Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 334

Before we get into the prompt today, I just want to wish everyone a safe and happy New Year. I’m looking forward to what 2016 has to offer.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Seeking (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Seeking Forgiveness,” “Seeking Answers,” “Seeking Peace, Love & Understanding,” and/or “Seeking an Original #27 Issue of Detective Comics.”

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Here’s my attempt at a Seeking Blank poem:

“seeking shelter”

the wiper blades beat off the water
as fast as they can but still fail me
& i nearly hit a family

of deer crossing the street & wind knocks
over trash cans & sends recycles
everywhere as a flash & a boom

leave me in awe & panic & here
is the driveway waiting to receive
me & i’m ready to sprint inside

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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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156 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 334

  1. Rasia J. Nole

    Seeking Truth

    We wander about
    seeking for truth.
    Refusing to see
    the truths right
    under our noses.

    We aimlessly search
    for hidden truths
    wandering about
    like children
    looking for treasure.

    We try different
    truths on like
    girls try
    on clothes
    for hours.

    We choose what
    truth is the
    most fun when
    we should be choosing what’s right

    We listen to
    others opinions
    when we should
    really be thinking
    about our own.

    We men are
    a confused bunch
    stumbling around
    seeking for things
    that don’t exist.

  2. De Jackson

    Seeking Sunlight

    Her broken places are poised
    and ready. Give her a scattered
    shower sky, a frozen why worth
    thawing. Hold her out, seaglass
    tumbled, wave-rumbled, to a
    dappled breeze. Filter her some
    -thing she can catch, know,
    grow into something greater
    than all this weathered skin.

    .

  3. James Von Hendy

    Running late for this prompt. . . .

    Seeking Shelter

    The rain. A sudden squall, the delight
    of running, hand in hand across the grass
    already slick and wet. Rain as hard
    and sharp as hail, its sting and burn against
    the skin. My girlfriend’s thin t-shirt riddled
    with translucent scattershot. Pierced to
    her flesh. Bullets of desire
                                       I think now,
    the deluge of shootings in the news
    unwelcome metaphor, a bloodstain
    even on memory, how on the first crack
    we’d run—if it wasn’t too late, our shirts
    already blooming—for different cover.

    Don’t get me wrong. The past, too, is shot through,
    not everything under the alcoves
    of St. Agnes laughter and stolen kisses,
    the girl, that boy, gone. I forgot them,
    two teens huddled against something more
    than rain. It doesn’t come back, what they ran to
    beyond the obvious,
                            memory
    a gunshot, darkness flashed to light. A girl
    runs beside a boy outside my window
    in the sheeting rain, his skateboard raised above
    their heads. She shrieks, pleasure or dismay,
    where they go unknown, the rain a trigger, pulled.

  4. ReathaThomasOakley

    Seeking answers in the faces of the Thomas girls

    Through decades we’ve gathered just this way,
    weddings, funerals, family reunions,
    now, except for the aunt we come to honor,
    we are the old ones, the wise women who
    carry a shared past in our faces, in our bodies.

    Thirteen cousins here, eleven of them women,
    there were once dozens more, so many already passed,
    some could not travel, but if they were here, they
    would recognize the patterns we form today, the
    roles we play as if we were still children on
    Granny’s big front porch.

    I look into each of the faces, see past wrinkles and
    graying hair, see the loveliness of girls once graced
    with energy and strength, with faith and determination,
    I see the beauty we were promised come to fruition.

  5. G.Wood

    Seeking Ancestors
    for my cousin Jordan

    Seeking ancestors,
    he dusted off old photographs passed down for generations,
    asked his mother again to tell him the name of the family on the plantation
    where the soil became tilled with light and dark sand
    and the tree of the family took root and still stands
    among the live oaks, the dirt roads, the cotton rows, and ruins.

    He swabbed his cheek
    and mailed the spittle to a lab in Europe
    where they tracked his DNA back
    to gallantry and triumph,
    back to Alexander the Great, Robert the Bruce,
    and Charlemagne.
    And then across the Atlantic on the Mayflower
    and into the dirt of the Southland.
    and a name. Lawton.

