Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 215

Please check out the latest WD Poetic Form Challenge. The current form is the rispetto.

For this week’s prompt, write a walking poem. The poem can incorporate any type of walk or form of walking. That includes plays on ideas like the walking dead and dead man walking–or even a Johnny Cash “I Walk the Line” thing-a-ma-do and what-have-you. Keep walking the walk and talking the talk.

Here’s my attempt:

“Nature Walk”

First, we see
a beaver, and then,
we see deer.
Of course, bears
and fast snakes of all sizes.
Once, even Bigfoot.


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144 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 215

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    walking the dog
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    so i’m walking the dog
    and it’s just after midnight,
    the air damp upon our cheeks,
    it’s tongue lapping at
    the marrow of our bones.

    down the road
    a street light flickers
    then buzzes as if in code,
    “…umbrellas tomorrow,
    you’ll see…”

    the night sky is heavy with
    scent of a thousand fires
    all quietly contemplating
    the neighborhood hearths
    that surround us.

    it is on walks like these
    that we pray,
    you with your keen nose
    pressed hard into the wet grass,
    the tags on your collar, tingling

    and i, focused on the constellations,
    hopeful someone’s doing the same
    back at us, from some other galaxy,
    glad for the warmth of our sherpa jackets
    and the tags on your collar, tingling.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. HandHeldWriter

    A drip, then a drop, so I replace its top.
    The last of the milk is gone,
    Now my Rice Krispies won’t pop.

    I must revive my body, so I make some coffee.
    The last filter tears in half,
    Now I have to go shopping.

    Speeding past the limit, I see the ferry in the distance.
    The last boat just left,
    Now I have to wait another 30 minutes.

    Finally at the store, “Cash Only” on the door.
    The last of my cash already spent,
    Now I must hit the ATM next door.

    My PIN numbers pressed, I begin to feel stressed.
    The last of its money is gone,
    “Sorry. Your Transaction Cannot Be Processed.”

    A sigh, then a laugh, I head back to my flat.
    The last of the gas runs out,
    Now it can’t get any worse than that.

    With a can in hand,
    And no cash for gas,
    I finally reach the station,
    Realizing the worst has come to pass.

    My thoughts obscene, I just want to scream.
    The last place I used my card?
    Oh yeah, probably still in the ATM machine.

  3. ewdupler

    I’m Sorry, Please Leave

    Just walk away from here my friend.
    Nobody here wants you to stay.
    In fact we want this thing to end.
    Just walk away.

    Your wants no longer hold a sway,
    For wanton acts that did offend.
    I hope you won’t repeat – I pray.

    We must have time for hearts to mend,
    As I can see no other way.
    Until the day, for you, I send,
    Just walk away.

  4. JWLaviguer

    Walk With Me

    Stepping stones
    sight unseen
    faithless man
    will not proceed

    Blind man laughs
    his vision of
    horizons amidst
    your thoughts

    The lovers dream
    do not fear
    that first step
    together they fall

    In her eyes
    enchanted soul
    captured in a moment
    as eternity races

    Walk with me
    in clouds so white
    as the mist
    drowns us in each other.

  5. JRSimmang

    As I look behind me,
    treading charcoal sand,
    I stumble around blindly
    a mirror in my hand.

    A mirror in my hand
    which reflects the golden sun
    and spreads the sun across the land
    scorching everyone.

    Scorching everyone
    I am a demon waiting.
    My feet become my winged lungs
    and in my wake I’m breathing.

    In my wake I’m breathing
    fire upon the sordid ashes.
    My mirror is a bladed keening
    thrusting brazen cymbal clashes.

    Thrusting brazen cymbal clashes
    I feign to move forward still.
    For every step I take mismatches
    the steps I’ve taken upon that hill.

    The steps I’ve taken upon that hill
    are dappled, frozen footfalls.
    My journey has been wonder filled,
    less walking more baby crawls.

    And here I walk, forward still,
    mirror holding handy sols.
    My feet a trudging drudging mill,
    milling down these broken halls.

