Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 355

For today’s prompt, write a cravings poem. The poem could be an ode to cake, fudge, or cheese. Personally, I woke up this morning with a craving for cream soda. But cravings can go well beyond food into the realms of activities, objects, and people (as well as a combination of all of the above).


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Here’s my attempt at a Cravings poem:


sometimes i feel i have to write
others i have the need to read
i know there is no wrong or right
with this impulse that needs to feed

always it seems it’s on my mind
words & yes even numbers too
some meaning i’m trying to find
& always leads me back to you


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He is one of those poets who constantly craves reading and writing more. Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


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117 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 355

  1. carolemt87


    Littleton, Colorado,
    population around 41,000
    this picturesque suburb south of the city of Denver
    near the front range of the Rocky Mountains
    created during the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush of 1859
    named after Richard and Angeline Little
    founders of the Rough and Ready Flour Mill


    Columbine High School
    in Littleton, Colorado
    founded in 1973
    named after the state flower of Colorado
    their mascot is the rebels and
    the school colors are blue and silver


    Eighteen-year- old Eric Harris and
    seventeen year old Dylan Klebold who planted
    propane bombs in Columbine High School
    on April 20, 1999 and
    when they failed to detonate, went on a
    shooting spree, killing 13 students and teachers,
    wounding 20 more before killing themselves.


    Blacksburg, Virginia
    population around 43,000
    where my Aunt Anne and Uncle John live
    in the Allegheny Mountains and named after
    Samuel Black and his two sons, John and William
    former owners of the land
    in 2011, Business Week named it
    the best town in which to raise kids.


    The campus of Virginia Tech
    formerly named Virginia Polytechnic Institute
    and State University, established in 1872
    this beautiful tree lined campus proudly displays
    school colors of maroon and burnt orange and
    their mascot is the Hokie (or Hokie bird).


    Seung-Hui Cho who
    on April 16, 2007, went on a shooting rampage
    at Virginia Tech which killed 32 faculty and students
    and wounded 17 others. Six people were
    injured jumping out of windows.
    Cho also killed himself.


    Newton, Conneticut
    population 28,000, founded in 1705
    the town has been the site of furniture,
    tea bags, combs, fire hoses, buttons and hat
    manufacturing, the board game “Scrabble” was invented
    in Newton by James Brunot.


    Sandy Hook Elementary School
    built in the 1950’s, which in 2012, had around
    600 students from kindergarten through
    fourth grade, and 40 or so faculty and staff.


    Twenty-year-old Adam Lanza who
    on December 14, 2012 at Sandy Hook
    Elementary School killed 20 children
    between the ages of 6 and 7 years old,
    as well as six adult staff members.
    Lanza also shot and killed his mother
    before driving to the school.
    When first responders arrived at the scene,
    Lanza committed suicide by
    shooting himself in the head.


    Lake Michigan on the western edge of the
    Lower Peninsula, lined with beautiful sandy beaches,
    boasting spectacular fishing and
    awesome sunset vistas.


    Traverse City, Michigan
    in my home state
    population about 15,000
    the largest producer of tart cherries in the United States,
    the town hosts an annual Cherry Festival in the
    first full week of July which attracts about 500,000 visitors,
    down staters flock up north to Traverse City for vacations
    throughout the summer and fall.


    Stacey Feeley’s three-year-old daughter
    Stacey snapped a picture of her daughter at her preschool
    because she thought her daughter looked
    especially adorable in this pose
    this blond, barefoot, beautiful little child
    with one hand on her heart
    perched on the toilet seat practicing
    how to hide in the event of a bad person coming
    to her preschool, intent on hurting her.

    Stop Stop Stop Stop
    Enough, this has to stop!
    Enough! of the candlelight vigils, moments of silence
    filibusters, sit-ins, ribbons and bracelets, tiny caskets
    and torrential tears.

    Enough already, of the your personal right to bear arms,
    your automatic weapons, bullets, your smell of gunpowder,
    blood and guts, the stranglehold of
    NRA, the red and the blue, the us versus them.
    I’ve had enough!