    But another root held fast too,
    and began across the Atlantic as well.
    a different dangerous journey over the oceans swells,
    perhaps unseen but felt from the cargo hold.
    His bloodline cast back into a warm, rhythmic villages
    of a family with other histories, other heroes,
    other legends of triumphs and voyage.
    Another kind of glory. A story kidnapped by another story.

    He holds to his chest a gift sent to him
    from a newfound relative with a different skin:
    one brick from the foundation
    of a bygone plantation. He puts his fingers
    in the fingerprints of his forefathers,
    smells the soil, and wipes away the moss.

    He is the fruit of the south–
    born from a tangle of savagery, mercy, grace, and loss.
    No act of man could unravel his history,
    no one could calculate the cost
    that made him, him,
    that made him my kin.

  6. tunesmiff

    SEEKING AND SEARCHING
    G. Smith (BMI)
    —————-///—————–
    I stand by the river,
    And watch the rain fall;
    The water is risin’
    Behind that gray wall.

    But it’s more than just weather,
    That dampens my heart,
    It’s a longing and waiting,
    For some love to start.

    Seeking and searching
    What will I find?
    Something ahead?
    Something once left behind?
    Something expected?
    Something unique?
    What do I search for?
    What do I seek?

    I stand on the mountain,
    See the valley below,
    And the peaks in the distance,
    Covered in snow.

    But it’s more than this wilderness
    That blows through my soul,
    It’s a wanting and needing,
    TThat feels like a hole.

    Seeking and searching,
    Who will I find?
    Someone ahead?
    Someone left behind?
    Someone expected?
    Someone who turned a cheek?
    Who do I search for?
    Who do I seek?
    Who do I search for?
    Who do I seek?

    The One with the answer,
    The One with the plan;
    The One with arms spread wide
    And the nail scarred hands,
    The nail scarred hands.

    Seeking and searching,
    He knew I would be,
    Seeking and searching,
    And yet He found me;
    Seeking and searching,
    His love drove out fear,
    Seeking and searching;
    Now there’s joy in these tears;
    Seeking and searching,
    There’s love in these tears.

  7. ReathaThomasOakley

    Seeking tomatoes along highway 301

    Where did it all go, chicken that tastes
    like chicken, eggs like we used to get
    from that lady Daddy knew
    out Hastings way, tomatoes that held
    memory in every bite…

    Cherry tomato bushes thriving
    in sandy soil two blocks from the ocean,
    bushes close to the ground heavy with
    bright red treasures warm from the Florida
    sun, ready to burst into molten goodness
    at that first bite, green tomatoes fried up
    especially for pregnant me by that
    sweet woman at the south Florida tourist cabin
    where we lived until our house was done,
    ugly red and yellow ones to layer on white
    bread, cheddar slices on top to melt under
    broiler coils, watched carefully so as not to burn…

    We saw the stands yesterday on our way to
    the special birthday celebration, ninety years and
    counting, Aunt Willie Mae said, today we’ll stop
    at a few so I can recapture, I so dearly hope,
    a few memories from long ago.

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Thank you Anthony. This was written too hurriedly, I left out that the cherry tomato bushes were the perfect height for me to reach at age four.

  8. victoriahunter

    Seeking Attention

    The scent of my tongue
    like wild spice lace, suspended in soupy air.
    My cheeks mesmerizing,
    like red Christmas bulbs, in glitter coats,
    beneath banners of star light
    and my lips, flooded with the fluid of pleasure
    like the stock of ducks, in a spring kissed creek

  9. PressOn

    SEEKING THE OPTIMIST’S CREED

    As you wander on through life, partner,
    whatever be your ruse,
    keep your eye upon the poems
    and not upon the muse.

    NB: Apologies to whomever penned the original Optimist’s Creed, which, as far as I know, was already old when Roosevelt and Hoover used it in their 1932 campaigns.

  10. SarahLeaSales

    Seeking the Lost

    They are the tools I use to get away from it all—
    my car keys with the Lucky Strikes chain,
    and they are missing again.

    It is my connection in case of emergency.
    It is my cell,
    and it is misplaced, as well.

    It is my help in times of forgetfulness—
    my rock made of paper.
    It is my day planner.

    It is the commander of my hands.
    It is my mind,
    and it is forgetful sometimes.

    I seek the lost everyday,
    for I am every bit as lost as they.

