Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 374

Wow! After a month of writing a poem each and every day, it felt so weird going a whole week between prompts.

For today’s prompt, write a pop poem. This poem could be about popcorn, pop-up books, pop-out decorations, pop quizzes, pop culture, Pop-Tarts, or any number of pop-related topics. Just wait long enough, and I’m sure something will pop into your head.


Recreating_Poetry_Revise_PoemsRe-create Your Poetry!

Revision doesn’t have to be a chore–something that should be done after the excitement of composing the first draft. Rather, it’s an extension of the creation process!

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.

Click to continue.


Here’s my attempt at a Pop poem:

“Ode to a Soda Pop”

O fizzy carbonation!
O sugary sensation!

My life was watered down
before you came to town

with your sweetened caffeine;
I admit that I’m a fiend

for your Coke & Mountain Dew–
yes, root beer & orange pop too!

There is a time to drink you right:
Any hour, both day & night.


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). And yes, he does love soda pop…a little too much.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


Find more poetic posts here:

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

45 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 374

  1. taylor graham


    Loki wasn’t due yet, she didn’t act like she was
    ready to whelp. We loaded her in our little
    Honda Fit, in her crate where she likes to travel.
    We drove to fitness class, made sure she was
    comfortable, had plenty of air. Came back 40
    minutes later. A few yards short of our car,
    I heard a soft mewling. Another, a third. Loki
    in her crate with three new puppies. How did she
    deliver without crushing them? All three pups
    licked cleaned and tidy. We rushed home. Loki
    escorted me almost breathless as I carried each
    pup to the whelping box in our bedroom. Five
    more pups popped out. No problem. Later,
    when I was safely away, she moved her pups
    from whelping box to closet. A much cozier
    den. What do humans know?

  2. Connie Peters


    Some call it soda
    Some call it pop
    Some call it cola
    You may need a mop

    Sometimes it explodes
    When shaken for a while
    Then it’s afizzin’
    Over all the kitchen tile

    Some call it soda
    Some call it pop
    Some call it cola
    You may need a mop

    1. ppfautsch24

      Just checking, my comments are being posted, but my poem is not. My apologies if my poem shows up more than once, I have tried to submit three times now.

    2. ppfautsch24

      Pop Goes My Thoughts
      Haggard and sexy on a Friday Night,
      Curled and love unfurled on my couch.
      Presecco bubbles effervescent in a long
      stem flute, touch on my lips.
      Pop goes thoughts of you in my head.
      Friday night drink of choice at my fingertips;
      Pop goes dreams of you in my bed;
      frost covered in the night.
      By Pamelap

  3. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    message received
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    a pop in the mouth saves time,
    or so my father always said.

    a cure-all for sass and back talk,
    teen angst and general disrespect

    a cupped hand catching air to the lips
    for a kind of shock & awe signal to the brain

    a message to perhaps rethink future moves
    when playing chess with parental units.

    © 2016 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  4. qbit


    Save our souls, those of us lashed windward.
    I’ve tempted the Coriolis of your anger —
    Unleashing Cyclones and whirlwinds,
    Glass popping, timbers snapping,
    The wanton release of wildfire:

    The underwhirl of a dark planet —
    The spin of its mass
    And specific gravity
    Pulling waves and wind
    Into furious alignment.

    The aftermath
    As impossible to calculate
    As the beforemath.
    The weight of all the ash
    Drifting underfoot, the last snuffling sparks.

  5. seingraham


    How to protect oneself from the horror
    that is bent on parading itself
    before us every day and night
    You can turn the tube off, I suppose
    But sooner or later, memories fade
    And we get drawn back – to watch a movie,
    or a favorite show
    Before we quite know how it happens – pop,
    wham – shazzam – there, and there
    Children – bloodied and dying are being
    pulled from wreckage in Syria
    Before you can change the channel
    some other abomination is imprinting
    itself on our retinas
    Quick – pop the thing off before you
    make yourself sick
    You can do it, just do it.

  6. Jane Shlensky


    When he brought out
    Rice Krispies with milk,
    bubble makers, drums,
    balloons, cherry bombs,
    and fire crackers,
    taught us to snap
    our fingers, our knuckles,
    our palms and mouths,
    then he was Poppy, sweet
    spirit of all things Pop.

    When that dark shadow
    crossed his eyes, his brows
    lowered like a fast-moving
    storm, when his big hands
    reached out and grabbed,
    his lips pressed in a line,
    his jaws working in anger,
    only one thing could come
    of that mood. Pop.

  7. Greenbird

    Sunny day
    Bright colors
    Books on grass
    A freshman feeling.
    Red fingerpaint
    Cherry-flavoured pop
    Warm hands
    Soft lips.
    The first night
    You sleeping over
    Sophomore, unsophisticated
    Yellow curtains
    Dark blue outside
    Your leg over mine
    Pop, bedside
    You say, to make me sweet.
    Lavender clouds
    Four years,
    Gone so quickly.
    No trace of you
    But the taste of pop.

