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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 235

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

For this week’s prompt, write a front poem. Front can mean many things. For instance, a cold front or hot front, front of the house, putting on a front (or disguise/display), storefront, waterfront, etc. Get to it!

Here’s my attempt at a front poem:

“beachfront”

she says she’d like to hit the beach
but i would prefer the mountains
she laughs and says to own his each
she says she’d like to hit the beach
but i call out her transposed phrase reach
to which she cries like a fountain
saying she’d like to hit the beach
as i grow cold like a mountain

*****

Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and a fan of French forms (like the triolet). Press 53 recently published his debut full-length poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (learn more). Voted the Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere in 2010, Brewer also curates the Insta-poetry series for Virginia Quarterly Review. He’s married to the poet Tammy Foster Brewer, who helps him keep track of their five little poets (four boys and one princess). Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.

*****

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

130 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 235

  1. cstewart says:

    Front

    I noticed he was fronting again,
    Covering for something -
    Some criticism he had of himself,
    Projecting it to see if I would bite.
    I left the front to the back porch.

  2. Up Front

    I wouldn’t want her job.
    Riding up front.
    Leading a tour of bicyclists—
    some who hadn’t ridden a bike
    for at least half her lifetime.
    As we practiced on bulky electric bikes
    and a woman crashed, cutting her lip,
    did our leader wish she stayed in bed?
    As she led us through downtown,
    did she imagine us being hit by cars,
    or running over pedestrians,
    or startling horses drawing carriages.
    As we passed the park
    could she picture us plowing into a peacock,
    like I almost did when it popped out
    from behind a parked car?
    When her tires rumbled over loose gravel
    did she cringe,
    her ears alert to the sounds behind her?
    When we flew down hill,
    did she hold her breath?
    When she waited
    for the short green light,
    did her heart race?
    When we returned to the shop,
    and an elderly gentleman hit the throttle
    and ran his bike up the back of her truck,
    what was she thinking behind that half smile?
    No, I wouldn’t want her job.

  3. Julieann says:

    Front of the Line

    A is first and Z is last
    According to the Phoenician plan
    Aardvark before Zeruabbabel
    Is the way it began

    We’ll do it the other way ‘round
    Sometimes the teacher did say
    Then Zurkoff stepped to the head of the line
    As Able moved out of the way

    When you’re stuck in the middle, though,
    A or Z makes no never mind
    And then, one day, the teacher called out
    Ps to the front of the line!

  4. Jeep Walters says:

    Front to Back

    Read a book twixt the covers,
    page by page; front to back.
    Read it over and over
    page by page; front to back
    Pictures and words, devoured
    page by page. Front to back
    give your attention for hours and hours
    page
    by
    page;
    front to back.
    There’s no doubt you’ve a knack,
    page by page; front to back.
    Read a book twixt the covers,
    page front to page back, over and over.

    © JPW 2013

  5. Misky says:

    Front On

    Rules are rules,
    and unruly queues
    that from the rear spew
    upon front are not queues
    but the dance of fools.

    Queue from the back, not the front.

  6. PKP says:

    Posting this for Michele Brenton – who was having some posting difficulties…. This is a truly lovely poem…
    https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=668302086533540&id=170131843017236

    • PKP says:

      Front.

      It isn’t music you hear
      intruding, obscuring, frustrating
      and your eyes find beauty between the
      seaweed fronds and floaters
      you’d like to ignore
      but can’t because your mind
      is such that it can’t accommodate
      and tune the interference out
      like ‘normal’ people can.
      The Little Mermaid walked on glass
      and could not speak or sing her pain
      so sat mute to gain respite
      and ‘normal’ people think her plight
      a terrible one while you would love
      to have some rest from screaming joints
      that will not mute no matter how
      you try to calm them down.
      And all of this is every day
      not myth, nor fairy-fishy tales
      and you proceed through life
      teeth clenched but all the ‘normals’ see
      is a smile.

