Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 324

I apologize for the late prompt today. Sometimes I have trouble coming up with a prompt; other times, I struggle with the poem. This time around, I had the prompt–and thought it was a good one–but the poem took a while to get loose.

For today’s prompt, write a spectacular poem. Poems that are spectacular might be about BIG events or occurrences: Think Spectacular Spider-Man, or think about great spectacles (some good, some disastrous). Or look at the spectacular things that happen at an atomic or molecular level. Here’s to a spectacular week of poeming!

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Here’s my attempt at a Spectacular Poem:

“The Spectacular C.B.”

I’ve never done anything particularly
spectacular. Never won an election, kissed
the girl, or received more than rocks in my candy
bag on Halloween. I did kick that football once,

but I was invisible–so I could never
prove it at all. Maybe the most spectacular
thing about me is my lack of spectacular
attributes. I’m just a kid with a sister and

a dog and an empty mailbox (especially
around Valentine’s Day) and a bag full of rocks.
When other kids see me coming, they turn around:
No one plays with the spectacular Charlie Brown.

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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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127 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 324

  1. SarahLeaSales

    This Spectacular Age

    We are the Age of the New Millennium—
    the New Age of Identity,
    where you can be anything you want to be,
    even if you aren’t and can never be.
    We are the Age of Information Technology
    that flows at the speed of sound,
    depending upon the connection.
    We are at the Spectacular Age,
    for never before has mankind
    seen such leaps and bounds.

    The spectacular camera
    captures images
    that would have been lost in the haze of memory.

    The spectacular camcorder
    captures a shot of a birthday,
    a child’s particular laugh,
    a political gaffe.
    The camera holder is the apostle
    who records the story from his or her perspective.

    All is recorded for posterity,
    for herstory,
    for history.

    The electric light drowns out the darkness,
    keeping us awake,
    aware,
    so that we can have pizza
    in a brightly lit parlor at four a.m.
    Candles are now a novelty—
    like a flame of the past.

    Books can be downloaded,
    uploaded,
    and never go out of print—
    the words of the authors living long
    after they have gone.

    I can Skype someone across the globe,
    and I don’t even have to wait for a plane,
    for I’m already there—
    the sights and sounds come through loud and clear.

    The feel of newsprint between my fingers
    has become a fleeting memory.

    Like a Luddite, I go to the bookstore
    to open a book the old-fashioned way.
    I savor the feel of the slick, embossed cover,
    admire the gilt-edged pages,
    and delight in the crisp black-and-white.

    The clatter of flatware at the dinner table
    is drowned out by the clicking of buttons—
    the furious sounds of texting.
    Conversation is a casualty.

    The information superhighway is becoming faster,
    like a New York minute—
    with so many stops along the way.

    I log onto Facebook,
    where I go to hang out with friends,
    where only those I want can become part of my world.

    Then I log on to Twitter—
    sending and receiving open telegrams
    in 140 characters or less.
    I am blitzed by information
    that would have taken hours to look up before.

    LinkedIn is where my qualifications outshine my shyness.

    YouTube is where I watch and listen—
    where I can learn everything
    and nothing at the same time.

    But WordPress—
    that is where I tell the world my story,
    so that to my descendants,
    I will not be a mystery.

    I look up from my phone
    to find you standing right in front of me,
    only to see you looking down at yours.
    You do not even know I am there.

  2. uvr

    They escape
    from dark depths
    pulling away
    to freedom
    sliding down
    a smooth expanse
    hugging the
    gentle curve
    dipping into
    the hollow
    I wait for them
    to drop into my palm
    too precious to spill
    the secrets they hold —
    spectacular pearls
    flowing from sad eyes

  3. strandedmoon

    Self-sarcasm

    I am spectacular in dreaming
    This doesn’t go about achieving
    My life till now is filled with mistakes
    That penetrate the emptiness with stakes
    Of broken mirages about the living
    And only memories for cloud-castles remain

    I look at them with grinning smile
    And now I have a Self-sarcasm

  4. Nurit Israeli

    What If?

    By: Nurit Israeli

    Tell me, what if
    my most indelible moments
    already happened?

    What if when
    I closed my eyes, year after year,
    to wish over birthday candles

    or gazed up, sky after sky,
    waiting to make a wish
    upon a shooting star,

    I let some lights
    already there
    slip away from sight?

    Tell me, what if when
    I glanced down
    to toss pennies into fountains

    and dreamt up higher mountains,
    I missed, my friend,
    the appeal of where I stand?

    Yes, tell me, what if I was
    looking elsewhere in the midst
    of my most spectacular moment?

