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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 218

For this week’s prompt, write a chapter poem. This could be the first chapter of a book…or last chapter. It could be the chapter of an organization. Or a chapter of your life.

Here’s my attempt at a chapter poem:

“the book”

this old book i can’t seem to read
offers two chapters for each scene

if i choose one my tale moves on
but the other leads to my doom

choose your own adventure is fine
but a bit too much like real life


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155 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 218

  1. TwiztedWingz

    As the genius slept,
    His dreams ran rampant,

    his feet tip toed across
    all the ways to cure cancer,
    how to fix world hunger.

    he watched stars form into
    elephants being pierced by spears,
    acres of wildlife being condensed into large rectangles

    hungered children,
    skin stretching over glass bones,
    burnt-out-cigarette pupils gazing into the unknown of a new day.

    As he awoke,
    sun streaming across his face,
    he fell into a routine,
    and the ideas of the genius
    began to fade.

  2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    by juanita lewison-snyder

    and when the dark came
    and stained itself against
    the crimson gown of sunset,

    brain and belly running on empty,

    a menagerie of characters
    gather and line around the
    rim of my cold coffee cup,

    stretching and yawning from
    the margin of my manuscript,
    eyes pleading to lay this
    chapter to bed.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  3. RAfrica000

    Life for me is waiting still
    love might come, but it might not
    everything i dream to feel
    everything i dream or want

    Waiting for the moment, come.
    waiting for a burst of light
    light that brings a brand new dawn
    of change and song and life.

    Life for me is all a climb
    still i reach for everything
    but everything will come in time
    time will show what life can bring

  4. stepstep

    The Bible

    Daily I am inspired , encouraged,
    Pushed to go on and not give up
    Filled with joy, ready to spread glad tidings

    Each chapter, full of useful information
    Prayers, guidelines for our lives, soul-searching,

    No matter what, you’re able to find
    A chapter that talks to your situation
    You can always find a chapter
    That speaks only to you


  5. seingraham


    A symphony of swallows scissor-slash the sky
    Sending shards of memory on this first
    Mother’s Day without you, surprising me
    So sharp they are, and like the feathered ones
    Swoop and soar with such rapidity I find
    I am unable to keep track of them…

    Like tiny, perfect dark angels, the birds
    And my thoughts of you, appear as if out of clouds
    Then gather in flocks and are gone again
    In a chorus of discordant song and whooshing
    wings and I wonder at what it is you are trying
    to tell me, much as I did while you lived
    The last chapter of your book, it seems,
    remains unfinished.

    1. PressOn

      I think this is wonderful: the interplay of title and concept; the captivating opening line, especially the brilliant “scissor-slash”; the underlying rhythm. Superb.

  6. Amy

    A Summer Chapter

    We lay upon gingham daydreams
    and reveled in our deep-fried joy.
    The sun draped patterns of waving
    obscurities across my bare legs;
    a caress left to the imagination.
    We waited ‘til the heavy dark
    began to saturate the warmth
    and chase away bright tones of
    rosy gold. Our smiles were full
    of anticipation on this day of
    halcyon days. Whoops and hollers
    rose and we found ourselves
    joining in the cacophony of
    A flash streaked across the night,
    exploding into a fleeting Polaroid
    of glory emblazoned on the sky
    and we marveled as the lights fell
    like stars that suddenly grew
    too tired to remain and
    trickled down to set the
    night alight.

  7. Alpha1

    First Love

    At first love
    didn’t know what was
    over me
    turnin my world around
    thinkin could it be
    first love I’ve found
    first look into those eyes
    no words to speak
    no way to hide
    first love made me weak
    first love
    no doubt
    can’t live my life without

  8. priyajane

    One chapter’s being read aloud
    with active parts and muffled voices
    Another chapter sprouting inside
    brewing beans of a yearning flavor

    I try to mould the turning page
    so the aroma filters into the words
    I wish they could hold hands
    and nurture some bona fide seeds
    with scented blooming wings
    Weaving wonderful stories
    stirring wonder filled rings
    I wish—–

  9. JRSimmang

    At first, the page is clean and blank;
    our eyes unable, blind to words.
    We pick and choose the phrases that
    we won’t/cannot misunderstand.

