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    Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 207

    Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

    For this week’s prompt, write a fragile poem. That is, write a poem that’s either delicate in its construction or is about a subject that is delicate–literally or figuratively or whatever-ly. I expect this prompt to take off in several different directions.

    Here’s my attempt at a fragile poem:


    along the river
    clinging to a stick
    leaf-blown & sinister

    snake without a head
    he didn’t know whether
    to snatch or release

    the body purposeless
    current sure & triumphant
    rock clenched

    he decided to throw
    rock & let the body wait
    something else to claim


    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    122 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 207

    1. stepstep says:

      Soft Emotions

      not always thick-skinned
      but may suffer from sensitivity
      having to deal with all of life’s challenges
      rocking, reeling, ducking, bobbing and a-weaving,
      in a massive attempt to stay on course.

      soft-spoken emotions are curled under
      a sea of bring me out
      to create a sea of tears
      in times good or bad
      regardless of the consequences.

      every effort has been made
      but there is absolutely no resolution
      for true maturity to endure
      everything which comes your way
      and make a home to house these feelings.


    2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

      stray on eighth street
      by juanita lewison-snyder

      he came to me
      forged in fear and bloodshed,
      limping, carrying a leg
      tucked awkwardly underneath
      his brindled skin, scarred
      and clinging to his bones
      like wet tissue.

      eyes downcast
      upon first approach,
      i can feel the suffering
      in his hoarse whimpers,
      gauge the cruelty of his life.
      he begs that i look past
      the imperfections.

      ready to bolt
      even at first kindness,
      he is trembling in his bravery
      and drooling at the sight of
      my ham & cheese offering,
      torn between hunger and trust
      just inches away as i broker
      this fragile peace between us.

      come sweet, invisible stray,
      be invisible no longer.

      © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    3. BDP says:

      Seed Corn: Rondelet

      To eat the seed’s
      dumb, one grows many, but we have
      to eat the seeds.
      The trick’s to plant beyond the needs
      of seven billion. Starving, buff,
      or in between: it’s not enough
      to eat the seeds.

    4. JWLaviguer says:

      Skating on the thin ice
      of my broken heart
      and falling through
      I find you
      and am no longer frozen.

    5. ClaireFSM says:

      Behind their park bench
      diamond dew outlines each strand
      in morning’s hopeful web.
      Here, he says, I’ll brush it away.
      No, she says, it’s beautiful.

    6. Veronictoria says:

      Brittle bones in shaky countenances.
      The straw the camel never asked for
      and now attends a chiropractor
      years after her
      Doilies and lace and petals of flora
      cannot withstand harsh conditions
      and that’s understandable
      because it’s always
      the beautiful
      that are
      and the most worth while
      are breakable

      But it is a tender heart
      young innocent naïve
      that ultimately appears
      tenuous vitreous precarious
      when in a situation
      threatening it’s constitution
      yet here is the absolute truth of the matter:
      it is those who risk
      that in turn
      make us

    7. PSC in CT says:

      This Frangible Heart

      This frangible heart
      sifts fragile feathers
      from eggshell fragments,
      weaves gossamer dreams
      with translucent dewdrops,
      imagines iridescent magic;

      trying on translucent wings,
      ascends a flimsy stairway
      fancying flight,
      but taking a leap of disbelief,
      slips, trips, fails,
      falls a broken butterfly

    8. bclay says:


      on her face
      i shattered
      kissing her
      cheek and
      lips tender
      and warm
      enough to
      even melt
      away soft

    9. rustydude says:


      Torn apart, alienated, not by choice,
      Silence in place of loving voice,
      Hearts broken, unable to mend,
      What was love, now is end.

      Others whisper their support or decent,
      Who would you believe or represent?
      Stories told; some folly, some true,
      Everyone wonders, what of you?

      Time is void, days eternal in length,
      Pain and tears, replaces strength,
      Darkness casts away the light,
      Sleep vanishes, curse the night.