    Tell me, though, have you noticed how
    I try to see a different way now?
    With wiser eyes that reflect the light?

    ~ Nurit Israeli

  5. Stephanie H.

    Season Pass

    A spectacle
    An optical illusion
    Of practically normal

    A sideshow
    Ring toss of
    Hit or miss
    But mostly mis-
    taken for granted

    Dive into this
    Funhouse
    Shaking me down
    Stretching me out
    In mirrors of
    Distorted truths

    Changing
    Always changing
    And still the same
    Old Ferris wheel
    Of up
    Then down again

    But the view
    Oh, the view from the top
    Spectacular.

  6. seingraham

    It was surreal, an out-of-body experience
    SPYING SPECTACULAR

    We walked through a park-like setting
    glancing back at the Capitol often
    as if reassuring ourselves it did exist
    Almost the whole way, we could see it
    The needle pointing to the sky, so tall
    it can be seen from miles away,
    the Washington Monument … just the way
    it’s portrayed on TV or in movies
    only more so, you know?

    And then, we’re close enough to see it
    unimpeded and I swear my heart roared
    loud in my ears; it was suffocating but
    wildly thrilling
    I tried to capture it with my camera, knowing
    there was no way to trap it, no way to
    contain anything this grand, but, I had to try.

  7. Sara McNulty

    Longwood Gardens Puts on a Show

    Fourth of July
    Longwood Gardens,
    Pennsylvania.
    Clear skies,
    superfluity
    of stars.

    Classical music moves
    the air, and to the rhythm,
    sparkling fountains rise
    in blue, green, red. Sense
    of being transported
    to a peaceful state
    of splendor.

  8. De Jackson

    The Solo (Cup) Cult of Artists and Their Mysterious Men(tors)

    Only the rum
    -bled tongues are red,
    really. The rest of us is indigo
    white-washed starkissed shine.

    We meet only in imaginary
    rooms of speck-tack-you
    -large spackles, small sprink
    -lings of rosemary and sage,
    henna and ink, swirls
    and whimsy moon hollows.

    Our pages are infinitely scroll
    -able, soul-able, stole-able, off
    into the ebony of night, the flight
    of keys, the lull
    -a
    -bye
    of seas.

    These brushes have formerly been
    swords, s-words, psych-wards,
    where we stalk and talk and
    chalk ourselves silly. Once known,
    we’re really

    (no, really)

    sweet underneath
    all this swatchy skin. We’ve got
    an affinity for toe socks and long
    turquoise locks and bright bows
    that shoot fire. But our deepest
    desire is a

    (howl like a Woolfe)

    room
    of
    our
    own.

    .

  9. PressOn

    SUNNY JIM

    Upon a deep-in-winter day,
    when winds were blowing chillily,
    I spied a snowman, bold and gay,
    that set me laughing sillily.

    Its ears were red; its cheeks were blue;
    its nose was ice-creamed carrot;
    with coat of many colors too,
    it seemed a blooming parrot!

    It wore a hat of butternut
    and stood in grey-dried sand
    with swim trunks tacked upon its butt
    and rosebud in its hand.

    To top it off, upon its hat
    there perched a mockingbird
    with bill gone white with suet fat.
    I swear, it winked and purred.

    I laughed so hard, my face grew hot;
    my sweat did flow, and verily,
    I think the snowman that was not
    commenced to laugh, and merrily.

    To use the trite vernacular,
    my sides were sore and split;
    the whole sight was spectacular,
    too much for word or wit.

    Upon a deep-in-winter day
    that could have been a bummer,
    I spied a snowman on my way,
    and winter turned to summer.

  10. Hiba Gardezi

    If ever you sit and wonder
    About the sailing clouds o’er head
    Of the multitudes of dusty stars
    That crown the heavens
    Give the words a chance to be said
    Then you, dear person, traveller, dreamer
    Will see
    Will see that when you try and find
    You will sadly unsee
    The seen
    But seeing without seeing you will see
    How spectacular it is to be.

  11. Cynthia Page

    (Minute poem and weekly prompt combined.)

    Appeasement

    Let me not be a spectacle.
    I, respectful
    to parents’ laws,
    support your cause.

    Child of nervous parents in sixty-five –
    Leave me alive.
    Pass me by, please.
    I see your needs

    unfulfilled. I still yield, as
    my life’s egress
    brought to me ways
    to be more wise.

    Cynthia Page

  12. deringer1

    SPECTACULAR !

    There was a time of scoffing and disgust
    at the iron horse. So loud! So smoky!
    How could it be accepted
    in a civilized society?