    Carol J Carpenter 2016

  2. LCaramanna

    A Headful of Dreams
    I crave an escape from reality
    to a place where music electrifies the night,
    where sights and sounds assault my brain
    with a headful of dreams.
    I crave an escape from everyday noise
    to a place where my voice rises in unison
    with all who sing the lyrics;
    to a place that energizes my soul and
    I glow in the dark.

    Lorraine Caramanna

  3. Julieann

    Purple Plums

    The Dr. gave the news
    Pregnant — twice
    No cravings, nothing strange
    No ice cream and pickles
    No anchovy pizza with candy
    No peanut butter sandwich
    With tomatoes
    No nothing like that
    Just each time
    We purchased plums
    They seemed to disappear
    I put them in the fridge
    Hubby went to work
    When he came home
    Low and behold –
    The plums were gone!

  4. qbit

    Stark craving
    Cracked into
    And need –
    Wracked, longing,
    Bad sick for it,
    Nicked up and hanging
    Fire stark naked and
    Livid with desire.

    That is the heart of it.
    That is the beast of it.

  5. Arash

    Decided to write a second craving poem:

    Longing’s Song

    by Arash

    I’m the catnip’s scent
    I’m the purring sound
    In pursuit of lust
    I’m the feral hound

    I’m the rhyming source
    I’m its ceaseless caw
    In the timbered heart
    I’m the pouncing maw

    I’m the empty tick
    I’m the timeless hell
    I’m the drowning flesh
    In the wishing well

    I’m the grasping want
    I’m the craving tongue
    In abysmal lull
    I’m the longing’s song

  6. Jane Shlensky


    Sometimes when I am
    steeped in heat
    I crave a scoop of icy blue
    melting and quenching
    thirsts I never knew I felt

    But so completely parched
    am I in my own desert drift
    mirage of aqua, ocean teal
    whisper of sapphire,
    azure sky, a wink
    of periwinkle,
    a satisfying lullaby
    I gulp

    And there you are
    igniting chaff
    burning me down
    your blue eyes giving me
    somewhere I can swim
    and drink you in
    a hankering
    gone deep and molten
    sometimes when I am
    steeped in heat.

  7. Asha1000

    Blue Sky Kisses

    Thunderstorms cracking open the morning,
    sleep-in, no-worries-days, painting the earth green,
    sucking till dry, ripe mango seeds,
    catching big-belly guppies
    for hours in the lazy river.
    While kiskadees sing in the cedar trees,
    we skip stones from moment to moment
    and laugh raucous as a flock of anis.
    My sisters, my brothers and I
    we spin like tops and flick marbles,
    throw jacks, hop on squares
    and jump between ropes into storyland.
    I am not the last but I am alone
    in this summer, craving carefree river,
    our rippled laughter, when we
    could reach up and kiss the blue sky.

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  8. qbit


    A craven
    Fleeing from you
    Into the citadel
    Within my head,
    Slamming shut
    And locking
    My eyes behind me,
    Boarding up ears, nose, throat
    Then pulling up the drawbridge
    Of touch.
    Batten down all the hatches
    Of the senses
    Throw the bolts
    Drop the bar a
    Siege mentality.

    I name fear
    The bulwark
    Against what we both

    1. ppfautsch24

      Reckless Love
      Reckless love captured in a bottle,
      pouring to unleash and spill its liquid warmth
      over me. A tap to my bottom, a wet kiss to my
      parted lips; quench the thirst in my heart.
      Achingly walking in a drunken state,
      craving and carving your touch on my skin.
      Fingertips rim my neck, we have found
      our niche for the night. Turn to tip the
      last drop with intoxicated and reckless love;
      empty bodies ready for the next drink.
      By Pamelap

  9. Pwriter10


    After watching ‘Silence of the Lambs’
    You still feel sane
    The rapid-fire heartbeat of
    The rain on your windshield
    Is soothing, almost draining

    And your half-owned limbs
    Can barely move
    Not because you’re physically stalled –
    You’ve just never unsaid “Love” before.
    It seems a crazy thing to do.

