Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 406

For today’s prompt, write an intro poem. Okay, that’s vague, right? In my mind, I’m thinking of a situation in which a poet enters a room and then drops a poem. Kind of like this is my intro music or something. Of course, I’m fine with other interpretations as well. Like maybe you’ve been itching to write an introduction to poetry poem, or introducing a famous (or infamous) character, or well, no introduction needed (or maybe an introduction is needed–or maybe I’m just rambling).

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Here’s my attempt at an Intro Poem:

“Here I Am”

Nobody stand up; no one turn;
I brought enough line breaks to burn

a hole in your heart and your mind.
The rhymes you lose I’ll surely find,

because I was born to poem:
if you didn’t, now you know-em.

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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He can be a little silly with his forced rhyming from time to time.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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82 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 406

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Polycystic Kidney Disease
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    “Welcome to world of PKD,”
    said the right Kidney to the left,
    “and I shall write you the greatest intro
    ever to rival any litterateur
    as you muscle your way in amongst
    the other greats ~
    Heart, Lungs, Liver, Pancreas
    Stomach, Spleen, Appendix, and
    of course the twins themselves,
    Intestines.
    You are a force to be reckoned
    with your arsenal of stones,
    crystals, clogged filters,
    fluid cysts, hypertension,
    aneurysms, diverticulitis,
    UTI’s, heart valve failure,
    sepsis, coma, and death.
    Here, come take your royal scepter
    and stand before the Brain of God
    to be judged upon your merits
    in this land of toxicity.”

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. EllaT

    Unnamed

    you, imperceptible
    settling in
    the wet
    warm and dark

    I know you
    but we haven’t met yet

    we wait
    me, impatiently
    wishing these moments hurry
    you, patiently
    putting together the pieces

    you will be my future
    and I, soon too soon,
    your past

  3. JRSimmang

    INTO A BUILDING. CROWDED STREETS

    Sometimes I find the least of us
    huddled in their rags and dirt
    holding open doors.
    I realize that the least of us
    huddle in our rags
    to keep doors open.

    -JR Simmang

  4. ReathaThomasOakley

    If I push the door gently will it creak,
    announce my entry before I peek
    into this room evidently still filled with
    those who think words matter greatly.

  5. grcran

    Intro to New York

    Flew out of A Tex Tuesday
    Hit Big Apple Midtown scene
    Took in Grand Central Station
    Surveyed Yank’s baseball green

    Likewise met the Mets’ field
    Subwaying the trips to both
    Then lammed out from the city
    Upstate New York Old Growth

    Saw cornfields woods and rivers
    Glacial lakes steep cliffs
    America’s heart still beats here
    No lies ands buts or ifs

    gpr crane

  6. Uma

    Somewhere within
    an echo
    of who I once was

    resounds through
    detritus of dreams
    dissolved in bones

    from whose weary creaks
    whispers of hope escape
    to speak of desires

    that once bloomed fresh
    in the spring of life
    Unrecognizable now

    in the winter of my years
    and in unshed tears
    an unspoken plea

    to dig out from beneath
    the boulder of burdens
    the person I was meant to be

    So I can say hello to myself
    and be pleased to meet me

  7. qbit

    Paleo Blues

    She said I had
    Paleo blue eyes,
    Light the color of water
    From before Fire –

    Then dawn over Manhattan
    Greeting us
    Like the oldest sunrise
    In history,

    The sun
    Introducing
    Day Ten Million
    With ten million more to go,

    Where my ribs, ancient,
    Are stuffed in the mud
    Of Olduvai Gorge,
    Aching for excavation –

    I pull my bones out of bed,
    And go walk the dog.

  8. Marie Elena

    preamble ramble

    you could tell me your name
    and I could repeat it back to you
    and moments later I can remember
    only the first letter
    because the part of my brain
    that knows the following letters
    has not yet introduced itself
    to the first-letter part

    and since these parts have lived
    in such close proximity
    for nearly six decades
    I don’t expect them to start talking
    anytime soon

    period

  9. Connie Peters

    Meeting of Essayist and Poet

    I walked into a crowded room of writers
    busily buying bunches of books from other writers.

    Bumping me this way and that as they swished past
    and I said, “I feel like a rock in a river.”

    I made my way across the aisle
    where a lady looked at me and asked,

    “Are you a poet?” “Yes,” I answered. “Why?”
    “I could tell by what you said.”

    “How would you say it?” I asked.
    “I’m in the way,” she answered.

    I said, “You must write nonfiction.”
    She nodded. We laughed. –A writers’ moment.

