For today’s prompt, write a reflection poem. This poem could be about a physical reflection (or lack of reflection if you’re talking vampires). But poems that deal with reflections as thoughts work too. In fact, any creative interpretation of reflection or reflective surfaces will be accepted.
*****
Re-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.
*****
Here’s my attempt at a Reflection poem:
“Reflection on Reflections”
sometimes i neglect to reflect
on the good times that i have had
just as i neglect to reflect
on the bad times that i have had
& though some times have been real bad
& though some times have been real sad
i have had moments that weren’t bad
& other moments that weren’t sad
which is why it’s good to reflect
on times that were nearly perfect
& on times that were imperfect
because i find when i reflect
there’s less chance for me to neglect
the good & bad times i have had.
*****
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 no, he’s not sure about the poem he just wrote, but it was still fun to write.
Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.
*****
DOG PASSES
Even in what seems the world’s biggest
labyrinth – a city – my dog must be walked.
Edge of major arterial 6-lane,
rush hour motorists frazzled to pop an artery;
official DO NOT signs, sirens, neon
reflected in gutters, come-ons for a cheap
massage. An old man holds out his hat for coins.
My dog will not be disenchanted.
She lifts her nose to sea stories on a westwind,
chanty for a sail. And here, in a maze
of concrete islands, she pirouettes “let’s go!”
and I start out after her, again, in a new
direction. With a dog, anything
becomes adventure.
Hindsight
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Looking back there are things I’d broker different,
situations I’d picked black over white,
folks I’d prefer been left at the wayside
and maybe gone left instead of right.
I would trade riches for a cache of new memories
though bittersweet spent with you,
a time before earth came to swallow her blossoms,
a day before the Devil made due.
It’s hindsight that strengthens and weakens
a force that can rattle one’s cage,
a reckoning that comes when you least expect it
a fight that you cannot possibly wage.
© 2016 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Fragment
The bones in my back
Creak and crack,
Failing
To unfold into wings.
Steam bent ribs
Shivering themselves
To splinters
Broken for flight.
The Angel of incidence
Equals the Devil of refraction —
An arrow
Fletched with feathers of light
Shattered against ugly
As sin, physik
Ricocheted outward
Reflecting what is hunched
Inward.
Oh wow…..Brilliant!
BREAKDOWN
We weren’t going any farther that solstice night,
huddled in mummy-bags off the roadside.
You were soon asleep. I was left to hear a bell
in dark distance. In older days or another land,
I might have thought shepherd with his flock.
It was cold enough for the wavy green glory
of Northern Lights reflecting off dead chrome.
Trellises of stars I climbed at last to midnight,
dawning sleep. In time this would be legend.
Excellent! Loved this piece. Wonderful imagery, reflective, wow!
Toys 1
I pick up the yellow Matchbox truck
a scratched finish and broken
windshield
a part of so many of our stories.
This garage is dirty and dusty
and your stories are changing;
It is much harder for me
to throw these away
than you.
Very powerful piece, kudos!
Story of Buck
by Arash
Up close he looked like a bereft cowboy
Waiting his turn for some more campfire beans
Except Buck was in an institution
With hands on hips posing in line for pills.
No rope nor gun, and not atop a horse,
No cowboy boots neither donning a hat,
Still Buck had been a true cowboy no less
Who owned some sheep and cattle and a ranch
Until that day when his reflection asked:
Oh Buck must we eat flesh, must we not grass?
So Buck let the ranch and the livestock go
And grazed each day along with cows and sheep.
But soon the land owners restrained our Buck
Dragging him to the doctors, shackled, tied.
These days you won’t see Buck out in the field,
But here surrounded by the walls sans glass.
Buck is at last snowed into sanity.
ON PEERING INTO A POOL
When I think of the moon in the pond
that’s enmeshed in the shade of a frond,
I recall that its light
shines with poses bedight
and invites me to parse the beyond.
Reflections on the water; rippled waves of my life. Swept moments of mistakes, mishaps, and mistrust, swim through currents of the ages.
But in the mist, the sun reflects the golden rays of life and I rest in the reflection beyond the deep insides of me.
By Pamelap
Love this!
Noel O Pan Napoleon
(“able was I ere I saw elba”, the palindrome, is a reflection)
(as is this poem)
Napoleon reflected on his loss
his boss his ego bigger than a whale
they jailed him up on Elba where he cried
not justified, I’m emperor, won’t fail
he helped the folks on Elba organize
revise revitalize the roads the farms
his charms had Elbans help him get away
hold sway again the French followed in swarms
les cent jours built him, knocked him down once more
met poorly Waterloo last battle lost
then crossed the waves to Saint Helena where
he dared reflect how history fires the frost
(note: les cent jours is French for one hundred days… after Napoleon had conquered a large chunk of the world and ruled for 10 years, he was exiled to Elba… the poem descibes the period of exile and the following 100 days as he rose to power again, was defeated, and then was exiled to his death-place, Saint Helena Island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean)
gpr crane
This leaves me smiling. Broadly.