    But, things get easy, so they say.
    The words we read become more real.
    We find beginnings are made of
    our truths and wills and hopes and dreams.

    The story must begin! We say.
    And it, when it starts, we’re happy.
    The pages turn, the plot thickens.
    We are but children, bright and new!

    But with each page comes plot and spite.
    We meet conflict, antagonist,
    the rising action, see the twist.
    Our love is torn from lover’s limb,

    and we become the pages torn.
    It starts off happy, doesn’t it?
    We climb the good climb to the top
    and try to never turn around.

    But in the end we cannot help
    but fall in love. Acquainted with
    the lover’s quarrel, we have the taste
    of blood on our crimson-dyed lips.

    Despite how wretched, wrinkled we
    become, we cannot find the fight
    to put our books on dusty shelves
    and file away our lonely lives.

  10. julie e.

    Just remembered Wednesday–what interesting poems to read for this chapter prompt! i’m always amazed.
    Here’s my offering:

    grieving losses
    fam’ly, desires and dreams
    both disappointments and success
    what’s next?

    how do
    I move forward
    tired of things as is
    am I able to be content?
    take step.

  11. JRSimmang

    In the study, next to the kitchen and
    lined in gorgeous windows,
    sits an old dust jacket
    hiding the contents of his favorite book.

    If you asked him, he couldn’t tell you why
    it’s is favorite book.
    Perhaps, though, he’ll smile like he always does
    right before he whispers the truth.

    He says,
    It’s the time before the new chapter
    and shortly after the last one.
    We, you and you, scan and skim,
    and when the last period is done

    you pick up where you left off,
    find that numerical green light,
    or cleverly abbreviated name,
    and read on into the brilliant night.

    But I want to know. I want to
    see what happened between
    Bombadil’s leaving the council
    and when they arrived in Bree.

    I want to know that Ender’s dream
    turning his day’s into a murderer’s
    fantasy will all be washed clean
    with Demosthenes’s thunder.

    What happens between the quill of one
    and the first quill of the next?

    And then, he’s silent,
    for he’s said all he can.
    He still hasn’t explained the reason
    that one book lays on his chair.

  12. Iain Douglas Kemp

    Dear Moosehead,
    Dammit buddy! What is up
    wid yo family? We have entered into
    another chapter of yer ma & sis throwing
    junk at my poor ass (actually my poor head!).
    Junk I paid to buy and will no doubt pay to replace
    as their aim ain’t so good as it was and it don’t smash
    on my onion it smashes on the wall. We could do with
    entering a chapter of win, win, win instead of all this
    lose, win lose, lose, win, lose etc.BS! Even I am getting
    tired of how long it is taking for our shining stars to get
    off the DL and back into the dugout.
    Anyway pick me up at 7 – we’ll catch the game at the bar.

    Yours hoping we turn the page,

    Ringo the Howler

  13. Iain Douglas Kemp

    Chapter Fifty-Two

    The mind map lays blank,
    but not for long.
    The brain-storming starts,
    the process of imagination,
    out-of-box thinking,
    the lateral approach:
    (having a nap!)
    Ideas emerging,
    plans forming,
    wish list wanna-dos
    and yet the page remains blank…

    … a few days in,
    the schemes are fomenting,
    the cognitive impulses
    flying back and forth
    and so,
    bit by bit,
    little by little,
    the notes are made,
    the plans are laid,
    the map mind starts to fill
    and as another birthday passes
    and the ever present reminder
    of Chapter Fifty-One, in the shape
    of an expanding, never-ending
    lingers on
    and on,
    a start is made.
    The page no longer blank,
    so much to do,
    so much to cram in,
    to expand,
    to explore,
    to create,
    to forge ahead regardless of the hardship,
    to try and achieve yet more and more,
    to make up for so much time wasted.
    The page no longer remains a white abyss beckoning,
    the opening words take shape:
    “Chapter Fifty-Two: The Best Yet”…

    …and so the adventure begins once more.