  11. grcran

    Seeking Consecration

    Seeking succor
    He put up his dukes for
    The nonce
    Tweaking supper
    She felt a new cup fill
    Nuance
    Breaking breads crum-
    Bles once thrown away they
    Now ate
    Aching heads numb
    With hearts on the con-
    Secrate
    Seeking substance
    Something complex but
    Blessed
    Tweaking love’s dance
    Find what you need and
    Rest

    by gpr crane

    1. ppfautsch24

      Seeking Him
      The sound of quiet covering the night.
      Your soft rythmic breathing that I hear;
      gives me solace just knowing you are near.
      You touch me quietly, soothingly light;
      my heart and rough edges of the day
      cascade and melt away.
      Knowing that our meeting was by grace
      and when we seek to live by faith;
      with trials to face and blessings of love to embrace.
      And with each other our hearts are safe.
      By Pamelap

  12. Jolly2

    SEEKING INSPIRATION
    By John Yeo

    Close the door to deaden distraction,
    Empty the mind of intruding dross.
    Follow a line of thought to the conclusion
    Allow the free flow of thought to inspire
    Branch into new areas of mystification.
    Turn off the telephone, mute the TV,
    Concentrate on a leaf, a page, or a tree.
    That’s the quickest way to feel the shock
    As you drift straight towards writer’s block.
    Searching for Inspiration.

    Shut the windows, stroke your forehead,
    Rack your brains to release the muse.
    You wish you had gone for a walk to release
    The dammed up flow of blocked inspiration.
    Switch your thoughts back to the mundane
    Empty your head change direction again
    When the computer freezes you turn it off,
    Then re-start it again with renewed power.
    Click on a site offering free writing prompts,
    For Instant Inspiration.

    Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved

  13. victoriahunter

    Seeking Forgiveness

    At the eyes of your feet,
    My guts, pulled down by my knees,
    My voice, pushed forward, by the breath of my heart,
    bold tears swollen, with a sweet letter,
    I never, blew to you before.

  14. Connie Peters

    Seeking Someone Kind

    I’m seeking someone kind
    Today she’s hard to find
    I feel I’ve lost my mind
    Fear and failure combined
    Faith and mood are not aligned
    To be snarly, I’m inclined
    Like a clock that needs to unwind
    Or a video that needs to rewind
    To my humanity I am resigned
    Until eternity I am assigned

    1. ppfautsch24

      Seeking Peace
      The stillness lay in the palm of my hand;
      the crest of my mind and the crevices of my heart.
      And pools at the bottom of my feet.
      What a joy to know that I just need to be still and
      at peace; mind or body or feet not fleeting about.
      Just resting in the stillness of the day or night.
      By Pamelap

  15. victoriahunter

    Seeking Relaxation

    Body bent backward,
    reaching back to the past,
    to meet its old self,
    like each end of a horse shoe
    when held straight down

    Then eyes kept closed,
    like blinds of windows
    belonging to a beautiful womans
    wash room

    Then breath unchained from blocks
    and released without baggage

    and finally,
    breast undressed
    shoulders turned back
    and arms raised up,
    with strength tested
    but all, pushed open, as far as
    they can go
    like wings of an American eagle,
    when held fondly
    by the sky,
    in a thoughtful afternoon

    1. victoriahunter

      rewrite:

      Spine bent backward,
      reaching back to the past,
      to meet its old self,
      like each arm of a horse shoe
      when its turned down

      Then eyes kept closed,
      like blinds of windows
      belonging to a beautiful womans
      wash room

      Then breath unchained from blocks
      and released without baggage

      and finally,
      breast undressed
      shoulders turned back
      and arms raised up,
      with strength tested
      but all, pushed open, as far as
      they can go
      like wings of an American eagle,
      when held fondly
      by the sky,
      in a thoughtful afternoon

  16. victoriahunter

    Seeking Peace (first write)

    I float, like I am boneless, as cotton,
    I float into your little shop on the corner,
    where you serve dreams, with laces of sugar ice,
    swirling inside their spirits
    dreams, dreams, dreams,
    always in motion,
    slowly hushing, a heaving heart.

    I always, come with change for the dreams, I want
    and, the change i choose is perfectly clean, so not to alarm your eyes.
    I always, look beyond them briefly,
    and see various types of tea perfectly stirred, into itself.