  10. taylor graham

    INTRODUCING ONCE-UPON-A-TIME

    Ghost-town open-house (just one day a year)
    for a crowd of the living headed on foot
    across a little bridge (one-lane eroding concrete,
    erstwhile way east over the mountains)
    within sight of live-traffic Highway 50. Bridge
    over the creek with pioneer rock-wall;
    a team of draft-horses hitched to a wagon –
    souvenir of yesteryears, transported here just
    for today. And today, a parade of classic
    cars – tootle-whoop for right-of-way
    past the old Wells Fargo ruins cloaked
    in thistle and tree-of-heaven. A detour below
    the old fenced buffalo-roam, far
    from that creature’s natural home-on-
    the-range. Not a single buffalo on the outskirts
    of this ghost-town anymore.

  11. Walter J Wojtanik

    I CONTINUE

    And so I continue!
    This is my poem.
    These are my words.
    This is the time of night
    where sleep beckons. I sit
    fingers to keyboard on a summer eve.
    This is my shirt; it has no sleeves.
    It is black as night,

    or a chalkboard if you erase it.
    Or blue if it’s really dark;
    sometimes black looks like blue
    when it’s really dark.
    This is me and that is you and together
    we are we, but never wee for hearts in love
    are so big as to hold it all.

    You are as short as I am tall
    and I continue to fall for you every time my rhyme
    has you in it. So I begin it,
    and then I continue. This is my poem.
    These are my words, you are my muse.
    I choose you to be, but that’s just me.
    It always comes back to that!

    ** A nod to Margaret Atwood’s poem “You Begin”

  12. Eileen S

    Going to University

    Introducing Malala Yousafazi
    who will be attending
    Oxford University in
    the United Kingdom.
    She was almost killed
    by the Taliban because
    she wanted women
    to get an education
    in her native Pakistan.
    She became the youngest
    U.N. ambassador for peace.
    What will those professors teach Malala?
    Or will Malala will teach them a few things?

  13. Tracy Davidson

    We meet again

    There’s no intro needed,
    because we’ve met before –
    you were six or seven
    and I was only four.

    We were next door neighbours
    for several long dark years,
    how you liked to torment
    and tease me into tears.

    I still recall each pinch,
    hair pull and chinese burn,
    all the names you called me
    still make my stomach churn.

    But I’m not that child now,
    that target for your spite.
    You, it seems, still struggle
    with what is wrong and right.

    In a way, it’s funny
    to see you sitting there,
    I’m in the jury box,
    you – the defendant’s chair.

  14. Sara McNulty

    Introducing Me

    My voice will quaver,
    my hands may shake.
    It is likely
    I will stammer,
    and make a mistake.

    My accent, pure Brooklyn,
    not lost out west.
    Free verse and short forms–
    favorites to work in.
    I will read my best.

  15. taylor graham

    INTRODUCTION, WEEDS 101

    Upstarts on the march – bull thistle and ripgut
    brome, brittle awn of foxtail, clock-tick filaree,
    seeds sticky in dog fur, stickers in sox –
    fierce muscled invaders: weeds, those very
    actively verbed herbs.

  16. SarahLeaSales

    Stepping Over the Cracks

    Her introduction to how the lesser halves lived
    wasn’t through telling their story,
    but her own—
    when her life was stripped of
    walls and wheels,
    becoming that of the urban nomad.

  17. Nancy Posey

    ADU 100: Intro to Middle Age

    In this course, you will
    accept the image in the mirror
    examine value in intangibles
    play well with others
    forgive them
    forgive yourself
    remember what’s important
    learn to forget
    laugh deeply and often.

    By the time the course ends,
    you will probably figure out
    that mathematical middle age
    is a ship that sailed long ago.
    No, you probably won’t live to 120,
    nor would you wish to.
    But you will also learn
    that old age too
    is a state of mind.

    If you complete the activities
    listed on this syllabus:

    keep moving,
    keep learning,
    keep laughing,
    keep singing,
    quit whining,
    keep caring

    you will ace this course.

  18. taylor graham

    INTRO TO LIGHT

    We’re about to enter the ancient dark,
    its atmosphere of air trapped until dead.
    Or worse. Rotting timbers from Gold Rush
    dig-and-grab, miners tunneling until
    they’d daylight on some other side. The hill
    decrepit with hollow tumors. Unstable
    for building. Poison gas inside. This
    is why the adit – the entrance – is cordoned
    off like treasure in a fairytale.
    You’d rather not venture inside? Up here
    on the surface, today the ancient dark
    will be dimmer, only a partial eclipse, just
    to remind us how insubstantial
    is Earth’s daylight, how rare, bright, and
    beautiful. How, even as the moon
    blanks out the solar orb, our sun still
    performs its crescent-steps upon revolving
    ground, blinding rays filters through
    tree canopies, our invitation to the dance.

  19. De Jackson

    Stop Me (If You’ve Heard This One Before)

    So, this poet
    walks into a
            {space}
    bar
    and hyphen
    -ate hydrates herself
    with a trochee or two,
    and begins pledging
            poems
    to a metered moon.