  10. trishwrites

    I crave your sing song
    voice and all those
    questions like
    Why is the sky blue
    The way you trip over
    your b’s and crayons

    I crave sticky fingers
    Small hands prying
    my eyelids open
    Dawns grey light

    Small breaths
    and fall
    My heart a beating drum
    with yours

    I crave small triumphs
    Riding a bike
    of laughter

    When did you grow up?

  11. G.Wood

    Craving Friends

    Last night, we rowed a wooden boat
    across to Avalon. Julie, you rowed in front
    looking over your shoulder of long brown tresses
    laughing at something snarky I said,
    and Lynn gave her signature hurumph of approval.
    We landed and laid our slim, languid selves on the banks
    and listened to the lapping at the edge,
    and no one bothered us.
    We soaked up shards of mica and our skin began
    to shimmer into flecked mosaics,
    eventually blending into the fog and brine.

    Sorrow watched from the periphery,
    dividing us with the knives of space and time.
    The lines and smiles between us faded,
    and I awoke feeling separated from us again.

  12. ely the eel

    One Thing

    Craving freedom
    from painful emotions,
    but suffering exists.
    All Buddhists know this,
    at home, across oceans

    Feeling helpless,
    doing nothing.
    Would it help if
    I alone
    did just one thing?

    So I write,
    stay mindful,
    light one candle,
    give my friends
    the love they deserve.
    I fall short, of course,
    but this is my path

  13. PKP

    a regular day

    kneeling they fall
    headless in blood
    others stand above
    picture fades to black
    as voices chatter
    here and there
    it’s not just that
    bloated bellied
    children stare
    with wide eyes
    of slashed puppies
    from televisioned
    eyes and screens
    begging and I
    in witness bearing
    madness to not
    turn away or
    toward …wake
    to this sunshines
    morning potted
    and planted
    trees drift
    languidly as
    words scream
    and a group sits
    in for blasts of
    gunfire that cannot
    be silenced any longer
    I long I long I long
    for the regular day
    when I lifted a mewling
    infant to my breast
    and curled together
    on cool sheets
    as milk flowed
    in peace

  14. woodpeckerduo

    Stave the Crave

    Found on beach: once white comb
    My wife and me, we find the free
    Depraved, we crave such things as these
    Away from scathing aggravation
    Take vacation from cravation
    Quavering, we misbehave
    Sometimes even act our age
    Beach one’s comb and clean one’s bean
    Sterile never made this scene
    Protecting turtles, saving worlds
    Whipped cream clouds with choc’late swirls

  15. De Jackson

    Most Mad and Moony

    She’s craving crescent, effervescent
    sliver, silverfish shivered into indigo
    sky. She’s carving her full self out of
    ivory, dipping low into crimson sea
    and wondering how she came to be
    quite so

    She’s amphibious, breathing strange
    in her own bright skin, beginning to
    wander deep and just slightly left of
    center. She’s longing for the pinprick
    of stars, the constellationesque haunt
    -ings of
    distant things.

    Give her a face, the space to move
    across this sky without the gossip
    prying of telescoping eyes. Give her
    her privacy, a dressing room with a
    darker scrim. First, give her the naked
    ache of sigh.
    Hunger. Thirst.


  16. Karen

    Craving fruit
    from effort and labor
    contentment with the suit
    satisfied with the harvest.

    Appreciation and respect
    beats micromanaged to death
    how wonderful it would be
    to love what you manifest.

    The joy of each new day
    knot in chest ceases to exist
    medications eliminated
    and feeling oh so sated.

  17. seingraham


    When I wake and find myself mad
    with missing you,I wonder,
    is that a form of craving?
    I picture your infant self –
    you were so beautiful; everyone
    said so; strangers would stop me
    at the mall, on the street,
    everywhere – and it was always the same,
    “Oh my, what a beauty – a girl, I guess, eh?”

