Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 409

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “I Am A (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 could include: “I Am A Toothbrush,” “I Am A Martian,” and/or “I Am A Replica X-Wing Fighter.”


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Here’s my attempt at an I Am A Blank Poem:

“I Am A Missing Person”

When I looked in the mirror
I didn’t recognize the person
staring back at me, but this
is a cliche. I didn’t used to be

a cliche or a stereotype. But
then, all good things come
to an end, do they not? So,
I’ve become a missing person

who is a cliched stereotype–
a man looking out the window
and wondering what comes
next. Is anyone looking?


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 had a great weekend of poetry and books over Labor Day weekend at the Decatur Book Festival.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


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176 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 409

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    I Am A Mortal Sin
    By Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    I am the white cliffs of Dover
    that you keep beating yourself against
    as if you were dirty laundry.
    Pain is just something you do
    to punish yourself for being human.

    It is not necessary nor tragically beautiful,
    but how do you stop wind from flogging
    the coastline when Mother Sea is
    always watching and judging
    these immortal sins?

    Flocks of kittiwake take turns feeding
    from slashed white wrists of flint and
    quartz carved deep into my cliffside.
    They care not about your presence
    nor predicaments.

    Licking your lips you wait for sunrise
    to stream color-like sea foam back
    into my ice-age crevices like soap
    so as to start the process of beating
    laundry against rock all over again.

    It is not necessary nor tragically beautiful,
    but how do you stop wind from flogging
    the coastline when Mother Sea is
    always watching and judging
    these immortal sins?

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. leannegranger

    I Am A Fickle Fiend

    Or a loose noose
    poised for action, ’round the
    nook of your neck.

    I am the late date
    left sitting, watching
    your shock, as the clock
    strikes half past ten.

    I am a whirling wind
    a wayward lee
    daft as daisies
    on a glistening sea.

  3. RJ Clarken

    I am Another You

    “I guess even when you are defeated the flame of hope never dies out. I was here now.” ― Priya Kumar, I Am Another You: A Journey to Powerful Breakthroughs

    I was here now. I am here now. I guess
    those flames of hope can’t die. I won’t let them.
    Although, at times, I have doubts, I confess.
    I was here now. I am here now. I guess
    I’ll keep saying the words. It means progress,
    and that I will somehow never succumb.
    I was here now. I am here now. I guess
    those flames of hope can’t die. I won’t let them.


  4. Ivy_Lane

    what’s left

    when the sea has
    sucked itself dry

    is sand
    and salt sludge

    lonely conchs
    anchors from another time

    buoys and one borrowed
    breath of land

    quiet you can walk on
    wander over

    whisper questions into
    with barnacled breath

    I am a skeptic-
    the sea answers only

    in conch echoes
    and siren song

    the delight of a
    mourning red sky

  5. Uma

    I am the shooting star
    you missed in the blink of an eye
    the wish you didn’t make

    when you looked up at the heavens
    eyes seeking out a twinkle
    you hoped would change your life

    But you didn’t look
    at the sparkle beside you
    fade as your kept your gaze

    glued to the distance
    you had yet to travel, lost in
    counting the miles you

    failed to notice when
    there was only your shadow
    keeping you company, for

    I was the shooting star
    with your name written on it
    dying in a speeding blaze of glory

  6. JRSimmang


    I sit upon the branch
    of where I know not, but nonetheless sitting
    upon this crooked branch.

    I gaze upon the day
    enduring and relentless in its meter
    upon the bluest day.

    I find a whispered laugh
    a lover’s fantasy trapped in endless wonder,
    a whispered secret laugh.

    An old man’s regrets, a
    pocketful of loose change, a litany of
    an old man’s past regrets,

    a child’s squeaking toy,
    paddling toes and pounding rains and puddle boots,
    are the best child’s toys.

    I am another breeze,
    lost in your voices and caresses I am
    just another gentle breeze.

    -JR Simmang

  7. MET

    I Am the One You Let Go….