    Soon,
    the stars are all
    (g)listening, until
    they just can’t
    stop.

                      Cue
                      the mic
                      drop.

    ::

  20. headintheclouds87

    Me, Poetically

    So here I am then, this is me
    Here to spew some poetry,
    Well, it keeps me busy
    And ensures my immediate sanity,
    Some might call it vanity,
    Just self-indulgent soliloquy,
    But I must unleash my creativity
    For nights of well-mannered frivolity
    And possibly a helping of hilarity
    (Maybe even a pinch of profanity).
    So indulge my little spin on reality,
    My escape from daily banality
    And listen to words arranged fancifully
    Into pure, rhythmic sensuality.

  21. rlk67

    Take your seats, the lights have dimmed,
    Your cell phone must be muted,
    Any extra ringing destroys!
    And sadly you’ll be booted.

    Let’s greet the maestro! He’ll lead us with pride,
    Into a land uncharted,
    We begin his tale. What’s that we hear?
    Low timpani has just started.

    He lifts his baton, let’s all gear up!
    We’re ready for our flight!
    The poetry now continues
    From the orchestra tonight!

  22. Anthony94

    When we Planned on Going Up Front

    How to introduce you?
    Should we start with /lovers
    inside and horses ignoring the lovers/

    Lament how Tony’s /fine book
    of Mexico poems for whatever unjust
    reason had gone unnoticed/

    Do we summon the sea gods /here
    where the sea is most clear. Stones
    that died along the floor dance/

    Do we say he’s from /a nation lost
    nine centuries and looking for a land/
    this poet who summons so much

    everywhere he travels he’s /curbed responses
    (he says) in response to current trends and practiced
    Automatic ones..this curve shows the cost/

    To know a poet is like traveling. /to know a
    road you own it, every bend and pebble
    and the weeds along it, dust that itches/

    Like wanting to go up and talk with him,
    gone now these three decades and more
    but like the drunken fisherman, you can’t

    /ignore the hymn coming from the white
    frame church/ some requiem for Making
    Certain it Goes On… meet Richard Hugo.

    From Making Certain it Goes On, selected poems
    Including Scene, Graves in Queens, & Montgomery Hollow
    and the title poem from the collection, 1983.

  23. serenevannoy

    some things you should know about me

    did you know that I laugh in my sleep
    sometimes, and that I like to press my
    cheek against the cold window when it
    rains and that I could wear my flowy
    batik skirt with the drawstring every day
    and that I have more stitches than I can
    count and that I babble when I’m nervous
    and sometimes when I’m not and that
    Monday is my favorite day and that I have
    friends who come and sit with me in my
    dreams and that I don’t own a bra or a pair
    of socks and that I read cookbooks like
    novels but never follow a recipe and that I
    cry a lot but it doesn’t upset me that I do
    and that I’m noisy during s*x and that I
    have a 6-year-old friend who calls me S’rene
    because he thinks that’s my name and that I
    paint my toenails blood-red because it delights
    me and that I sometimes catch myself
    dancing
    for no apparent reason

      1. Marie Elena

        You make me want you to be my one-door-down neighbor. I read this last night, and it made me smile broadly. I thought about it again this morning and had to return to read again. Thank you for putting a smile on my face before bed, and again this morning. Pure delight!

  24. candy

    Introducing ……

    Let me introduce you
    to my muse, my friend
    my partner in poem
    She wakes me in the morning
    with a jolt of sunshine
    and sings me lullabies
    when daylight fades to
    purple night
    sometimes, in the middle of
    the night, she nudges me
    into wakefulness just so
    I can see a shooting star
    fly past my window
    She gives my heart hugs
    when it is feeling low
    and high fives to encourage
    me to carry on
    Let me introduce you
    to my muse

  25. PowerUnit

    I’ll come to your little event
    and share my little words.
    Please do not lament
    when I reveal myself, a nerd.

    You want someone exciting?
    Well, you’ve picked the wrong guy,
    but thank you for inviting
    me, a man with a smile so wry.

  26. tripoet

    Shunned

    A Poet walks into a room
    of poets. Nobody sees her
    or if they do they run eyes
    quickly over her and move
    on like a driver who mows down
    a squirrel. His only regret, a blood stain
    on the front bumper. The gossip
    warns she’s drama. ( but where’s
    the good story without a dramatic
    turn? ) Can a poem survive
    being badly titled? She looks
    for a hook for any way
    in but is left floundering like a fish
    the ocean keeps kicking back
    onto the shore for a slow writhing
    death. She heads to the reception
    table looking for a friend in the coconut
    banana bread. She finds it satisfying.
    She wonders what’s the protocol
    for staying in a room where
    you are made to feel invisible
    and realizes it’s time to go.
    No introductions are necessary.

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