

      The computer was left on
      With an empty cup of coffee
      A small empty tub of yogurt
      A half eaten Thai wrap
      A stack of paper
      With a staple on the corner
      And an orange post-it in the center with the word “finalized” in bold
      A how-to book on ghostwriting weighed all of this down
      Overlooking, was a calendar with a picture of a kangaroo
      And a framed picture of a man made handsome with his tuxedo
      A green knit sweater slumped over the chair
      A pair of beige shoes hidden next to one of the legs
      “Ron” was etched on a brown placard
      A crunch coming from the floor
      A ghost perhaps

  5. JusticeKane

    Before I met her, never would I stand in a line for so long
    Especially in a Barnes & Noble cafe, waiting for a cup of coffee
    Before I met her, the computer was my home; why pick up a book?
    Today, however, I found myself skimming the latest adult novel on the bookstore shelf
    It’s not as if she was anything special, with her green eyes and easy smile
    Today she was dressed in her signature green army jacket
    A beige messenger bag crossed her ample chest,
    No doubt filled with paper, and every unnecessary Staple Supply
    There she stood, browsing through the leafy paper of Wuthering Heights
    The warmth of her arms comforting her as they wrapped around her waist
    If her lips are the source, I know nothing of her ghost man Ron,
    Except that lately she can’t stand anyone in a tuxedo, or the color orange after being with him
    And honesty, I don’t give a shit– not about him, not anything, except for what she holds within
    I know that her lips taste like yogurt; that she hops on leaves like a kangaroo, and gets off on the crunch
    I know lots of things about my green eyed girl Jane, but why I want her, not one.

  6. TrentonNezzy

    The Kangaroo in the orange tuxedo delivered the mocha cappuccinos on time for once. Ron never cared to remember his name.
    15 years later and we still call him “Hoppy”.
    The wombat retaliation wars,have since deemed such terms to be racist.
    The beige green staples hung from the ceiling like rusty raindrops suspended in animation.
    His fridge was just filled with half-eaten yogurt cups, a ghostly reminder that this was his girlfriend’s place.
    “Where is your Roommate?” I ask.
    “He’s working overtime at the bookstore again”, Ron sighed.
    Ever since Australia bombed the US with the EMP’s, the internet ceased to exist.
    The paper trade boomed, and computers became more of a novelty than a utility.
    I pulled myself off the crunchy lime-green recliner and looked into the kitchen.
    “How can he afford a kangaroo butler?” I pondered.

  7. Book Girl The Fourty-Second

    The Working Mother: A Prompt Poem

    The paper looks like strange snowflakes, from a giant’s land
    The woman wears her tuxedo with courageous pride
    She can do five things at once with one beige-gloved hand
    Black-suited and vibrant-green-tied

    She never has time to sit down with a book
    She’s 100% coffee, but it’s okay
    She grins, looking at the computer screen, as she tells little Brooke
    And little Ron that she’s much happier this way

    She calmly scrubs orange crayon off the walls
    While chugging down yogurt and rustling files
    Staple, print, she says it’s ‘the office call’
    She doodles a kangaroo and smiles

    When working, she’s quiet as a ghost
    Except for the occasional crunch of toast
    Let‘s wrap this up: Determined? She’s the most!

  8. acurmi89

    With Apologies to Ron Howard:

    It’s crunch time
    Grab your coffee
    Or whatever your staple
    Put on the tuxedo
    Shut down the computer
    Open the book
    Leaf through beige paper
    Find the section
    On Ron Howard’s Baby
    Pale as a ghost
    White as yogurt
    Eyes glistening
    Like an orange-green sunset
    He is the captain of my kangaroo
    Wrapped up warm

  9. phoenixfeather

    your ghost scalds my tongue as I sip my morning coffee,
    stuttering fingers lurching across computer keys.
    they say we got along like a house on fire, like the
    yoghurt pot and orange marmalade that sticks in my throat
    sickly and stubbornly bittersweet, I swallow and
    I feel it aching in my bones. A pressed tuxedo, mint green tie,
    the soft crunch of a cotton candy dress. The scent of flowers,
    heady in my mouth; flurries of lipstick pink well wishes
    and clammy beige handshakes. I tasted your tears under the altar,
    heart skip-skipping like a broken record player in my chest,
    fluttering against yours, two erratic kangaroos hopping, frantic-
    who knew our book would end so soon? who knew
    you would rip the pages out and throw away the paper.
    I stapled my self back together, burned forgiveness into my skin
    but even as I desperately try to wrap my heart up, it unravels

    it’s all starting to
    fall apart
    and fade away.