      Morning light brings sorrow anew,
      Eyes closed still present same view,
      Alone and cold, the heart beats fast,
      Grasping for love, memories of past.

      Another day alone, crushed to dust,
      All temperament, feelings, lost of trust,
      What blade, shreds the heart today?
      Will it be by sight, or what they say?

      Lord, how long, to tread this valley of loss?
      Hold me, carry me, back to the cross,
      Grant me peace, peace of mind,
      Shelter my thoughts, make it grace I find.

      I know You’re with me, holding fast,
      A love eternal, forever to last,
      Fold me in, carry me forward,
      Renew me; steadfast, whole, and stalwart.

      When all is said and done in Christ’s name,
      Your promise, your word, grant the same,
      In Christ’s name, hurl this pain, deep into the sea,
      And if not, still my God, my Savior, forever You’ll be.

    10. A fragile thing

      Many words said, eroding his core
      All of which belittles his self-worth
      Now he surrenders his own assurance
      Succumbing to low self-confidence

      Everything he once knew of himself
      Only doubt and insecurity remains

    11. Stacey1989 says:

      Child’s Dream

      Dreams spun from a child’s wonder
      torn by thunder.
      Left all alone
      chilled to the bone.

      In need of arms to hold her tight
      all through the night.
      To feel the warm
      after the storm.

      A seed of hope grows from within
      blossoms a grin
      with it new dreams.
      The whole world gleams.

    12. Ber says:

      Between the Cracks

      As fragile as a tiny flake
      her shadows of the past
      began to rush and race
      making her gentle heart go at a fast pace

      Images of yesterday
      caught up in time
      flashing words became her call
      lightening bolts pushed her from her feet

      Staring into the emptyness
      the nothing that was there
      salty tears
      clung to her face
      along her soft curls of hair

      Reflections of herself
      looking back at her
      who is this person
      she has become

      Once the road
      was paved with dreams
      that seemed to true
      now the road was dark
      nothing there , nothing new

      Tunnels of dancing light
      found there way through
      into a icy presence
      of someone she never knew

      Stop the hurt
      stop the pain
      when it comes
      it surely rains

      Following dreams she once knew
      now seemed so crystal clear
      now seemed
      so true

    13. Killer Soccer Goals

      When I lie awake thinking
      that someday I will die and
      at night it seems so real not like
      in the daytime with things to do and bright light and
      in the day I could be old and sick and think
      of other things I think but at night I hear my heart and
      how if it were to stop for a moment! and
      in a world with sharp edges and
      plump skin holding my innards
      so easy to pierce and spill,
      what then lies dormant
      hidden in-body to destroy me
      that I do not even know?
      What unseen assailant? What microbe? How
      little things have to go wrong
      for all my mechanisms to be undone.

      And outward assailants too. I hold my hand
      against a wall
      put my face against it too and feel how fragile I feel
      and if it was the wall or me I
      ‘d be crushed. And what order is there
      none! so it seems
      as things fly about and through us
      and our skin serves as no armor ’cause see?
      everything if it flies fast enough
      is a bullet and we all live life dodging,
      just try crossing the street.

      Keep your head on a swivel kid.

      When I think of how some act like they will not die and some
      think in youth that they, well they think
      no not them never! bulletproof.
      well then I think of a day as a child when I was on a soccer field
      and there at each end of the field
      the goals were large and metal frames
      hard like my face against the wall, only cold
      because of the metal and one day we played
      and no one tied the goals down because
      everyone thought they were too heavy to fall over
      but it was windy that day and one fell forward
      like the arm of a mousetrap snapping shut
      with a loud metal clang.

      It did not kill our goalie because we were making a run at the other end
      and he was out past the eighteen.
      The left midfielder who advanced the ball may have saved his life.
      And I still hear that clang at night.

    14. Tracy Davidson says:

      snapdragon petals
      I touch the velvet lining
      of her coffin

    15. Michael Grove says:

      You Don’t Have To Read

      You don’t have to read
      I don’t have to write.
      While we may not agree,
      we don’t have to fight.

