Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 397

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Land of (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 include: “Land of Milk and Honey,” “Land of a Thousand Words,” “Land of Forgotten Heroes,” and/or “Land of One Million Doughnuts.”

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Here’s my attempt at a Land of Blank Poem:

“Land of Tired Scouts”

Always the Thursday of a week-long camp
when the excitement of the beginning wavers
before the excitement of the end, that’s when
they begin to lose focus and sing a little less;
it’s always Thursday when we enter the land
of tired Scouts, but it’ll be alright, because
Friday is around the corner, and then,
the weekend.

*****

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 volunteering at Scout Day Camp this week and can confirm that the land of tired leaders hits a day or two before the land of tired scouts.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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99 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 397

  1. AJ Stewart

    THE LAND OF CHIP N’ DALE

    BY NOVA LEE DUBOIS (AGE 6)
    I’d like to tell you a dale
    About the land of Chip n’ Dale
    The two legendary chip monks are the boss, of course
    But everybody matters, and no body scatters
    Because everybody is strong and no body is wrong
    So they play have fun in the sun.

    1. ppfautsch24

      Land of Thoughts
      Land of many
      Thinking thoughts
      Swirling around in my head room
      Where we made ourselves
      Vulnerable and opening up
      The possibility of
      Tinkering with our hearts.
      Aged by seasons of grace and mistakes;
      Stolen moments in the night
      garner the chance to be on
      The same page of this love
      Story we are trying to write.
      By Pamelap

  2. KKING374

    Land of Yesterday’s Tomorrow

    Sweet land of yesterday’s tomorrow,
    You have the riches of effervescent kings,
    And yet you wallow in an eternal sorrow,
    as you think of before and after the things,

    For you exist in a frozen state of being,
    Watching people live awash in waste,
    Never touching them even as you sing
    Time’s adieu as you fly away in haste.

    You must think the same thoughts o’er,
    Until the past, the future, and the present,
    Are slipping from your grasp ever more,
    And the living moment is what you resent.

    Even so, though you have come to despise
    That bottomless pit of wanton parties and sun,
    It is not your fault that they will bring their demise,
    Crashing down upon them when the moment is done,

    For today is a dangerous, impetuous land to trod,
    One that only reveals the loose and dead sod,
    Beneath that which is the horrid problem internal,
    That the land of Yesterday’s Tomorrow is not eternal.

  3. Walter J Wojtanik

    LANDS OF MAKE BELIEVE

    Put your faith in Lost Boys, for they will know
    as long as they don’t grow old, they’re golden.
    But little do they understand that if they grow
    the Pan would demand their lives.
    Forget any dreams of children and wives,
    they’re not allowed, for crowing out loud.

    And in the land where the Winkies stand,
    the greenies can be meanies; real witches.
    The munchkins live in toadstools and ditches,
    for the wizard is a hard man to please.
    Bubble-headed faeries can get downright scary
    for the fight never rests for the wicked.

    The Narni folk are chronicled, written for monocled
    Brits what sit anticipating Aslan and the Pevensie clan
    fabled in stories of the glory found within the wardrobe.
    And speaking of witches, white ones are not so pure
    whether you sit in the silver chair, or are the horse’s boy
    (or magician’s nephew) few would survive. I’m not lion!

    Have you ever wondered where Alice went?
    Was she sent looking for the illusive smile
    Through the looking glass for a while,
    where hatters are mad for that matter,
    and mean queens lose their cool at the drop of a head.
    I would dread such a place where hares race against time.

    But the best part of imagined places
    Is that they are spaces where thoughts could roam.
    There’s no place like home, away from hook-handed bandits
    and three-clicks away from a soft landing.
    From where I’m standing I’m relieved I can see
    these lands of make believe without leaving my room!

  4. KKING374

    Just had a question: so I put a poem in the comments called “The Land of Yesterday’s Tomorrow”, and for a few days it sat there and said ‘awaiting moderation’ and then it was just gone. For future reference, how would I make sure my poem actually makes it on the comments? Thanks.

  5. taylor graham

    LAND OF LOST LANDSCAPES

    This morning, gremlins broke my glasses.
    Looking past our fences, to my
    diminishing eyesight those fields are fuzzy
    where a neighbor – gone now –
    grazed his sheep. How things fall apart,
    like the tiny hinge of a plastic
    glasses frame. Invisible forces, failure
    of a lens once shining and exact. The wear
    of time on memory. We live on a fault –
    Melones fault zone – and there’s an ancient
    river buried under our feet. Our evolving
    earth: what once was molten
    hardens. We’re here at confluence,
    our seasonal creek gouging a little deeper
    with every winter storm
    to join a Weber tributary that’s cutting
    this canyon. Migratory water leaves
    sandbars across our path. It could bury us.