    (i miss you, ron)

  10. -Wallace-

    Ron’s life is beige,
    he runs it by the book.
    Life spent waiting;
    draining countless cups of coffee, hooked on the computer.
    Lunch in a tupperware in the office fridge.
    Chia seed wrap and organic low-fat yoghurt
    Horrors!
    Stapling the papers pushing other peoples dreams.
    Crunch! Crunch!
    Thinking of the book he’ll never write himself
    Crunch! Crunch!
    Dreams broken; brittle shallow cracking like a pool of roadway ice
    contemplating Orangeness of Kangaroos in Denmark.
    They know your mind
    And you will never know the ghost of a green tuxedo hanging in your cupboard.

  11. dawnfire

    Ron, in his orange tuxedo, sat on the green book,
    so he and his ghost could get a better look.
    With both staring wildly at the coffee mug,
    neither noticed the little dancing pug.
    Why oh why would neither glance
    to watch the dog do his dance.
    There is no fun in watching a cup,
    or ignoring a sweet little pup.
    They were busy, and had no time
    to clean the stable, or hear a rhyme.
    “So you have no time for me”,
    said the beige dog sipping tea.
    “I guess I’m not a kangaroo or a computer made of paper.
    But I am eating your fajita wrap, it’s crunch is one to savor.”
    Remember to play with your dog, ore else your food will be theirs.

  12. Carolindy

    It’s a Monday – the ghost of the weekend still lingers
    The computers all buzz while workers catch their buzz
    The coffee is strongest this day
    There is the crunches of staplers, the ruffle of papers, the clicking of keyboards
    Quick! Finish your yogurt – Ron (the boss) is making his rounds
    We all bounce like kangaroos to our desks
    Put the pencils in their place, straighten out the books
    The day is a haze of black, grey, beige suits
    Pops of green and orange on the brave few
    Wrap up that last email, send out the last memo
    Slide out, do a spin! You’ve mastered another day
    On to the night life, where you’ll really live
    Get dressed up – tuxedo, black tie
    Raise your glass, dance the night away
    Don’t worry about tomorrow –
    Its only Tuesday….

  13. mari <3

    I sit in my chair, sipping my black coffee
    An orange and yogurt make my lunch
    crunch crunch
    I look at my wall, a plain beige for this bachelor
    and see my tuxedo crumpled for the weddings i attend, never hosting
    the hauntings of ghostlings on this paper i write upon
    I scribble, the creative green ink dribbles, it’s dawn
    I fiddle with a staple and look to my right
    memories of a honeymoon with my ex bride
    a picture showing her and a kangaroo named Ron
    on my bright computer screen, it glows
    unlike the book of memories near, that blows
    So I wrap up my thoughts
    Forget my own name
    And close down my mind for a mental get away

    I’m a girl lol but I wrote from a guy’s point of view for a fresh new perspective. Men have emotions too <3

  14. alexandriabeth18

    You are undressing the orange slowly; you wrap your fingers around the naked.
    You are still in better than Sunday’s best, tuxedo, green tie
    The computer paper white in your knuckles
    You crunch the peel like it offended you, it breaks down
    Matches the coffee stains on the ground,
    Did you think your hands could staple it back?
    Ron, did you think her back was just a book spine?
    I told her that I thought you were like a backwards kangaroo
    That you could only go backwards.
    You are a reverse ghost, so human it’s horrible.
    By the time you get to your yogurt, the orange is running down your fingers.
    The way they stick together, the beige lines up is so strong.

