Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 331

For today’s prompt, write a pushy poem. Maybe there’s a character in the poem who’s a little pushy, or maybe the poem is about pushing buttons or pushing people to do things. Or maybe the poem itself is a little pushy. Even animals can get pushy with other animals.


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Here’s my attempt at a Pushy poem:

“i don’t mean to be pushy”

but there are more than a few ways for you
to do what i want you to do without
doing it the way you’re doing it. so
let me tell you how to do it the way
in which i would prefer you to do it,
because the way you are doing it now
is, well, completely and utterly wrong.


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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99 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 331

  1. taylor graham


    It walks across the landscape lurching from side
    to side, grabbing a mouthful here, a leaf, a limb,
    a taste of green. What can match its stride? No
    monster, just a monster’s machine. Dark mirrors
    watch it shave down trees, level the hill. Parking
    lot swept clean over willow and weeds, widow’s
    weeds. I walked last night alone in my skin –
    everything stretched too thin, this movie moving
    too fast too TV-commercial “step on the gas”
    who-cares what caused the crash. Too fast-food,
    it eats us.

  2. Fabelhaft


    I advance towards the
    rather grotesque cube
    full of broken spaces
    suppressed flashbacks
    Never had the courage
    or that is what I said
    An accidental Sunday
    Nature strategically placed
    me opposite it
    decaying and cold
    I contemplated subtly
    my time had come
    to face my fears
    my internal voice calling
    me out for loitering
    I must finally touch
    the filth I collected

  3. taylor graham


    Humps, hummocks, uneasy ground
    where something’s buried or about to rise.
    Fungus or deer bone. Stone tooth
    of the mountain that was sleeping restless
    as earth. Mushrooms hided in browns
    and tans of forest creatures amazed
    at sunlight, plains creatures bending to
    graze before moving on; and old
    hunched folk slouching lower and lower
    under their humped caps
    until one morning they’re gone.
    My puppy digs into mossy hillocks.
    He sniffs, listens, digs some more;
    samples the taste of exhume, spies for
    what’s hidden. Tries to get closer
    to under. The wildness of mushrooms,
    their savor in a stew. I don’t trust my eyes
    to know delicacy from poison.
    My pup finds a newly ripe spot – rodent
    tunnel? a bone? – digs re-fervored
    for what’s down there, highs of the deep.

  4. Walt Wojtanik


    worry that you won’t
    make it in time. You don’t care,
    be it escalator or stair,
    anything in your way is fair game.
    You elbow and cajole
    on the whole in an abusive manner
    in this “all for me” society.
    A rush and a push and your way
    is clear. It is your conscience that suffers,
    if you even have one.

    Dedicated to the ignorant “Dogbone” of a teen who nearly sent an elderly woman over the rail on the escalator at the mall.

  5. Walt Wojtanik


    More and more we hear the constant drone
    of pushy people trying to drive home
    their point in most aggressive manners,
    hiding under Tri-Color or Rainbow banners,
    (which shine the light on your” caring”
    and do little to bring solution to the problem.)
    We hear your drumbeat of my Christ can beat
    your Buddha,
         your Krishna,
              your Allah,
    or whatever deity Tom Cruise professes
    to be. I see the mechanics of political machines
    steam rolling the masses, flattening their asses
    to make riding rough-shod less bumpy.
    The rule of the two subjects
    to never discuss in a social setting:
    Religion and Politics, gets kicked
    to the curb under the protective shield
    and anonymity of a screen name on social media.
    I don’t care what your political views are,
    so leave me to keep mine. I do not besmirch
    who or what you worship.
    Know, I will not wield my God like a sword.
    No one wants to hear it whatever
    the intent of my spirit.
    No politicize and no proselytize;
    this illusion is a disillusion.
    We’re being duped and we all suffer fools
    whether we want to or not.

  6. SarahLeaSales

    A Parent’s Wish

    You thought I was pushy,
    but it was only because no one
    ever pushed me.

    They thought I was
    the sun, moon, and stars,
    the very best of them,
    fused together—
    a celestial trinity.

    They saw my potential,
    figuring my success
    was a foregone conclusion—
    that it was written in the stars,
    for the sun rose and set on me,
    the rare blue moon that I was.

    I see that same potential in you;
    I just want you to realize it sooner,
    so that you,
    as every parent wishes,
    will outpace them.

  7. Jolly2

    Seasonal Sales Pitch
    By John Yeo

    Come this way, step inside,
    You life will never be the same
    After you invest.
    Buy the product, quickly now,
    Try the sensational luxuriousness.
    The demand is high,
    Everyone is after a slice of this.
    Buy quickly, buy now,
    Before the product sells out.