    Even though I’m all about gender-neutrality,
    you were very fair, bald almost, and I got
    tired of confirming that, yes,
    you were a lovely girl
    Hence the bows, the pink outfits …

    Sometimes, my arms ache to hold you –
    often actually – to not even hear
    your voice is almost beyond my ken
    And the rest of it – this shunning
    thing you’re doing – I guess that too
    is beyond me.

    At times, I think I’m going unsane,
    that I’ll never get over this surreal
    period in my life.
    It comes to me that it’s your life also.
    Do you feel the loss as keenly? Ever?

  18. Domino

    Summers Long Lost

    I crave the dark, the stars, the waxing moon.
    I crave the warmth of a short summer night
    sweeping me off my feet. I crave the sound
    of crickets and the soft sough of the wind
    in the leaves of the apple trees, the soft
    blurs in the long grass: clover and Shasta
    daisy, scenting my wandering bare feet.
    I crave the dark silhouettes of house, trees,
    gate, the comforting strength of wall and well
    and wide stone path. I crave all the night sounds,
    the hunting chirp and cry of a vixen,
    the squeal of her lucky escaping prey,
    the soft query of an owl, the confused
    flutter of songbirds safe at rest. I crave
    the sensual scent of the wild roses
    winding tales in the dark, the feel of the
    moon soaking deep into my grateful skin.

  19. Azma

    Cravings on war

    I lay on bed to experience
    the kind of sleep
    that will leave me satisfied,
    to end all the thirst for rest
    I’ve had for days.
    I slowly drift through a path
    where peaceful pops of paint
    move me to siesta.
    But I get perturbed
    by the blaring banter
    of my roommate on her phone.
    My anger strengthens me enough
    to get off the comfort of the bed
    and throw the phone out the window.
    But I don’t.
    As my craving
    for the reward of patience
    is stronger.

    -Azma Sheikh

  20. ReathaThomasOakley

    The craving

    As a child, when the outside
    world grew dark, I begged for
    one more hour propped up
    in my bed, chenille covered knees
    my book’s resting place, the bed lamp
    with the green shade lighting each page.
    Some strong wanting’s never change.

  21. Stuart Peacock

    Strawberry Dreams

    I should like to dream
    Of a mountain named Strawberry,
    Washed in roaring tide of cream
    And dive into a fruity debauchery.

    For its season is truly the sweetest
    And the tantalising anticipation
    Of sampling that taste most dearest
    Is the most immoral of all sensation.

    No, I simply cannot resist
    Those ravishing, alluring rubies of red
    Though I know should desist
    From dreams of Adonis, suckling them in bed.

    I cannot truly describe the taste
    That sets alight to each sense,
    Or what ambrosia it must be laced
    But it is not the taste of innocence.

    I dare not show you the impurity
    Of my strawberry dreams
    If only for the sake of decency
    But awake too, all isn’t what it seems.

    It is everyone’s secret delight,
    One which many will not admit,
    But with sleep they stop the fight
    And to the sweetness they submit.

    So be my strawberry dream
    And taste the heavens with me.

  22. Shennon

    This Craving of Mine

    It’s almost a craving
    This desire I have
    To get under your skin
    To irritate you in ways
    You’ve never imagined.
    To turn this dross
    Into a game of control.
    To watch you choke on comebacks
    That I’ve already annihilated.
    To hear you plead
    For forgiveness
    You never deserved.
    To taste triumph
    When you withdraw completely
    And curl into a ball.
    To know that I’ve won
    Now that I’ve succumbed
    To this craving of mine.


  23. Sara McNulty

    Green Awning

    Saw that green awning
    rippling on the corner,
    few tables and chairs
    scattered underneath.
    Windows shimmered
    in high heat. I could
    not wait to eat at my
    favorite Italian restaurant.
    Met friends for a feast,
    leisurely evening of wine,
    cubes of fried polenta,
    fresh, crusty bread,
    and frutta de mare over linguine
    in rich red sauce. Sated
    as we were, who could resist
    an espresso, and shared dessert
    of tartufo–chocolate covered
    ice cream balls of vanilla,
    chocolate and cherry. As we
    ate, laughed, and reminisced,
    I wanted nothing more
    than to stay in this cocoon
    of friendship’s warmth
    and love.