  15. mew

    I wonder if I was meant to meet you here,
    In a coffee shop, nursing a latte and my favorite book
    Rather than revising my term paper—
    But as soon as you caught my eye, both the paper and my book
    Were sent to the backburner;
    The dog-eared pages made a low crunch as my hands
    Stopped themselves from reaching out—
    For someone who could make beige
    Feel like orange, or to argue green when I say blue,
    To pick the staples out of my hand and kiss it better,
    Or to wrap me in his arms as if I was inside the warm envelope of a kangaroo pouch,
    Or to yell at me in angered disbelief when I got yogurt inside his brand-new computer—
    As they did two years later, reaching for a
    Ghost in a tuxedo, wedding ring burning a hole in his pocket, ready for a new beginning
    That a car crash stole from him.
    Wait for me, Ron; we’ll have our new beginning one day.

  16. Rosalita

    Mirage
    As I was walking to the coffee shop
    I met a kangaroo in a green jacket top
    Much like a tuxedo, this wrap charmed
    So, I stopped to ask if he would be alarmed
    To tell me if his Irish name was Jon
    “Of course not silly, my ghost name is Ron.
    Writers choose paper to staple a book
    Or, a beige computer to store in “Nook”.
    Now, my invisible self craves dessert.
    So, smile while I crunch my orange nut yogurt.”
    So, I smiled as I ordered my coffee.
    No one had seen my friend, colored toffee,
    But I, in a moment of illusion
    Knew exactly what of the collusion.
    For today, I feigned a ghost intrusion.

  17. Rosalita

    As I was walking to the coffee shop
    I met a kangaroo in a green jacket top
    Much like a tuxedo, this wrap charmed
    So, I stopped to ask if he would be alarmed
    To tell me if his Irish name was Jon
    “Of course not, silly. My ghost name is Ron.”
    Writers choose paper to staple my book
    Or, a beige computer to store in “Nook”
    Now, my invisible self craves yogurt
    So smile, while I crunch my orange nut dessert.

  18. pijamas

    Ghosts are great pals
    even when you talk of their green nails
    they show up on your computer screen
    just to say “hey! great coffee beans!”.
    They will iron your tuxedo
    and even wrap in paper your burrito
    they will read you a book when it’s bed time
    about organized orange crimes.
    If your yogurt isn’t cold enough yet
    they will cheer you up by taking care of your kangaroo pet,
    they will pick up the staples that falls on the floor
    so you don’t have to crunch anymore.
    If your outfit is too beige
    they will say “hey Ron better turn the page….”
    so you won’t get mocked when you step up on stage.

    I try…

  19. Yash

    It may sound a little senseless but i managed to write 15 lines. (Sorry if there are any mistakes)

    I crouch onto my little couch; Clutching my orange pouch
    To finish my story, called the ‘Ghost of Cardbury’.
    I start to scribble on my paper,
    Nibbling on my green cucumber,
    Writing down the line, “Oh Ron! I made up my mind”.
    He runs on the beige beach,
    Wearing a tuxedo in peach;
    And chasing a gangster -hopping like a kangaroo-
    Who’s barking into his cellphone, “He’s chasing me now, look!”
    Just as I was finishing it, my computer sprang to life
    To remind me of a meeting with my buddies for a coffee.
    I hit my head, staple my papers, and grab a cup of yogurt;
    And I wrap myself in my coat and head out of the door
    I swallow a spoonful of yogurt as I hear the leaves crunch under me,
    And collide into a man with a book, who’s laughing “He, He, He!”

  20. alex

    it’s a staple, eating fruit with your morning coffee
    sometimes it’s an orange. sometimes it’s an apple, its crunch harmonising
    with the turn of dogeared pages from your book –
    your morning routine comes to a wrap. you need to wear a tuxedo today
    but you’re not used to walking in such formalwear,
    and you resemble a kangaroo, you lament to the ghost of your carefree self
    the papers stacked on your desk are daunting.
    your computer flashes with updates on your e-mail account
    (the exchange rate’s plummeting again)
    and your tie is vomit-green and it asphyxiates you
    the workplace is buzzing and you consider throwing yogurt
    at the two-faced bureaucrats–i’m sorry, coworkers–chattering amongst them
    over nothing significant. “they’d look better in beige,”
    you tell ron and he offers a sideway glare
    all you can do is hope that you did become an astronaut, in an alternate universe where childhood dreams come true.