Deceptive Reflections
I wake up and wonder
‘What am I doing here?’
After a fitful half-slumber,
An answer not readily clear.
I rummage in my restless mind
For any reason I can find
But get lost in the past instead,
Unearthing events best left behind.
I reflect on forgotten days,
But through a broken mirror
That taints the memory’s gaze
And convinces me I am inferior.
I force myself to fight these cracks
And recover the rational image
That will set me back on track
To find answers I can faintly envisage.
For me, this places “rational image” firmly in cheek. Wonderful.
Love you poem, headintheclouds! Some much depth and reflection!
Stretching into the distance
the grey of a foggy day
seeps beneath
the still lake
blends into
the horizon
threatens to smudge
the edges of life
But the defiant sun
reflects gold from the
now shimmering waters
burnishes the silver
sliver of hope
lining the clouds
I admire this. Lush is not too strong a word for it, in my opinion.
uvr, your poems always delight and conjure up such vivid pictures in words.
Thank you both… 🙂
I love the word “smudge.”
Mirror Images
I never miss a chance
To look in a mirror.
I’m okay seeing my whole body
Or just my face
Because so far my figure
Is still not so bad.
Other women tell me
They never look down past their necks.
They cannot stand the sight
Of what’s below.
These reflections have a way
Of confronting us with
Both good and bad news
Good for those beautiful youngsters
I see at the gym,
And super–bad for women seventy plus
Like me who’d rather keep
Their reflections to themselves.
Hmmmm…. a grown-up is talking here, methinks.
It has been awhile since I posted; other pursuits have kept me away. Here is my attempt for this week’s prompt.
Mike
What Lies Beneath
Benny looked closely at the image
In the mirror and tweaked
His tie just a little so it
Would be perfectly in the middle of the collar.
He smoothed the knot and
Adjusted the curve as it
Exited, making sure the
Pinch was centered and
The tail end tucked behind.
“It’s all about hiding the tail.”
He told himself, hands sliding
Down the tie, ensuring it
Hid the buttons, tip just
Touching the borrowed belt.
He smoothed the front of the crisp
Shirt as it slit into the neatly ironed
Pants, pulling the extra fabric to
A tight pleat on each side and
Another along his spine.
Next his fingers found the collar
Sliding around, checking for
Smooth and even, probing to
See no tie showed behind and comparing
It to hair line so nothing showed.
He ran damp fingers through his hair to
Smooth it and calm himself.
He leaned close to check the erased
Tear scar—the doctor’s skill and his
Girl’s concealer doing their job.
At last, Benny gently tugged each cuff
Pulling down the sleeves to cover
His sleeves—to mask what
Remained of his past as he
Made his way to a future.
Stepping back, he hoped they wouldn’t see
Beyond this reflection of who
They wanted him to be.
I was moved deeply by this, borrowed belt and all.
Haiku
hall of mirrors
she still thinks she looks fat
in the thin one
I thought this was powerful. TY.
Indeed
Sitting, Reflecting
At
times
I sit,
reflecting
on decisions made
in my life, some impulsive and poor,
others wise. There were adventures even with-
in strange situations. I am glad to have memories I can look back
on, and smile.
This form, which looks like a combination of a fib and a Crapsey cinquain, fits this topic well, I think. It has a reflective quality in the way it springs back to “smile.”
REFLECTIONS
As a child I swam with my friends in a lake,
a lake so clear we could see the sandy bottom
and our faces reflected in the water.
Now the reflection I see
is only in a mirror into which
I would rather not look.
Wow. So much power in so few words.
Opacity
All day running errands, the back
and forth, highways, turnings, success
and lack of. Biopsies, cancer conversations,
the boys’ divorces, the unpredictability
of now, the old lady’s anger at being
placed in the assisted living facility at
the young age of 88, her own dementia
an unknown. The day is overcast by all
this and clouds as well, evening coming
down with the sameness of yesterday,
the day before ahead of the snow. Air is
dry, waiting, while in the creek, skim
ice is as opaque as all that has preceded,
so not even the crested jay has a reflection,
nor the smilax torn loose from its moorings
in the shagbark hickory, sailing down.
For me, this is powerful writing, and it creates a suppressed mood. Marvellous work.
Mirror, Mirror
She can see him in the rear-view
but can’t make out his face.
His arms swing and his feet hurry.
He is not a rascally image.
He shifts into the side-mirror
and zooms past.
He does not turn his head to gaze
does not slow to say hello.
He fades into the distant
past is behind her.
She has no mirror to see ahead
to view where he will stop.
Life was easier without mirrors.