    May I address you to the fact
    That I was the one not pretty enough, or
    Modern enough, or something enough
    To keep your fancy,
    I am the one who has dreams
    That reach to the stars and
    Down to the core of the earth;
    I am the one who sees
    A journey that starts
    When I step out my door, and
    May take me to ordinary or
    Somewhere exotic, and
    I am the one who loves the planet
    Who does not talk about it, but
    Loves the smells, the sights, the sounds, the taste
    And the feel of the earth.
    I am the one that others underestimate
    Who think I am weak and do not understand.
    I am strong and I understand more than most.
    I am the one who is overlooked
    For I have never been the popular one or
    The one the rest try to emulate.
    I walk to a different drum or maybe a saxophone,
    And I prefer to be one of a kind…
    The one the mold was broken
    After I was born.

    So, I will forgive you
    For your less than visionary abilities, and
    Know this, I was and am
    Way too independent for the likes of you.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    September 9, 2017

  8. Bobabob

    I Am a Book

    My pages fray with time
    Sometimes the words do rhyme
    I can make you shed a tear
    I give joy for many years

    I can help you reach new heights
    If you stack us up just right
    I’ve even killed a bug
    And worn the coffee from your mug

    I can transport you through time
    And tell you of a crime
    I can also transcend space
    And be your special place

    I can help your mind expand
    And take you to foreign lands
    I sit idle most the day
    With my wonders locked away

    I spur imagination
    And conjure up creations
    From some I get a look
    Though some say, I’m just a book

    1. Bobabob

      Sorry I posted this too quick. It needed to be changed.
      I Am a Book

      My pages fray with time
      Sometimes the words do rhyme
      I can make you shed a tear
      I give joy for many years

      I can help you reach new heights
      If you stack us up just right
      I’ve even killed a bug
      And worn the coffee from your mug

      I can transport you through time
      And tell you of a crime
      I can also transcend space
      And be your special place

      I can help your mind expand
      And take you to foreign lands
      I spur imagination
      And conjure up creations

      I sit idle most the day
      With my wonders locked away
      Sometimes I get a look
      Though some say, I’m just a book

  9. grcran

    I Am a Summer’s End

    Oh yes you’ll feel a tiny chill
    Hot air before and hot air after
    Morning comes a little sooner
    Sunset sets at quickened pace
    A bit of lively bit of brisk
    Does decorate the pre-noon hours
    Shorts are dropped long trousers chosen
    Crops are picked and pools are closed
    Hot-blood grouches hate my coming
    Most folks are refreshed relieved
    Critters wisely put the fat on
    Making ready for the cold

    gpr crane

  10. Connie Peters

    I am a Flexible Rock

    That’s what Hubby says
    after his stroke. It takes
    great energy to move
    his right arm and leg
    as he forges new
    When he exercises,
    he becomes more flexible
    and less like a rock.

    Except in steadfastness,
    love and determination,
    he’s more like a rock.

  11. rlk67


    I had my wallet…lost it.
    I had my key…misplaced it.
    I had an idea! Forgot it.
    I had a plan…ruined it.

    I had a coupon…washed it.
    I had my lunch…sat on it.
    I had a chance! Blew it.
    I had a love…betrayed it.

    I had a future…destroyed it.
    I had my sanity…shattered it.
    I had my time…ended it.
    I had my rebirth…went for it!

  12. David

    I am Broken

    I am broken as I sit and I watch from afar
    Old lives spent and new ones taken, spit in a jar
    Left unattended, wasting loneliness on hope
    Plucked for a cause unjustified, no life to scope
    Forgotten memories and thoughts that leaked away
    Solemn reminder to make the best of your day

    Tumultuous cascades of unforgiving rain
    Echoed in empty stares and cries of hopeless pain
    Uncharted water ways replace Seventh and Main
    How much more must come, before heaven plugs the drain
    Unprecedented, unmistakably insane
    While the South drowns its cities, the West prays for rain

    Smoke choked skies hide mountains where the sky never ends
    Ranges of memories, parks, homes, ranches of friends
    Friends we’ve never met, no longer strangers in need
    No field to farm, roof overhead nor stock to feed
    May these lives not be forgotten, unspoken names
    May waters of the storm put out consuming flames

    I know who holds the world in the palm of His hands
    Who calls the stars by name and who tallies the sands
    Who sets the boundaries, who harnesses the wind
    Who marks the east from the west, who carries my sin
    Though I am broken, I find hope in God above
    With these words from Habakkuk I have learned to love;

    Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,
    though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,
    though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,
    yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will be joyful in God my Savior.
    The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
    He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
    He enables me to go on the heights.
    Habakkuk 3:17-19a

  13. Jane Shlensky

    I Am a Reflection

    of your thoughts,
    moon to your sun
    full or slight,
    ghostly image
    of your attitudes,
    barely noticed.

