Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 221

Over the past weekend, I took Friday off work and “unplugged” myself from nearly all my electronics (except my phone, which I barely used) until Monday night. So four days and four nights (if including Thursday night) without e-mail, social media, blogging, websites, etc. As a person constantly immersed in media, it felt liberating to pull the plug.

For this week’s prompt, write an unplugged poem. The plug could be attached to computers, but maybe it’s a metaphor for relationships that need the plug pulled. Or a phase of your life. Or a way of thinking. Or a toaster. Just a toaster.

Here’s my attempt at an unplugged poem:


smaller world more connected
& separated by screens
dashboard avatar updates
tweet the world electronic
i sit with wife & children
eat cookies n cream ice cream
on chocolate waffle cone
covered in rainbow sprinkles
we feed goats watch the sun set


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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More poetic posts await:

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170 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 221

  1. elizwisman

    Sitting, talking, joking:
    It’s easy to be here,
    here with you.

    Swimming, cooking, listening,
    fun, nothing, TV,
    Tickling, “fighting”, anything.

    Sitting, talking, serious:
    You bare your heart,
    heart to heart.

    Some people,
    People can make you feel,
    At home, at ease.

    Why do we choose,
    Choose those that
    Don’t work.

    Sitting, forced talking, “joking”:
    It should be easy,
    easy with you.

    Kissing, licking, biting,
    Bored, TV, nothing,
    Touching, fighting, anything.

    Sitting, talking, never serious:
    Thought I had you,
    You are unplugged.

  2. cstewart

    Unplugged and Twinkling

    Let me fly among the stars as I used to –
    Floating and swaying side to side –
    Like Peter Pan and Wendy aloft
    Never worrying of a fall or a pirate,
    Come to take away gravity’s gift
    Of transgression.

  3. Lindy


    Unplugged from your mind,
    let your heart unwind
    and relax into
    the infinity of time.

    There is no revolution,
    no resolution,
    just the evolution
    of one kind.

    The human experience
    can leave you blind
    or open your eyes
    to the confusion of mother nature’s rhyme.

    The rhythm of life,

    all life,

    is thine –
    is divine.

  4. Amy

    I am fizzy bottled water,
    floating in the disconnect
    between what I thought
    and what I said. These
    effervescent bubbles come
    between me and my
    My cognizance is

  5. Nancy Posey

    Road Trip Unplugged

    The bag with the CDs, iPad, the flash drive
    and cell phone was left behind in the rush to pack the car,
    discovered only when the station turned to static
    and we stopped to search. No one took the blame.

    The ride was silent for miles. Then someone hummed,
    just a few notes before another joined in. The lyrics
    were volunteered from the backseat, with shotgun
    drumming on the glove box. The repertoire shared
    among the riders spanned the decades from the fifties
    until now, show tunes, gospel, rock and roll.

    Old road games—alphabet signs, license plate states—
    felt brand new after years thumbing digital devices.
    Stories retold found a fresh audience and tag team
    tales ensued of ghosts and snakes and pranks. No one
    even thought to ask, “Are we there yet? How much farther?”

    1. PressOn

      This is a wonderful story. Some of your phrases (tag team tales, repertoire shared among the riders) fix it in vision and memory. Thanks.

  6. Bruce Niedt

    I’m reading Andrew Hudgins’ new poetry collection “A Clown at Midnight”, and thought I’d “borrow” a loose form of verse that he employs frequently in the book:


    Disconnect the modem,
    electron stream, your opium.
    Silence the router’s hum,
    the glowing diadems
    that signal power thrum.
    No longer numb
    from screen time, thumb
    through magazines, vacuum
    your house, skim the scum
    of ennui off your brain. Come,
    have a coke with rum,
    relax, then plumb
    the depths of creativity. Circum-
    vent the keyboard; write some
    poems with a pen. Strum
    a guitar, free of mp3s. Drum
    on your desktop. Play euphonium.
    Make a dessert. (Yum.)
    Browse a family photo album.
    In this continuum
    of machines that dumb
    us down, we need to move from
    the information slum,
    foreswear the pablum
    handed out in tandem
    with online hokum.
    Make the ether an addendum,
    not a gospel, not a dictum.
    Walk out into the atrium
    of your world, now unencumbered.

  7. stepstep


    Like a sponge our brain performs
    Absorbing data hour by hour, day by day,
    Dispensing information whenever necessary
    Collecting all, storing much.

    Like a diamond in the rough
    Awaiting to be polished, cherished,
    Connected dot by dot
    Until the time comes
    To be dislodged, thrown out
    Or no longer
    Can perform to its highest capacity.


  8. tonijoell

    Call it Already

    Every Monday I go to work
    voiceless from the weekend screaming matches.
    We can’t get along for two days.
    You don’t know how I made it without you, you say—
    It’s becoming crystal clear.
    You tell me I have no common sense
    and that I’m lucky to have you.
    You tell me I’ve got nowhere else to go.
    Wanna bet?
    I chop onions and stare out the window.
    You’ve got something on your mind, you say.
    Spill it.
    I take a breath:

    “I’ve been thinking that this isn’t working for me.
    We’ve been on life support for years.
    You have a month to get your things together
    before our lease is up.
    I’m pulling the plug.”

    But we’re so happy, you say.

    Just goes to show
    we never did see
    eye to eye.