  21. meganlarino

    oh the kangaroo of my mind
    jumping, jumping from one thought to the next
    is the paper green or orange or beige?
    I will never know, even as the book crunches beneath my fists
    stapled together no more, yogurt and coffee spilled all over it
    the tuxedo wrapped up by ron’s computer sits collecting dust
    awaiting the wedding, awaiting the burial
    monkey mind still, kangaroo mind still, unsure of the colors
    unsure of the tastes–is it a happy day? or a funeral?
    I close the story book
    destroyed before it can be finished
    before I find out the ending
    before the kangaroo settles on the truth and all hope is lost
    because what if she died and there is no wedding?
    what if the cancer won?

  22. mtsdesk

    I remember the day that he said I was dying.

    I went back to the office after the visit
    Poured some coffee into my bright orange mug

    Sat at my desk

    Seeing the computer and the lone book beside it
    Picking at a staple in the corner of a slip of paper
    Staring at the carpet – was is pale green or was it beige?

    Gloria Ron popped her head in and offered me some yogurt
    Then asked, “What’s up with you? You’re white as a ghost.”

    Without waiting for a reply, she continued with business
    “Burt Tomlin called with a new idea for their ad.
    He wants it to show the kangaroo in a tux.
    Let’s wrap that one up. We’re in a time crunch..”

    A. Time. Crunch.

    I remember the day that he said I was dying.

  23. SuperSarah111

    The kangaroo sat in the corner reading a book
    His orange tuxedo was rumpled, his coffee on the stove to cook
    When it was done and with just a little cream
    The liquid went from a deep, dark black to sickly color green
    The kangaroo didn’t seem to notice, maybe he didn’t care
    But that coffee certainly made his chest grow a lot more hair
    He gobbled down his yogurt and his blueberry crunch
    He set his book down and went to the door on nothing more than a hunch
    Opening the door he found a penguin, fumbling with a pile of paper
    It was difficult without fingers, the way his fins just tapered
    “Hello! My name is Ron,” the little fella in a beige suit exclaimed
    “I’m a computer sales man and computers are my game!”
    Just then Ron caught his flipper on a staple as he boast,
    The red began to pool and the salesman turned as white as a ghost
    “Oh let me wrap that in a bandage for you,” said the kangaroo, “I know nothing about computers,
    but I am an excellent host!”

  24. ajm390

    Once when I was a little girl, my grandfather –
    Whose ghost still haunts my dreams –
    Said “computer” when he meant “commuter,”
    And all I could think, as I sipped the coffee he gave to me
    Behind my grandma’s back
    Was of computers, and staples, and paper, and pens
    Sitting on the train, going to work.
    They’d read books and newspapers, eat little travel yogurts and crunch on chips,
    Comment on the green grass or beige sand going by outside the windows
    Flip through magazines of tuxedos or comment on the cost of orange juice
    Because of the freeze that happened down in Florida.
    “You know, it was so cold that a kangaroo at the zoo died,” said Mr. Computer,
    “They had to wrap the orange trees in burlap,” said a paper weight named Ron.
    Such a shame, agreed all the commuters, nodding however they could.
    And my grandfather and I, who were sitting in the back, agreed.

  25. ajm390

    Crunch – click – crunch – click
    Old beige shoes on gravel slick
    Orange sky – sailor’s delight?
    Rain tomorrow, rain tonight –
    Gravel green with slimy blight
    Paper poster stapled tight
    What! A ghost? Is Hamlet on?
    Where’s the book, and where is Ron?
    He ate yogurt with a friend
    Drank some coffee, wouldn’t bend
    Won’t you do it? No! he said
    Wrap the kangaroo in red.
    Take it to the play with you
    Wear tuxedos, sport a do
    My computer will not tick
    As my shoes go crunch-crunch-click.

  26. Utrica_poet

    This is a story of a Ghost writer Ron,the name sound familiar,he never had any family like Jackie the” tuxedo guy” from orange county

    Give him a paper,he always imagined writting a book about kangaroo named
    Beige.is that a name.