      I’m not gonna slog along
      with my head stuck in the sand.
      There is not enough righteousness
      and I need to understand.

      It’s not about the liberal left
      or conservative right.
      We’ll meet there in the middle
      if we may or if we might.

      When you’re not a goodie-two-shoes
      or a criminal-at-large,
      You are someone in between
      who is conscious and in-charge.

      Let’s get our act together
      before we loose our druthers.
      We’ll be peaceful pacifists,
      and tolerant of all others.

      But, that’s a bunch of poppycock.
      We’ve fallen far to low.
      There’s nothing you can do.
      Sit back, enjoy the show.

      We can follow blindly
      toward a final setting sun
      but, we should stand united
      so that we may live as one.

      By Michael Grove

    16. Jane Shlensky says:

      Her Hands

      Her bones are brittle as a bird’s
      and sometimes she forgets the words
      to say what she wants to express
      or finish thoughts under duress.

      Blue irises bloom on her skin
      where once pink roses might have been;
      now cords of veins and bones beneath
      are visible beneath thin sheath.

      Old hands that cradled, kneaded, toiled
      are idle now, twisted and coiled,
      but they have strength to hold and reach,
      for old hands still have things to teach.

    17. cstewart says:


      My student said:
      I’ve got to get a work permit,
      I’ve got to get out of this place.
      They are doing drugs upstairs,
      The police will close the business
      Down and I won’t have a job.
      The air is making me sick.
      Last night I was waving over
      The lines in the middle of the
      Street on the way home –
      I will get arrested,
      They will think I do drugs,

      I’ve got to get a work permit

    18. Handle With Care

      She strode, firm steps,
      sure-footed whether walking
      outdoors, back and forth
      from refrigerator to stove
      to table, or at work. I try
      to imagine how she feels now,
      eighty-eight, pushing a walker
      for balance, her steps slow,
      hesitant. Once, she told me
      that inside her head and heart
      she remained young, disputed
      only by glances in the mirror.
      When sadness overwhelms
      me as I watch her struggle,
      I think of how her struggle
      is not confined to movement

    19. leathery feet against sun
      burnt sand. calloused from time
      travelling this road long and
      endless, or so it seemed from the day
      he had started this journey. only now
      the end was nearer than the
      beginning, and his skin was growing thin
      around his lips and heart.

    20. Why do the posts not go to the bottom now? Strange?


      For weeks after his return, the air between them trembled.
      They both tasted, tested every word, hefted from hand to hand
      like a juggler’s feint before either dared to launch it into the room.

      The peace hovered more like a truce than a treaty, fragile,
      tentative, negotiated not with words but gestures, glances,
      pregnant silences. Their hearing heightened, monitoring
      every utterance for innuendo, accusation. Only laughter—
      true, deep, ringing like crystal, shattered the fragile bubble
      that separated them. Nothing broke but the silence.

    21. seingraham says:

      the body life departed

      on the bed
      a husk,
      a waxen emptiness
      bearing little resemblance
      to anyone I know
      or knew, I find
      myself averting
      my eyes
      what now

    22. JRSimmang says:

      It’s a child’s game,
      they say.
      Stacking the kings on queens.
      That’s what they say,
      the jokers don’t stick.
      Well, they always wild.
      No body done made a joker stick.

      But this kid,
      this kid with the sticky hands,
      he hold that joker right.
      He hold that joker to look him in the eye
      and the joker squirm,
      o lord, he squirm,
      while this boy hold him in his gaze.

      The joker try, he do, he do,
      the joker try to pull his tricks,
      the old tricks he got in his devil’s bag.
      But this boy, he can see that
      the joker ain’t no devil.
      Ain’t no body the devil but the devil himself,
      and soon he bend.
      He bend at his back
      and he bend at his front,
      and he bend at the corners
      til he cry.
      Then, the joker be made to fit.
      He fit right there with the king and the
      queen and
      the jack stab him with his
      steely smile.
      But this house,
      this house built
      on the clay backbone of this
      silly joker
      is bound to fall
      when the wind blow right.
      It bound to fall when the wind blow right.

