Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 194

First off, I’ve had a person or two ask about the April PAD Challenge results. Just want to let everyone know those are still coming, and I want to apologize for taking so long on them. They will be done before the next challenge begins, which is only a little more than a month away (believe it or not).

For today’s prompt, write a trespassing poem. Your poem can be written from either side of the fence or take an impartial view from the sidelines.

Here’s my attempt:

“At dusk”

Here we are. After we’ve turned our shoulders
to the sun, the world gets more fun. Someone
should write this down, the way we clown around
when we can’t be found. This park closed at dark
to all who hold fear, but that’s why we’re here.


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188 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 194

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    To the White Shepard
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    To the white Shepard chained 24/7 to a
    dilapidated doghouse alongside a busy road,
    that’s no way to live.

    Most days when I drive past your house,
    I worry you won’t have enough great stories
    in which to mesmerize all the other dogs with
    when you finally cross the rainbow bridge.
    Stories like how chocolate tastes
    and hot dogs and ice cream,
    what it feels like to lay your head across
    the padded arm of a large comfy sofa.

    Dogs are social beings, meant to hang out
    alongside man, break bread together
    partake in singalongs and rideathons,
    chase frisbees down fog-lined beaches,
    hike rain-soaked trails, feel the
    tug of a leash on a wintry day.

    In truth, my heart aches each time
    I see you at the end of the chain,
    your eyes dull and downcast, as if
    daring me to come some dark moonlit
    night, skulk across the browning lawn,
    and liberate your matted white coat into
    the backseat of my Corolla.

    But knowing the deep loyalty of dogs
    no matter how bad the circumstance,
    I fret over misinterpretations and the risk
    of getting attacked, caught, or even arrested.
    It’s a struggle deciding the greater sin,
    coveting your neighbor, stealing, or
    simply turning a cheek to man’s injustice.

    Gripping the wheel, I hesitate, then drive on.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. taylor graham


    It’s been a long time, years of seasons, snow
    that melts downcountry. What unlocks the door?
    We’ll find a back way to Somerset Cross-
    roads – canyons, rivers waiting to explore

    new cuts through granite. Memory. How the wind
    can sing through incense cedar. Songs of loss:
    roads, canyons. Rivers waiting to explore
    we’ll find. A back way to Somerset: cross

    the Cosumnes, trespass scrub and ghost-pine.
    So many fences that weren’t here before.
    We’ll find a back way to Somerset. Cross-
    roads. Canyons. Rivers waiting to explore

    the map for names. Old miners’ diggins gone
    to bear-clover. Flakes of gold the waters toss.
    Roads, canyons, rivers. Waiting to explore,
    we’ll find a back way to Somerset Cross-

    roads. Old dogs we lost, and call in our sleep.
    Unfenced views they showed us, a free land’s lore
    we’ll find. A way back to Somerset Cross-
    roads. Canyons, rivers waiting to explore.

  3. a.paige


    I read the works of a poet
    the words so cold
    I”ll shiver and so know it
    Sometimes I ignore it
    It’s certain
    I deplore it
    And yet….
    I explore it.

  4. Michelle Hed

    Bruised, Defeated but Not Down

    My trampled heart
    could bear no more
    so I hung
    a sign upon her door;
    Broken, currently mending
    needs time –
    don’t come back,
    will call if you are needed –

  5. tunesmiff

    G. Smith (BMI)
    I thought the ring would say it all,
    And I still can’t believe you called.
    You stepped across the line,
    This time.

    Now I’m not saying she’s property,
    But you know that she married me,
    Don’t care how far back you go,
    You know?

    And I’m not usually a jealous man,
    I give the benefit of the doubt when I can,
    Still I can’t help but think you’ve planned
    A little something all along.

    Now, I don’t see conspiracy,
    Hiding out behind each tree,
    But somethings are what they seem to be,
    So you better get gone – long gone.

    The answer to your tired pick-up line:
    “Hey there, Baby, what’s your sign?”
    Is, “No trespassing,”
    “Keep off the grass” ‘n’
    Get on outta here;
    Do I make myself clear?
    And don’t look back.

    Don’t wanna hafta use a little double-aught,
    American made, fine buckshot,
    To make my point;
    Best leave this joint.