  7. phengen says:

    (The Waves)
    Slowly sweeping across the sandy shore
    The edge of the ocean, small ripples coming near
    Creeping ever more as the tide begins to rise
    Washing off a layer and depositing debris

    When the waves are gentle only the surface is grazed
    As the tide recedes it is much unchanged
    There may be small objects carried in
    But only the surface was disturbed

    At times the waves will build off far from the shore
    Rising higher before crashing down on the sandy bank
    Scraping out chunks and leaving hollowed remains
    Changes much and never to be the same

  8. priyajane says:

    A Water Fountain Welcome

    Standing tall in the front of the house
    Some humble rocks circle my thoughts
    A ‘Welcome Wagon’ cleansing of sorts

    Designed to contain the moisture within
    Beating away at the chaos around
    Falling and breaking over itself
    Draping flickers from the season
    Chanting spellings of the moon
    Trickling and tinkling with flutes and bells

    Fairies leap, arching their backs
    Showering crystals in the soft mist
    Dancing in the ebb and flow
    Quenching my pulse, tickling my skin
    Engulfing me , inside their womb
    For a moment, –as I walk to the door–

  9. Bruce Niedt says:

    Storefront

    All the little shops are gone – the dry cleaner,
    the pizzeria, the dollar store, the nail salon –
    and now that the supermarket is set to close
    tomorrow, this strip mall will lose its anchor
    and go adrift in a sea of recession.

    A neighborhood regular, I pass the signs
    in the window – “Up to 90% Off!” – and walk in.
    A half-dozen employees chat by the checkouts.
    I recognize them all – a couple of them nod to me.
    Only two shelves in the store still hold stock,
    things most shoppers wouldn’t buy ,
    even for ninety percent off – VHS tapes,
    foam cup holders, a package of seaweed snacks.
    I wish the employees luck – some of them
    probably have jobs already lined up, some don’t.
    I walk through the automatic doors one last time.

    When they’re gone, this stretch of storefronts
    and lined asphalt will remind me of those old
    “ghost towns” out West, where doors flap open
    and shut, and the only residents are tumbleweeds,
    big balls of dead grass rolling casually down the street,
    nudged along by a dusty wind.

  10. Jeep Walters says:

    Personal Affront

    You look to hurt a trusting soul,
    going off half crazed into your tirade.
    The accusations that you’ve made
    cut deeply, where no healing can be
    affected. Words. They hurt; they heal
    and they steal any dignity I may have
    had left. Now in shame, I realize
    I had allowed you to sully
    my reputation; my name. Take your attack
    back before I take this personally.

    © JPW 2013

  11. MISHAPS, PERHAPS?

    Like her scissors, my seamstress is blunt.
    “Take your pants,” said the girl with a grunt.
    “But the legs are too short,”
    I replied with a snort,
    “and the zipper is not on the front!”

    © Susan Schoeffield

  12. Jeep Walters says:

    Out In Front

    Out in front
    there’s a rickety porch,
    rough hewn timbers with tree bark
    still clinging to their fibrous skeletons.
    Rocking chairs and a stump table;
    shavings from a whittled branch
    strewn about the weathered floor boards.

    Out in front
    there’s a tree; tall and stately,
    a monument to the longevity apparent
    since it was planted, a feeble sapling
    much like himself – thin, gangly and weak.
    It speaks of perseverance and dedication -
    fulfilling its station to mark time and grow.

    Out in front
    near the tree, there’s a lake…
    a pond, really. Reeds and lily pads
    defining its edge. Sounds of crickets and croaks
    of bullfrogs, cicada whines reverberate in the late
    afternoon. Soon their sounds will be silenced
    as the seasonal change lumbers into the valley.

    Out in front
    is a tire dangling, a rope looped over a branch
    of the stately tree. Dirt dug out, a furrow where feet
    dragging and kicking kept sticking the ground
    with a new found ferocity. Gaining in height and velocity,
    the children take turns launching, airborne to land
    in a heap with a thud; sometimes blood appears, the poor dears.

    Out in front
    a wagon waits; flatbed secured, a hitch holding tightly.
    On a brightly hued morning, and without much in the way
    of a warning, grandfather had passed. The town folk amassed
    in respect; paying forward what had come around on occasion.
    Sadly in procession, he was carried from the house – a finality.
    Placed upon the caisson, a solemn silence ensued.