    I give up the change with no resistance
    you look at me, like you more,
    like a lonely stranger does in the mirror
    You want me to offer your mouth, pushy words,
    to help you pass time in your life,
    that won’t pass, but I offer none.

    then, my mind strolls away, momentarily, then turns back,
    then, I ask for black lemon tea, that I must sweetened myself.
    then I ask, for the dream, with the thickest skin,
    and sugar ice, you can obviously see, even with dusk in your eyes,
    A dream that hasn’t been out of the oven to long.

    I decide, both of them, will be my new friends, from another state
    they will be, the beautiful subjects I spend
    the last of my bright breath on

    I except them, without inspection,
    like they are children i want
    and asked for.
    I take them to the clearest table I can find
    the table is never near a door,
    that can open at any moment, without a whisper
    the table is resting in the cleanest corner of the room.

    There, I am sure, no kind of bold eye,
    no kind of bold voice, no kind of bold finger
    can visit, without shedding, most of its skin,
    along the way.

    1. victoriahunter

      Seeking Peace (second write)

      I float, like I am boneless, as cotton,
      I float into your little shop on the corner,
      where you serve dreams, with laces of sugar ice,
      swirling inside their spirits
      dreams, dreams, dreams,
      always in motion,
      slowly hushing, a heaving heart.

      I always, come with change for the dreams, I want
      and, the change i choose is perfectly clean, so not to alarm your eyes.
      I always, look beyond them briefly,
      and see various types of tea perfectly stirred, into itself.

      I give up the change with no resistance
      you look at me, like you want more,
      like a lonely stranger does in the mirror
      You want me to offer your mouth, pushy words,
      to help you pass time in your life,
      that won’t pass, but I offer none.

      then, my mind strolls away, momentarily, then turns back,
      then, I ask for black lemon tea, that I must sweeten myself.
      then I ask, for the dream, with the thickest skin, or hyde
      and sugar ice, you can obviously see, even with dusk in your eyes,
      A dream that hasn’t been out of the oven to long.

      I decide, both of them, will be my rich new friends, from another state
      they will be, the beautiful subjects I spend
      the last of my bright breath on

      I except them, without inspection,
      like they are children i want
      and asked for.
      I take them to the clearest table I can find
      the table is never near a door,
      that can open at any moment, without a whisper
      the table is resting in the cleanest corner of the room.

      There, I am sure, no kind of bold eye,
      no kind of bold voice, no kind of bold finger
      can visit, without shedding, most of its skin,
      along the way.

  17. carolemt87

    I wrote this last week in response to the shootings in Paris and San Bernadino.

    Seeking Peace…..

    Dear poets
    please stay at your windows,
    drink tea and
    watch the dawn break
    and the moon slowly rise.
    Tell us about
    the brown branches
    little yellow birds
    tiny pink blossoms
    a single leaf unfurling.

    Dear poets,
    spin simile and metaphor
    winter to spring
    spring to summer
    summer to fall
    fall to winter and
    back again.

    Dear poets
    I beg you, flush all that is
    good and real
    and beautiful from
    their hiding places.
    Put pen to page and
    show me that
    in this insane world
    peace is still possible
    that we can live beyond
    terror and pain
    and once again
    believe in
    joy and love.

    My dear poets, tell me
    that the angels have
    not closed their windows.
    Please throw the truth upon the
    long dark shadows
    and help us find
    the hope
    we cannot see.

    Carol J. Carpenter (2015)

  18. joywp

    Seeking the Goddess

    In the dim , grey light just
    before dawn
    I found God in my bath tub.

    Within the salted water and the
    frankincense oil and the
    tall stone angel holding
    rosary beads and
    unlit candles
    before
    stained glass windows,
    God was there.
    Reclining in pools of deep
    blue water
    watching rivulets
    follow the
    tributaries forged by wrinkles
    and folds and
    glorious rolls of unmarked
    belly and breasts and
    the basin of a navel
    filled
    with
    juniper and clove,
    God was there.
    He sat upon my outstretched leg;
    leaned
    against toes with chipped crimson lacquer and
    listened intently
    to the
    deep cello wanderings of
    the Prelude, suite no. 1.

    “I knew Bach,

    (he mused aloud as
    he swirled the oiled water to a tempest with
    his own outstretched foot.)