  6. qbit

    Landing

    Crickets and weeds cooked dry
    In the great dirt skillet
    Of the Colorado Plateau –
    Record heat crackling
    Away to the Panhandle.

    In 1942, men of my family
    Put down ranching
    And took to the sky,
    Their rudders trained on Tokyo.
    First settlers in covered wagons.
    First Lieutenants in flight squadrons.

    The Dust Bowl had left
    A hard piece of scrabble,
    Not enough topsoil
    To hold any roots.

    The ground grumbling,
    Angry, stampedes of B27’s
    From Pueblo Field –
    Beasts of the earth
    Transformed by speed,
    Heat and wings rise
    Shimmering from the land.

    Maybe from the air
    Flashes of feldspar
    Were a beacon
    From the bare rock of Pikes Peak –
    That original, distant promise
    Soaring up from the prairie.

  7. taylor graham

    LAND OF DISAPPEARING
    Pony Express Re-ride 2017

    Yearning to catch flight of horse and rider –
    snapshot in the long trajectory
    across half an enormous continent –
    hand-off of mail mochila, one saddle to the next;
    new rider up, lift of reins, and they’re off,
    disappearing up the road like the Pony Express
    to relic-memory, history. Last year’s
    glimpse – one phrase in the long narrative:
    at old Rescue station, just me
    and the postmistress witnessing
    a small pinto set out under saddle, trotting
    the edge of residential streets bound for Shingle
    Springs. Someone at his doorstep
    may have heard the beat of hooves, watched
    horse and rider disappear like yesterday;
    then went about his business with just a wisp
    of “wow.” This year the pony-flight
    is scheduled to pass in the dark, washed
    against shores of sleep where appears
    my big black mare of fifty years ago, hoof-
    beats muffled as dream.

  8. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    land of vertical
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    at night she sees the chalked faces
    of those she didn’t save, like the sister
    who unclipped so that the other might live,
    that last resigned sad freckled look
    amid anchors, bolts, and rappel lines,
    so don’t pretend to know all about ultimate sacrifices
    and what it’s like to wake up drenched in
    a nightly musk mix of urine and sweat.
    the land of vertical
    harbors ghosts.

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  9. grcran

    land of the salticid

    not really in a land
    more often on a wall
    jumps fifty times its length
    its eyes the best of all
    the spiders. small with fuzz
    eight legs no web to catch
    its prey mosquitoes flies
    consumes them with a snatch
    i found one in my car
    he watched me spider gaze
    displayed one skippy hop
    upon a gnat did graze
    thus jumping spiders eat
    tightrope without a net
    clean out bug pests for me
    i’m in arachnid d-e-b-t

    gpr crane
    (note: the last word of the poem is on the banned words list, and it made the poem unpostable, that’s why i’ve placed the dashes there in this version… i thought about changing the poem but that word really works there. imho)

  10. grcran

    land of the salticid

    not really in a land
    more often on a wall
    jumps fifty times its length
    its eyes the best of all
    the spiders. small with fur
    eight legs no web to catch
    its prey mosquitoes flies
    consumes them with a snatch
    i found one in my car
    he watched me spider gaze
    displayed one skippy hop
    upon a gnat did graze
    thus jumping spiders eat
    tightrope without a net
    clean out bug pests for me
    i’m in arachnid debt

    gpr crane

  11. grcran

    land of the salticid

    not really in a land
    more often on a wall
    jumps fifty times its length
    its eyes the best of all
    the spiders. small with fuzz
    eight legs no web to catch
    its prey mosquitoes flies
    consumes them with a ssnnnatch
    i found one in my car
    he watched me spider gaze
    displayed one skippy hop
    upon a gnat did graze
    thus jumping spiders eat
    tightrope without a net
    clean out bug pests for me
    i’m in arachnid debt

    gpr crane

  12. De Jackson

    The Land of Un(Sleep)

    The clock is ticking
    (me off)
    again, tocking too loud again,
    clicking and clocking
    the hours lost.