  14. Never2L8

    The Proper Way to Read

    The last chapter
    is there for a reason
    it completes-
    finishes the story.
    I always read
    from front to back
    I’ve never peeped,
    well maybe once,
    when Piorot
    went on and on
    till it nearly drove
    me mad.
    I’m glad
    to finally have
    this off my chest.
    To read straight
    through, I think
    is best.

  15. Ann M

    Endangered Species

    There was a time
    when they were down to 13.
    No more than that, anywhere.
    In the cloud forest, you couldn’t find one
    but they were there
    in the cavities of the palo colorado trees,
    among the ferns,
    pecking at the bitter fruit
    of the sierra palms.
    Before that, there was another time,
    when there were a million of them,
    vast fields of emeralds in the sky,
    wings flapping like crazy,
    singing their harsh songs.
    There are more than 13 now,
    but not many more
    and now it is our time,
    the only time we have,
    with the wind wrapping
    around the mountain
    and the red-tailed hawk
    circling overhead,
    to do something.

  16. Michelle Hed


    Their lives hang in the balance,
    The ratio is slim.
    One man to lead the way,
    his outlook grim and gray.

    Show cancelled.
    Their story unfinished.
    Dangling like a fish
    grasping for air, making a final wish.

    Now we’ll never know.
    Just cut to black.
    Unless… you step on deck,
    continuing their final trek.

  17. Andrew Kreider

    Doctor Who fan club – Orpington chapter, 1989

    We invited Prince Andrew to join us
    for our inaugural gathering, but
    he had already consented to cut
    the ribbon at some new handicapped bus
    stop. We were completely incredulous
    at his total lack of concern for what
    we loved. We blamed his wife. Fergie’s a slut,
    I said, and she’s making a momentous

    mistake here. We photocopied pictures
    of the duchess, swapped her head with a horse
    and made up nasty jokes about her weight,
    then set about collecting signatures
    opposing the monarchy. But of course
    we didn’t mean it – we were only eight.

  18. nessajay


    We slunk into the margin
    with no need to punctuate

    So we cruised that low slung Caddy
    back-and-forthed the Golden Gate

    At sunrise scrubbed with black sand
    ran bare breast to the sea

    Back in the day when I was stupid
    kinda stupid kinda free

  19. LouiseBilborough

    “That chapter is closed,” he says.

    So why does he continue to
    Thumb through the pages?
    Re-reading and reliving.

    Maybe there’s a strange hope
    That one day
    As he peruses those passages
    Something, some memory
    Will tug a smile into place.
    Rather than
    A tear, or a sob.

    Maybe one day, that prose
    Will taste sweet.

    But for now it remains astringent
    And bitter on his tongue.

    1. PressOn

      I think this is an excellent use of the Crapsey form of cinquain. I suspect Adelaide Crapsey would’ve liked it; she was familiar with “tragic chapters.”

  20. bxpoetlover


    People talk about chapters of life.
    Book chapters are sequential and predictably numbered.
    I have lived and loved impulsively with missteps scattered amongst my forward steps repeating things until I learned the lesson.

    I wonder if my life story would be compelling enough for a biography
    without revealing the secrets that keep me awake when the lights go out and have me tearing pages out of journals from time to time because one never knows when the end will come.

  21. Lynn Burton

    Between the Sheets

    Fingers trace your spine,
    feel the strength there,
    the ripple of pleasure
    as we turn another page,
    savor the words etched
    on each other’s lips,
    enter a new chapter.

  22. PowerUnit

    Thje South End chapter of the city branch
    of the Northern Lights Lonely Hearts Club
    officially opens with the announcement
    that three new members
    have joined.