    23. PowerUnit says:

      His love felt … reserved. He held something back.
      Hidden in a drawer he didn’t know how to open.
      He wanted to tell her, say those words of committment, with conviction
      From his heart with feeling
      But his lips remained silent, tight like the pockets over his hands
      And this possible life of happiness and meaning walked away.

    24. handle with care

      just for now
      take care how you
      handle my heart

      pretend it is
      an egg shell
      a dandelion puff
      a warm soufflé

      a nestling fallen
      to the ground
      all fluff, no feathers

      approach it,
      battered, bruised,
      but beating
      on soft sure footing

      make it believe
      make it believe

    25. END OF TOWN

      One last uneaten bite of hotdog
      rests on the remains of something broken,
      frayed; arm of a doll, a bike seat.
      Trash. Bones of something too fragile
      to stay. My dog picks his way
      across the town’s leftovers. Just a sniff

      at hotdog; a banana going to mush –
      leavings of a grade-school lunchroom –
      and my dog moves on, sorting odors.
      If not for my “find Emily!” he’d be
      wolfing that hotdog down. Connoisseur

      of refuse; the poetry of scent
      descending from civilized to elemental.
      Decay. And Emily? If she’s here,
      she didn’t come alone –

      three years old,
      from front-lawn lacy make-believe
      to trash dump – on her own.

    26. elishevasmom says:


      When all is right
      with the world,
      decisions make themselves.
      Past troubles forgotten,
      serenity is your address.

      But when the world turns
      upside-down, even if you
      cannot find faith, hope
      will always catch you,
      like a spider web catches a cricket.

      Ellen Knight 1.23.13

    27. RJ Clarken says:

      Christmas Story

      The leg lamp was marked ’Fragile.’
      He said, “Really.
      Major Award!
      Look what I’ve scored!”

      His wife despised the ugly lamp
      that looked so tramp.
      By ‘accident’
      (or appetent*)

      her husband’s crass major award
      fell on a sword.
      Well, so to speak.
      Beware wife-pique.

      *Eager desire.

    28. sashagladb says:

      SNOW BLUFF -1/23/13-

      Snow falls and disappears in a while
      For moments dressing ground in white;
      To make the ground look all innocent, untouched.

      To people covering in beautiful and flashy clothes,
      Creating the identities they’d like to have alike.

      Those flashy moments are enough to be amazed by…at times…And yet…
      Snowflakes will melt in only seconds,
      Leaving the ground nude, but self.

    29. De Jackson says:

      Broken Things

      We are not so much
      scarred, as scared
      holding breath
      for truth untold.

      We are not so much
      battered as bartered
      pilfered for things
      we cannot hold.

      We are not so much
      shattered as scattered
      bent by words
      our hearts won’t say.

      We are not so much
      heard, as held
      by things we cannot
      wish away.

      Then dawns
      a day
      we understand
               we are not so much.


    30. priyajane says:

      A tender thought

      A tender thought comes floating in
      Sneaking her way, thro an open bin
      A tiny little speck is she
      A bashful, sprouting, garden pea
      She gently treads into the mind
      Makes a home, one of a kind
      Untrained, untamed, she may go wild
      And then consume your brainless child
      So please beware, and choose with care
      Some fragile thoughts , can prick and tear

      PriyA Jane

    31. Yolee says:

      Fragile Men

      Papi sat with his hands pressed together between his knees. His eyes were void
      of their usual smile. He was immersed in a sea; words, afloat with melancholy,
      took our quiet mood out with a cannonball splash. My sister and I slowly chewed
      his accounts of a father too cruel to embody kindness , warmth and unrestricted
      affection. It mystified me how some family members could be polarized by where
      lines fall on the roadmap to the heart, by actions and ensuing memories attached
      like rotting umbilical cords, He told us about the letter waiting for him the day he
      was released from the hospital after battling pneumonia in which his father affirmed
      he never loved him as a son and was clearly la obeja negra. Papi repeated the story
      as if his own ears had to check references tucked in yellow envelopes marked:
      no such address here.There were stories the length of birch rods fathered
      by a palm tree. Abuse came and went like day and night. And light
      from his bedroom window vanished into a heavy rain.