  6. JWLaviguer

    Walk A Mile

    Walk a mile in my shoes
    then maybe you’ll understand
    how it feels
    to be walked on

    Walk a mile in my socks
    in the gravel
    blistered and bloody
    leaving a trail of pain

    Walk a mile in my world
    on your hands and knees
    scratching and clawing
    for every morsel

    Walk a mile
    just once
    while I smile.

  7. RJ Clarken


    >”My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me.” ~Green Day, Boulevard of Broken Dreams

    I know I’m never quite alone.
    My shadow stays with me. I’ve known
    this other me: we both have grown
    through words and deeds, in hue and tone.

    I walk. My shadow keeps the pace.
    The darkness cannot quite erase
    her silent presence: still a trace
    of silhouette remains in place.


  8. missab5

    To stroll perchance to die

    it happened along the path
    moonlight peeking through the clouds
    leaves rustling in the wind
    I am content
    and unaware
    of the predator that stalks me

    I only hear my own
    footsteps on the dirt
    as the creature behind me
    silently approaches

    my only warning
    the last minute growl
    as it attacks
    savagely yet
    my nightly stroll
    comes to a bloody end
    only to re-ignite
    to the howl of triumph
    as the beast both
    wolf and man
    has at long
    last found a
    mate in me

    my nightly walks
    along the forest
    trail are now
    on four legs
    as I explore
    and hunt side
    by side
    with a being no
    longer myth but my
    in this strange new
    adventure I am on

    all thanks to
    an innocent walk
    one moonlit night

  9. Ber

    Walking in Darkness

    Allow me to turn
    allow me to see
    allow me to love you
    allow me to be me

    Whispers on shoulders
    whispers of the breeze
    whispers of silence
    whispers through the trees

    Falling in love
    falling for you
    falling more than before
    falling on the floor

    Let me share
    let me in
    let me show you
    let life begin

    Kisses of the past
    kisses that last
    kisses so gentle
    kisses that make
    our hearts shoot into the night
    like shooting stars
    that blast

  10. Amy

    Thought I’d try out a Shadorma- they are fun!

    Snowy Stroll

    Virgin snow
    encasing my toes
    as I blot
    pristine white
    with these bygone impressions
    of where I came from

  11. taylor graham


    I love coyotes – that weird wild
    lonesome cry in the night
    that just keeps wailing in the mind
    and echoes out of sight.

    I’ve seen them like a spirit
    out of roadside weeds, a gaze
    that disappears if I look twice,
    like autumn valley haze.

    I love coyotes even as I hate
    the kill – a missing lamb,
    its mother bleating in a dawning
    dim. And fearful as I am

    of finding, I go searching
    down the rocks along the creek,
    hoping I won’t find, in that
    wild corner, what I seek.

    What are fences to coyotes,
    who clear them in a bound?
    That’s where I find the lamb
    they’ve brought to ground.

    I know, in a coyote’s den,
    the pups are hungry all the time,
    their mothers on the hunt
    for lamb. Must it be mine?

    But look, this lamb’s almost
    untouched, as if asleep.
    What predator comes just
    to kill, not eat, my sheep?

  12. PuffofSmokePoems

    Hiking the Gorge

    We’re hiking the gorge,this poem written by stone,
    down the path thick with leaves,and
    stone steps cut into the steepest declines.
    At the bottom, ice coats the shale ledge.
    We watch our feet instead of the view,
    too aware of how easily limbs break,
    how quickly a slip could shatter something inside.

    Ahead of us, two hikers call down to someone below.
    When we reach them on the bridge, we lean over to see—
    Three teenagers on the side trail
    that leads straight down, behind the waterfall.
    The hikers above, middle aged, our age,
    are calling warnings about mud and ice
    are calling Careful, Careful.
    The teenagers wave and laugh
    across the steep distance between us.

  13. PressOn


    When I was a kid I would walk to my grampses
    who lived next door to each other;
    these old men were spry and they liked to tell lies
    how each was much more than the other.

    They told of the cars that they drove as mere lads:
    the Stutz and the trusty old Mercer;
    each thought the other’s was mere fuss and feathers
    and each thought the other’s was worser.

