Editors Blog

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 207

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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122 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 207

  1. stepstep

    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

    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

    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. ClaireFSM

    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.

  5. Veronictoria

    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

  6. PSC in CT

    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

  7. rustydude


    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.

  8. HandHeldWriter

    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

  9. Stacey1989

    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.

  10. Ber

    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

  11. KungFuPastor

    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.

  12. Michael Grove

    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

  13. Jane Shlensky

    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.

  14. cstewart


    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

  15. Sara McNulty

    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

  16. PassionateQuill

    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.

  17. Nancy Posey

    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.

    1. Heather H

      I assumed that new posts being shown first was a deliberate improvement. Now, if you’ve read all the posts, and you see there have been new ones, you don’t have to scroll very far to see the new ones.

  18. JRSimmang

    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.

  19. PowerUnit

    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.

  20. Nancy Posey

    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

  21. taylor graham


    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.

    1. Jane Shlensky

      Taylor, I’ve so enjoyed reading your search dog poems. This is another one that hurts me, the sweetness of dog on the job with the horror of “find Emily”. I hope you’re putting together a collection.

  22. elishevasmom


    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

  23. RJ Clarken

    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.

  24. sashagladb

    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.

  25. De Jackson

    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.


  26. priyajane

    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

  27. Yolee

    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.

    1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      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!

    2. deringer1

      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.

      1. Yolee

        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.

  28. cstewart


    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.

  29. Brad Bricktower

    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.

  30. Catherine Lee

    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.

  31. lovelace

    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.


  32. Jane Shlensky


    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

  33. Walt Wojtanik


    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!

  34. lovelace

    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.


  35. Jane Shlensky


    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.

  36. Michelle Hed

    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.

    1. De Jackson

      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…

    2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      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!

  37. deringer1


    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

  38. JRSimmang

    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.

  39. Connie Peters

    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!”

  40. Misky

    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

  41. Andrew Kreider

    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.

  42. Mystical-Poet

    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

    1. Domino

      <3 I love this, Randy – and I have had brushes with Alzheimer's in my family as well. I know the repeated questions that are, to the patient, the first time, every time, that question has been asked. And to respond one has to answer as if it were the first time too, again, and again, and again. It is so difficult. ((hugs))

    2. Hannah

      “the pillar of my life
      now, so impossibly frail
      I am stoically frozen, but internally
      plunging through maelstrom of sadness
      I want to scream,”

      ♥ Randy…thank you for sharing…my heart goes out to you.

  43. Billie

    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.

  44. Domino


    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

  45. RobHalpin

    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

  46. Misky

    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.

  47. lswenski


    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.

  48. The Wired Journal

    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

  49. elishevasmom


    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

  50. laurie kolp


    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.

  51. PressOn


    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?

    1. Domino

      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.

  52. PowerUnit

    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