    He wasn’t just ordinary dreamer,he was a moving computer,with words stapled behind his tuxedo,only wanted to paint the world green,is it possible to use crunch and cry on the same line??

    Let’s discuss this over coffee,with some yogurt buiscuits while I wrap this story.

  27. cosi van tutte

    And this one is just for the fun of it: 😀

    I am the Orange Ghost.
    Read your book.
    Read your newspaper.
    Check me out in the Superhero Newsletter.
    Yeah. I am so all there: the hero with the most.

    Bang! Pow! Whoop!
    There I go with a punch.
    Whoosh! Plop! Down!
    There evil doers go with a crunch.

    I am awesome.
    Yeah. I am cocky and I am proud.
    I am even better than Cranberry Yogurtman.
    No need hidin’ it.
    I’ll say it way out loud.

    Who am I?
    You askin’ for my secret id?
    Psh! Why not? I ain’t shy.
    Ron Beige and Orange Ghost.
    Yep! They both are me.

    So, now that you know,
    What do you say?
    Coffee and doughnuts
    At the Coffee Low?
    Don’t you worry.
    I’ll let you pay.

    1. Observer Tim

      This is lovely and playful, Cosi. I think between you and Witt you’ve given me an idea. Mwa-ha-ha! 🙂

      Assuming WordPress and the bloody video ads can at least temporarily stop ****-ing with my browser!

  28. Witt.Stanton

    She softly rest a hand on her grandson’s forehead. It still burned with that terrible heat the fever and sickness had brought. He was dying, she knew, but she couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t admit that she was loosing him. His eyes fluttered open, for the first time that day, beautiful blue eyes, just like hers.

    “Read me a story, Granny. Please? One like last night, please.” he whispered, grabbing for her hand. When several coughs shook his entire frame she felt tears burning her eyes, threatening to pour out, but she hid them and assumed a comforting smile. Smoothing out his covers, she sat down on the edge of the bed. He clutched at a soft yellow blanket covered with tiny kangaroos, his favorite animal.

    “Alright, Ronnie, alright,” she murmured before clearing her throat. “How about this one? It’s another poem — it’s my favorite, actually.” He nodded happily and snuggled deeper into his covers, so she began.

    “‘Sharp blue eyes dashed her thoughts away,
    His soft black tuxedo drawing her into his arms —
    The longingly familiar sent of black roast coffee would stay
    Wrapped in his being til midnight faded to day.

    Fruity yogurt was her unique sent, so tangible and fine,
    Her wispy orange dress made of the finest of silks —
    No paper — nor book — would ever do her justice; a crime
    It would be to describe her beauty and ageless soul that shines.

    Unreal it was, the two of them, — (for they, only ghosts drifting through
    This great city of lore; the romantic, the breathtaking, the lovely Paris!) —
    Never seen by the men so far down below, living their lives as any moral knew
    For green was their world of life, one now foreign to them both, so mortal; raw and true.

    Alas! it is, unjustly so, that these star crossed lovers were fated to live a second life,
    Neither alive nor dead: with feeling, but not living in whole —
    It is a life without love, indeed: one without fear or pain, nor even strife;
    They live, if call it I may, to watch and guard, never would it be to live twice.

    Being deemed Angel is heavenly and just, yet none are more alone
    As them on their wings up above, watching mortal men continue to live —
    Watching them repeat themselves to destruction, sin by sin: Angels are shown
    Each tree crunched to beige paper, metal to stapled, lifeless computers: thus: oh how Humanity has grown!

    Guardian Angels of the night sky, they watch human life pass them by,
    But unknown to others they have a love, not towards Humanity —
    Though their duty to them remains strong and true– but to each other: try
    And imagine a love so pure it knows no bounds! so that when us mortals look to the sky. . .

    We see Angels, beautiful, shining souls named stars, protecting us,
    Intertwined as joyful constellations in the night sky above.'”

    As she finished, she looked back down at her grandson. His eyes had closed, but as she headed towards the door she heard him softly call out to her, “Wait! Granny!”

    She turned back to face him, standing in the light of the doorway. “Goodness me! I thought you had gone off to sleep!” This made her grandson giggle, a sound she had worried she would never hear again.