    Their old runabouts were as fleet as the winds
    that used to sweep down from the prairie;
    the stories they told of exploits dumb and bold
    were exhilarating, and they were scary.

    This went on for years as they twitted and chortled
    about the old cars of their choosing;
    in minds clear and bracing they still had gone racing
    and none or the other was losing.

  14. Yolee

    The Way We Walk

    I get mine from Mami.
    And I didn’t grasp how fixed
    her footprint was until mine
    heeled in her framework.

    It gives me the green light
    to move with life, to exit
    out of unmovable seasons,
    but also to be achingly
    still when the soul hikes
    unprecedented peaks.

    My voice strolls within
    hers through the grasses
    of life. Years of training,
    where the tuition I pay
    comes from the red

    purse in my chest, because
    Mami lines it with golden
    nuggets, creates landmarks
    unnoticed until I turn around
    to gaze at the march of times.

  15. taylor graham

    (a Kerf)

    By night, Orion hunts.
    Our sheep, bedded down in dark
    under Stone Mountain, dream of grass and spring

    even as heaven shunts
    to a new season, an arc
    in some grand pattern – a ritual fling

    we give dates to, as if
    we could bind it to our brain,
    catch Trickster Life as the coyotes sing

    of hunger. Puzzle-glyph
    of flooding and blessed rain.
    Will famished sheep eat thistle for its sting?

  16. Andrew Kreider


    Caught in tie and blazer like zebra hide
    we took the narrow path into the woods
    the dip, the rise beyond, silent and alert

    to any predator. The businessman who never
    met our gaze, the winding stretch of bunglaows,
    the privet hedge and sightscreens at the cricket ground.

    At last we made the high street with our own kind,
    creatures sweet on lemon sherbets from the corner shop,
    the bus stop marking out the mathematics of survival.

    We joined the herd entering the gates
    sniffing the morning air for lost companions
    counting the days until we shed this skin for good.

  17. Amy

    Walking Secret

    Tiptoe round the edge of the spotlight
    Stay in shadow as you creep into
    his arms, heavy with the burden of
    a secret.
    So real, this complication that grew
    in the darkness, under lock and key
    You’d give it all to belong to him but
    you’re his secret.
    Slink in silence past the place where
    his life awaits and follow him
    down, you’ll see the rest of his sins
    are secrets.
    Furtive steps will lead you there
    to sinister unkowns while you
    satiate the omnipresent pull of
    your secret.

  18. Sara McNulty

    The Shuffler

    Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle,
    his sneakers were squeakers.
    Never saw him lift his legs
    up to take a basic step
    unless you count stairs.
    Even then, he would bend
    forward into a walk/crawl.
    Was not so irritating on carpeting
    but a cringe inducer on worn wood floors.

  19. PKP

    There once was a shy girl named Walk
    who barely summoned nerve up to talk
    she smiled and she simpered
    pup-like she whimpered
    Until she met that hands-on-guy Never Balk

  20. PKP

    Six grade graduation

    “You will walk.
    You will sing.”

    She says, her voice
    deep and echoing
    in the near emptied

    Dust motes float
    on sunshafted light
    As we, the class of then
    stand straight
    and as endlessly instructed
    Inhale deeply and

    SING as told

    of storms
    “walk on”

    heads held up
    “walk on”

    “walk on”

    not being afraid
    “walk on”

    and melt into
    sweet silver warbles
    of larks and quiet giggles

    all the while
    tears sparkle full-fallen
    in the creases of taciturn
    teacher’s face as
    she leads us
    this last led rehearsal
    toward the opening door
    through which we will walk
    and she will stay

  21. HandHeldWriter

    You done me wrong, I knew it all along,
    I didn’t want to believe the truth.
    My fear came true when I followed you,
    On that one dark afternoon.

    I told myself to walk away…
    just walk away.

    I saw you two meet at the end of the street,
    He picked you up in his fancy ride.
    A sensual kiss upon taken lips,
    Causing me to stir inside.

    I told myself to walk away…
    just walk away.