You never had to watch your back.
Bingo!
REFLECTIONS ON THE SEASON
An old wicker reindeer tilts as if to fall
on its nose by the tiny-tot tricycle and a one-
armed doll on the lawn. Ancient Christmas lights
strung from gate to fencepost, over an ancient
Ford up on blocks, a camper-shell, and –
is that a wringer washer bearing a wreath?
Along this uncurbed street behind Main, no one
seems to believe in planned obsolescence.
Dead appliances hold down the lawn
lest it blow away in wind, or there might still
be some reusable parts among the rust
and frayed wiring. Do with what you’ve got,
fix what you can, and bide the rest. At nightfall
the string of lights turns on against our
semi-rural dark, reflect bright glitter on a rain-
puddle. It looks like Christmas without
the extravagance shell. Where’s the pearl?
If I stopped right here to listen, bet I’d hear
somebody sing off-key “God rest ye
merry” breaking into “Joy to the world.”
This is utterly superb, in my view. The images pop up unbidden.
Reflections
My life has had
many bumps along
the road of life
I look back and see
were I lied
I remember those
that I loved and lost
I cry for those that
I miss the most
I’m sorry for the
mistakes of
trusting the wrong
people
Through it all
I’ve learned
Copyright © TMC 2016
This piece reminds me of how much alike we all are. Well done.
Reflections of Life (or not)
My neighbor and I
had gotten into the habit of
nightly reflections of our lives.
It was literally
the contrast between day and night,
but with common themes.
I worried about treating people well
while he was concerned about not killing them.
Flip sides of a similar coin.
Our lives reflected each others
even though I lived and he didn’t.
My neighbor is a vampire.
Hmmmm…. this one caught me flat-footed. Wonderfully done.
Reflecting
I love sitting on a log
dangling my legs over the creek
listening to the water gurgle
as my thoughts flow along
turning this way and that
like pebbles in a sunny pool.
Here’s one from my daughter.
Glass Darkly
Seeing to the other side
depends on the opaqueness
of the structure in between.
If it’s dark, gloomy, angry or sad,
your view can be obscured,
and the people on the other side
are merely dancing shadows
that you can’t understand or laugh with.
But if the veil between is cleared
with joy, peace and love,
the shadows take on substance
and you can dance together.
–Lori P
Amen, sister!
Haven’t had time to participate in too long! Just a few short lines to get back into the swing of things.
funhouse life
too fast
for reflection
****
dying
to be as thin
as the looking glass
****
scattering ashes
still water reflects
our blue faces
****
– Kim Mannix
http://www.makesmesodigress.com
These are little gems, especially, for me, the last one.
Hey Kim,
Good to see you back. These are wonderful!
Fantastic. Really good plays on it in the Haiku form.
Reflection
Each day with my mirror,
and with paint
and with lies, I hide
my grandmother’s eyes.
(I’ve shared this before, but it seemed appropriate for this prompt.)
Fascinating!
Today’s Reflections
They tell me “I think too much”.
My mind likes to wander
out into the forest
and view the thoughts
forming in the morning dew.
It’s even sweeter
when I can pick them
out of the air
like catching a whiff
of grandma’s sweet potato
pudding that only
she knows the recipe to.
My family shouldn’t worry, though.
My thoughts won’t keep me
from them. Like engineers
of a train they endeavor to bring
me back safely to the station on time.
Love the sweet potato pudding image. I often use images from my past to get me through.
Thank you, Reatha. I had sweet potato pudding just yesterday :-)))) Nice of you to comment.
I’ve never had the pudding but am now intrigued. This is so rick in images.
Pardon: “rich” in images.
love’s the reflection
of divine inspiration
when it’s in action
Very true, and nicely captured.
Spot on!
Knee Deep
The still waters of her soul rippled
with the rock of unpredictability
upon which she had built her life,
her past, frozen,
her future, melting
with the heat that was her present.
Waves like radio
emanate from her reflection,
silhouetted by the sun,
and she,
faceless as an Amish doll,
drinks from the still waters of her soul.
This gives me lots to consider, to reflect upon.
Likewise
PROGRESSING TO REGRESSION
I reflect
till I come to water;
then I refract
till I come to quicksand;
then I redact.
Love this!!
Good, no, great, one.
It is nice how you commented on everyone’s work. Thank you. I would have liked another line because the flow of your poem was so great, coming to water and then quicksand. I think one more image would have been beat BUT I really like what you accomplished in a few lines and it is clever.
I wish I could reflect
The sun’s rays,
That political lecture,
Those words you said to my face,
The ones behind her back.
Instead, they become a part of me
An eddy inside my soul
Fogging up my eyes
And taking a toll on my perception
Of the world
Of myself
Of you
Of life
I can relate to : Fogging up my eyes….taking a toll on…perception.