    There was a time of mocking
    at the horseless carriage.
    “It will never replace the horse
    and buggy,” they claimed, and
    laughed as it chugged down the street.

    From the vantage point of the 21st century
    we chuckle at the past. But there is a new
    religion of disbelief that makes fun of the idea of
    space travel. “That’s only for the rich,” they argue, “
    and a waste of taxpayer money
    to build runways and ports

    Today I saw the future and it is spectacular!
    Out under the warm desert skies, amid
    ranches and tumbleweeds, there is a new era of travel
    taking shape before our eyes.

    Huge hangers and runways, soon to be used,
    not only for travel but commercial expansion
    and use of all the space above us.
    Spaceport America! The new, the exciting,
    the spectacular !

  13. Beverly Finney

    Spectacular

    Clouds lifting up and up and up
    unveiling the Rockies in Glacier Park;
    an endless canvas of rich golden hues
    in the sunset at the Grand Canyon;
    boiling blue waters, the predictable
    flush of Old Faithful in Yellowstone.

    Imposing regal face of El Capitan,
    three thousand feet of Yosemite granite;
    history sculpted large in four perfectly
    rendered faces on Mount Rushmore;
    thunderous roar of the sweeping falls
    crashing at the feet of Niagara.

    Rolling majesty of the endless Blue Ridge
    from it’s winding ribbon of parkway;
    magenta clusters of rhododendron studding
    the balds of Tennessee’s Roan Mountain;
    slim stretch of sand dotted with watchful
    lighthouses across the Outer Banks of Carolina.

    That there are such places across our land,
    treasures of bountiful breathtaking beauty;
    that there are bold visionaries who have seen
    to their preservation for our wonder and joy;
    that I have been gifted the walk among them,
    to have seen them up close with my own eyes.

  14. Jane Shlensky

    Food Critic at Country Church

    Except for broad vernacular,
    his message was spectacular.
    The bread was fine
    paired with the wine,
    but just a smidge oracular.

  15. Jane Shlensky

    CB as Starburst
    (in response to Robert’s poem)

    Charlie Brown, who cannot kick,
    lets Lucy get inside his head,
    convince him he is blah and blick.

    A serious and hopeful lad,
    he squints and doubts his daily plight,
    ignores his good, but not his bad.

    Alas, if Charlie had insight,
    he’d see his heart’s spectacular—
    sentinel star in darkest night.
    His problem could be ocular.

  16. IrisD

    Spectacular is not always in size
    Neither requires a brilliant hue
    But exists in an infant’s eyes
    Or hummingbird’s majestic view

    Spectacular doesn’t need fanfare
    It often comes on wings of dove
    The most spectacular moment in life
    Is giving and receiving of love

  17. julie e.

    A SPECTACULAR WASTE OF WORDS.

    Abundant are the petals of
    the rose’s face which I doth love
    as profuse as the pages neat
    are stacked and rising from my feet.
    Lavish is each rhyming phrase
    I pen with amplitude some days
    till fire ignites with lusty gust
    bad poetry doth self-combust.

  18. Jean Kay

    SPECTACULAR
    I watched a spectacular video
    of a man feeding hummingbirds
    out of a red cup he held in his hand.
    The thrill would be beyond words.

    Two were sitting on his thumb,
    at least four more buzzed around.
    A heartwarming, spectacular video—
    action only, no words, silent sound.

  19. grcran

    materialism

    spectacular goes to the store
    wanting to buy a what for
    e’en with the right stuff
    it’s never enough
    he’s always returning for more

    by gpr crane

  20. grcran

    cain’t be what we ain’t

    expecting more spectacular
    we sold them for a song
    rejecting poor vernacular
    they all said we was wrong
    wrongheaded with particulates
    inhaled down in the mine
    as long as we’re articulate
    they’ll figger we are fine
    and after we matriculate
    we just might win the war
    we’ll grimace and gesticulate
    and be spectacular

    by gpr crane

  21. Connie Peters

    Hope

    Sometimes I feel life’s plain and dull
    No fun at all
    Stuck in a rut
    With eyes tight shut

    I go about the day and yawn
    From dawn to dawn
    Routine events
    With no intent

    Spectacular is in the wings
    To dance and sing
    A joy within
    With you I win

  22. josephdaniel

    My Spectacular Run at Life

    The way I play the game of golf
    or sing opera in the shower
    Those bright ideas that light up the sky
    while the world collectively snoozes
    My impersonation of Mario Andretti
    each time I’m late for work
    Mostly, I don’t make waves
    I’m spectacularly aloof

    1. josephdaniel

      Now that I’m awake, I’d like to make a revision…

      My Spectacular Run at Life

      It’s the way I play the game of golf
      or sing opera in the shower
      Those bright ideas that light up the sky
      while the world collectively snoozes
      It’s my impersonation of Mario Andretti
      each time I’m late for work
      But I’m no good at making waves
      I’m spectacularly aloof

  23. Bruce Niedt

    I used a remark someone said about swivel chairs at the recent “Fall Face-to-Face” in NC. I also used “spectacular” in a rather ironic context here.