    Out in front
    the porch remained; rockers swaying in the stiffness of a late breeze.
    Birds nested in the tree and the pond continued with activity
    and the sounds of life. No one sat on the pendulous tire as it
    swung hypnotic. The front door was ajar, but it was in exit,
    not as an invitation to enter. Out in back the fields had grown
    unruly and left to sit fallow. But, out in front a good fellow has gone.

    © JPW 2013

  13. De Jackson says:

    Pre Tense

    It’s been
    8 days
    6 hours
    and 27 minutes
    since you
           left.

      I left
    the light on
    and the door
    open
    but all I feel
    is a cold
              front
    coming in.

    Trust me.

    It’s not over
    until I get you
               back.

    .

  14. Jackie Casey says:

    Fear
    in the eyes
    of Syrian child
    affronted by nonchalant
    world.

    (oddquain) 1,3,5,7,1

  15. james.ticknor says:

    Face Front

    I’m a modern day Prince
    But the old routine won’t quit
    Sit up straight, do not wince
    Do not swear; do not spit

    Face front, elbows up and out
    Enter with grace, do not scuffle
    Do not whisper, do not shout!
    I TOLD YOU ONCE DO NOT SCUFFLE!

    …sigh.

  16. JRSimmang says:

    WHEN YOU RETURN, BE SURE TO CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU

    When you unlocked the open door
    and shouted to me, “I’m back!”
    I laughed at it. I laughed at your
    posture (hands up, hips out), your lack
    of self-seeming.

    We grew silent, then. I wished for
    more. More fingers, more whites and blacks,
    more tugs and something to adore,
    more hints and reasons for us to act
    like new children.

    And while you stood there, looking like a foolish statue,
    I thought, if you’re back what does that make me?

    - JR Simmang

  17. Nancy Posey says:

    One Mississippi, Two Mississippi

    With no trick knee
    or rheumatism,
    my meteorological skills
    have yet to reach their peak,
    but today the air weighs so heavy
    the hairs on my arms crackle.
    The eerie late summer stillness
    promises a storm brewing,
    some front making its way
    from somewhere west of here.
    By evening, we’ll be safe inside
    sharing our picture window view
    as clouds rolling in, roiling
    up the river gathering force.
    With each flash of lightning,
    we’ll count aloud together
    One Mississippi, two Mississippi
    and wonder how someone
    in Liverpool or Mumbai
    might know how far away
    the danger lurks.

  18. bxpoetlover says:

    A War Front

    She is beautiful, with a smile too sweet to carry a gun.

    I asked what she thought about America bombing Syria.

    “Are you asking because I’m army?”
    I said, I just wanted to know your opinion.

    Her pause triggered regret.
    “I don’t agree with it.”

    Could you be deployed, I asked.
    “Yup.”

    I know she will bravely execute her duty if needed, but I tear up at the possibility of
    my friend having to shoot someone, guilty of a crime, or innocent; coming home with flawless flesh wounded, in a casket, or not at all. Iraq almost killed her.

    Our students and staff would miss her. So would I. We would pray hard and write her long letters.

    The senate approved the missile strikes. I hope Assad capitulates. I don’t want any more Syrians burned or shot, and I want my friend to remain three classrooms away from me.

  19. Grace Olivia says:

    BATTLES RAGE ON

    Lost.
    Alone.
    He hides behind
    the words of another.
    All is not well
    on the Eastern Front.

  20. Jeep Walters says:

    Beach Front Property

    Along the pier, planked and weathered,
    boats tethered to the slips with twisted lines.
    Spattered bow with gull souvenirs;
    airborne psychopaths swooping
    like kamikaze canaries on steroids.
    And the noise in constant barrage
    is a din that’s never done.

    But in the distance and on all sides,
    the vignettes are very telling.
    To the right the congregant gulls
    continue their cackle, a drone.
    Before wandering eyes, a horizon calls
    sun speckled and bright, a light
    of enormous clarity bringing this day

    to a promising start. It is good
    for your heart to be blessed by the beauty
    inherent in this shore’s edge.
    Behind you are all the journeys
    that have brought you away from a past
    tattered and trampled, over-sampled
    and weary. You can’t go back again

    no matter what your friends say.
    For today, you take what’s left.
    Or to your left. Up the shore a way,
    she stands in mirrored contemplation,
    a situation you’ve encountered a myriad
    of times; written in prose and rhymes
    of every new view. Oblivious to you

    she is lost in thoughts all her own.
    A seminal glance; a chance look
    that crosses paths and distance
    to plant the seeds of curiosity
    at trepidation’s feet. She,
    with her sweet smile (when
    she gets around to it) and tender wave.