  8. writinglife16


    His frat brothers cringed.
    Every morning he drank
    Pop and then water
    to get going for the day
    He said, “It’s just my caffeine.”

  9. writinglife16


    Dinner that night
    was popcorn and pop
    by candlelight.
    We had discovered
    cooking was a fight
    we could not win.
    We tried with all our might,
    but the smoke detector decided
    that dinner that night
    would be popcorn and pop
    by candlelight.

  10. SarahLeaSales

    Pop Culture Jesus

    He came into the world a baby,
    even as Adam and Eve
    entered it,
    fully formed.
    He is heavily edited,
    often misquoted, for
    eighteen years of his life
    are unaccounted for.
    He honored His father and mother,
    but honored His Heavenly Father more.
    He was a carpenter;
    He is a King.
    He is a mystery,
    yet many feel they know Him.
    He is a part of history,
    but not herstory.
    He loved all women,
    or He loved one woman.
    His Name is a prayer,
    even as it is a swear.
    He was a pescatarian
    who declared all meat clean,
    a drinker of old wine for the Catholics,
    new wine for the Mormons.
    He atonement covers all sin
    beyond the point of conversion;
    His shed-letting only blots out
    sins repented of.
    He is an ideal
    few live up to,
    and even fewer seek to.
    He saved souls,
    His words have saved the lives
    of those who believe,
    His influence has saved even more
    for those who do not.
    He committed suicide;
    He is a martyr who allowed
    Himself to be killed.
    He is a liberal Socialist
    for the eugenicists,
    a conservative Republican,
    for those who believe in
    natural selection.
    He is God,
    He is His Son,
    or He was,
    a Man.

  11. Sara McNulty

    Green Pop

    Canned spinach
    was made famous
    by Popeye,pipe-smoking,
    and muscular. Olive Oyl
    swooned as he popped
    open a can and poured
    it down his throat.
    Made him a better man
    than Bluto. I was one
    of those kids that liked
    spinach. When frozen
    spinach hit the shelves,
    even the Keebler elves
    could not resist. Cream
    style was best. When I
    discovered fresh spinach,
    a whole new culinary world
    opened up–mushroom and spinach
    salad, cooked with olive oil
    and garlic, or mixed with
    cheese. I do wonder
    whether Popeye would have
    eaten quiche.

  12. De Jackson

    shimmy, shimmy

    she cocoa
    -pop slides
    right up into the sky,
    all smoky and serene
    and screened in by
    curtain clouds.

    she’s a sly one,
    not shy; golden
    dress slinky-twist
    fresh from sunset’s
    blush, sequin-ready

    oh, she’s got
    secrets; things
    she’ll never tell.

    her silhouette’s
    a shiver
    casting her spell.


  13. Bushkill

    Secret Admirer

    My bubble burst
    With loud kaboom
    And stripped me first
    My nom de plume

    I stood revealed
    All secrets bare
    My layers peeled
    For eyes to stare

    With thoughts unsheathed
    And mission broke
    A soul’s reprieve
    No shelter took.

    For now I hide
    In sun’s bright glare
    The tempest’s died
    And I’ve been spare(d)

    To live a life
    That’s scorching hot
    Because of strife
    From vision’s popped.

  14. taylor graham


    a conglomerate of muscle, tendon,
    ligament attached to bone – my right arm
    woke up grumbling. What had I done?
    I heard no muscle pop. Nothing special.
    Drove to town and back, spent time
    at the computer; cleared the creek of broken
    limbs and moved some rocks before
    the next big rain. Nothing to aggravate my
    arm – the arm that shifts gears, lifts big sacks
    of dog-food, and writes poems.
    Why? I asked. My arm answered. You
    don’t even know us, it said – we muscles,
    tendons, ligaments are not a conglomerate,
    but an intricate web as magical as spider-
    weave. When something goes wrong,
    you expect a quick fix, like replacing the clutch
    on your car. Sometimes the brain just
    has to get down on its knees and say “I
    don’t know.” One arm is only half a prayer.

      1. tripoet

        Sometimes the brain just
        has to get down on its knees and say “I
        don’t know.” One arm is only half a prayer.

        I was impressed with your poem and these lines.

  15. Walter J Wojtanik


    The month was long
    I’m poemed out
    it seems my words
    have lost their clout.
    My pop has fizzled,
    my pop’s gone flat.
    It think I’ll just
    leave it at that.
    And so I bid
    a fond adieu!
    I wish the best
    to all of you!

  16. De Jackson

    So, duh

    Call it what you want
    (depends on where you’re from).
    It’s just a fizzy drink,
    and arguing is dumb.