    We express our heart-felt regret at their failure
    to meet disqualifying pertners.

    We also gleefully announce, with a hint of envy
    that the Grande Pooh-bah himself
    the longest tenured member
    and the founding father of the chapter
    is stepping down.

    Details are blissfully delayed.

  23. Ber

    Running Words

    He whistles to her
    come meet me half way
    be the cut in my diamond
    come brighten my day

    A place in his heart
    he keeps just for her
    a gentleman he is
    such a kind sir

    Turning the pages
    quickly to see
    where they will end up
    will they marry
    or live free

    Wonders take hold
    wanting to rush and take it all in
    hurry up dialogue
    time waits for no man

    Words written, time well spent
    hours of thinking
    eyes always blinking
    tiredness making sentences
    feel like a ship sinking

    Chapter nearly done
    book mark needs to be placed
    he can not wait
    to see who else she meets

  24. Sara McNulty

    My Book

    Chapter 1

    Childhood days were measured
    by summers. Picnic, games,
    swimming. Innocence ignited
    into flame of knowledge, carrying
    with it, bags of meanness
    between friends, awareness
    of boys instead of toys,
    and at age thirteen, deep-seated
    depression and anxiety.
    From that dark place, off I raced
    to a disastrous marriage
    at eighteen.

    Chapter 2

    Working netted me lifelong
    friends, different relationships
    with men, and passion for
    music, shoes, and fashion.
    Remarried at thirty, my therapy
    still guided life, medications
    leveling off unbalances, prying
    me open like a closed clam.

    Chapter 3

    Felt fit and well in my forties,
    beginning to sort out who
    I was, what mattered. Plunged
    back into writing. Terrified,
    I willed myself to classes, writing
    and writing. At long last, I discovered
    a lifeboat of poetry. Early fifties
    found me employed
    in New York City’s World
    Trade Center. Time frame
    captured my husband’s
    retirement, my father’s death,
    and a move across the country
    where I remain, curious as
    to how this chapter will end.

  25. Lindy

    Chapter 3

    I was in no state
    to describe my Mother to him,
    in detail sufficient for her eulogy.
    With kindness in is heart and voice,
    he returned my words to the earth
    and to the gathering.

    He quoted the scripture
    I knew as a song from her days gone by –
    the oldest lyrics in time –
    “To everything there is a season…”
    as my heart cried out for reason,

    but I did not.

    My mind stood still in the numbness of pain;
    the shock of explaining she was gone.
    Tears flowed from every direction but mine.
    I looked up and asked, “Why?”

    Then I saw her everywhere;
    I saw her talking to God,
    I saw her cry for us all.
    She bled out love as well as she had breathed it in at birth.
    In life, hear heart was an open wound –
    constantly on the mend –
    but open it was, to all.
    It engulfed her children.
    It created me and it shaded me.

    It became me.

    Yet she was never mine –
    she belongs to God and the Heavens and the Spirit of Love.
    “A time to get and a time to lose…”
    and a time to let go
    of each chapter in our lives.

      1. Lindy

        LOL! I did not intend for it to sound like a sermon, but since I was writing about my Mother’s funeral it seems apropos. So…Thank you!! :) Hope it didn’t sound too preachy.

    1. Yolee

      This is beautifully assembled for this reader and allows enough fragility, enough detail, and an abundance of love to call this memorable. Kudos.

  26. ewdupler

    The Story Unfolds

    I hope you learn from old mistakes,
    and all my lessons learned.
    Please take it all, for goodness sakes,
    The wisdom that I earned.

    Your judgment will mature with age;
    Stay focused on that thread.
    Now end this chapter. Turn the page.
    Remember what you read.

    A house, a car, and a life your own,
    such as your story goes.
    Responsible, for you are grown;
    Delight in what you chose.