    This is the seasons special star buy
    The very latest in-thing.
    Just what you have always wanted
    Something you can never live without.
    The news has spread all over town
    Celebrities are purchasing these,
    Everyone who is anyone.
    Buy quickly, buy now,
    Before the product sells out.

    We have just a few left over,
    From the peak of the sales boom.
    We want to sell everything quickly
    To make some valuable room.
    I will make you a very special deal
    Just for this very last week,
    A bargain at half the usual price.
    Buy quickly, buy now,
    Before the product sells out.

    Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

  8. ReathaThomasOakley

    August 15, 1945

    I wish I had a photograph of when
    Mama pushed me in that black baby buggy
    along South Dixie and all the way to town.
    In my mind I see her, a tiny little thing,
    not much more than a girl herself,
    straining to move that fancy rig over
    cracked sidewalks and old brick streets,
    black hair curling in the heat, pushing so we,
    she and I, could join others
    to celebrate VJ Day, the end of war.

  9. tunesmiff

    G. Smith (BMI)
    Flashing his headlights, riding my bumper,
    Trying to pass on the right,
    But the shoulder is blocked, and he’s back in my mirror,
    Once again flashing his brights.

    He’s right on my tail, I can’t see his grille,
    But I do see him raising a hand.
    He needs to back off, but how do I tell him,
    I’m peddling as fast as I can, as I can?
    Yes I’m peddling as fast as I can.

    Why are folks in a rush these days?
    Don’t think anyone can say.
    Why are folks in a rush these days?
    Seems we’re in each others’ way.

    Finally he comes around me,
    With a glare and finger, he’s past.
    Two miles ahead he’s in front of some blue lights,
    Looks like my laugh is the last, the last;
    Looks like my laugh is the last.

    Why are folks in a rush these days?
    Why can’t they just wait their turn?
    Why are folks in a rush these day?
    When will they ever learn?

    1. tunesmiff

      And if I may… This happened “for rea”l on the commute last night~ not to me, but to a guy in the next lane and slightly ahead of me. (And here I was stuck for an idea…)

  10. PressOn


    see ospreys
    snatching pickerel,
    the former embark on a spree
    until the chasees are relieved of their prey and flee,
    and the robbers fly to a tree
    to finish fishes
    fishing hawks

  11. Nurit Israeli


    By: Nurit Israeli

    At dawn, I caught sight
    of a moon and a sun
    sharing a sky –
    white clouds floating
    between them, as if
    carrying messages.

    No, they didn’t touch:
    their differences are as
    irreconcilable as night and day.
    Yet neither pushed the other
    off the face of the space
    they managed to share.

    If they can
    find a way –
    why can’t we?

  12. grcran

    pushing the evolve envelope

    the universe not left behind
    has large and small business to mind
    when something has doubt
    it pushes it out
    evolving new treasures to find

    by gpr crane

  13. grcran

    it’s not over til the fat elf ho ho hoes

    music often mushy jingle gushy
    time of year
    season shovin’ pushy white beard bushy
    rhyme with cheer
    shoppers in a rushy snappy stuffy
    faces blear
    Santa never gruffy hush hush hush
    sedately here

    by gpr crane

  14. PowerUnit

    I stopped to look at new cars, and I bought one
    The car the nice salesman was sure I had to be seen driving through town.
    And the American tourist at the restaurant asked for real food, not this Canadianish mush
    masquerading as ‘Merican cuisine.

    My landlord hates cats. Who gives eviction notices to felines?
    Let her enjoy yelling at drug dealers and social scourges instead.
    Our new place has no hotel maids throwing us out by eleven,
    But the landlord’s son won’t tolerate noise past six.

    I passed a beggar on Main Street, but I didn’t give
    My last pocket change destined for Starbucks.
    A debt collector called, again
    Something about unpaid parking tickets, back taxes, and overdue library books.

    I got in my new car to escape the rats, but they followed me.
    Debt collectors, beggars, maids with wrenches
    A Landlord with burlap bags, car salesman driving a nicer cars
    And angry American tourists, hungry for action.

    Lunchtime was ending and migration beginning
    High school students returning from their feeding grounds
    A city stopped as the herds lumber and laugh their way back to class
    Even American tourists stood in awe.

  15. Arash

    Dirty Eyes

    by Arash

    I woke up covered in
    the fragments of a dream
    sticky like the scent of the skunk
    that sprayed my storybook last night.
    —Wash up! the voices shrieked
    and pushed my head beneath
    a pool of tears until I drowned
    again inside another dream.

    Tell me whose tears were they that soaked
    the pages I had flipped through with
    every flutter of my eyelids?
    What films my dirty eyes seen?