    New “neighbors” sharing the open waters
    along this knowing shore. Memories
    of former lives play in repetition;
    new players in this ongoing game.
    The outcome isn’t always the same,
    but this pier brings you back to start;
    to beach front property and exploring hearts.

    © JPW 2013

  21. seingraham says:

    THE POSSIBILITY OF ANOTHER FRONT

    How long has it been
    since those terrible pictures
    filled the TV screen?
    Row on row of bodies
    shrouded in white?
    And then the faces of those
    searching frantically
    through the dead,
    looking for their loved ones
    As the rest of the world
    came to the sure knowledge
    That a monster had unleashed
    chemical weaponry
    on his own people…
    Children and adults alike,
    indiscriminately killing them
    in a most horrible, painful way.

    Outraged, the so-called free world
    condemned the monster,
    said he had crossed some “line”
    and that it was time for retaliation.
    And the usual policemen—
    for all (for don’t we, every one of us
    expect the USA to take care of us?)
    Well, their leader, said outright,
    he was ready to bomb the shit
    out of that country, right there and then.

    But, but…what happened?
    Suddenly, the line that had been crossed
    grew paler, blurred, less distinct
    And the leader, he grew less certain
    that he had the right to do what he
    thought he must do…

    Countries that should have stood, if not behind him,
    at least beside him…mumbled their opinions,
    were vague, sounded unsure
    wanted the UN to speak up, knowing they
    would not
    wanted Russia and China to be nicer, knowing
    they would never be

    What had appeared to be a clear case
    of right, became less and less so
    Retaliation by bombing grew into
    something that would have to be
    approved by Congress
    And the leader knew what the chances
    of that were, no matter how valiantly
    he fought for it
    And fight for it he did — knowing full well
    his credibility was being strained to
    the breaking point daily

    The latest reports, two weeks plus after
    the first chemical poisonings
    show some reasons for optimism if one
    can believe the reports
    However, there is talk that after the
    bombings, there may be need
    for some boots on the ground to
    verify what has happened

    Boots on the ground? Sounds an awful
    lot like troops to many…
    Sounds too much like another war front
    to far too many
    It’s the same old, same old and how
    scary and depressing is that?

  22. PressOn says:

    HOTEL

    It’s
    old, seedy,
    but yet has some class:
    the bell captain still hollers,
    “Front!”

  23. Sara McNulty says:

    Storefront

    Tobacco/candy/coffee shop,
    on Brooklyn corner. Front
    window featured local papers,
    racing forms. Winter whisked
    in men wearing overcoats and caps,
    red-faced, wise-cracking women,
    and local kids, scrounging change
    for candy bars, and sneaking
    furtive looks at large-breasted
    women in magazines, until
    they were chased out
    by the broom-wielding proprietor.
    At the few scarred, wobbly tables,
    racing sheets spread out,
    pencils circling sure things,
    sat the locals, slurping coffee
    from white chipped mugs, bluing
    the air, and filling the inadequate
    ashtrays with butts. Could never
    prove it, but everyone thought
    the store was a front.

  24. BACK TO FRONT-COUNTRY, FALL

    September slides down bald granite.
    Far below, the meadow rattles brittle leaves
    and seed-pods. Shiver of frost
    in shadows slipping off the summit.

    My dog has led me to overlooks
    of air so crisp, I’d swear I looked through
    crystal. How things shatter,
    or fade into haze approaching equinox.

    We’re heading back down the mountain,
    my dog still leading the way –
    overjoyed for any season, following
    scents of summer into fall.

  25. Cin5456 says:

    Right Here, Between Three Trees

    Walking between two rows –
    carefully placed near-boulders.

    Casual stance, feline dance, crouch and prance.
    Black. White vest. Hackles erect.
    Incoming! B.J. Bird – Dive-bomber Extraordinaire

    Runway fashionably decorated
    with dead, khaki-dry weeds.