  27. De Jackson

    God made my life complete when I placed all the pieces before him…He rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.
    -from Psalm 18:20-24

    Patchwork Chapters

    Loose leaf and longing, they blow
    in the breeze, tickle tree tops and
    don’t stop until they’ve kissed the
    sky. Lost, I collect these scatter
    -ed pages, these quiet rages and
    long-held songs, mosaic my
    way to something impossibly
    beautiful, but cannot find the
    glue. Enter: You.

    Take them, all
    as they fall. Piece them together
    and trim wayward pages,
    verses seamed by strong
    stitches, small sutured wishes,
    hem of hope.


  28. eve


    I was out today

    Walking beneath an azure sky,

    Lulled by a soft summer breeze.

    Enchanted by lush, fragrant essences

    Carried upon waves of gentle air.

    I thought of you

    As I walked by couples hand in hand,


    When our smiles were warm,

    And we touched each other’s souls.

    I sometimes miss our elusive joy,

    The nights we talked until breaking dawn,

    The brilliance of your dark blue eyes,

    The deep baritone of your velvet voice

    Serenading me on cold winter nights,

    Bright dancing fire in the hearth,

    Holidays and family, toasts and gifts,

    Joyful anticipation of days ahead.

    But today, at last I say goodbye.

    On this glorious, aromatic summer day.

    Memories beckon to bloom anew.

    I inhale the rich scents of tomorrow,

    And, as in pages read and turned,

    I will reminisce no more.

  29. Sondie

    Past Medical History

    Her eyes scan the
    bright screen of her

    I imagine a
    thick manila chart
    in hand

    With pages that
    cackle secrets long

    Instead she taps
    the lettered keyboard
    to see

    My past come to
    life at the touch of

    I wonder if
    the worst chapter
    of my life

    Is buried deep
    in technology’s
    black void

    Or if it glares
    with beady eyes
    of silence.

  30. elishevasmom

    The Storyteller

    The good thing about being
    a storyteller is that
    I can take a little
    momentary snapshot
    of my day and say
    and say and spin it into
    a wonderful story
    of chapter and verse.

    The bad thing about being
    a storyteller is that
    I can take a little
    momentary snapshot
    of my day and say
    and say and spin it into
    a wonderful story
    where the chapter and verse
    can end up being
    one long sentence,
    and I end up out
    of breath!

    Ellen Knight
    (write a chapter poem)

    1. PressOn

      Love it! For some reason, this reminds me of a poetry teacher who liked free verse, and said its line lengths were largely governed by the length of one’s breath. Made me wonder how asthmatics’ lines look.

  31. IrisD

    Unfinished Saga

    First chapter was written in diapers,
    Next in bikes and blocks,
    School took several chapters
    With math, science, clocks,
    Sports, girls, friends,
    These chapters finally end.
    Your alma mater is now behind you,
    And marriage lies ahead.
    Wonder what the next chapters will read,
    Hope you end with painting town red.

  32. Bruce Niedt

    Next Chapter

    The book is well-worn,
    the story more than half-told
    about childhood, schooling, marriage,
    children, happiness and loss,
    career and retirement,
    ups and downs and perseverance.

    But we are still writing it,
    working on the next chapter
    where we’ll welcome another character,
    usher in a new generation,
    and eagerly await the sequel.

  33. dextrousdigits

    She opened the book
    a child opening a birthday gift.
    The first page grabbed her attention.
    By the second chapter
    she had walked into the pages
    and was traveling hand in hand
    with the main character.
    Her previous world of work
    slowly disappeared.

    As she turned the pages
    she became consumed by a new reality,
    formidable trials to tackle
    villains’ and monsters to fight
    with Haru the reluctant hero.

    She brought snacks and drinks
    put them next to her bed.
    Stacked several pillows on the headboard
    climbed in and covered herself with blankets
    for the arduous journey
    she was undertaking.

    She couldn’t put the book down.
    She read ravenously flipping quickly
    through the first chapters as
    Haru and she forged rivers
    climbed moutains,
    slinked through dark caverns
    fought for their lives with wit and limb.