    He said “ fuck” a lot too and he also
    contemplated inconsistent bowing and
    fragmented lives empty of love and
    full of lack.”

    Yes
    there,
    mingling in with the song of
    the cello and the bubbled water and
    the wet towels on the floor,
    there
    was God.

    I” prefer Dvorak, he continued,
    less angst, more heft,”

    (as do I)

    God went on to recite Gertrude Stein and
    Keats and
    e.e. cummings as
    the water grew cool and
    my wrinkled skin
    puckered and pruned and

    as he did,

    the wastelands of dry heart fissures
    filled
    and bloomed.

    There,
    within the old
    cast iron
    against the back drop of ancient stones and
    broken angel wings
    There,

    was God.

    and within this god

    I found
    the
    Goddess
    as
    she wetly emerged

    gloriously wrinkled
    and inconsistently
    bowed.

    JWP 12/2015

  19. Anthony94

    Seeking Sun
    At midday I drive westward
    town after town counting
    hawks and waiting for the
    fingers of clouds to unclench
    from the horizon and let
    some thawing rays filter through
    the ice on the road, on the trees,
    sealing the ponds, filling my gut
    with some frozen fear of not knowing
    how the day will end, the year
    closing in and so much left to do.

    I cannot explain how ice crystals
    reach out and join hands to form
    their stellate patterns but they have
    crept in and today mask yesterday’s
    light. How can something so transparent
    become impermeable to simple logic
    like my looping home and not knowing
    exactly how I got here: Presson Road,
    Indianapolis, the Old 68? I’ve become
    the horse in the next pasture: mind and
    body mapped. Invisible sun has set.

    So I’ll make a note about his leaving for
    another city even farther west, the feel
    of his heavy beard brushing my cheek as
    he gives me a quick hug, the steno book
    jutting from his pocket in which he jots
    instructions for the new job just blocks
    from the university. I’ll tell you how I let
    ice fill the unexpected void across which
    we’ve come to know each other anew,
    how I remember him stringing lights on
    the fresh pine and how, if I squint, I can
    almost see him in their twinkling patterns
    dancing on the far wall. Listen, ice thaws.

  20. annell

    Seeking the Quest of Nothingness

    time continues      like a river      what was here

    is just as suddenly gone     i will not pass this way again      the year ends

    the new year begins      is it necessary to take inventory      or are all losses marked in red

    empty spaces     holes that seem black      long stretches of nothingness

    like water      will life fill the spaces      push and shove

    for its’ share of attention     still…      having lived most of my life

    i know nothing      so many questions unanswered     you have said

    it is not too late     perhaps it is      the falls are ahead

    i rush toward them    the journey over      end of life stands still

    i know only the quiet after      ear splitting quiet     the story complete

    December 31, 2015

  21. Amaria

    “seeking kisses”

    I looked high and low
    for your soft lips
    to run into your arms
    and plant small kisses
    but the days kept passing
    without your return
    I stand by the window
    searching for your form
    walking from the horizon

    by Arcadia Maria 12/30/15
    All rights reserved.

  22. Shennon

    Seeking a Refill

    I seek a refill
    If you please

    To forget about
    This damn disease

    That brought a grown man
    To his knees

    Not offering
    Apologies

    So I work to cope
    With not much ease

    A brave, strong front
    The whole world sees

    So I’ll quite neglect
    My Qs and Ps

    My drink dulls the sword
    Call me Damocles

    –ShennonDoah

  23. seingraham

    SEEKING THE VOICE

    In the spaces of the night that are neither dream nor sleep
    I think I hear it, the voice I had, the one that knew the words
    It was familiar to me once but has gone missing
    It seems odd to think of it that way but I find it’s true

    Even when I try to put them down on paper—the words, I mean—
    I can’t seem to hear them any longer
    No matter how I still the thudding in my chest—my heart;
    the harshness of my breath caught somewhere there as well
    I wonder at the echo that grows fainter every day

    but is all remaining to remind me that the voice
    did exist at one time. I am afraid if I don’t keep seeking it,
    if I forget about it, it will disappear for good and all.
    Oh, and I’m not sure that I can stand the thought.