    Spinning in Monticello

    Look around the room you’re in,
    the writing prompt says,
    and find an object to write about.
    I turn to view every angle, every surface
    and cranny and corner of my den
    for several minutes, before I realize
    I’m sitting on the most interesting thing
    in the room – my swivel chair.
    Someone said writers love them,
    and now I know why: We can rotate
    in this miniature carnival ride
    and take in a spectacular 360° view
    of the world, or at least a stuffy little study,
    and everything in it. So thank you,
    Mr. Jefferson, for inventing it,
    you who saw everything so clearly.
    I’ll bet you had a ball
    spinning in Monticello.

  24. shellcook

    Spectacular

    When I wanted to be spectacular,
    the wanting made it a spectacle.

    I have a kind of beauty that is unusual,
    not the kind that’s pretty.
    I have a mind that is smart and probing,
    but logically challenged.

    I can sing for my lunch,
    but not for my supper.
    I died for my future sins,
    before I could commit them.

    God said ‘no’ when I stood before him.
    Go back little bird, go back to the nest.
    It is not time,
    No, not time for you yet.

    So I bitched and I moaned
    and made a spectacular mess,
    before I did realize,
    I truly was blessed.

    Then one beautiful day,
    I looked out my own eyes,
    and found that being spectacular
    starts right in your heart.

    9/23/2015

  25. Thedeb

    Spectacular Lightning

    Fluffy clouds backlit by summer heat flashes
    burn invisible
    until dark-fall.

    Light’s repose demands performances
    of violent sparks
    dancing across virgin sky.

    Wicked sounds taint nature’s finest hour
    skin tingles
    fine arm hairs arise.

    The spectacular gift of vision in darkness,
    still a mystery for the blind
    curtains of clouds weep
    …the show is over.

  26. PowerUnit

    My kittens climb over the top of each other
    Their mother a protective playground.
    Food on demand, a quick suckle and nap
    and it’s off to the races, destroy those laces
    slash at those faces.
    A cat always lands on its paws.

    Entitled amusement, so we’d like to think
    but only the self contained stand out, against the competition
    the showy are overrated.
    Aristotle would be the last philosopher over the falls in a barrel
    though he too would die on the rocks
    and the crowds would cheer for more.

  27. G.Wood

    The Spectacular

    The seven wonders
    include Mount Rushmore.
    I’m not sure why.
    I’ve never seen it in person
    or wanted to.
    The Grand Canyon made the list
    which is predictable, I guess,
    because that really is a mighty deep groove.
    And the Great Wall—it’s great
    if you happen to be in outer space
    and happen to see it come around.
    The Eiffel Tower nauseated me
    at the first tier,
    spinning above a scattered anthill of tourists
    and sleek Frenchies with cigarette smoke halos.
    Quite a view. Architecture is cool,
    but Pisa just leaves me cocking my head,
    wondering why my slanted poems don’t quite
    crash or smash.
    There are other wonders I don’t recall.
    Most miniature golf courses have them all,
    but they aren’t spectacular.
    They don’t enlighten or pull me under,
    not like the strength of your tiny arms
    powering swing after swing across the monkey bars,
    not like your hop-drop, tamping, square landing.
    Now, that’s a spectacle that opens my eyes,
    swells my pride, shocks my heart into fear and humility,
    overwhelms me with a joy that startles
    like foundation-shaking thunder.
    That’s postcard perfect.
    That’s a wonder.

  28. taylor graham

    SPECTACLE

    The two of them at absolute attention
    as if pledging allegiance
    to their flag, the homeland of their fathers,
    their families, livelihood, and love.
    The same expression on each
    Shepherd-dog face, the same focus
    of their gaze. Ears pricked, eyes bright
    with anticipation.
    Are they waiting for fireworks
    to blossom sparkling in the sky?
    I can’t take my eyes from this spectacle –
    the grand uncle dog and the pup
    each alight with “the look of eagles”
    as if ready to take flight.
    What are they watching? The hand
    of their master holding
    the leashes that mean they’re going
    to work, the word that lights their lives.