    The moon is mocking
    my lack
    of sleep, my uncounted sheep,
    the tilted cost of thinking
    too hard at 2am.

    I, too, am stilted,
    fried, filtered through
    by too much gravel
    and noise, too many
    doubts. Too much why.

  13. Arash

    Land of the Dying and the Dead
    by Arash

    Land of the dying and the dead:
    Dead men in holes; undead inside
    concrete sepulchres, speeding tombs,
    gold mausoleums, paper vaults….

  14. rlk67

    LAND OF POETRY

    Any rhyming dictionary
    Leads to an addiction-ary
    Causing loads of friction-ary
    And family affliction-ary.

    They will mock–“Ok, rhyme ‘purple’!”,
    “I can’t walk, I’ll try to hirple.”
    “You made that up. So now try ‘silver’!”
    “Mary had a little chilver.”

    Drive them crazy for a month,
    You won’t stop having so much funth.

  15. Eileen S

    Land of Popcorn

    After a busy day at work,
    I go to a movie to chill.
    Sitting in the theatre with a
    bag of popcorn is a great thrill.

    As I enter the lobby,
    the smell fills the air.
    The sensuous popped corn
    emits an aroma so rare.

    I ask the concessioner
    for an order extra-large
    with melted butter and salt
    to make my body recharge.

    I eat, munch and chomp
    as the movie scenes unfold.
    Into the bag, fingers dig deeper
    for a ritual that never gets old.

  16. thunk2much

    Land of stolen scenes

    I miss the backdrop, the façade
    the cyclorama and décor,
    before the scenery cracked
    and the spotlights crumbled,
    before I saw behind the curtain
    and realized finally and forever
    that all the world is just a stage
    and I, an un-auditioned extra,
    will never have a voice

  17. Walter J Wojtanik

    LAND OF DISILLUSION

    The daisies bow their heads to pray
    just before they get trampled my under foot.
    The landscape is littered with trash today,
    and the daisies bow their heads to pray.
    The graffitied walls have much to say
    but all their obscene points are moot.
    The daisies bow their heads to pray
    just before they get trampled my under foot.

  18. Jrentler

    the land of scalise

    beware oh traveller
    for no bones to climb
    just crosses calcified

    & sacks of burst bile
    tarnish your case

    amiss,
    for tis impossible
    to hit the heartless

  19. Angie5804

    Land of Oblivion

    The land of nod
    And land of the free
    Sometimes seems the same
    To me
    For often in my sleep
    I dream
    I’m untethered like a feather
    In a soft jet stream
    With no strings attached
    I run and leap
    Unimpeded
    In this land of sleep

  20. SarahLeaSales

    If a New York minute is thirty seconds, then a Southern minute is ninety.
    –from “Poplar Bluff: A Memoir”

    The Land of Dixie

    Selling their messages on street corners are
    Bible-bashers, cardboard-carrying hobos,
    and dancing people wearing sandwich signs,
    while cars plastered with Bible quotes
    or slapped with a COEXIST bumper sticker,
    coexist on the streets,
    passing the temples of capitalism,
    the cross-bearing churches that
    capitalize on the guilty man’s soul,
    seeking deep, silver-lined pockets.

    The rapture’s coming soon for some
    in this land of Deep South Protestantism,
    where hearts are blest,
    where everyone’s either saved or going to hell,
    or just plain don’t know what the hell’s going on.

    Pensacola Beach is the jewel,
    set in fool’s gold turning green,
    with its sand like ground pearls,
    water vacillating between
    emeralds and sapphires,
    and homes the color of Jordan almonds.

    The flip-flap-flopping of their footwear is their answer
    to Australia’s slip-slap-slopping,
    beating a rapid tattoo on the boardwalk.
    Such paradise is everyone’s playground,
    home to the earthly blest,
    where few transplants are rejected,
    their organs pumping the lifeblood
    into the economy,
    for which the tourists are both
    donors and recipients.

    I look around at my side of town,
    at the heat waves shimmering off the asphalt,
    the mud-filled potholes,
    the never-ending road work;
    I still see conflict and war,
    deconstruction alongside reconstruction—
    a rebirth of conservative nationalism.

    I am home.

    Note: Slip-slap-slop is a real thing: http://www.sunsmart.com.au/tools/videos/past-tv-campaigns/slip-slop-slap-original-sunsmart-campaign.html

    1. barbara_y

      Without conflict there’s no aeration. We sit in our separate, unequal, puddles and rot. We need to figure out which conflict we want to address–can’t do them all at once–and bring our best game. Up in my part of the South, prosperity is rampant and brutal.