      • PowerUnit says:

        I don’t know what to say except thanks for sharing this.

      • Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

        Now THIS is the start of a great story for me, mostly because it left me wanting more. You should consider turning this into a short story or even novel one day. The audience is there, waiting for you. Kudos!

      • deringer1 says:

        Wow. Normally I am scornful of the prose poetry form, but this is indeed poetry. I think you probably touched a nerve with many poets. I have known several people, no, perhaps many people who have been scarred by an unloving, uncaring parent. You have a great gift for choosing descriptive words.

        • Yolee says:

          Juanita, wow. You’ve given me a boost of encouragement. I’ve been itching to write a novel but the thought of overwhelmed me that I would shelf the idea constanly. I will see about fleshing this out. Thank you so much for seeing something there and saying so, and for your kind words.

          Deringer, I am humbled. Really. Thank you. I don’t lean toward prose when I write but when I read Robert’s prompt I knew this is what I would write about and that it would be prose. If felt natural in the voice I wanted to use. I appreciate you caring enough to comment.

    32. cstewart says:


      The acquaintance and progression of a talent
      Takes many turns.
      It must be nurtured by the self
      As no one else really knows it is there.
      If it waits to develop, it changes.
      A swerve can dislocate; ideas and notations lost,

      The dawn of each new day brings it’s own
      Information to the soil of hidden dimensions.

    33. Threadbare Dynamic

      Lost, broken little thing,
      I’ll wrap your mind around my fingers.
      If there’s a song to sing,
      be sure — I’ll know the lyric.

      Poor, helpless little mess,
      I’ll be the answer to your questions.
      Your flaw is anybody’s guess;
      then again — I’m sure I know your pain.

      Sad, pitiable scab,
      I’ll be the greatest friend you’ve ever had.
      I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
      and I will know your soul
      and all its many imperfections.

      Weak, struggling little lamb,
      mind your manners or I’ll trample you.
      You were a worthless little scamp
      until I gave you meaning.

      Tired, agitated bug,
      you’ve made your bed and you will snuggle in,
      you’ll waste away without my drug –
      my sin — and never know the world.

      Sad, pitiable scab,
      I’ll be the greatest friend you’ve ever had.
      I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
      and I will know your soul
      and all its many imperfections.

      Scared, drowning little wretch,
      I swear I’ll break you of this crutch you have:
      you whimper, simpering, it vexes me,
      and gladly, I will rid you of your strength.

      Calm, mild-mannered slave,
      you’ll be obedient and silent as the grave –
      your mind, a road that we alone shall pave.
      You’ll find you like yourself as we imagine you should be.

      Sad, pitiable scab,
      I’ll be the only friend you’ll ever have.
      I’ll teach you lessons; grab a hold,
      because I know your soul,
      and I will mend its imperfections.

    34. Still They Shiver

      Birch leaves tremble like eyelashes
      and fluttering hearts after the first kiss.
      It is a blush of nameless words,
      of ancient things made new again.
      It is a tender invocation
      of branching sways waltzing
      in and out of time to genesis sounds.

      The wind stills, but still they shiver
      With tiny memories of breaths,
      Breezy caresses that speak of
      secrets and delicious beginnings.

    35. lovelace says:

      Lovelace says

      Fiery Furious Love

      Wild, untamed, feral,
      His steely eyes scan the land,
      As He makes His way.

