Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 325

Before we jump into today’s prompt, I’m going to take a moment to talk about the 2015 April PAD Challenge. For those of you most interested, it’s been quite a frustrating process this year. It’s been frustrating for me too, and it’s causing me to re-think a lot of things. But I can tell you the results will eventually be there and so will the anthology. It’s a matter of when, not if. Also, please don’t blame anyone but me for the delay. I’ll have a wrap up post after all the results are revealed, but any delay is ultimately my responsibility. We’ll get there.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Forget (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles include: “Forget This,” “Forget About It,” and “Forget Me Not.” Don’t forget to have fun with it.


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In the 48-minute tutorial video Re-creating Poetry: How to Revise Poems, poets will be inspired with several ways to re-create their poems with the help of seven revision filters that they can turn to again and again.

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Here’s my attempt at a Forget Blank Poem:

“Forget the Good Old Days”

This world is filled with yesterdays,
and those good times, I must forget,
or at least, that’s what others say.
This world is filled with yesterdays:
some for working and some for play.
There were good times when we first met,
but our world filled with yesterdays,
and those good times, I must forget.


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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433 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 325

  1. Poet Ariel

    I’m late coming in for this one. But you set today for writing so ….

    Forget the Would-be King

    Forget little princes & wannabe generals at work
    who feel that a productive strategy is cultivating a subordinate
    as enemy, who plan little skirmishes,
    manufactured forays, who climb on top of hills
    to proclaim the daily alliance with those “not-you”,
    who try inflate themselves with derisive laughter. Napoleon –
    it is rumored – was a small stature with a small temper;
    that is not so, fact was he was just a man
    so petty that each generation vies at belittling,
    exposing his small nature. There was a time your lead
    put you on his right hand, thought he held your fealty.
    You were no fool then; you knew his taunting, his false cries of war
    to be treasonous and you stayed silent. You saw no enemy
    behind the morning fog on the field. Remember this as he waves
    the censor between you – this is no battlefield, no glory
    in your defeat. You are no fool now.

    Oct 15, 2015

  2. Walt Wojtanik


    You know dat guy?
    Who done dat thing?
    You know that thing
    you wanted?
    We tookcareofit.
    I don’t knowaboutit,
    But it’s done.
    Matter of fact, forgetaboutit!

  3. SarahLeaSales

    Forget Yourself
    Forget yourself.
    Lose yourself in a book,
    and you will discover another side of yourself.

    Forget yourself.
    Lose yourself in the service of others,
    and you will find yourself.

    Forget yourself.
    Lose yourself in God,
    and He will make you your best self.

  4. josephdaniel

    Forget the Future

    Hurricanes smashing the earth’s shell
    Not all is well in God’s domain
    Flash floods of biblical proportions
    drowning our future

    The shell is cracking
    Mother Nature’s smacking away
    We’re standing on shaky ground
    when we should fall to our knees and pray

  5. ReathaThomasOakley

    Forget whole wheat

    and 14 grain, gluten free,
    and sprouted wheat,
    I don’t even know what
    stone milled means.
    I’ve lived too long
    being good.

    Now, give me a flakey croissant
    dripping butter,
    a deli bagel with real
    cream cheese,
    a decadent scone with
    lemon curd.

    I’m going to die
    anyway, so I may as well
    go with a smile,
    and bread crumbs,
    on my face.

  6. Anthony94

    Forget the Calendar

    Weekly, the lacy collars of catfish
    bones circled higher up the utility pole,
    thirty and forty pounders pulled from
    the river, wind whittling skeletons into
    flutes of fine music, breezes piped
    through ribs and eye sockets, the thin
    bones of fin and tail. Up the road, we skinned
    them out, gaffed to the clothesline. Hung
    the largest in the woods: bleaching wind chimes
    harmonizing until ice sealed the water and they alone
    reminded us of steamy summer days and bottom mud.

    1. WordyFerdy

      I found myself almost mesmerized by your poem. I could hear the sounds of the wind and I stopped in awe of “ice sealed the water”. Simple language but wonderful imagery. Well done!