  21. Sara McNulty

    Folks in Land of Free Ice Cream
    are always creating new flavors.
    They know they are living a dream.
    Folks in Land of Free Ice Cream
    are artists inventing new themes
    like duck-shaped cones for wee shavers.
    Folks in Land of Free Ice Cream
    are always creating new flavors.

  22. De Jackson

    Land of Lyrics

    She waits
    under a shattered sky
    for something to crack loose, fly
    into her waiting soul – some syllable
    of song, some righted wrong, some
    dragon tail of hum
    -bled phrase that might unlock
    the sun.

    She plays
    the clouds for fools, unspools
    their cotton why and wrangles them
    into some semblance of spun
    sugar silence. She’s found a
    wrinkle in time, a slow-mimed
    story to lull
    -aby her to sleep.

    She keeps
    the significance of her
    self a secret, a whisper. A shhhhh
    -am
    -bled tune no one knows.
    A prose for fairies. A tickle of
    teehee and tea. A tree of tangled
    limbs and trebled clef. A full breath.

    ::

  23. KKING374

    Land of Yesterday’s Tomorrow

    Sweet land of yesterday’s tomorrow,
    You have the riches of effervescent kings,
    And yet you wallow in an eternal sorrow,
    as you think of before and after the things,
    For you exist in a frozen state of being,
    Watching people live awash in waste,
    Never touching them even as you sing
    Time’s adieu as you fly away in haste.
    You must think the same thoughts o’er,
    Until the past, the future, and the present,
    Are slipping from your grasp ever more,
    And the living moment is what you resent.
    Even so, though you have come to despise
    That bottomless pit of wanton parties and sun,
    It is not your fault that they will bring their demise,
    Crashing down upon them when the moment in done,
    For today is a dangerous, impetuous land to trod,
    One that only reveals the loose and dead sod,
    Beneath that which is the horrid problem internal,
    That the land of Yesterday’s Tomorrow is not eternal.

  24. Walter J Wojtanik

    LAND OF TWO TREES

    Tall and thickly rooted,
    an “orchard” amidst a garden.
    The hardened immigrant toils,
    muddied soil his base,
    and his face is ruddy and worn.
    He had been removed
    from the home he knew trans-
    planted between two trees
    shading his vegetable patch.
    An apple tree reaching,
    arms raised in prayer beseeching
    for a fruitful yield. Across the way
    plums, purple and regal.
    Leathery hands gripping a hoe,
    a “Hokka” he calls it, chopping
    and tilling clods of dried sod.
    Plans for tomatoes, potatoes,
    beets and cucumbers
    and a number of other plants.
    Bandanna flailing raised to brow
    mopping the flop-sweat
    under the noon day sun, baking.
    A curse in his mother tongue,
    chopping against bark to free
    the mud held tightly. Releasing
    his place of birth for a new home!

  25. Anthony94

    Land of Rock and Clod

    You set out to turn the prairie
    the abandoned pasture left fallow
    you dig out the sumac, lop off
    sprouting cedars and finally
    set the plow blade to make the
    first turn but you will have help
    the one who walks the row to
    pull rocks and round them into
    the waiting wire that will become
    a peculiar fence post, testimony
    to what it means to grow crops
    here, where to plant is first to
    harvest the forgotten deposits of
    another age, an ocean gone dry.

  26. barbara_y

    Land of Fried Cheese

    Today’s as hot as
    yesterday. Every third house on this road
    sports a simmering pool. Bees
    poke lethargically into the toasted clover.
    Houses exhaust
    like traffic jams.
    Without air conditioning
    there’d be no population–. I’m living on cold
    beer, heirloom tomatoes, and fried string cheese.

  27. deringer1

    LAND OF THE WISE

    it is a small place
    of shrinking dwellings
    and uncertain hopes

    people come and go
    some would like to live there
    but procrastinate

    others linger too long in
    the Land of Mediocre
    and refuse to move to Wise

    some don’t understand the qualifications
    believing in their right to live in Wise
    because they come from A Certain Age

    life in Wise is peaceful
    for Love is King there
    and forgiveness is Queen.