    Then the struggle within started
    her hands wanted to turn quickly the pages
    to see what would come next,
    but her mind wanted to slow down.
    She didn’t want to leave her new friend.

    Slowly she marched forward
    page after page,
    not wanting to come to the end
    she began making up different endings.

    She turned the last page.
    Read the lines slowly
    not wanting to say good bye.
    Yet, the last sentence brought
    a smile to her face.
    It wasn’t good-bye Haru.
    It was Hello to the next book.

  34. De Jackson

    Chapter Two

    It’s raining,
    and the sea
    is every bit
    as tumultuous
    as your eyes.

    Wave woos sand.
    You take my hand.

    I nod.

    You smile.

    My pulse

               The plot thickens.


  35. Jane Shlensky


    It’s all gone now, I guess you know,
    he snarls at her as if she swilled
    the profits, then the products,
    drank their life’s blood down to bone.

    Where did it go? Neither could say.
    Maybe bad months or maybe years.
    Maybe allowing tabs to run
    for folks who had less than they had.

    We’ll have to do some paper-work,
    get out from under all this debt.
    We’re back to nothing, you and me.
    We’re back to us, she says and waits.

    Would you read up on that for us?
    Which Chapter are we, 11, 7, 5?
    Are there other numbers assigned
    to mean zero, nothing, caput?

    We’re broke, she says and smiles
    that sad way that still breaks his heart.
    It’s not your fault, he says at last.
    I ‘spect it’s mine, though I can’t see

    just how good practices go wrong.
    It’s just what is, that’s all, she says.
    It’s sad but I’m relieved, aren’t you?
    Knowing it’s over, lost, done with?

    We’ll start again after we grieve.
    Let’s bury this book of our lives.
    He holds her hand and squeezes it.
    It’s not our book, I’m sure, he says.
    Just a sad chapter before the happy end.

  36. PressOn


    The local chapter locked its door;
    it has not been in use for years.
    Within its walls were laughs and tears
    but no one goes there anymore.

    The folks who fought the last good war
    have died, are sick, are in arrears;
    it has not been in use for years.
    The local chapter locked its door,

    and on its worn-out wooden floor
    I see the stains of wines and beers,
    and ghosts exchanging hopes and fears,
    or so it seems. Perhaps not, for
    the local chapter locked its door.

  37. Yolee

    The Way He Looked at Her

    It was as if fog, shaped like cauliflower,
    had gathered and bumped to catch a glimpse
    of Carol and Karl. Clouds got emotional.
    A single cello’s lament coasted on raindrops.
    The ceremony was quickly moved away from a fountain
    with gilded angels to a cement canopy. About 100
    guests vied for a good vantage point where memory
    would surely reference as love’s amalgamation.
    We bridesmaids, in eggplant dresses, chanted
    Carol is getting married” and held golf umbrellas
    to shield my sister before she her arm-locked-with Papi
    walk made footprints on this new opened page.

    Having marched between smiling faces and seriously
    silver cameras, the bridal party took the reappointed
    place near the groom. Karl would not see her until
    she was by his side. My eyes played ping pong
    between the two. When he finally had a look,
    drove of tears peered quietly from the lip
    of his eyes; he formed a steeple with his hands.
    Perhaps it he felt gratitude for the answered prayer
    beautifully gowned in organza, diamonds and pearls.
    Somewhere calla lilies raised their long necks
    and opened their mouths. How long had he dreamt
    about this big day? I imagine it wasn’t the way
    she dallied over it with purple and romantic
    detail, but with a bachelor’s degree
    in designs for happiness.

    Later, upon looking at this captured moment, a friend wrote
    “Just can’t stop looking at the way he is looking at her.
    Not a leer, not a look of “ownership”, or of aloof going
    along with this, or even the shy, “what do I do now” look.
    This is such a look of awe and respect that love has brought
    them to this moment in time together. This is divine.”
    Thank you, Diana Butler. I agree

  38. Jane Shlensky


    She cruises bookstores days and weeks,
    reading spines, beginnings, ends;
    what her life lacks is what she seeks—
    romance, adventure, lasting friends.