  16. De Jackson


    are we there yet? she says
    and finally we are, and she
    runs for the highest one
    (of course)
    and says
    push me mama
    and i do and her feet
    touch the trees and the clouds
    and the very blue face of the sky.

    she’s two, and i can still
    hold her with one arm and
    half my brain and my whole whole
    heart and then i blink

    (boom: decade later)

    and it takes more heart
    than i’ve got and both arms
    (and both worn knees)
    and we aren’t quite there
    yet, and she’s the one
    pushing, but


    how i hope those feet
    reach past all these
              and fly.


  17. lsteadly

    Pushy Peddlers

    The peddlers knock upon my door
    ask me if I’m interested in
    signing the latest petition
    against what town folk have in store
    pushing crap I have no use for
    It’s getting hard to be polite
    while their babble disrupts my night
    I thought the point of living here
    was to hold peace and quiet dear
    so go away and out of sight!

    1. ppfautsch24

      Pushing Willpower
      Pushing me to depths beyond;
      I want to touch you and feel your charm.
      Your charisma and guile make me smile;
      on the inside and out, my willpower in doubt.
      Your look at me pushing my resolve of not
      being able to from your touch dissolve.
      But, a tender kiss on my cheek will do and
      hold me still. Until our wedding day, when
      we both will say; I will.
      By Pamelap

  18. Nancy Posey

    I’m running a day late, but this was a wonderful opportunity for a flashback to 1970:

    As high school freshmen,
    lacking driving privileges,
    allowed only to double date
    —or not at all—
    we established a pecking order
    with a hierarchy matched only
    by the Elizabethan Chain of Being,
    ranking head cheerleader at the top,
    kid picked last in Phys Ed at the bottom.

    When the time came, though,
    to snow the teachers,
    fool the principal,
    to stick it to the man—
    we banded together
    with the cohesiveness
    of the paramecium body
    we studied with cool detachment
    through the single microscope
    in our high school science lab.

    October brought a perfect
    alignment of the stars,
    three of us, seated alphabetically
    Burton, Butler, Coats,
    shared a birthday.
    At fourteen, an uneventful age,
    a party seemed in order.
    During English class, of course.

    Mr. Barfield, misled to believe
    we had cleared it through the office,
    thought, No lesson plan!
    A capital idea!

    Only when the principal burst
    through the cafeteria doors
    as Steppenwolf’s “The Pusherman”
    blared through tinny speakers
    did he know he’d been deceived.

    To this day, he damns
    the Pusherman.

  19. Azma


    Your words were a light of revival,
    your wishes disguised well
    as my choices.
    I bloomed and swayed
    with the winds of your
    and then the bloom
    seemed genuine no more
    But you pushed again
    and this time it hurt
    reducing my bloom to nothing
    You called me indolent
    said my best had not been met
    I jostled through
    with grinding teeth
    your words now
    made nerves stiff
    I reached the edge of a cliff
    and you pushed again

    -Azma Sheikh

  20. carolecole66

    No Pushover

    Tulips push through the frozen ground,
    hard green spears, sharp and definite,
    these are ancient bulbs, and will not bow
    to the force of late sleet, spring is coming
    and old age will dress in all the garden colors,
    disguised and clever

    she forges on through crowds, jostles shoulders,
    steps on polished toes, elbows in the sides,
    will not step aside, will take space and dare you
    to look her in the eye, old woman knows
    not to cede rights to this sidewalk, this patch
    of earth hard won, will not give over to the arrogance

    of spring, she strides in sensible shoes, laughs
    at your crippled feet. That’s ok. All knowledge comes
    whenever, however late as dark autumn nights,
    her eyes are open, hands hang loosely at her side
    and knees are slightly bent, ready, ready, tulips
    with their glossy new color will not take her down,

    she will tackle all comers with slyness and
    courage and wit and in her mind she can
    out run you any day and blindfolded too.

  21. Walt Wojtanik


    Dr. Doolittle’s odd creation,
    the bastardization of
    a gazelle-unicorn union.
    One torso, four legs,
    and a head on either end
    sends me wondering:
    Does this blundering
    leave a shitty taste
    in one or the others mouth?

  22. Sara McNulty


    Vegetables! Fruit! Knives
    sharpened! Pushcarts on
    the lower east side
    of Manhattan. Heard tales
    of these vendors all my life.
    When I started grade school,
    two pushcarts were front row
    center, soon as classes
    let out–Ruby, the knish man,
    and a seller of freshly dipped
    jelly and caramel apples. Tough
    choice. Now, easy. I would not
    trust my teeth to hold up
    under onslaught of a jelly apple.