  24. seamuscorleone

    Seeking Insanity

    “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity”
    Edgar Allan Poe

    “pay the bills”

    “go to work”

    “prepare home-cooked meals”

    “do the dishes”

    “wash the dirty laundry”

    “dry the clean laundry”

    “fold the laundry”

    “put the laundry away”

    (I fucking hate doing laundry)

    If insanity is the inability to form
    rational thoughts then
    I need to find more insanity
    in my life

    music playing so loud it annihilates
    all thought

    running so hard the fire in my lungs engulfs
    the fire in my brain

    drinking until the world seems like something to laugh at
    rather than cry over

    sleeping dozing snoozing hibernating
    just please
    not
    dreaming

    anything to curb all these rational thoughts that
    won’t stop clawing at my brain

    running naked through the streets

    putting on all of the clothes I own and sleeping outside
    from now on

    anything at all to stop having to
    do the laundry
    pay the bills
    change the oil
    just all around be
    a grownup
    all the time

  25. Sara McNulty

    Seeking Peace

    She wears lime green,
    and a smile. Her clothing
    never goes out of style.
    She will stop to chat
    whenever you need
    an ear to listen
    or a shoulder
    to lean on. Fair
    in her dealings,
    determined to strike
    a like chord
    when speaking
    with a group–any
    language. Are you sure
    you haven’t seen
    her somewhere around
    your neighborhood?
    Is she gone for good?

  26. taylor graham

    SEEKING A SHELL

    It’s the end of an old year. Time to sweep
    out, make room. An iron pot full of ashes;
    clutter of words that never will fly. I ask
    Box-Turtle, deep in hibernaculum, How
    do you sleep? She carries her home, it’s
    never too heavy; just room enough for
    her alone. Her roof, tiled with the scutes
    she’s been given; never any more. How
    can she grow? Bear nothing but your
    shell, she tells me. In mind, I touch hers –
    intricate inlay of chestnut-ebony shields
    polished as a talisman, each shield edged
    in earth-gold. Her living shell, a thing to
    grow. Don’t try to move along your path
    so fast, she says, and then you’ll know.

    1. victoriahunter

      Really enjoyed this poem. so many great images, and sounds “chestnut-ebony shields.” well done! I look forward to reading more of your work

  27. RJ Clarken

    Seeking a Great Perhaps

    “Francois Rabelais. He was a poet. And his last words were “I go to seek a Great Perhaps.” That’s why I’m going. So I don’t have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps.” ~John Green, Looking for Alaska

    “Je m`en vais chercher un grand peut-etre.” ~ Francois Rabelais

    A fortune-teller held my hand.
    She begged me, “Try to understand:
    there’s meaning out there in the gaps.
    You must go seek the great perhaps.”
    I said, “Your quote’s so Rabelais.
    That’s cool, but I’m no protégé
    of those who fill the deathbed lapse.
    So tell me, what’s the great perhaps?”
    The seer’s Mona Lisa lips
    blocked out her meaning: true eclipse.
    My mind was filled with handicaps:
    I didn’t ‘get’ this great perhaps.
    But later, when I’d lost the dream
    that I’d been chasing, came a stream
    of thought reserved for better chaps.
    I had to find that great perhaps.

    ###

  28. candy

    Seeking Heroes

    where have they gone
    are they all lost
    can’t be found
    run aground
    giving me the run-
    around until I stumble,
    fumble for words
    to call them back
    attack the memory
    of those who seemed
    invincible, invisible,
    indivisible by we who
    search in vain, again
    look in the places
    humble ones have
    occupied since time
    began – the ones who didn’t
    claim the fame they had
    attained, instead persisted
    in the fight for truth and light
    and what is right
    I’m seeking heroes
    here and there and
    find them hiding everywhere

  29. Amy

    Seeking Land

    no man
    is an island
    but maybe you were the
    dividing line, the ocean tide
    i fought

    it’s quite
    a long way down
    to the bottom of you
    your indigo blue always felt
    endless

  30. PressOn

    SEEKING SUCCOR

    My kinsman came
    to raise some bees
    in spite of tame
    abilities.

    He built a table
    and a hive;
    was barely able
    to survive

    when all his money
    flowed away
    and little honey
    came his way.

    The bees all died
    but he, he stayed;
    so loath to seek
    another trade.