  24. lsteadly

    I want you close
    yet you remain afar
    this infernal heat
    impels us to spar

    I crave your sugar
    while you lick my salt
    this infernal heat
    Is not our fault

    I need to feel
    your hands entwine in mine
    to twist me tender
    with love so fine

    This infernal heat
    one day must break
    cracking us open
    in love’s sweet wake

  25. mjdills

    A Craving Poem

    I crave peace…
    I crave lack of fear for our little children…
    I crave security for old people…
    I crave the end of human slaughter on city streets,
    where children need to feel safe to
    bounce a ball, ride a bike, tell a joke.
    I crave disarmament of common people
    so when someone gets angry he uses his words,
    or maybe even his fists, to work out his anger
    and doesn’t seek a gun to settle an argument…
    I crave hugs, hugs for those who have lost loved ones
    I crave the end of dread for women walking alone at night…
    I crave the cessation of boys and men, with dark skin, girls and women, too….knowing they are
    not safe, no matter where they are…
    I crave love. Love for our brothers and sisters. Love for our enemies,
    so they may know that love is stronger than hate…
    I crave safe spaces all over, everywhere, where if someone is in
    so much despair they don’t have access to a gun. With a gun there is no
    second chance.
    I crave peace.
    I crave peace.
    I crave peace.

  26. SarahLeaSales

    Airing Network Grievances

    Bloomberg isn’t running for President after all.
    Will Biden run for President?
    Will Romney run on a third-term ticket?
    Classic stock market speculation.
    It isn’t news if it doesn’t bring in the ratings.

    The manufactured feud between
    Megyn Kelly and Donald Trump
    has ended in a kissy-face one-on-one.
    Since when did bar-hopping attire
    become the cable news anchor look?

    A celebrity has died.
    Not exercising is bad for you.
    O’Reilly has written another book.

    Another celebrity has died.
    Five days later,
    we’ll stop hearing about it.

    “Breaking News” has become
    “The Boy Who Cried Wolf”.

    Through the haze of punditry,
    and over the babble-bobble of the talking heads,
    I begin to have cravings for real news,
    but, like a gold miner of yore (or ore),
    I must sift through the infotainment—
    many times on fast-forward—
    to find the nuggets of truth
    that have been crushed to dust.

  27. Charley

    Un Poco Loco por Cocoa

    I don’t have a favorite show.
    No TV set. Seems strange, I know.
    No pics on the wall of the cave.
    It’s chocolate I mostly crave.

    Now coffee I crave, ‘deed I do!
    Nothing starts the day like fresh brew.
    Last slurp for chocolate I save.
    It’s chocolate I mostly crave.

    Not much of a clothes horse am I.
    Designer names don’t make me sigh.
    Jewelry and watches aren’t my rave.
    It’s chocolate I mostly crave.

    Fancy houses and cars; what for?
    Celebrity parties – big snore!
    “Ghiradelli” with mark my grave.
    It’s chocolate I mostly crave.

    © 2016 by Charley Lyman

  28. Arash

    Written mainly in iambic tetrameter

    Craving for Peace

    by Arash

    Of late and when the world’s asleep
    I get a strange craving for peace
    And sleepwalk down so late at night
    My fingers still groping for light
    And if a plate inside that fridge
    Oh even if it’s just one piece
    One taste of it could make me weep
    It’s scent would float as must a bridge
    Above ripples and out of sight
    To where no words can stand for spite
    To where no fear or fight can creep
    Nor crazed turbulence in the deep

    My doctor called me “rare addict”
    Prescribed a diet very strict:
    No peace at home even outside
    No peace especially at night
    But healthy dose of grim conflict
    The toughest love for peace addict

  29. Jilllyman

    Untamed Cinquains

    I require a
    True vacation day trips and
    Family visits don’t qualify
    The wild lands

    Followed closely by
    Fiesta with tequila
    Dance the night away reckless
    My wild heart

    Crystal glasses
    Baying at the crescent
    Moon, feral now we all exalt
    Wild June

  30. deringer1


    I am human. I am a bundle of mixed up desires.
    I crave solitude. I crave companionship.