  28. tripoet

    Land of Opportunity

    I will always see my homeland
    as a “Land of Opportunity”: Milk and
    Honey, Education, Sport, a place
    where dreams really can come true
    with hard work and a good attitude.
    This doesn’t mean that I don’t weep
    when I see injustice because I do. I wake each
    day with the mission to do better. But
    human frailty will never and can never be
    all that I see. Its unfashionable to be an idealist
    these days. But in a family of nine I never dressed
    in the right season anyway, just in hand-me-downs
    that rarely fit. Faith reminds me to smile
    at a stranger on the street who looks
    different from me and know he is not.

  29. timphilippart

    Land of the Blind

    Seeking a person
    with an eye patch,
    to annoint,
    to crown,
    to govern,
    to lead,
    because the patch presumes,
    the unpatched eye has sight and,
    in the land of the blind
    the one-eyed man is king but,
    maybe,
    it’s a different kind of vision,
    that is very hard to see.

  30. Connie Peters

    Land of Host Home for Developmentally Disabled Adults

    It’s a strange land
    where common rules
    don’t necessarily apply.

    It’s a land
    most don’t visit,
    let alone live there.

    It’s a land where people
    think you’re a saint
    or insane.

    Some days you think,
    Why me?
    The other, why me!

    With inspections
    you feel like
    you live in a fishbowl.

    But other times,
    you feel forgotten
    and alone.

    Sometimes you wish
    you could be
    forgotten and alone.

    Sometime you experience
    great joy, sometimes
    you would like to see it end.

    Sometime it’s fun and easy.
    Sometime in the wee hours
    it’s impossible.

    It’s always relentless.

  31. PowerUnit

    She never came back
    from the land of the lost.
    She drifted too far downstream
    to become her own boss.

    Couldn’t talk about any of it.
    Young Jessica’s life depended
    on silence, of secrets,
    she had no clue her life was upended.

    Sometimes a blessing comes
    disguised as an evil curse,
    a knife in his gut over a d3bt,
    he had no money in his purse.

  32. PowerUnit

    She never came back
    from the land of the lost.
    She drifted too far downstream
    to become her own boss.

    Couldn’t talk about any of it.
    Young Jessica’s life depended
    on silence, of secrets,
    she had no clue her life was upended.

    Sometimes a blessing comes
    disguised as an evil curse,
    a knife in his gut over a debt,
    he had no money in his purse.

  33. headintheclouds87

    Land of Nod

    Each and every night we drift
    To the fabled Land of Nod
    Where darkest desires are found
    In the form of twisted dreams.
    These are the restless visions
    From the minds of vagabonds
    Struggling to find their place
    In the wretched waking world,
    So seek solace in night’s arms instead,
    Where wanderers are welcome,
    As are souls strained by agitation
    And embraced without expectation,
    Here, they may find their redemption.
    In this land under a lens of truth,
    With no artificial rules to be made,
    Nor any fruit unjustly forbade,
    Travellers will arrive at the answer
    And forge purpose with closed eyes,
    So that upon their eventual awake,
    Their life will finally be their own to make.

  34. MET

    The Land of Broken Dreams

    I had dreams like everyone I know.
    Many of them happened,
    Many of them didn’t.
    But it the ones that didn’t
    That have kept me
    Living in the land of broken dreams.

    Like an airplane that took off
    The horizon looked like it just might
    Be the one that I had been looking for
    All these many years,
    But plane before it landed
    Crashed and burned.
    I walked away alive, but
    Living in the land of broken dreams.

    Sometimes I regret the choices
    I have made; sometimes I don’t give a damn.
    Most times I pretend it never mattered anyhow.
    I have pulled myself up
    More than most that I know.
    Been knocked down by bullies,
    And those who told me to give up.
    That just hasn’t been my style, and
    There I go pulling myself up again
    In the land of the broken dreams.

    One day I will make that horizon, and
    See what is on the other side.
    One day, I will thumb my nose
    At those nay sayers and bullies
    Who thought less of me
    That I ever did,
    But then they never knew me.
    There is a fierceness within me,
    A strength of an ancient oak tree in a hurricane,
    A power to continue even when I should be down.
    When I reach that horizon
    For I know that I will,
    I will look back
    One last time,
    Brush the dust from my shoes,
    And leave the land of broken dreams…

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 14, 2017

  35. Daniel Paicopulos

    Land of War and Peace and War and Peace and War and Peace

    How long does it take,
    I wonder,
    for a war to become
    a tourist attraction?
    What’s the rotation time,
    I ponder,
    for foxholes to fill in,
    become reconciled with villages?
    How drawn out the years,
    I muse,
    before land-mined rice paddies
    return to a timeless Shangri-La?
    For the Vietnamese,
    far removed from the American War,
    time is not the issue,
    as they play the long game.
    But looking ahead,
    turning forward,
    how long will it take
    before the tourists become
    an even bigger enemy?