    At his place, you shared an embrace,
    As your clothes scattered the floor.
    The next sight broke me inside,
    I couldn’t stand to see anymore.

    I told myself to walk away…
    just walk away.

    I waited for his return after he took you home,
    Then I knocked upon his door.
    The look in his eyes gave no surprise,
    Until he lay scattered on the floor.

    I told myself to walk away…
    just walk away.

    I looked down at this man, gun in my hand,
    His life was fading fast.
    Blood pooling. Vengeance drooling.
    What next? Take care of the other half.

    I told myself to walk away…
    just walk away.

    You met your fate at the bottom of the lake,
    A very grim price to pay.
    You done me wrong, now you’re gone,
    Now I can walk away…

    just walk away.

    (Inspired by the song “Miriam” by Norah Jones.)

  22. seingraham


    She is locked in on the ward
    with the crazy people; she hates that
    For one whole dark night, she stands at the window
    Stares into the cheerless black,
    wondering where she’s left it this time;

    Every time she misplaces her equilibrium, her sanity
    Her carefully crafted norm, she finds herself here
    Or somewhere so alike here, it could be mistaken for here
    She finds herself thinking, and then chides herself
    For thinking in eccentric, concentric circles
    Knows well that this kind of thinking is considered unhealthy
    Albeit creative and interesting, to some, but no –

    “Stop it!” her inner voice screams soundlessly,
    “Keep this up girl and you will never see your semi-precious mind again
    This time, it will have split for a skull more hospitable, less alienating…”
    She ponders how close the words hospitable and hospital seem
    And wonders idly if one was derived from the other

    Then, as if with physical force, yanks her thoughts back from there
    Tells herself to, look, look, look – you know you always do find it
    You just have to focus, walk backwards in your head the way Big Bird
    used to tell the kids, and you’ll remember where you last had it
    Your mind will be right where you left it; just hope it’s not on a bus
    Or in some stranger’s bed, or like the last time, on the ledge of a building,
    Just hope that, she thought, as she watched the sun slice open the day.

  23. PKP


    Just a walk
    Just some talk
    Why the balk
    Why not talk
    Just a walk
    Grabbed her arm
    What’s the harm
    Just a walk
    Just some talk
    His glittered eyes gleam the night
    Her banged heart drums in fright
    Not just talk
    No more walk
    Stopped in fear
    No one near

  24. PKP

    First Steps

    One small step
    in carpeted
    and fresh
    red dusted
    to waiting
    or alone
    they rise
    they rise
    on new legs
    soft feet
    set on
    uncharted paths

  25. elishevasmom

    Backing Walk-wards

    I am backing walk-wards
    with my hands out
    for balance.

    Because there are just
    so many times
    that the

    words don’t come out
    of my mouth the
    way they

    come out of my mind.
    You think it’s bad
    having two left

    feet, try having two
    left tongues.
    It seems

    that this affliction has been
    with me since youth,
    and is not the

    affectation some may think
    it to be. Okay, I’ll
    admit that

    pe-but-nutter and jelly is
    not uncommon, and
    I am surely not

    alone with hypo-demic-nerdle.
    But when I was young,
    It took me a lot of

    practice learning how to
    zip up my ca-jet.
    I’m not sure

    which I mastered first, the
    act itself, or the

    of same. And it seemed I
    never used to tire of
    watching my

    mother make things on her
    And it came

    right along with me as I
    grew. Once, in high
    school, we were

    going to a football game,
    and as members of
    the marching

    band, we hopped on
    the bus first to get
    the best seats.

    Sally sat in one seat, and
    Lynn sat two seats
    behind. I plopped

    down in between (we had
    our backs to the

    and I said, “There, now I’m
    sitting both to next of
    you!” And, on a

    pleasant evening, I have been
    known to go out for a
    breash of freth air.

    My propensity toward
    this difficulty is with
    me yet today.

    If I attempt to read this
    poem out loud for

    I must pay close attention
    to read it exactly as
    written, or else

    what ever was flopped
    gets flipped. And
    then it is no

    longer funny. Which is why
    I keep my hands out
    for balance—

    as I back walk-wards.