    I hope for a fatter bank account,
    but love the freedom of having less.

    My taste buds want sweets
    while my pride wants slender.

    My ears want music unending
    and my spirit craves silence.

    My better self longs to achieve,
    but my slothful self wishes for a nap.

    And as for you—sometimes I love you.
    Sometimes I hate you. I can’t decide.

  31. PowerUnit

    I crave making good art like Neil Gammon
    Like Updike, Atwood, and Morrison
    Hemingway forms the base of my best book stack
    Frank Hebert offers a moving target, my pens can’t scratch
    Yann Martel’s turns and returns
    Frustrate me, tease me
    Like Modecai’s acerbic wit
    And Tolstoy’s dares to test my metal against his ink
    Kurt Vonnegut hates guns but he slays me
    Tolkien just tosses me into chasms
    While Toews does things to me I dare not write
    Even in a poem
    Especially not in a poem

  32. taylor graham


    No turnstile, but an open window
    with a direct view on summer.
    Convection bouncing off the opposite hill,
    we’re in an echo chamber of heat.
    Everywhere Drought
    has left its mark. Dry fields, dry pond
    craving wet.
    Last sip of coffee, a stolen
    moment. I need to clean the kitchen
    floor. Fetch my rag-mop
    that’s been hanging from the deck,
    drying. Dunk it in my bucket.
    This enchantment, sunlight swirling
    water – and out swims a frog
    in bright yellow tights,
    somersaults from bucket to linoleum.
    How shall I catch him? I’ve never
    been intimate with frogs,
    only intrigued. Could this one
    be a prince of fairytale,
    or just another endangered species?

  33. dsherman

    “The Smell of Dawn”

    I wake with the sun, and oft on my mind
    My blue ceramic mug like a dream.
    The aroma of morning in coarse grind
    A resurrection of sunshine and steam

    Cool and clear water, grounds in the filter
    Ritual of dawn whose practice I’m keeping
    Pot goes in straight, a mess if off-kilter
    Body’s awake, though mind is still sleeping.

    Muttering pot who whispers, “good morning”
    Filling with black gold, caffeine, and promise
    The brew is finished, red light’s a warning
    Softness of dawn, my beverage of solace!

    You never fail to send my heart soaring
    The beautiful sound of coffee pouring

  34. Anthony94


    Today, it was for key limes
    made into pie, their emerald
    rinds zested onto the smooth
    pale green concoction that
    feeds the need for cool on these
    record breaking heat wave days.

    Wind draws the moisture from
    even the clovers, bows the heads
    of lilies in the ditches and folds
    the Rose of Sharon blooms back
    into themselves. But within the
    cool shelves of refrigerated luxury
    rests the pie, like a promise.

    In town, the children rush into
    the library for the free noon meal,
    bikes thrown onto the grass, the
    stands overflowing. They come
    for the coolness, a respite against
    the orange warnings on the screen.

    Listen to stories, share magic tricks.
    Gobble hot dogs and applesauce,
    wear chocolate pudding faces. We
    count them to prepare for tomorrow,
    both of us leaving early afternoon, but
    not even a storyteller can put into their
    refrigerators the cool promise in mine.

  35. Carolyn Lilly

    What I Crave Now
    By Carolyn Lilly

    I hunger and I thirst
    for righteousness alone.
    I have put aside the sins
    for which Jesus did atone.
    The cravings of my sinful heart
    brought little but pain.
    So I choose every day
    not to give in again.
    And when I fail
    which ultimately I will.
    Then in confession I find
    Jesus’ blood covers me still.

  36. PressOn


    Oh, a chocolate binge can get rough,
    for, in truth, I cannot get enough;
    to wit: it’s a craving
    that segues to raving
    when faced with the lack of the stuff.


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