    I say to others,
    remember please:
    beware of brothers
    bearing bees.

  31. ReathaThomasOakley

    Seeking solutions in lines that don’t rhyme

    They, the omniscient they, say
    the quest, the journey, is the reward,
    but as I’m propelled faster and
    faster toward the end of this road I feel
    ill equipped and unschooled despite
    lessons I surely learned along the way.

    Should I have spent more time with
    mathematics, with chemistry?
    Did I put too much faith in myths, in magic,
    in words I trusted to guide me,
    to keep my heart strong
    enough to keep moving along
    without answers, without assurances
    of what I might find at the end of my time?

    I’m too old for so many questions
    and doubts, I must just keep walking
    and hoping, depending on platitudes
    and poetry while preparing for the worst.

  32. PowerUnit

    Full Of It

    What am I seeking?
    Is it magnanimity or simple fulfillment?
    How is one counted in this game of life, and if nobody is keeping score
    What does it matter?
    What is winning and what is losing, when there are no written rules
    Everybody’s playbooks seem to be on different pages.
    Score a touchdown with your wife
    Or hit a homerun at work
    Are you really of higher worth?
    Do your pants slide on any differently today?
    When you walk down the street, do people notice your halo?
    Or do you step aside and let the punks by, afraid
    Will a simple hello lose you any face?

  33. Jane Shlensky

    Seeking Relief

    The line forms hours
    before the doors open,
    men and women staking a claim
    on time and space,
    shifting suspiciously
    if a child wanders near the front
    whose parent waits behind.
    The scowls are clear: teach
    your kid or someone else will.
    No cuts, no sympathy,
    No good will queued here.
    The message is etched
    on hard unsmiling faces.
    Let others be generous,
    kind, giving. The needy
    don’t have it to give,
    don’t give it to have.
    The needy save their smiles
    for the church workers
    hoping pity will equal extras.

    The minister works the line,
    speaking to each person, smiling,
    offering his hand, always
    suggesting the people join him
    on Sunday for a service,
    for worship and communion,
    to meet the members
    of his congregation,
    their benefactors, to learn
    about sharing, giving,
    community in faith.
    Poor fool.
    They are not here
    to pray
    or sing
    or give.
    They are here to receive,
    grasping whatever they can get
    as they walk through the pantry
    and closet area, expelled
    into the parking lot until next week.
    They are not seeking a savior
    or a friend, their impatience
    and stifled anger says.
    Just give us the goods
    and let us go, for the love
    of God.

  34. tobysgirl

    Seeking Candy…

    In the cupboard or in the drawer?
    I don’t know where I hid it!
    If only you’d keep your hands off of it
    I’d find it in a minute!

    I buy you treats for your own self
    So why do you dip into mine?
    You claim to dislike what I truly love
    And that suits me just fine.

    So step back and close your mouth
    I know it’s someplace secure
    I’ll find it when I’m good and ready
    Of that you can be sure!

    1. Shennon

      Great poem! I think this goes on in many home. I just heard today of someone’s grandma who hid candy in the dishwasher that she never used. They found it when she passed away.

  35. PKP

    Seeking Solace

    in a spinning world
    trying to stand still –
    recalling simple times
    of hope and unbridled
    happiness – ice pops on
    hot summer days – un-
    wrinkled bare toes at
    tide side – jumping off
    the carousel into my
    father’s arms as the
    calliope played into
    a forever I never truly
    thought would arrive …
    I seek
    solace

  36. taylor graham

    SEEKING THE DESHKA

    We’ve signed the deed, put the map away.
    Compelling reason, to be free of land so distant;
    taxes to pay for what? a memory. A scruffy
    stand of spruce. Blueberries claimed by Grizzly
    who doesn’t care for humans. Mosquitoes,
    bog and alder thicket – just to get there.

    Still that creek flows free and dark between
    low hills, or white, a frozen road where
    are no roads; or speckled – golden sparks
    of homing salmon. Gabbing raven told
    his tales of no-man’s land and tells them still
    to anyone who comes and, after, goes.

    We give it up. How was it ever ours?
    This memento, a photograph of you and me
    on snowshoes – cold hours, a frozen lake
    forty years ago. Laugh at how we’ve changed.
    But the land, not at all. In memory,
    bare, unroaded, unattainable, always there.

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