    First stop – the shadowed center –
    erected hundreds of
    days ago, an eternity. Leaning,
    now the preening station.

    Small to medium
    boulders, volcanic grey,
    lithified white,
    metamorphosed blue
    shot with quartz veins;
    arranged, propped,
    balanced perfection.

    No pinecone marred path,
    this route – barn to house.

    Five minutes for paws, claws, and vest
    before the stately walk into sunshine
    or moonlit dinner.

    For the front yard:
    In theory, a rock garden, please.
    In planning: ‘This is protected space.
    Feel its power.’
    On completion, The Stone Prayer Circle.
    In use, Kitty-size Stonehenge with Feline –
    stalking fashion …
    emphasis on proud.

    • PressOn says:

      From big cat to kitty cat; wonderful excursion!

      • Cin5456 says:

        I’ve been trying to write poetry about the “rock garden” at a place where I spend part of my summers. I saw an incredibly inventive, and aesthetic rock collection at a friend’s house and asked him to do one for me. He spent 9 months slowly collecting the rocks and small boulders from mountain streams, and assembling them into a pleasing design. When I arrived the next summer I found a mini-Stonehenge with stone uprights, crossbars, and plinths, plus a rock lined walkway to it. Now the resident stray cat thinks it’s there for her “entrance” every day.

  26. END-OF-SUMMER FRAGMENTS

    The high meadow merchants of frost
    have remaindered the willow, leaves brittle
    old lace. Weather-front against smoke
    from September fires. Sunset orange as
    orioles, racer-pink; thunderheads dark-ripe –
    color of eggplant, bruise. Up-canyon
    wind’s rehearsal for a first night’s snow.
    Simile, personification – just try to catch it
    in a journal, pack it in your duffle
    as a memento, tradeoff for leaving. It’s time.
    Sky turns against us, seasons will not be
    directed. Something burrowed under-
    ground, inactive as seed for its time; silent;
    sure as the urge for eruption, resurrection.

  27. JWLaviguer says:

    Frontage Road

    Along the highway
    where we found her
    beaten and bloody
    a single rose rises
    from the dirt
    savage thorns eternal
    to ward off anyone
    who comes to close.

    JW Laviguer

    • PressOn says:

      You don’t say so, but I see the rose as red. The “savage thorns” remind me, oddly enough, of the rose in The Little Prince. What a powerful image you’ve created.

  28. JWLaviguer says:

    Up Front

    Up front and out back
    the shadows move quietly
    darting between the rain drops
    hiding under the rose petals

    Inside she hides
    living the lies of her youth
    mending her stockings
    that no longer hide the bruises

    She knew a man once
    or thought she did
    a stranger to everyone else
    an invisible lover she covets

    Out back she’s up front
    about who she was
    but not about who
    she has become.

    JW Laviguer

  29. Never2L8 says:

    Out the Front Window

    She stands by the window,
    blinds drawn and peeks
    between the slats.
    Abner! Abner! Come here,
    she says, Look she’s flying… on a broom!
    Abner gives Gladys a look that mocks
    He sees Sam just sweeping the walk.

  30. PKP says:

    No worries

    The report from that doctor is in
    its envelope
    Though I peeked
    and saw that word ‘regret’

    No worries

    Children fall in the streets
    unmarked, convulsed then dead
    as others investigate
    what could have caused
    such a calamity

    No worries

    From personal to
    political
    this cerulean
    marble continues
    to spin

    No worries

    The sun rises
    The moon gleams
    Seas rise and fall
    A baby draws breath
    A beloved stops

    Your voice on the phone
    Casually concerned
    Hurries to ask
    “Sure?”
    I hear texting
    and laughter
    in the background

    I’m sure
    No worries
    No point
    It’s all good

  31. pmwanken says:

    BEING TRANSPARENT
    (a shadorma)

    There she stood,
    right in front of him;
    unnoticed.
    Another
    year has passed. She remains in
    -visible to him.

    2013-09-04
    P. Wanken

  32. Jane Shlensky says:

    Shy, Mostly

    She says she
    cannot talk in front
    of people,
    she’s so shy,
    but her treacherous tongue works
    fine behind their backs.