  23. uvr

    Walls of fear
    shackles of doubt
    trap me
    in this loveless prison
    whose doors
    were opened by betrayal
    urging me to step out
    and reclaim my life
    Indifference showed me
    the way out
    of this neglected garden
    that blooms no more
    Weeds of distrust
    have choked its soul
    leaving it barren of hope
    Freedom is within reach
    but not the courage
    to break free
    from invisible bonds
    that keep me tied to you
    I’m not brave enough
    to leap without a parachute
    so do me one last favour
    give me a push
    or here I will stay
    and die a little each day

  24. lsteadly

    Blowing Through

    The wind fights it way through the forest,
    the cracks in the window,
    down the stovepipe, moaning

    It gives the birds a hard time
    staying the course, gathering
    seeds, complying

    And then it dies

  25. James Von Hendy

    House of a Thousand Refrigerators

    How many years ago was it when
    the kitchen was remodeled? Replaced
    the fridge for efficiency, researched
    online and ordered from the Net,
    will email ads & pop-ups never cease?

    If I’d bought at every sale since
    we’d have a nation’s freezers for its meat,
    filtered water, cold, for anyone who’s parched,
    & crisper drawers of veggies for every taste,
    but no room for a TV in the den,

    though there’s be one advantage then:
    all those fridges? The computer’d be displaced,
    email and pop-up inundation torched
    by its success. The ad system’s not
    unflawed, I see. It suffers from its own disease.

  26. writinglife16


    was her life’s purpose.
    So she said.
    And she did.
    As she sang and pushed
    in the nursing home.

    And the riders smiled.

  27. Walt Wojtanik


    The clock winds down.
    Crunch time is nigh and I
    have every elfin minion
    keeping me on track.
    My sack sits empty, but there
    are plenty of gifts to be presented.
    In some demented way, I live
    for this “passion” play.
    Reindeer are rested and ready,
    for it’s steady as we go through the snow.
    The seconds do tick and I’m quick
    to note (and I do not gloat)
    the big push is on so save
    your hems and your haws.
    Just put your faith in Santa Claus!

  28. taylor graham


    Great trucks had gathered. You could hear
    chainsaws at work up the hill – last outpost
    of forest in a sea of rooftops. It boded ill;
    maybe a housing development pushing up
    through pavement – on your hill, the place
    you chose to walk last winter after surgery,
    for healing. A century ago, that hill stood
    green and quiet above the old hospital, pest-
    house for so many indigents dying of TB;
    the hill that took them in when they died.
    Deserted now; the City evicted the home-
    less from their camps. You’d find quartz
    scattered on the ground, left by Gold Rush
    miners; see towhees flitting through brush,
    and toyon bending under red Christmas-
    berries. You climbed that hill for solitude
    and comfort, healing. The chainsaws
    paused as another tall pine fell.

  29. candy

    push and pull

    at day’s demise
    i feel the pull of the moon
    as it waxes and wanes
    pale light calms me
    the night is my refuge
    the stars my secret keepers
    but the pushy sun shows
    up as darkness fades
    to chase away my dreams

    1. seamuscorleone

      Great! I love the contrast between pushing and pulling, light and darkness, sun and moon, sleeping and waking. And damn don’t I hate that pushy sun some early mornings!

  30. taylor graham


    The donuts weren’t on loan, they were
    for sale, but we had the option of becoming
    salespersons. So many shapes and flavors,
    some with that translucent film like angel-
    slime – he called it glaze – some with devil-
    berry jam inside. Don’t try to deconstruct,
    he said, you’ll break the trust. Could he
    see the tick growing fierce in my left eye?
    Participation’s optional, he assured me,
    I could cancel at any time. Didn’t everyone
    love donuts? How to explain. I had world
    enough – a walk in the woods, runner’s high
    that isn’t fueled by sugar – and time. Yes,
    time to get out of this donut dream and run
    as fast as I could away.

  31. seamuscorleone

    Everything I am about to say is…

    “I don’t mean to be pushy”
    is the linguistic equivalent of
    “I am not racist (or sexist, or homophobic), but”
    “to be honest”

    I don’t mean to be pushy, and I am not racist, sexist, or homophobic, but to be honest,
    everything I am about to say is going to be pushy, racist, sexist, homophobic, and/or a lie.

  32. Anthony94

    After Mastering Manuscript

    Palmer method had its warmup of
    push-pulls, to be mastered before the
    ovals. Although if you had the correct
    pencil grip, so light your teacher could
    slide it out of your grasp without your
    notice, your arm would slide across
    your paper in pure glissandos.

    But it was hard to push the lines up
    the paper, aligning each stroke with
    microscopic spacing fore and aft,
    number two pencils yielding to skipping
    ballpoints in basic blue ink, while

    ovals spun out like a Slinky, looping
    and fun, filling up the spaces and
    creating hollow tunnels in which to
    lose yourself and the teacher’s voice.


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