  29. Nancy Posey

    Making a Spectacle

    No magic trick could have dazzled
    the way that first pair of glasses did,
    settled onto his nose, earpieces
    snug in place, by Dr. Holiday.
    Suddenly, the world was bright
    and clear, and once in focus,
    his eyes detected single leaf,
    each individual blade of grass.

    Not even his new nickname
    Four Eyes brought him pain,
    so glad was he to see. Looking
    past the taunts of other boys,
    he clamored instead to peer
    into the classroom microscope
    at the cilia of paramecium.

    At home, he spent late hours
    in the backyard, his eye set
    against the telescope, a gift—
    the only one he wanted—
    gazing into the Milky Way.

    Little wonder, then, he chose
    to study optometry, joking
    that he planned to make
    a spectacle of himself when,
    in truth, he only wanted
    to share the gift of sight.

  30. JenS

    Waterfall Spectacle

    The traveler
    hunched and tired,
    gray from the load
    carried on the back
    too tired to move
    low

    She hears the trickle
    It grows and grows
    crashing and closer
    until the gushing overtakes
    the weary traveler

    Like a huge burden
    lifted, the water cascades
    free from its narrow home
    over the edge

    The crashing a wake up call
    a refreshing siren
    a cleansing bath

    As it grows quieter, once
    again the traveler
    moves forward
    shakily
    Wanting to stay in the beauty
    Nature crashing yet serene

    This time, tears
    become the Waterfall

  31. Arash

    Chloe’s Dramatic Exist

    by Arash

    People sat, enchanted.
    Stood, the old magician,
    on the stage, then hovered
    over Chloe reposing
    in the smoke. His whiskers,
    painted lilac purple,
    and his face, a crimson
    red, with garish azure
    eyes projecting madness
    packed inside enigma.

    Chloe was gone (abruptly)!
    Reappeared a moment
    later, as the smoky
    air on stage was clearing
    Chloe was nervous, laughing,
    “Sorry had to tinkle.”

  32. De Jackson

    The Softer Significance of Wings

    Flying’s fine, but for once
    I have perhaps chosen
    wisely, wildly
    shedding my shoulds
    for something
    (more or less)
    sibilant, more bent
    toward appropriate sun
    -light. We fight tooth
    and nail for feathers, hope
    balanced precariously on
    bright strings. We long
    for fireworks, the sacred
    oooo and ahhhh
    of time. We miss the hum.

    We strum our fingers
    and wait for summer, spring,
    spotlight, fallen stars;
    some distance thing that
    never really comes. We ache
    to gasp and grasp and guffaw,
    miss the gentle giggles
    in between.

    We’ve spoken
    now of many ordinary
    things. Silence
    has a softer skin,
    which must sometimes
                    be broken.

    .

  33. angieinspired

    Dog, Cat, Dead Crow

    Spectacular, really, that the dog gets along with the cat.
    That the dog doesn’t growl when the girl puts a face into fur
    that’s retreating under the kitchen table to take a break from
    the yipping, the laughing, the cajoling, the holding & everything.

    Spectacular, really, that the girl doesn’t cry when the cat
    catches her finger and the girl catches sight of bright blood.
    After a wash and a band-aid, the pink little girl says, thanks
    and continues dangling string, horsing around & everything.

    Spectacular, really, that the black crow who’s been carrying on
    with some other black carrion over my rooftop the past two days
    didn’t drop dead from the sky and land on my doorstep when
    the girl came to see happy pets. That would’ve ruined everything.

  34. ReathaThomasOakley

    Spectacular actions of little folks

    It’s little folks, you know,
    what make up this old world,
    little folks like me, my mama’d say,
    so many times through the years
    I couldn’t count when
    recollecting all that Mama said.

    Little folks send cheerful cards to
    housebound friends, take casseroles
    to the bereaved, sit at the bedsides of
    the dying who have no kin
    to see them safely through
    to the other side. Little folks know
    just what to do, then exhaust
    themselves getting it done.

    When Mama died little folks
    came to my side, wept with me,
    held my hand, told stories of
    her last bingo game,
    her delight in the red shoes
    that matched the red jacket I chose
    for her shroud.

  35. De Jackson

    *
    A Spectacle of Fluff

    “…waving one like a sparkler, a small wand of white fire, the air filling with tiny parachutes. Blow, and you tell the time. All that time, blowing away in the summer breeze…”
    – The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood

    Enough,
       really,
    to simply stretch
            the breeze
    across your skin,
                 r o a r
    a dandelion
                            free.

    *

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