      With His fiery sword
      He gently leads us through the
      Perilous landscape,

      Alert for hidden,
      Hungry predators who watch
      For slow easy prey.

      Mighty, Powerful,
      Like mothers’ defending young,
      He protects His own.

      Lovingly He shields
      An safeguards us as we are
      Wobbling behind.


    36. Jane Shlensky says:


      crystal snowflake feather frost
      thread of sugar sadness loss
      age-old paper tender words
      lacy ice on shallow fords
      memories can merge or break
      transforming past for present’s sake
      and what is delicate as breath
      just seems so in the face of death


      Not unbreakable,
      fragile and sensitive,
      quite mistakable to
      a man of steel.
      Feeling every emotion,
      with a devotion to the heart.
      When he starts to feel
      the heat, he is defeated.
      And that point is as
      clear as crystal.
      Never hard to reduce him
      to shards. Call him Mr. Glass!

    38. lovelace says:

      Fiery Furious Love

      Wild, untamed, feral,
      His steely eyes scan the land,
      As He makes His way.

      With His fiery sword
      He gently leads us through the
      Perilous landscape,

      Alert for hidden,
      Hungry predators who watch
      For slow easy prey.

      Mighty, Powerful,
      Like mothers’ defending young,
      He protects His own.

      Lovingly He shields
      An safeguards us as we are
      Wobbling behind.


    39. Jane Shlensky says:


      Collecting is tender as breath.
      No running with a net,
      slapping or swatting,
      but silence and patience
      waiting for tissue paper
      wings to meet upright
      beneath your hand,
      so you can gently
      cherry pick a butterfly,
      its colors powdery as chalk,
      its wings framed like a kite
      motored by insect body,
      like holding a rainbow,
      science and art joined
      on spindly legs.

    40. life, itself

      you see a pigeon
      upended, beak
      cracking against a
      brick wall
      noiseless, stunned
      shaking its head
      That should be
      you think; instead,
      you take a picrure of it
      with your iPhone

    41. Butterfly Wings

      She gave me a soft kiss
      so gentle and light
      it was pure, innocent bliss
      so loving and right

      Never did I think
      I would soon miss
      gone, gone in a blink
      your butterfly kiss –

      butterfly wings make me think of you
      too young to be gone
      there is so much you didn’t get to do
      you should have lived on.

    42. De Jackson says:


      She’s an egg
      contents splattered
      far and wide.

      She’s a life
      light provided
      but held inside.

      She’s a song
      and a phrase unflung
      and a still-born dream.

      She is broken
      some heart as well,
      but there’s grace between.

      Also an old one, should you choose to click:

      • De Jackson says:

        Yikes. Just got a comment on my blog, and need to mention that this is NOT a political statement of any kind. I was going for “Rules of Engagement” and roe, as in eggs (that are often eaten.)
        May need to retitle this…

      • Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

        LOL, De. My first read through, I too thought it was about Roe vs Wade. No disrespect, it just read that way for me. And in THAT light, I found it compelling and powerful stuff. Sometimes poems do that, take off in a different direction than what we as poets originally intended, and that’s ok too. No shame, no offense. Simply take it as a compliment, say “not quite what I was going for originally but hey that’s cool, I get your interpretation too,” then simply shrug it off. I’ve been in your shoes, so well understand the irony. Personally I think it uber cool when multiple interpretations become plausible! Leave the title (it’s brilliant!) De, and bask in the juxtaposition rhetoric you unintentionally created! Trust me, it really is brilliant!

    43. deringer1 says:


      The morning sun warms the room and
      the chair where my friend sits.
      She raises her face to the light,
      allowing it to bring hope.

      Hope is hard to come by just now.
      Age and illness have taken chunks of joy
      out of a life lived in childlike wonder.

      How I loved to watch her as she
      delighted in every day,
      in every friend,
      in every flower,
      in all of life.

      I greet her and her smile
      is still there,
      but her name now is

    44. Hannah says:

      Well done and I find the last line intriguing with the “A” in accord…excellent.