    Ordinary as grass,
    you scan past me
    registering nothing
    as I pass through your eye,
    caress your brain,
    tease your inner ear.
    You shake me off
    or grow to think
    that I am you.

    I am whatever same
    you name.
    Whatever coils in your past,
    I am that.
    Whatever roils inside you,
    I am that.
    Whatever toils of love,
    I am that—
    bruise and balm,
    poison and antidote,
    loss and gain.

    I am your reflection,
    your thoughts of the world
    projected, your hopes
    manifested, the very pip
    of your power to heal
    or destroy, your fears
    becoming the knife
    to slice me with.

  14. mayboy

    Would You Still Love Me for What I Am

    Would you still love me
    for what I am, a soul lost,
    forbidden, hidden in your chest?

    We will meet there where
    the heart beat, breath, forever last,
    the wilted leaf of bouquet rests.

  15. Michelle Murrish

    I Am Always On Time

    It’s hard to find the time
    When every second belongs to yesterday
    Or tomorrow
    And the only one I can count on
    Is the one beneath me
    That is, until it’s pulled from under my feet;
    And turned into a memory
    So I cling to the space between
    And bloody my fingertips
    Holding on long enough
    To say a proper goodbye

  16. qbit


    Wind broken

    I am a haze,
    A pinked cumulonimbus
    Brought to rain
    This hour.

    Back broken

    I am a ferry
    In dry dock,
    Rigor-mortised and tendoned
    At the knees and hips.

    Day broken

    I am everything
    A cup of coffee
    Can muster
    At 5AM.

  17. thunk2much

    I am a snowflake
    formed and reformed
    by the chill shrill
    of angry lock-step
    declarations of hate
    belched out
    in 140 characters
    or less.

    I am a snowflake
    yearning to melt
    into liquid poured
    down thirsty throats,
    rain in the desert,
    or an ocean teaming,
    still, with life and joy
    and hope.

  18. Bushkill

    I Am A Tree

    I stand on the precipice,
    Back bent,
    Under the unrelenting
    Power of the wind
    And reflect.

    I remember the world
    In the green of my leaves
    Birds chirping
    Life hard charging
    Bathed in sun.

    I felt the power of rain,
    Roots drinking,
    Thunder demanding attention
    While lightning flashing
    Scalds the sky.

    I sensed the shortening days
    The air growing colder
    Leaves changing
    With colors bright blazing
    Fall to Earth.

    Now I sense Winter’s birth
    Boughs bowing
    Under white blankets of ice
    Beauty sculpted and unchanging
    On my cliff.

    (* I’ve been away on a different literary journey for a while. I hope to be back and sharing here more regularly now. *)

  19. grcran

    I Am an Anti

    will mince my words
    may useful nouns or adjectives
    may interjectionize adverbs
    Never! i anticlimactic
    with climate changes most absurd
    untie good grammar bonds as such
    still, sugar feed sweet hummingbird
    do all you can to fight the plague
    of ignoramuses well-heard
    i, for my part, do partly rem-
    ininsce, i fight the badly blurred

    gpr crane

  20. Nancy Posey

    I Am a Brown Sparrow

    I am a brown sparrow
    in a world celebrating cardinals,
    brewing sweet red nectar
    for hummingbirds,
    crossing pileated woodpeckers
    off their Audobon list,
    filling special feeders for finches
    with thistle and nyger.

    I am a dandelion,
    all gold then fluff then gone
    in a world giving blue ribbons
    to hybrid tea roses,
    feeding ice cubs to orchids,
    encircling mailboxes
    with tiger lilies.