    ‘Cause when everything is said and done,
    She’ll make it plain that I’m the one
    And only in her life;
    She is my wife.

    And I’m not usually a jealous man,
    I give the benefit of the doubt when I can,
    Still I can’t help but think you’ve planned
    A little something all along.

    Now, I don’t see conspiracy,
    Hiding out behind each tree,
    But somethings are what they seem to be,
    So you better get gone – long gone.

    Just get gone – long gone.
    Just get gone – long gone.

  6. taylor graham


    Fresh snow beckons – covers any tracks
    leading out, or back. We left the lodge before dawn,
    its lights casting dark shapes
    on a blank winter landscape that turned,
    imperceptibly, dim to bright. Sun-glare off snow.

    My dog sniffs blue shadow in tree-wells
    and the lee-side of drifts.
    No tracks of ski or snowshoe. No human scent.

    The lost man had a camera – did his viewfinder
    draw him past boundary lines into white
    trespass? On Lookout’s southern flank, snow-rubble –
    a cornice avalanched. Sun-glare,
    brief daylight; sunset takes us always by

    surprise. Dim to suddenly dark. Did lodge-lights
    beckon him to take a shortcut,
    to seek the whiteout, quick-way home?

  7. taylor graham


    The world’s off-limits
    to a child who reaches for the tree’s
    knowledge, the nameless
    kingdom’s key, dreams. You might
    catch a glimpse of him at dusk,
    outside the heavy oaken doors of rule
    and grace, kneeling at gravestones,
    making charcoal rubbings
    of angels. Sometimes he’ll lean
    against a spotless railing, watching
    man-horses whirl in polo-mallet
    whites. Hoofbeats
    like his pulse. And then he’ll turn,
    and seek out the forest’s leaf-
    ballet under spills of light and shadow;
    at last, he passes wordless
    to his room, to sit snug, alone,
    till suppertime. What role for such
    a child in this fenced world?

  8. Marjory MT

    NOT DARE TRESPASS (Roundabout)

    I long to be a part of you.
    My memories from the past
    from years ago
    you cannot know
    my memories from the past.

    Now a simple thing to do, but
    through the door I can’t go.
    I will not lie
    I really try,
    through the door I can’t go.

    Walls seem to be cascading in
    I feel I will be crushed.
    What is to fear,
    your friends stand here?
    I feel I will be crushed.

    I cannot stay, I turn away
    I do not dare trespass.
    You’re in plain sight,,
    try as I might,
    I do not dare trespass.

  9. Michele Brenton

    Between a rock and a hard place.

    I went along to the open mic
    with my poetry books in my hand.
    I had a couple of things to read
    at least that’s what I’d planned
    but nobody spoke to me
    nobody smiled
    nobody met my eye,
    so I changed the poems I’d planned to read,
    went on stage and proceeded to die.

    ‘Cos they were not my people
    and I certainly wasn’t theirs.
    Something about me got right up their noses
    down which they quite pointedly stared.
    And I’m really rather proud that I didn’t turn tail and run
    but most of me wishes I had, because sticking it out wasn’t fun.

    So I won’t be going back to that place where I felt all wrong;
    I’ll be trying to find where I feel right and where maybe I might belong.
    And the funniest thing of all is, if I’d had this poem to tell
    and recited it in a rock and roll way – it might have gone down rather well.

    banana_the_poet 27th September 2012

  10. tjholt

    Only In That Time

    It’s the twinkle of a moment
    when life is fully visible
    before dimming to darkness
    as a spark from its source.

    In that time
    I own all imagined:
    beyond perception,
    beneath sound,

    between touches,
    before star fires perfume
    discernment of taste.
    Even in the afterglow

    I am but a trespasser in life.

  11. RJ Clarken

    Sacred Privacy

    “Unasked advice is a trespass on sacred privacy.” –Unknown

    Don’t tell
    me what to think
    because I won’t mind your words.
    Instead, please try to understand
    my thoughts are mine alone.


    Hi Poet-Folk!

    Sorry I haven’t been around much, but I am going back to school for another degree and don’t have a lot of time on my hands lately. I”ll try to read your poems later, ‘though…


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