  7. ppfautsch24

    Forget The Notion
    Forget the notion that I sit uninvited in your thoughts.
    Forget the thought that my beauty goes invisible in your world.
    Forget the reason why I want you near; to not be alone and forgotten.
    But, remember that you delight in me our moments that won’t be forsaken or for not.
    By Pamelap

      1. ppfautsch24

        Thank you, I know, struggled with wanting to use, ‘forgot’ or ‘all for naught’, but went with the spelling of not, because of the look on the page. I so appreciate your feedback!

  8. strandedmoon

    Forget the Vision

    I had life Vision
    I wrote it down
    On the lost word file
    What great illusion!

    I stopped believing
    In positive quotes around
    That what you inscribed
    Becomes actual

    I have the feelings
    Of going one-way down
    The line of my lifespan
    So I forget the Vision

    1. strandedmoon

      Thank you all. Well, really I am in deep thoughts recently because University of life teaches in different ways, even painful ones.. But life goes on and things happen.

  9. ReathaThomasOakley

    Forget Hulu

    and their guerrilla ads
    lying in wait all over
    my iPad face
    so no matter where I touch
    I can’t seem to avoid
    a scream-inducing leap to
    a place I never meant to be.

    I’m sure Mindy is a very nice girl,
    but I much prefer my online poet
    friends who brighten my days and
    make me think.

    So, Hulu, please stay
    way at the bottom of my
    iPad screen, if I want to know more,
    I’ll scroll down and visit you!

  10. Jane Shlensky

    Forget the Reason

    He whittles mindlessly
    his hands a whir of knife
    and pig-tailed chips
    curling until a figure
    flowers in his palm.

    His hands know more
    than his head, he says
    and laughs. The trick is
    to make room for possibility—
    whatever it may be.

    A presence in the wood—
    almost a voice—conjures
    and uses him, he says, as he puffs
    shreds away and tells
    unrelated tales.

    Sometimes a squirrel,
    possum, or deer appears,
    a star, a leaf, a tiny spade.
    While he talks of his father’s hands,
    his own take charge.

    He tells me if he tries to plan
    what comes, he makes a mess.
    And so he disengages
    from design, his mind pleasingly
    distracted with a song

    or reminiscence, as a deeper skill
    takes hold, lets himself be
    a conduit with thumbs,
    a knife, a block of wood,
    and a willingness to let
    the mystery unfold.

    1. G.Wood

      I saw a documentary called “Happy” that says a feeling called “flow” is the happiness in an activity that helps you self actualize. I think you have “flow” in this poem. Definitely, the whittler does. Love it.

    2. WordyFerdy

      You gave flesh and soul to the man the poem talks about. The poem is brilliant and very very well crafted.
      It’s not only the skill of whittler that is evident…you just displayed your own skill in writing. Bravo!

  11. Jane Shlensky

    Forget the Plan

    Forget the paddles, punts, and oars.
    Life’s currents carry us. We drift
    no matter if we know the course.
    We float at heaven’s pleasure.

    Forget the charts, the maps, the plans.
    We’re buffered by some mighty winds
    and carried in some mighty hands
    we have no skill to measure.

    Only our egos make us yachts
    when we are rowboats, rafts, and skiffs.
    When waves can swamp us,
    we are not puffed with vainglory.

    Let us forget our worries, fears;
    we’re not in charge, despite our cares.
    Surrender floats on faith and hears
    a fuller story.

  12. Rob Winters

    RLB brings it with a triolet, and nobody mentions it! I love these things.

    Here’s one for East Coast weather this fine evening, Joaquin or no.

    Forget me not

    the pelting rain like I once knew
    the vicious wind does heavy blow
    the well-kept grounds it will undo
    the pelting rain like I once knew
    it will take hours to trickle through
    into my box six feet below
    the pelting rain like I once knew
    the vicious wind does heavy blow

    1. WordyFerdy

      If you were hoping to shock your reader with both the voice of the one speaking,and the intent of your poem….I am telling you now, you nailed it!

  13. angieinspired

    Forget Small Talk

    Question: At the bottom of our tombstone do you want your name to read Angela, or Angie? Your Dad and I are here doing it.
    It says Angela, Shawn, and Beau. But do you want it to say Angie?
    Yes? I thought so.