    I am the snapshot
    in the kitchen drawer
    in a world where Van Gogh’s Sunflowers
    fetch a prince’s ransom,
    where O’Keefe’s bovine skulls
    command startled attention,
    and Giaconda’s enigmatic smile
    still draws daily crowds of strangers.

    I am a yellow #2 pensil
    in a world preferring Mont Blanc
    or Bluetooth keyboard
    and a laser printer,
    trailing a banner asking,
    Will You Marry Me, Becky?
    in giant letters behind a crop duster.

    I am enough.

  21. seingraham


    Unheard between the telephone ringing late at night
    and the heart’s racing as you come to, wondering…
    The long breath held when the babe is delivered
    and all wait, and wait, hushed, worried, will there be a cry?
    The quiet – larger than air, wind, storms – as he gives the knee
    after asking that important question – she ponders, thinks

    I am the silence unheard when the machines are switched
    off and everyone stares at the screens, hoping and praying
    The noiseless hush of nurses’ shoes coming and going through
    the hospital’s halls, dealing death and hope in equal measure
    The tranquil soundlessness uninterrupted at the end of war
    when the last cannon has been fired, the last man fallen.

  22. SarahLeaSales

    I Am a Slow-Speaking Lady

    I am a slow-speaking lady,
    a cracked Southern belle.
    I am a Pollyanna at times,
    an H.L. Mencken at others.
    I am a Christian outside church,
    a skeptic, a questioner, inside.
    I am a lover of old things,
    a user of new things.
    I am okay and not okay.
    I go by no other name—
    no Mrs., no Dr.,
    and never Sally.
    I am someone’s brown-haired,
    less intellectual
    Diane Chambers.
    I am a Lucy,
    looking for her Ethel.
    I am a bra-hating
    stuck in a society
    stuck on teats.
    I am a 35-year-old mama
    playing her gender role
    to the cross.
    I am a black Irish,
    working-class gal,
    whose freckles
    number the stars.
    I am an open book,
    a woman of mystery—
    right down to the
    witty gritty.
    I am unilaterally deaf,
    bilaterally blinded by
    what is going on in the world,
    for mine is a series of
    unnatural disasters.
    I am strong as spider’s silk,
    as vulnerable as Hitch’s
    leading ladies.
    I am all these things;
    I am more than these things,
    for there is no end
    to that which makes me,

  23. Sara McNulty

    I Am A Daydreamer

    Plagued by nightmares,
    I must dream by day
    or late in evening when
    imaginations play.

    Watercolors float by
    some memories, some scenes
    like picturing a dog dressed
    as a chanteuse in green,

    or tea parties with Alice,
    Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse,
    Lewis Carroll presiding
    in a purple beach house.

    My eyes might be open,
    but my mind’s far away
    since plagued by nightmares
    I must dream by day.

  24. Anthony94

    I Am a Curious Child

    How to separate the I of me
    from the what I do, the letters
    and words that shoot through
    my fingers framing my world

    How to avoid the camera on
    my computer screen that says
    it recognizes me and not see
    age has not been kind but

    That is not me not I nosirrrr
    says the Peter Pan me insisting
    as I stamp my foot and sing
    I won’t grow up at all but stay

    A curious child poking the world’s
    balloon, stroking syllables, spinning
    letters round and round until
    I am dancing on the page disguised

    As Arial or Calibri, coot and turtle
    the face within a flower, the tender
    leaf of fern. I am three or twelve
    or thirty yet looking in on wonder.

  25. carolemt87

    I am a Poet

    Why are we so afraid to admit to others,
    as well as ourselves,
    just exactly what we are: I’m not a serial killer
    or a child molester;
    I’m a poet, damn it!

    I’ve written countless non-fiction articles,
    essays and journalistic pieces for a college newspaper,
    but deep down right at the core:
    I’m a poet, damn it!

    Many times, I’ve collected interesting
    characters and scenarios,
    composed small fictional narratives
    and actually wrote a novella with
    two other writers; however,
    I’m a poet, damn it
    and it’s okay to
    admit that.