    One look at him, and she is clear
    he houses chapters, passages
    she can reread, beloved, dog-eared,
    long-fingered gentle massages.

    He is a book, a sequel, tome,
    gazing at her, a light caress.
    She is a word seeking a home,
    but it is Yes, good heavens Yes!

  39. JWLaviguer

    Chapter Book

    Her life is like a chapter book
    offering only a little at a time
    leaving you wanting more

    Yet her coyness is not to tease
    it is for her protection
    from those who want it all

    Her heart has been bended

    Thrown on a dusty table
    leaving it for the next browser
    ear-marked at the juicy parts

    One day, a kind, old librarian
    will find this prized selection
    and put it back where it belongs

    Behind the protective glass of his love.

  40. dford

    The Final Chapter

    No pressure here! This is an enormous commitment. Should it be a fairytale ending or open-ended; plagued with suspense or laced with cold-hard fact? A betrayal of the life I’ve lived or longed to embrace, one of primarily joy or that of despair?

    I’m not trying to bring anyone down. I may have written this diary’s final chapter, but the beauty is, there are still many more to be found.

  41. foodpoet

    Final Chapter

    A final closing of unread pages,
    thoughts lost to brain synapses
    shutting down and closing the mind book
    to all around you, and we can no longer

  42. Walt Wojtanik


    Line, chapter, verse, both a blessing and a curse is this story I live. I give each page careful consideration, and the random obliteration of hard times never occurs. They become the sub-text, not greatly important to the story, but highly significant to the life well written. I have been smitten, in love with the idea of love. Many have given me cause to believe. It is a relief that I can still find the heart to love again. I have been a friend who knows how to listen and when to keep my trap rusted shut. A mutt; the tender cross-breeding of two extraordinary people, who while under the steeple committed to provide a life to my siblings and me, along with the tools needed to build it better. A man of letters (formed into words) and often heard to mention them in poetic phrasing. From the hazing on the playgrounds of youth to the blooming garden of middle age, each page so expressed gives this obsessed poet a place to grace the world with his words. A tale that would pale to most others, but if I had my druthers, I wouldn’t trade it for all the Haiku in Japan. Me, just a man who needs little more than a score of ideas, and a killer opening line. I’ll be fine as long as I’m writing, igniting a life still burning brightly. Nightly and each day, in every way! Every day I write the book.

  43. Connie Peters


    Pre-school, school, college, locations,
    jobs, projects, organizations,
    boyfriends, marriage, children’s ages,
    writing, hobbies, people, stages, and vacations

    stretch out as chapters in a book.
    Each one ends with intriguing hook.
    My story one to recommend?
    I wish I could turn to the end, and take a look.

    1. dextrousdigits

      You wouldn’t want to miss all those wonderful chapters in between.
      Although I have to admit, I have scrolled forward in a book or two.

  44. pmwanken


    Meeting him was like reading
    a favorite, familiar book; each page
    to be savord because she loved the story
    so much.

    She finally loved her story.
    She finally loved where each page
    was taking her. His words led her
    on a path

    of anticipating the story’s end.
    She finally started to believe her story
    would have a happy ending. Until
    that night.

    The best chapters, those yet to come,
    were ripped from the book, she held
    a shredded prized possession.
    She felt lost,

    like someone with no pages to turn,
    someone with no tomorrows,
    someone whose story has
    no ending.

    P. Wanken

  45. Nancy Posey

    One More Chapter

    Everyone else turned in hours ago,
    but still I sit in my cozy chair,
    lap blanket spread over my legs,
    my old Irish setter at my feet
    twitching in his puppy dreams.

    Though sleep calls me,
    tugging at my arms
    beckoning toward bed,
    this story pulls stronger.