    Then I, the real Angela who never went by that name, thought it strange. The union of these names. Some hand carving them into naked granite. But this was always what mom wanted most. Truth is, she hung up before the ink dried.

  14. G.Wood

    Forget My Birthday

    The banging of pots and pans
    and clinking of glasses before dawn
    awoke me. Already the kitchen smelled
    greasy, and the ham and green beans
    wafted up the stairs to where the cousins
    lay sprawled on cartoon covered sleeping bags
    amidst jigsaw pieces and hardened pizza crusts.
    Our body heat incubated us.
    Downstairs, the mommas worked robotically
    setting the grownup table with china, wiping the cat hair
    off the kiddie table, and rearranging the chairs.
    At 9 a.m. I entered their world.
    Fat turkey waiting in the pan, bearing every indecent probe
    from buttered fingers digging under the skin.
    I could almost hear it wailing.
    I grabbed my cheerios and went in the den, but they said
    no TV. Like a warning. Like I was stepping off
    the edge of a Thanksgiving Day float, about to make a mockery
    of the whole production. I should just go back upstairs,
    just disappear, so they could work on the turkey,
    like it wasn’t my birthday.
    like I wasn’t ten.

    1. WordyFerdy

      I saw everything through a ten year old’s eyes. I even went down the stairs in to the kitchen and watched them preparing the turkey. And then I felt the sadness at the end.

  15. grcran

    Forget the Alamo

    Forget the mission. Forgive. Forget.
    The best things there ain’t happened yet.
    Forget religion and revenge.
    Forget your racist nazi fringe. Furrowed brow
    Uncrease, uncringe me you fool. Not
    Cool anymore this rush to war. Oft uninformed folk
    Opt for uniform: not handsome and dashing rather
    Random and rashly wrong. Along with policy of greed
    Disguised as need for stuff belonging to others.
    Enough. Remember the alamo cottonwood tree.
    The peaceful shade. The right to be
    Unafraid of cultures. To thwart the vultures.
    To forget the battle and to ride sidesaddle
    Into the sunset.

    by gpr crane

  16. charmuse

    Forget the Rain

    It’s a constant complaint,
    beating down like an answer
    to an unasked question,
    like an insult to a picnic,
    a hesitation to venture.

    This clerk, who has adopted America,
    says it’s a blessing
    …and you remember the dry spell
    from your rear view mirror.
    How you acted as guardian
    of the thirsty garden,
    beholden to unseen mouths of roots.
    You remember the parchedness,
    the fierce need, as he tells you
    to have a good day.

    ~ Charise Hoge

  17. Thedeb

    Forget and Remember
    Debbie Cerrito (thedeb)

    When the rays of the sun soak into the horizon
    and the moonless dusk arrives, Forget.

    When vision fades to grey, and the sounds of my voice are a distant call , Forget.

    As your mind holds fast for a few more moments,
    I sit beside you with heavy heart and beg, Forget.

    Forget the pain.
    Forget the fear.

    Remember instead…
    the sun so bright your eyes must squint,
    or a warm safe bed during thunderstorms.

    But mostly…
    remember the faces
    of those who have loved you,
    that you were
    worthy of everlasting love
    and that in your short stay,
    you were everything to someone, me.

  18. Tracy Davidson

    Forget Writing Poetry as a Way to Make Money

    Now there once was a writer called Max
    Whose writings were exceedingly lax
    But having work so shit
    Brought a big benefit –
    Never earning enough to pay tax

  19. WordyFerdy

    The poem I am sharing was inspired and drew greatly from William Henley’s “Invictus”.

    Forget Not.

    Forget not that troubles persist
    In a day’s ebb and flow.
    Remember always the darkened pit
    Kept at bay, by
    Your bold and powerful soul.

    Forget not the times you silenced
    Your tongue
    In the grip of pain and strife.
    Remember, despite the blood and tears
    You became the valiant soldier of your life.

    And as the struggles roll forward
    Like darkened, pouring
    Thunderous clouds
    Remind yourself of all you are:
    Courageous, strong, proud.

    For in the end, remember:
    The gods note your struggle;
    You are not alone.
    Yet, forget not you are responsible
    For this life you call your own.


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