    It’s not some dirty little secret
    I need to hide. In fact, I love being a poet,
    scrounging for that perfect phrase
    and at the end, really sticking the dismount.
    I’ll even admit to my theft. After all,
    who doesn’t steal from Shakespeare or Dylan Thomas?

    There is nothing that doesn’t inspire me
    or prompt me to write and yes, sometimes
    I do throw away a poem and that’s perfectly okay.
    It’s time to walk out into the spotlight
    with my head held high and
    tell everyone that, damn it,
    I am a poet.

    Carol Carpenter

  26. taylor graham

    Green Valley Road at Wildwood

    I meant to meditate the quiet day
    alive with oak shade, maybe song of thrush,
    a rural calm of afternoon, its hush
    of wester breeze. But that was yesterday.

    Crash. Instant flashing lights at right-of-way.
    Head-on. A siren symphony of wail –
    what happened? Stop the road and drown our swale
    in crazy-show of blue and red display

    pulsing questions to sirens’ welladay.
    Energies converged. All the over-heards –
    there was no space left for my hands or words.
    The big doors closed and then they pulled away.

    Our daily sun that rises blinding, loud,
    this morning’s golden muted by a cloud.

  27. PowerUnit

    When nobody is looking
    and no one else cares
    what you look like
    matters nothing to me

    When we’re all together
    shopping for what suites us
    I will show you the best
    you can present

    When what appears
    does not make any sense
    don’t shoot the messenger
    it’s bad luck to crack me up

  28. Marie Elena


    Let’s fix what’s Baroque.
    Switch the pitch of politics –
    Soft chant; measured tone.


    For those who may not know, a “chant” is generally not solo, but singing in unison.

  29. tripoet

    I Am the Dog That Always Barks When It’s Time for the Poet Who Lives Next Door To Write

    Not unlike reading tea leaves I can do the magic
    and with a sixth sense summon my owner
    when its time to open the back door and allow
    me to invade the back yard for my morning business.

    Ahhh she never suspects my true intentions
    even as I saunter over to the iron
    wrought gate, a perfectly excellent spot for observation
    of the poet brushed in her kimono, hovering over her computer.

    Writing a story but neglecting to place me in it
    is unexceptable. So each day striving to become the muse
    as inspiration grazes her mind, I commence
    my howling determined to find a way into her work.

  30. Jrentler

    i am a dreamer

    by land, sea & air
    winged visions carry
    to a fecund tomorrow
    in the land of pepsi

    i bring tidings of
    telephones & jeans
    hotdogs & AC

    ketchup, kiss & a bud
    video games to play
    hoops to shoot
    google & x-rays

    nukes, malls & the pill
    that white house on capital hill

    “god bless america” too
    an ode
    to home

      1. Jrentler

        Thanks guys! Each of those products mentioned, except pepsi, were all created by immigrants who came here but I gotta workshop this one and try to find a way to let readers know, but not hit them over the head with it-maybe even a title change about patents or inventions?

        The support found on this blog is wonderful and powerful!

        You all rock!

  31. JRSimmang


    Where will you be
    when the sun decides
    it can no longer shine?

    I, too, have felt that way.
    In a sense,
    I can sympathize with the sun.

    I, too, have spun myself
    ’round and ’round
    and found
    others doing the same.

    I, too, have found that my
    face has spots
    and sometimes burst open

    but, it is the simple saline
    rusting my furnace
    that gushes forth

    and not the divine spark
    of energy the sun

    I wonder if the sun is aware
    of its own mortality
    the way I find

    myself preoccupied with mine.
    How similar we are that
    we both burn,

    I back to my ashes.
    It to its cold beginnings.

    -JR Simmang

  32. rlk67


    Inspiration forms, I feel the gush,
    Get out the words, but there’s no rush.

    I’ll rhyme when convenient, ’cause sometimes it’s not,
    If I feel like I can, I’ll give it a…chance. (So there.)

    The feelings start screaming, “We’re free to invent!”
    But the words come out wrong, no, that’s not what I meant.

    The papers are crumbled, the trash can is filled,
    But the process still helps, I feel really chilled.