    45. JRSimmang says:

      The last time we spoke
      you were reclining in a sanitary bed,
      surrounded by the baby white
      wires and curtains made of lead.

      You were across from me,
      your sagacious eyes casting
      your breath drawing little fine lines
      in the misty haze of your slumber.

      I didn’t know you.

      Yet, I did, like the way
      people often do when they are
      thrust headlong into a maelstrom
      of pumping blood and
      aerobic lightning.

      Were we once friends, you and I,
      drifting along a banded causeway?
      For some reason I remember you there
      and not in that bed.
      I remember a newfound joy in company.
      I remember a smile full of teeth
      that reflected the memories of
      coffees in cafes,
      conversations about nations,
      picks and hammers
      and crowded buses.
      There were moments in
      your laugh lines
      where I could have sworn I became
      a part of you.
      Perhaps I have always been a part of you.
      Perhaps, though, I am thinking you another.

      Your hands, soft and translucent,
      used to hard labor,
      rest on your chest,
      pulling your breath up and out.
      How was it that a man,
      built like yourself,
      suddenly becomes a character from a department
      store window?
      You lived your life well,
      full of vegetables and scotch,
      filled with joy and reason,
      repeatedly digging the seasons
      and applying generously to the light
      at the end of the week.
      But, here you are,
      constantly wobbling on the brink
      of whole and shattered.
      Perhaps, I am referring to myself.

    46. Hannah says:

      Here’s my little poem…

      Thank you, for the prompt as always!


      Smiles to everyone! :)

    47. Fragile Exterior

      F rail, almost unable to take a step
      R eally exhausted, absent of pep
      A mbling slowly, slight and weak
      G amboling, hardly, knees softly creak
      I nching along, bones hard and brittle
      L ips drooping, covered with spittle
      E nthusiasm bubbling deep within, “Won’t be long till I’m with Him!”

    48. Misky says:

      Those First Moments Version Two

      I greet morning
      with the rattle of coffee beans.
      Sips of liquid morning.
      Blackbirds sing;
      the garden greets sunrise.
      Ivy claws
      the north face
      of trees
      and fragile clouds
      break and spill rain
      across the window

    49. what we found

      Love laughs at architecture
      every span of fear thrown out
      in search of permanence.
      It will not polish silver.

      Love slips between
      the bricks of certainty
      trailing a scent of bergamot
      only those who have lost can know.

    50. Casey says:


      The diver
      nears the crying
      removing the barb.
      The dolphin hovers
      protective of
      the diver.

    51. The End

      Like a thief in the night
      Alzheimer’s arrived,
      stealing the ultimate memory
      my own father, doesn’t recognize me !
      I held his hand and told him I loved him
      that it was OK, he couldn’t remember
      with a glazed smile, and reduced
      to a two word vocabulary
      Amazing and Weird
      his facial expressions speaking
      louder than his voice
      the pillar of my life
      now, so impossibly frail
      I am stoically frozen, but internally
      plunging through maelstrom of sadness
      I want to scream, ” Dad it’s me”
      but don’t want to scare him
      asked if he knew the year,
      month, day, season
      as leaves ablaze in color
      paint the landscape
      he didn’t know, it was fall
      I witness a manic repetition
      of how he now eats
      take a bite,
      lie down,
      wait a few seconds,
      pull yourself up,
      as I write this, I just received the call
      he has but hours left
      tears flowing, I stand at the shore
      waiting for grief’s tsunami
      to arrive

      © ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013

    52. Billie says:

      White Lace

      I wore white lace on my collar.
      I never had a dollar dance.
      There is this man he says he loves me.

      But these tears on my face and this fear
      says different.

      At first it started with a whisper and than it
      turned into a scream
      like poisonous snake venom
      rushing through my blood stream

      now there is a man with bright blue eyes,
      and a crooked smile. My revelation

      this may be a crime
      but all I have left is rhymes
      and the pieces of this fragile heart.