  33. Jane Shlensky says:

    Confronted

    He’s going to where danger is,
    armed to the teeth and scared,
    The Front, no longer a place
    a person can be sent, for war
    has burrowed into hillsides,
    moved into markets and streets,
    into villages, offices, bedrooms,
    and children’s waking dreams,
    and it is harder to find enemies
    who don’t crave peace, even if
    they have to fight for it, armed
    to the teeth and scared, who
    are not something like you.

  34. Jeep Walters says:

    Pretty Boy Front Man

    Shifting moods and a flood of light,
    bringing him into singularity; all focus
    belongs to the handsome Lothario.
    Musical mates fade bringing him upstage.
    Head hung; chin to chest – at best he
    meditates. A sigh and a raised eye brow
    show his depth. A last breath and a note;
    long and drawn, his song begins. At times
    he is lost in the moment; others, he chuckles
    and grins, catching the glances of the
    enraptured nymph lost in his gaze.
    Ballads were made for such seduction.
    They are alone now in a sea of hushed gasps
    and fawned stares. The words become clear
    and he has this innate fear his voice will
    go away, leaving him merely a face with no traces
    of ability. He has this fight every evening.
    But gilded looks are deceiving. Pretty boys can be
    refaced; front men can be replaced.

    © JPW 2013

  35. Jeep Walters says:

    Front Porch

    Swinging, gently undulating
    in the rhythm of a summer daze.
    Peace bleeds through the open
    fields of thought bringing a calm
    that envelops. Ice melts in cool
    rivulet condensation from tumbler
    to side table. Flags in rapid flutter
    seem to whisper in patriotic tones;
    loyalty traverses every breath.
    Birds in audition, warble and twit,
    congruous and unpretentious.
    Butterflies pursued by wide-eyed
    children of wonder. And under
    the overhang, hornets gang en mass
    protection to a point. On the front porch,
    wiling away the day in uninterrupted thought.

    © JPW 2013

  36. PowerUnit says:

    Our Words

    In front of all the hard work are our words
    They stand, some proud and some tall
    Some weak, and some will fall
    But they stand up front
    Like kids in a choir
    Embarrassed in front of all the eyes
    Lights shining down
    Like those kids who want to cry

    Our words stand on the road
    Like a soldier off to war
    Carrying the load of a nation
    A family
    A town
    Don’t leave them unproud
    Don’t give them a reason to hang their heads
    Do your patriotic duty
    And tell the story

    Our words stand our front
    A defense of our hearts
    Our values dripping off their branches
    Our emotions tangled in their serifs, ascenders, and tails
    Our words are all they’ll see
    Pick the best ones

  37. Cin5456 says:

    Wedding Vows II

    In front of these people,
    Friends, family and strangers,
    In front of the whole world,
    I declare my life yours.
    I will Nurture you, Praise you,
    Scold you, and Protect you.
    Sometimes, I will argue with you.
    Most of the time, I will agree with you.
    I probably will make your life a living hell,
    While trying to give you paradise on earth.
    I will probably, eventually,
    take you for granted.
    When that day comes,
    Slap my face (just once, please), and
    Remind me I made this vow:
    To always keep your needs
    In front of me, never behind me.
    And I vow to you now, that on that day,
    I will put my own needs aside,
    Until you are able to smile and laugh again.

    Cynthia Page
    September, 2013

  38. Domino says:

    Fireworks

    You make me madder than anyone.
    I sometimes think you do it on purpose,
    but then, when I’m mad like now,
    I think you’re too dumb to know
    what you’re doing.

    Things will be going well,
    and you’ll say something thoughtless
    or selfish
    or just plain stupid,
    and I’ll wonder for a second
    if you’re messing with me,
    take a sidelong glance at your face,
    and realize you mean it.

    And it’s like all the rockets of
    Guy Fawkes Day,
    New Years Eve,
    The Fourth of July,
    and the closing credits of
    “Love American Style”
    are all going off at once
    in my brain.

    And I want to strangle you,
    or worse,
    and you see the glint in my eye
    and retreat, and what makes it still worse
    is you know you’ve done something,
    but you don’t know what it is.
    And sometimes you try to guess,
    and you’re wrong.