    “I think wanna be an Angel when I die, and I’m gonna — gonna” he paused, struggling for the right words, “I’m gonna guard you! So that you’ll not be lonely!” Ronnie smiled up at her, dimples forming on his cheeks. “I’m gonna be a Angel, and I’ll have wings, and I’ll fly all around!”

    “You know what, I think I will be an Angel as well.” She smiled back at him. “So we can fly around together.”

    1. cosi van tutte

      Hi, Witt!

      This one is heart-warming and heart-breaking all at the same time. And the poem in the middle of the story is just so lovely. Great job! 😀

  29. Critique

    My first attempt at poetry 
    Writers Plight

    Computers rule would fate impute
    Staple paper, and book deaf mute.
    Deny the ghost of green ill goop
    Stand tall for change, wrap mind regroup
    Like author Ron, let’s give pursuit.

    Tuxedo nerds seek high repute
    The crunch is clear, don’t give a hoot
    Like kangaroo we jump the hoop
    Computers rule.

    Orange juice, yogurt, perhaps some fruit
    Let’s celebrate, reconstitute.
    Book and pencil gone down the loo?
    Change the focus that’s what we do,
    Beige coffee mug in brave salute.
    Computers rule.

    Come summertime, when daisies bloom,
    a mountain meadow has play room.
    A grizzly bear may pause and sniff
    when breezes blow a whimsy’s whiff.
    The sunny warmth is charmed perfume.

    When Spring appeared, so did the broom
    in yellow swaths of bright volume.
    The season melted snow’s kerchief.
    Come summertime.

    The bumblebees have cause to zoom
    across the carpet’s floral loom.
    A honeyed hive creates a riff
    that brings a raider in a jiff.
    Its treasure’s worth a buzzing fume.
    Come summertime.

    1. Critique

      I inadvertently included an inspirational poem entitled ‘Come Summertime’ I found online. Sorry for any confusion. The first three pathetic stanzas are mine.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Hey Critique,

        There’s nothing to fret about . I enjoyed the first three stanzas the best, playful, funny and cute. You may have mised your calling. Nice read to start my morning.

        1. Critique

          Thank you Kerry. I may give it another go… Writing poetry intimidates me.
          I’ve enjoyed reading the prompts on this one and see so much talent here as well as vivid imaginations 🙂

    2. cosi van tutte

      Hi, Critique!

      You sounded like you were really hitting your stride right before the “Come Summertime” poem popped in. I would love to read the rest of your “computer rules” poem to see where it goes. 🙂

  30. ShamelessHack

    Here’s to Ron

    Sure, I used to have me a wallaby,
    An orange one, fellas, named Ron.
    He’d sip on a mug o’brew while he hopped,
    And then leave small brown gifts on the lawn.

    Once Ron stole himself a tuxedo,
    Of brightest and pure Kelly green,
    He also nabbed him some Cap’n Crunch,
    And a flat Dell computer screen.

    I made book that blighter would deliver,
    I’ve won money on Ron and his sass,
    Bet he’d climb up a maple, before you could staple,
    A beige tuna melt to your ass.

    I cried when the old hopper passed last year,
    Raise your glasses to Ron in a toast!
    He’d jumped over me couch, and ruptured his pouch,
    And now he’s a kangaroo ghost!

  31. slee96

    I watched as a tuxedo-wearing Kangaroo
    Hopped over to the computer with a mug of coffee
    The orange and green letters on it said “Ghost Writer”
    His furry paws tapped away at the beige keys
    The words flowed and the pages scrolled in a blur
    That magnificent beast makes it look so easy!
    A wash of jealousy, a burst of anger

    In a flash the last of the book was realized on paper
    I think that’s a wrap, he extolled, and grabbed the pages
    Just a staple here in the corner…Crunch…
    I woke with a start. Oh, Ron it was just a dream!
    That’s what I get for napping instead of writing.
    I’m getting right back to work…after a snack
    You know some yogurt sounds good.

    Brain food I tell myself.

  32. Chad J. O'Brien

    Haven’t done poetry in forever, here it goes…

    The orange tuxedo from Dumb or Dumber,
    A paper-thin Zig Zag blunt wrap;

    Week-old coffee and warm frozen yogurt,
    Captain Crunch remnants, beneath my lap.

