Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 287

Time to get back into the swing of the Wednesday Poetry Prompts. I’m sorry for the late prompt this week; I ran into some technical difficulties, which actually influenced this week’s prompt.

For this week’s prompt, write a difficulties poem. The poem could be about technical difficulties, or perhaps, financial difficulties, health difficulties, or relationship difficulties. We all have our own demons and hardships. This week’s poems can draw from that well.


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Here’s my attempt at a Difficulties poem:

“I Admit It”

I get pretty bent out of shape
when things don’t work. Like

websites and relationships,
but especially technology.

It’s sad, I know. I know, there
are people starving in other

countries–people homeless
and hungry in my own city–

and here I am venting about
data that can’t be coaxed into

displaying on a computer screen.
All the injustice, the depravity,

and here I am pushing my blood
pressure to new limits. And then,

it works, and I realize I’ve been
a fool, and the world shakes

loose its sadness and anger
before the next click of my mouse.


roberttwitterimageRobert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of the poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He edits Poet’s Market, Writer’s Market, and Guide to Self-Publishing, in addition to writing a free weekly newsletter and poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine.

For folks who have patiently been waiting for some next steps on the November Poetry Challenge, he wishes to let them know that a post is coming either later today or tomorrow morning–now that his technical difficulties are hopefully behind him.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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136 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 287

  1. taylor graham


    Burning winter dead-fall teaches me
    silver-leaf to ash, reminds me

    of a bombed-out city in a time
    of tilted ceilings, floors dancing dizzy,
    common odor of decay drifting smoke
    over rubble

    & a man in dust-mask, tired shoulders,
    handing me a can of cola
    fizzy w/earth-wreck stench of death,

    and now when you bring me
    a cola cold from the fridge,

    what chemical breakdown, patterns
    of the brain –
    one whiff of cola takes me back.


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