    53. Domino says:


      Perhaps mischance
      brought you to this
      and sandy
      or perhaps
      some person’s dread
      swatted you
      into the briny
      soaking your wings
      with salt water
      leaving you to
      each lapping wave
      you weaker.

      I cannot help
      but try to save
      even so

      Diana Terrill Clark

    54. RobHalpin says:

      Generation “Look At Me”

      We have now the generation of
      the pampered narcissist who expects
      the rest of us to approve of
      childish antics, indulge whims,
      and believe the facade
      of strength, behind which
      dwells an ego
      more fragile
      than an

    55. Misky says:

      Those First Moments

      This morning, just like every morning
      this week, I set my feet on the cold floor
      and toe around under the bed, hunting
      down my runaway slippers – and then
      cold water, paper filter, and coffee beans
      are turned from a solid into a warm liquid
      morning. I sip the start of another day
      as fragile mist-weakened clouds break
      their seams and spill long-streaks
      of rain across the kitchen window.

    56. lswenski says:


      A small sound
      the wrong order
      lights that are too bright
      a slight irritation
      food that isn’t bland enough
      something that is unexpected
      and I blow apart.

    57. So fragile are the words
      Of a poem in the works
      One must choose just right
      To articulate it’s voice
      So elegant and nice

      Like the peddles of a flower
      So frail in the moonlight
      On a frosty cool springtime night
      Or a butterfly’s fragile wings
      In a turbulent windy flight

      Yes a poet’s choice of words
      Must be just so right
      To nurture every stanza
      To make its voice take flight
      To sing and dance with meaning
      In every reader’s sight

    58. elishevasmom says:


      The cold air presses down—the
      precursor of the first
      bold exclamation of winter.

      My job has me twenty feet
      up a ladder—last-minute
      tasks before the blizzard begins.

      I look up at the river randomly
      throughout the day—I have
      always loved the river.

      Against the deepening darkness
      I see a skin, stretched thin,
      cellophane across the water.

      It is then I realize
      that from my frigid post
      I have watched the river freeze.

      Ellen Knight 1.23.13


      Life is fragile~
      wear it like a loose garment.

      Before you brag, imagine
      living in fear, your freedom
      an old pair of underwear with holes,
      ripped and thrown away. Imagine
      living biddably, your transparent bra
      dangling from a telephone wire,
      only you have no way to call.

      Before you brag about worldly
      possessions, imagine living
      in fear, where icy stares
      are daggers in your heart
      as you stand in a line-up,
      naked and you have to
      remain polite or else.

      Life is fragile~
      wear it like a loose garment.

    60. Nehemiah

      Barely a child,
      Riled, unstable
      Able to plot,
      Fraught. Soon to awaken

    61. PressOn says:


      Like a bubble on a needle;
      like a snowflake in a flame;
      life in warfare cannot flourish,
      and so the world remains the same.

      Long has Earth revolved in terror;
      long have widows and orphans cried.
      Why must suffering children wonder
      how long it be till peace be tried?

      • Domino says:

        Strangely, even in the smallest of groups, humans divide and war, on the playground, even. I think peace will not be tried until hate and fear are vanquished, and though one might think that it would be easy, it isn’t. Individuals must root it from themselves, and how many really take the effort?

        Still, all is not lost. Each voice makes a difference, don’t you think?

        I like your voice, PressOn.

    62. PowerUnit says:

      It lies flat, silent, small
      sullen and still in the quiet winter morning
      blue clouds guard it’s mood, its life
      it hides from the day’s glory that is death
      to a sheen longing for acceptance
      laying in its bed, hugging its only friend, a shallow relationship
      the hard black asphalt yearning for its own attention
      that bottom dweller who reaches for warmth and life and love
      a selfish brute who cares not for delicacy
      and the hitchhiker shivers at the sound of the unknown, studded weight
      It’s too afraid to scream but explodes in agony
      under the morning’s Accord

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