    Name’s Ron–Ron with the green bucket hat.
    The epitome of an avid stoner, a glorified loner.

    A beige coffee table, appallingly decrepit, it’s three existing wobbling legs,
    The fourth a pile of pointless little books, like Moby Dick and To Kill a Mockingbird.

    A pile of stupid little movies; Like Kangaroo Jack
    A 90’s Dell computer, it’s history shrouded
    With cannabis legalization and fantasy porn.
    A myriad of empty nips and dips
    And beer and the less good kind of coke,
    And more blunt wraps and the bad kind of heroin,
    The epitome of teenage wasteland, the gateway that is a stoner.

  33. Katia.Snow

    If you ever stumble upon a green and beige book,
    I dare you to open it and take a look.
    If the pages are orange then you have the right one,
    If the paper is normal, your adventure is done.
    If you’re reading it in a coffee shop, that’s very good
    If you’re not, then make sure you at least have some food.
    The second page is a recipe for a cake called “Caramel Crunch”
    You can make it if you’d like some for lunch.
    Go to the fifth page and read about Ron’s ghost
    It’ll take you ten minutes at most.
    When you’re done, look up and see a kangaroo
    He should be eating yoghurt and a chicken wrap, and waiting for you.
    If he’s wearing a tuxedo, then he’s the wrong guy,
    If he has a computer, then give him a try.
    He’s about to give you a staple when you wake up, realizing it’s just a dream…

    This is my first poem ever! Was it good for a first time?

  34. jhowe

    Computer screen aglow but what shall I write?
    Your response was valued but my name isn’t Ron.

    Orange tabby, green frog, a forlorn kangaroo,
    cold coffee, sour yogurt, all paper thin lines.

    But the meaningless meanings are lost in my brain,
    like a mishmash of staples jammed up on the page.

    I wore a tuxedo once to my prom,
    where neglect filled moments amassed so high.

    You forgot that we shared that long ago night,
    when on Facebook I asked for your reminisce.

    But I fondly remember your silky beige wrap,
    and the dress of indigo that flowed like a ghost,
    and the crunch of river rock under our feet.

    The yearbook caption weeks later read:
    prom queen and date Ron share a toast.
    I cherish your write-up but my name isn’t Ron.

  35. Pete

    Okay, I’m done with rabbits and poetry!

    Agent Orange was scorned by the green glow of jaundice.

    He ate yogurt with toe dirt, prewar memories were fondest.

    He played host to a ghost, as a mere man among troops.

    He flew to Toledo in a tuxedo where he rented a coupe

    His hometown familiar, bound like a book.

    But Carl, Ron, and Jon were all dead. Nixon that crook.

    He hopped through the years like a job kangaroo.

    Black coffee and coveralls—right off the hanger, too

    Between the beige of his teeth he’d once shoved his Ruger.

    While perusing seventies snuff porn on his sluggish computer

    A cold Coors and a smoke, but his favorite staple?

    A toke of the green with his young neighbor April.

    Then some boys out front made fun of her wrap.

    The paper fell with a flutter, to hell with that.

    He called out to the boys, who wants lunch? One kid smiled….Crunch.

  36. ajm390

    Ode to Ron B., Assistant Keeper of the Australia Unit at the Asheboro, NC, Zoo

    O Ronald B., of bright green eyes and coffee-stained beige vest,
    Assistant keeper of the kangaroos and snakes
    Kind carer of all birds with orange plumes and black tuxedo wings, you rock!
    Your computer table is a mess, your papers scattered, staples spilled
    But the sweet koala with his crunchy treat believes you are a god
    And female emus court you, puffing, stalking tall, whenever you’re about.
    At lunch you take your yogurt, veggie wrap and Coke
    And find yourself a cozy nook to read a dog-eared book
    Do you want more, Ron B., assistant keeper of the South?
    Is there a ghost of something else you could have done or got?
    Fear not, fear not, O Ron, banish doubt from your breast
    You are where you should be, wear your tag with pride,
    That’s “Mister” Ronald B. to you, your servant and your guide.

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