    Ellen Knight 3.21.13
    (write a ‘walking’ poem)

  26. Marianv

    A Walk through Spring Woods

    These woods ar private, I am on this path alone
    no one ewill hear my steps as they crackle on last
    yeaers leaves, or snap a fallen branch in two.
    The day is sunny, warm and clear and all the little
    green shots have decided to appear before me
    as if I were a magician who waved a wand
    saying “Spring be here” and “Winter be gone”.
    Spring beauties are blooming on their fragile stems
    that spreawl across the gound, the small pale flowers
    peaking from bunches of old leaves. I do not pick them,
    nor the violets, a rack of which sing their purple
    song from every spot where the sunlight is
    unrestrained. Jack-in-th-pulpitss spread their
    sermons where the moss covered rocks have
    gathered,silently. But I will listen to the songs
    of birds that ring from every corner of this wood
    in green jubilations. Here the.ground is
    also green with leaves of countless
    unknown plants unfolding even as I watch.
    Winter has exited, stage left, I believe and
    left behind puddles from melted snow where
    tiny laervae swim back and forth. Already
    insects buzz and now I see the sprawling
    poison ivy with its leaves of three. Beware!.
    The ground feels spongy beneath my feet
    and I look down to see whole familes
    of trount lilies blooming small yellow trumpets –
    such cheer, such industy. . I am the intruder
    in these busy woods where everything is
    determined to grow and flourish in every
    spot of land.
    Already my feet are growing tired, I could sit
    on a rock to rest, but I recall the knowledge
    of snakes who enjoy the sun among all
    this crumbling limestone ridge. This world
    is not mine, and though no one has made
    me feel unwelcome, I am none the less an
    intruder and it is best to quietly walk away
    and let this small parcorner of the world
    cheerfully continue the work of each new day.

  27. Domino

    And a little bit of Stephen King fan fic/poetry:

    The Walkin’ Dude

    Randall Flagg,
    they call him here,
    though he has so many names,
    other monikers from all the other places
    he is known.

    The clocking of the worn down
    heels of his scruffy cowboy boots on
    wet pavement (though whether it’s water from the
    weeping stones, or something far more sinister is questionable)
    is also known.

    You feel that spike of dread
    at his avid grin, the skulls of fire dancing
    in his eager gaze, and though at first you might think
    you’ll be okay, in truth, the outcome of this encounter is already

    And all that is left for you now,
    is to hope that something, anything at all,
    distracts him from what he is probably intending to do to you
    right now (oh god) but it’s too late because here (have mercy) God
    is unknown.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  28. Domino

    First and Last

    First tentative steps
    that lead
    to running,
    laughing all the while,
    then sobbing in dismay
    at baby’s first

    A lifetime of steps,
    and it is
    where they will
    lead that child
    in his life.

    Unimaginable the miles
    the old man has walked
    and the places
    he has been.

    And in this far distant
    future, at the end,
    it is certain that
    the last tentative steps
    lead inevitably
    to infirmity
    and dismay
    at grandpa’s
    last tumble.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  29. Jane Shlensky

    an older rondel

    Uneven Ground

    Sometimes we walk uneven ground
    but seek the well-worn paths we know
    through woods and pastures, past a row
    of pear trees, tracking pulse’s pound.

    Across a twisty life, we’re bound
    to shun treacherous highs and lows
    Sometimes we walk uneven ground.
    and seek the well-worn paths we know.

    What makes a simple thought profound?
    Some slight of light, some caw of crow?
    Some wisp of wind parts weeds to show
    where we might stumble and fall down.
    Sometimes we walk uneven ground.

    1. PKP

      Terrific repetition – great poem as usual – but here today there is this line …”Some wisp of wind parts weeds to show” that just whistles through my soul and has me stop and exhale… WOW 🙂

  30. Jane Shlensky


    It’s time that I went walkabout,
    went face to face with fruit and seed,
    reintroduced to want and need,
    forced to unravel truth and doubt.