  36. rlk67

    Land of Stones

    Worn through aging, life seeps out,
    A landscape barren cannot sprout.
    Yet sometimes all you need is rock,
    And start me up despite the clock.
    Through dust and dirt another track,
    When future’s bleak, let’s paint it black.
    The melody’s a nice attraction,
    And I can’t get no satisfaction.

  37. taylor graham

    LAND OF GRASSES

    Early sun sparkles seedheads, shining
    the wild-oats platinum. It’s June, the fields
    are turning California-golden
    (brown, brittle, flammable). Vetch and peavine
    are yellowing lace embroidery; they’ve
    lost their brief springtime appeal, their pink
    and purple blossoming. Native bunchgrass stands
    tall as ever, but soft chess and Japanese brome
    have gone the way of the other annuals –
    foxtail, ripgut, filaree. Summer’s a blister
    on what used to be our pasture.
    The sheep are gone. They slipped too many
    fences in their quest for green. August,
    September – months until, at last, November
    rains. Resurgence of grass.
    And then we start all over. By May, waist-
    high in mowing, almost out of our wits in green.

  38. Walter J Wojtanik

    LAND OF SEUSS

    If I lived in another land, it would be something Seussian,
    then I’d have an excuse again for being so strange.
    I could rearrange words as if they were furniture,
    and I would yearn for sure to hear the who
    what Horton heard. It would be absurd I’m sure if
    I could bring Thing 1 and Thing 2
    into my crew and eschew (or bally-hoo)
    any Lorax attacks that smacks of tom-foolery
    and wear my drool like it was drool joolery!
    That would be way too cool, you see!
    (But that’s just me!) I’d enter every poetry slam
    equipped with a pan of green eggs
    and ham it up with my eye quite shut
    and a pocketful of wockets
    (that sounds more Fuddian than Seussian!)
    and I’ll be very amussian in my humor rume!
    I would make a wish for just two fish,
    one red and one blue (I’ve no need
    for two blue! Do you?) I think
    what I think and I know
    what I know and I’m very familiar
    with the places I’ll go.
    I’m only old once (or maybe twice
    if the weather’s not nice)
    and have bunches of hunches
    about sneetches with leeches
    or foxes with sockes (hidden inside
    of brightly wrapped boxes.)
    So, say what you want and say what you say,
    I’d be luckier by far to live right where I are!

  39. Walter J Wojtanik

    LAND OF OZ

    Weirding people out one brick at at time.
    here in the land of perfectly green!
    After the pig-tailed one left this slime,
    we’re weirding people out one brick at at time.
    Yellow roads lead to the gates, and I’m
    left here with tin boy and fuzz ball on scene.
    Weirding people out one brick at at time.
    here in the land of perfectly green!

    1. De Jackson

      Land of Shepherd’s Pie & Shamrocks

      Here in the land of perfectly green,
      north of the blue of the Celtic Sea,
      It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen,
      here in the land of perfectly green.
      Come, kiss the Blarney Stone – you’ll see what we mean.
      You might even find a Limerick – or three!
      Here in the land of perfectly green,
      north of the blue of the Celtic Sea.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik

        LAND OF A DISTANT WIND

        North of the blue, east of the Celtic Sea
        where the winds dance between the picket fence posts.
        It was a special time and place to be,
        north of the blue, east of the Celtic Sea.
        Blowing softly from a distance, no lee
        can stop its approach, wafting like a ghost,
        north of the blue, east of the Celtic Sea
        where the winds dance between the picket fence posts.

        1. De Jackson

          Land of Faeries and Dragons

          Where the winds dance between the picket fence posts
          and the daisies bow their heads to pray,
          I’ll find the things I love the most –
          where the winds dance between the picket fence posts.
          Of wings we’ll whisper, breath of fire we’ll boast,
          slip snapdragons into your smile today –
          where the winds dance between the picket fence posts
          and the daisies bow their heads to pray.