    Just one more chapter,
    I’d fibbed, believing my own lie,
    driven by my need to know
    what happens next, unwilling
    to leave that imaginary world
    until I reach The End.

    Closing the covers,
    laying the book aside,
    I know tomorrow morning,
    I’ll be back, opening
    again to chapter one
    looking for clues I missed.

    1. dextrousdigits

      Books are such strong magnets
      their force stronger than food, pee and even sleep.
      We were thinking along same lines with our poems.
      I could truly relate.

  46. Earl Parsons


    Suddenly my mind is overwhelmed
    Life’s pictures flash like a strobe light
    So many and so fast, but each so clear
    Events reliving themselves in my head

    Christmas as a child and many with my children
    My graduation mixed with all of theirs
    Waiting at the altar for my bride
    And walking the aisle with my girls
    Military travels all over the world
    Loves, lost loves and my eternal love
    So many happy memories flash past
    So much in my life to be thankful for

    Missing from this slide show is the pain
    No suffering moments; only joy
    Somehow someone was in control
    Feeding only the good as I prepared to exit
    Readying me for the instantaneous journey
    From this life to the next
    So that I would arrive with a smile
    To greet those waiting for me at the Gate

    The end is near and I am ready
    My life has been overly blessed
    And the final chapter has now been

    (C) 2013 Earl Parsons

  47. vxl

    A Chapter on Dostoevsky

    The story,
    smelling of vellum
    with bandages
    still covering
    fresh ink
    unfolded her
    meandering plot
    naked and face up
    on my desk.

    The distance
    between beginning
    and ending
    is razor thin
    and tucked
    in the curves of
    open pages
    where clean light
    cuts shape
    into the darkness.

    Words and words
    and words
    had piled and collected
    to give density
    throughout her middle
    like a Russian novel
    with ordinary details
    arranged in extraordinary ways.
    Open and confessional
    she had been saved
    from the firing squad.

    Not a word wasted
    I devoured every detail.
    My youthful
    was finally serving me.
    Precious meaning
    having been hidden
    with metaphor
    and misdirection
    was now stripped
    and blushing.

    This story
    made me a novice
    Bad habits of pressing
    your hand
    too firmly
    on the spine
    it against the heft of
    the book,

    sloppily ear
    marking spots to return
    to later, and highlighting
    every detail.
    She is soon covered
    by my own ink
    rather than the authors.
    Too curious,
    I remove the bandage.

    We both flinch.
    The sting
    that flesh
    is heir to.
    Here is our
    Gauze removed
    to reveal
    a cross,
    the smile
    of Dostoevsky.

  48. Misky


    Will I think of you when the wind howls,
    waves break white as surrendered hankies,
    and the grass flattens beneath its persistence,
    or will I think of you when the sun breaks
    clouds and dances on green with childlike
    abandon. When will you remind me that you
    were here? I thought I saw you yesterday,
    if only for an instant, glint dust caught
    in sunlight, rolled rough by the neighbour’s
    plough. You were dressed in spring, chasing
    leaves and bluebells low through knotted
    hedgerows. Your chapter is finished, but
    as long you cross my thoughts, this book
    will never finish. Truly. You’ll always
    be a sparkle in my grandchildren’s’ eyes.

  49. taylor graham


    At the edge of woods, a falling
    serenade of birds about to roost, then
    quiet. Except for a delta breeze
    that glistens oak leaves, and silvers
    the garden cobwebs in last-daylight
    stillness. Except, from a darkened
    house, L’italiana in Algeri – it sounds
    like a love song if one could catch
    the words. The two of them still
    sit, watching night gather,
    as if waiting for a first star
    to fall out of endless sky.

  50. JWLaviguer

    Missing Chapter

    Pages ripped from a book
    and thrown into the flames
    of fear and doubt

    Hiding the words that hurt
    yet garbled voices echo across
    the years and the miles

    The manuscript of my heart
    still beats with distant memories
    like the rhythms of a song long forgotten

    One page remains
    of a story still being written
    one word speaks volumes.