    Some call it simply “soda,”
    while others call it “pop.”
    And any brand can be a “coke;”
    it’s all just sugar-slop.

    There’s no need to debate it,
    or make fun of someone’s drink.
    To pop a vein over soda semantics
    is silly, don’t you think?


  17. tripoet

    He was
    He smelled
    stale bread.
    Her mom gave
    him more
    chances than
    he deserved.
    He always fell
    off the wagon
    no matter how
    many times
    her family
    propped him
    up. Still
    he was
    her pop
    and while
    of him
    this six-year-old
    daughter found
    a way
    to love
    him too.

  18. Terri Miller


    Lying in bed at
    a psychiatric hospital

    After an overdose of

    Psychedelic thoughts
    pop into my head

    Thoughts of rainbows
    abstract shape
    all different colors

    A state of altered
    of body and mind

    The thoughts that
    popped in my head
    slowly disappear

    Copyright © TMC 2016

  19. Arash

    truth Is the Lollipop

    by Arash

    They toddle and they fall.
    It snows in Vancouver.
    Spaces tightens, times slow,
    grownups grimace, kids glow.
    I hear myself titter.
    But why? Why can’t I stop?
    Freedom is a tyrant
    for the hungry thinker.
    Seeking manna I’d failed
    to see the child’s answer:
    Truth is the lollipop.
    Recall when you were small
    and when a severe hail
    meant hard candy for all?
    The sun is out and snow
    starts to move and thaw.
    This time I do not think.
    Maybe it’s the little things.

  20. grcran

    Give It Some

    Whop the hop Be-bop Don’t stop
    Chop chop Razor strop
    In the bottom out on top
    Nary a drop Plop plop
    Mop the slop Lop the crop
    Cop a proper clippety clop
    After all ya been taught
    You maybe should not
    But ya really oughtta ought
    Give it some Pop

    gpr crane

  21. headintheclouds87

    Make it Pop

    ‘Make it fizz, make it pop!’
    Is what our weary designer
    Hears from over his shoulder
    As he attempts to appease
    The irritatingly clueless client
    And their vexingly vague request.

    But that’s not the ‘fizz’ they meant,
    That’s not the ‘pop’ they were after,
    No, they really wanted it to jump out
    And hit right between the gullible eyes
    Of their unsuspecting consumers,
    So they’re left blinded by banality.

    The increasingly irritated designer
    Throws another idea together,
    Hoping this time he’s captured
    This idiotic concept of ‘pop’
    Or indeed, that elusive ‘fizz’
    That they continue to clamour for.

    Alas, it is still not yet suitable,
    But they give no further insight
    Into just what they wish it to be
    Beyond these silly buzzwords
    That mean nothing to him
    And boil up his blood so.

    He gives up in a huff,
    Politely suggesting that perhaps
    They might shove their precious ‘pop’
    Firmly up their own posterior,
    And leave him in peace
    To pursue work he deems worthy.

  22. Gold_Debby96

    With all my might.
    In the heart of a white nation.
    Kings in oddly shaped crowns
    with gold encrusted robes
    -Robes befitting for nobles-
    Sit for dessert.

    Each poppy creature screamed.
    the refinery popped
    Royals in hot sugary blood.
    Let the pop-drums roll.

  23. Anthony94

    Flying in the Draft

    After a morning of mammograms
    and body scans it’s refreshing to see
    seventeen geese pop over the horizon
    in their low V, headed north into the next
    farm pond. Today they are silent
    ahead of this first snow already bluing
    western skies. We have yet to cut the tree,
    hurry before flakes fall and roads slicken
    under an icy sheen. Cats stay close and
    birds feed in a subdued kind of
    silence. I ponder the calm without
    and within as I trudge the stairs laden
    with red, gold, bundles of poinsettias
    to sparkle the season. Last year
    we did blue, silver, brought ice inside,
    but this year I need the glow of a red fire
    reflected in every orb, the warmth
    of possibility, the eighteenth goose.

  24. PowerUnit

    Pop Star

    She wears a long black coat and boots, red hat and scarf.
    Her dog is patchy, as if undergoing chemotherapy,
    a dirty, poodle-like mutt with bright eyes.
    She wears sunglasses on the cloudy day. Snow lingers
    on the still green grass, collects
    in the ruts between curb and pavement, sidewalk and foundation,
    the hoods of un-started cars, her dog blends.
    The grey winter slams the street. Shoulders hunch and
    minds cower. Power poles and lines shudder.
    She walks with long strides, her dog wants to run.
    She bounces, as if playing a fast guitar,
    as if she was a pop star.

  25. uvr

    Before we became


    as two banks held a-
    part by a river

    we were close
    as two bodies
    allowing no chink
    through which
    a sliver of light could creep

    and now
    I am putting

    a continent between us


    whether my absence
    will pop out at you
    or make you revel
    in how complete you feel
    without me


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.