          1. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF DISILLUSION

            The daisies bow their heads to pray
            just before they get trampled my under foot.
            The landscape is littered with trash today,
            and the daisies bow their heads to pray.
            The graffitied walls have much to say
            but all their obscene points are moot.
            The daisies bow their heads to pray
            just before they get trampled my under foot.

          2. De Jackson

            Land of Tiny Ones

            Just before they get trampled underfoot,
            they’ll holler “we are here!” to make you pause.
            After Horton hears them hoot,
            and just before they get trampled underfoot,
            they’ll emerge victorious, covered in soot,
            and announce their presence, to great applause.
            Just before they get trampled underfoot,
            they’ll holler “we are here!” to make you pause.

          3. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF INVISIBILIA

            They’ll holler “we are here!” to make you pause
            because they know that they cannot be easily seen.
            They are constantly being trampled on because
            they didn’t holler “we are here!” To make you pause
            their warnings are quite loud to aid their cause,
            and let history show we know that they have been.
            They’ll holler “we are here!” to make you pause
            because they know that they cannot be easilyseen.

          4. De Jackson

            Land of the Lost

            Because we know they cannot be easily seen,
            we’ve been looking for them for years.
            Marshall, Will and Holly are now but a dream,
            because we know they cannot be easily seen.
            They’ll swear this expedition was routine!
            But now they’re steeped in Sleestacks to their ears!
            Because we know they cannot be easily seen,
            we’ve been looking for them for years.

          5. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF GENEALOGICAL DISCOVERY

            We’ve been looking for them for years,
            “close” relations of long ago.
            To be undiscovered was their greatest fear,
            and we’ve been looking for them for years.
            Our ancestry beckons amidst our joys and tears,
            long after their passing we want to know.
            We’ve been looking for them for years,
            “close” relations of long ago.

          6. De Jackson

            Land of My Beginnings

            Close relations of long ago
            come from the roots of this place.
            We come together to get to know
            close relations of long ago –
            like Uncle Arty and Auntie Flo,
            who makes doilies out of lace.
            Close relations of long ago
            come from the roots of this place.

          7. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF OUR MUSING

            It comes from the roots of this place
            a growth of ingenious creativity .
            Our proclivity to rhyme would set the pace,
            it come from the roots of this place.
            Poetics is a marathon, not a race,
            full of mirth and a bit of sensitivity.
            It comes from the roots of this place
            a growth of ingenious creativity .

          8. De Jackson

            Land of Triolet Play

            A growth of ingenious creativity
            brings us together in repeating rhyme.
            No matter what the prompt may be,
            a growth of ingenious creativity
            links these phrases – from you, from me
            as we daisy-chain our poetic lines.
            A growth of ingenious creativity
            brings us together in repeating rhyme.

          9. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF WHIMSY

            Brought together in repeating rhyme,
            joined to each other in verse.
            In your world where we meet every time,
            we’re brought together in repeating rhyme.
            We cover absurd, we wrest with sublime,
            your gizmos have whimsy, my whimsy is worse.
            Brought together in repeating rhyme,
            joined to each other in verse.

          10. De Jackson

            The Land of a Poetic Heart

            We’ve joined each other in verse
            through the eyes of a poetic heart.
            For better or for worse,
            we’ve joined each other in verse.
            Whether long-winded or terse,
            we end where the other starts.
            We’ve joined each other in verse
            through eyes of a poetic heart.

          11. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF VISIONS EXPRESSED

            We see through the eyes of a poet’s heart,
            and what we envision will fill our words.
            Writing together after one of us starts,
            we see through the eyes of a poet’s heart.
            We live in the wisdom of which it imparts,
            we share in the joys that we’ve heard.
            We see through the eyes of a poet’s heart,
            and what we envision will fill our words.

          12. De Jackson

            Land o’ Calrissian

            What we envision will fill our wor(l)ds
            (The force is with you. Use the force!)
            When light is shed, and sabers unfurled,
            what we envision will fill our wor(l)ds
            is the galaxy gasp of planets hurled.
            (And the sound of Chewy’s ewuuuauuughhhh, of course!)
            What we envision will fill our wor(l)ds
            (The force is with you. Use the force!)

          13. Walter J Wojtanik

            LAND OF JEDHA

            (The force is with you. Use the force!)
            The Holy City holds many secrets.
            It’s where the Jedi were born (of course,)
            (The force is with you. Use the force!)
            A mecca and a kyber crystal source,
            build your lightsaber with no regrets,
            (The force is with you. Use the force!)
            The Holy City holds many secrets.

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