    I get to be so settled in,
    the wilderness a world away,
    even my soul’s dark woodlands stay
    a landscape where I’ve seldom been.

    Complacency hollows us out
    until we’ve lost who we could be,
    our greatest hopes no longer free
    our possibilities in drought.

    When I don’t know what I believe,
    it’s time that I went walkabout.

          1. Jane Shlensky

            I’m loving this discussion. The idea of walkabouts does come from Australia, where indigenous people have a sort of spiritual quest to live off the land and pay attention to the landscapes of their own selves as well. William, I’ve heard of runabouts, but now I want one, don’t you? Thanks, all.

  31. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    When a poem walks out on you

    What to do when a poem walks out on you?
    Do you file for divorce and steer off course in-
    to uncharted waters? Sail the ocean blue
    for days seeking ways to effectively win
    back its affection, probing the ocean floor,
    wooing, pursuing, courting it back to shore?
    What if you realize it wasn’t meant to be?
    Do you untie its wings and let it go free?

    1. PressOn

      … and when those fellows heard her reply,
      they all visited her, by and by.
      But she looked them all over
      and went straight to the clover
      with a totally different guy.

      Your limerick spurred mine. I hope you don’t mind; I mean the reply in appreciation of your skill

  32. foodpoet

    Weight To Go

    Walk into the store, weigh the salad
    Every day more rabbit food.
    I want
    Gooey pizza
    Hot wings

    Today I eat salad
    Only salad

    Garden fresh
    Only I still crave the bad oh full fat caloric dressing sigh maybe tomorrow

    Walk into the store, weigh the salad…

  33. Nancy Posey

    Doing double duty:

    Walking Blues: A Rispetto

    They say he came down with those old walking blues,
    just up and walked out of that door, down that road,
    kept walking til he had worn holes in his shoes,
    a trail spread behind where he’d lightened his load—
    He left plans abandoned and dreams long faded,
    his old worn out memories and tired broken hearts.
    bitter resentment with those who had traded
    him something for value for all his spare parts.

  34. RobHalpin

    Course Correction

    As I walked down a wooded path
    I chanced upon a lazing snake.
    I’m not sure who was startled more,
    but with his tail he gave a shake.
    We stared each other down a bit
    to see whose plans would be divorced.
    He tongue-flicked twice, rattled again.
    I quickly chose to change my course.

  35. Misky

    A Pale Yellow Walk

    I’m taking a walk with forsythia,
    surrounded in scent,
    drawn in like a bee,
    and stung drunk by bright yellows,
    staggered pale by silken chalk.
    And for a week, perhaps two,
    I’ll wander transfixed
    walking deeply into buttered yellow.

  36. PressOn


    Walk me along again, Willie,
    please march me straight up to the bar;
    my poor head is feeling so silly,
    a Scotch will restore me to par.

    Then I will go, willy-nilly,
    straight home while I smoke a cigar
    if you will just show me, dear Willie,
    the place to await the streetcar.

  37. PressOn


    I slowly paced my way along
    a beach that beat the ocean’s song,
    watching the sun’s chiffon sarong
    enfold its closing eye.

    I came at length to tire, and lie
    on rocks that lay athwart the sky,
    content to watch the shorebirds fly
    into the last of light.

    The arcing birds fell to my right,
    surrendering to the shrouded night.
    I saw my footprints meet the flight
    till both became one prong,

    but ever on the ocean’s song
    kept measure, like a muffled gong
    reminding me to come along;
    reminding me to come along.

  38. De Jackson

    Star Walk

    Stroll with me along this strand,
    shine my song and hold my hand.
    Fold that infinite dipper into this
    ebony soup and scoop me out
    something I can believe. Surely
    if we connect the dots just right,
    bid these pinpricks a fine flight,
    all of that inky forever will come
    together and give us room to grieve.


  39. PowerUnit

    I’m surrounded by walls
    We all are, enclosed, directed, guided, led
    down the green mile of life
    protected from freedom and truth
    the blind leading the blind
    Break down those walls
    Bust out of your prison cells
    Walk through the fields and dream
    of a better life for you and your offspring
    Be a radical


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