    So I (and my fireworks), we go off together
    to another room
    or to the library or mall or somewhere
    far
    far
    away from you
    until we are calm.

    And when I come back,
    sometimes,
    you have a smile for me
    or a warm embrace
    that somehow makes it better.

    All’s quiet on the eastern front.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  39. Cin5456 says:

    Wedding Vows

    Want, Need
    The difference
    seems an eternity.
    You stood in front of me, and you
    were both.

  40. JRSimmang says:

    THERE’S THE DOOR

    I realized, after many hours
    of speaking to nothing,
    that your front
    is beginning to look a lot
    like the back of your head.

    - JR Simmang

  41. Jeep Walters says:

    Storm Front

    Embattled and laid
    to waste.
    Clouds glower and engulf.
    It is enough that the winds
    change, as winds of change do.
    White flags torn and tattered,
    no surrender ever ends
    the conflict once it sidesteps resolution.
    In love’s revolution bastard dictators fail.
    Rumbles and electric crashes,
    flashes of destruction; incendiary bombs
    begun as a storm front.

    © JPW 2013
    Batten down the hatches;
    there’s no end in sight.

  42. elishevasmom says:

    Lesson (a double fib)

    Much
    can
    be learned
    about a
    person by how they
    treat the frontiers in life, whether
    facing them head-on or watching from front row seats, with
    modesty or effrontery.
    Whether up-front or
    putting up
    a front.
    You
    choose.

    Ellen Knight 9.4.13
    write a “front” poem

  43. laurie kolp says:

    Sudden Front

    It wasn’t the door
    you stormed through
    on that November night
    rattling the fine china
    in the dining room hutch,

    or the wintry air
    that blew in that day
    after we raked leaves
    together and made love
    on the rope hammock.

    No, it was the way
    you acted as if
    everything was okay
    until you blindsided me
    with the truth.

  44. Michelle Hed says:

    “True friends stab you in the front.” – Oscar Wilde

    Frontal Assault (a butterfly oddquain)

    The
    truth has teeth
    sharpened on the bone
    and blood of our mistakes and
    a
    true friend will look you in the
    eye without flinching,
    laying it
    down.

  45. Michelle Hed says:

    “What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies within you.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

    About Face (A reverse oddquain)

    One
    breathtaking glance in the glass
    you realize you
    like yourself
    now.

  46. PressOn says:

    COVER

    I hope
    your heart is warm;
    you need an antidote
    to counter your formidable
    cold front.

  47. PressOn says:

    DIN

    Sounds
    travel clear
    up to your front door
    when you live on a frontage
    road.

  48. Not in front of the children

    I have to go telephone the president
    if you know what I’m saying.
    And while the lions are green don’t forget
    that it’s time to mow your mother’s lawn.
    She’s been climbing the windmill
    for three weeks now and the doctor
    says the microwave is about to ding.

    Meanwhile, thanks to the stupid sock monkey
    the flower box is completely empty,
    and we’ve got the wrong lobster in the pot.
    Face it, hon: it’s time to visit Abyssinia
    and let the butler drive the car. Okay?
    They’re watching us – so just nod as if
    you understand what I’m telling you.

  49. danceswithhorses says:

    Music From The Heart

    They called me Melody.
    And obligingly, I played my part.
    Day by day, I smiled.
    But there was no music in my heart.
    They called me Harmony.
    And dutifully, I sang.
    They sighed with pleasure, but my soul sang not.
    There was no music in my heart.
    They called me Joy.
    And outwardly, I was.
    I laughed and sang.
    But there was no music in my heart.
    He called my Name.
    And wonderingly, I replied.
    Then He put music in my heart.
    Now I am Melody.
    I don’t have to pretend, or play a part.
    Day by day I smile.
    For He put music in my heart.
    Now I am Harmony.
    And lovingly, I sing.
    God sighs with pleasure, for the notes are His praise.
    He put music in my heart.
    Now I am Joy.
    I live for Him; I sing for Him.
    My heart cannot contain what’s He’s done.
    It bubbles forth,
    Since He put His music in my heart.

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