  33. headintheclouds87

    I Am a Whisper

    I am a whisper
    In a loud, impudent world
    Where to stop and listen
    Becomes increasingly alien
    In times of fleeting concentration.
    I may speak softly
    But work harder to be heard
    Above the shouts and bellows
    Of bigger and bolder fellows,
    Choosing calm and careful words
    To play in the constant game
    Of affixing meaning to my name.

  34. barbara_y

    I Am a Blank

    I am a feeder of hummingbirds.
    Does that make me a flower?

    If I am a flower, do I know my name?
    I wish I were Scarlet Sage or Sweet

    William. I might be a ballad, Barbry
    Allen, or fiddle tune changing like bees.

    I might be bees in a hollow tree, might
    be a tree or transient cloud, low

    pressure area. Might be the blues, a poet,
    or six-pack of dark local beer. Sometimes

    I sing bits of old songs as I remember them.
    Sometimes I sweep, wash dishes, pour green

    detergent into the washing machine. I play
    computer games, watch the alarming news.

    I am a groomer of calico cats.
    Does that make me a tongue?

  35. tripoet


    I am a young woman
    distracted, busy, over-
    booked who made
    the mistake of turning
    around and when I turned
    back, looked old. I’m only
    requesting what I think
    should still be mine as I sit
    here alone placed on hold.

  36. Daniel Paicopulos

    I Am An Anti-War Veteran

    I’ve been thinking
    a lot
    about war lately,
    especially the most important one,
    you know what I mean,
    the one that happened to us.
    I’ve been thinking
    about bravery,
    and fear,
    how the absence of one
    does not define the other.
    I’ve been thinking
    about how
    no one hates war
    more than the warrior.
    I need not think
    too long on this.
    It is a given.
    It is for sure.

    When we were kids,
    we were oh so serious
    about playing war.
    We had the leftover helmets
    from somebody else’s
    most important war.
    A few of us had BB guns,
    most of us used sticks,
    pretending to rat-a-tat-tat.

    When we were teens,
    some of us in our twenties,
    we were still kids,
    even though we thought
    we were men and women,
    just because we were
    far from home.
    Some of us, a very few,
    thought we were
    still playing war,
    though most of us knew,
    it was a deadly serious game.

    Now that we are older, even old,
    we know how foolish we were.
    How silly of us to think
    any of it was ever a game.

    So yes, my brothers and sisters,
    the only war that seems to matter
    is the one you fought in.
    All warriors have this understanding.
    All veterans have this agreement.
    So many wars,
    yet only one was the worst.
    Because it happened to you.
    So many battles,
    so many dead and wounded,
    even when
    there was nothing to win.
    My brothers and sisters
    did not then,
    do not now,
    fight for territory,
    nor for some higher authority,
    maybe not even for the nation,
    nearly never.

    My brothers and sisters,
    my comrades,
    fought and fight for each other,
    keeping their pledge,
    abiding by their oath,
    operating with ruthless honor.
    They fought and fight together,
    protecting the living and
    attending to their higher duty,
    remembering the dead.

    I love them and
    I appreciate them.
    Even when
    I have not met them,
    I know them,
    my brothers and sisters,
    the veterans.

    1. Marie Elena

      All I can add is a humble amen, and to thank you again for your service. This is a familiar poem. I don’t know if it is an older one of yours, or one that simply reflects what I already know you feel and have lived. So much respect for you, my friend. So much.

    2. JRSimmang

      I have to echo Marie Elena’s sentiment. Thank you for both service and this poem. The “call to arms” in the middle truly rounds this one out beautifully, almost as if you are returning to that time in your life.

      1. Daniel Paicopulos

        I don’t listen to them anymore.
        It’s time to stand up, say nevermore,
        it’s old men who send our young to war.
        I’ve seen the play and ask once more,
        what the hell are we fighting for?
        It’s old men who send our young to war.
        I don’t listen to them anymore.

  37. Marie Elena

    I Am An Aging, Living Being

    No longer vibrant
    -skinned strength, framed
    on the nightstand

    No longer quick
    -witted or
    fluid in mind
    agile in stride

    No longer resourceful
    a step ahead
    with a head in the game

    At times still life,
    I am life, still

    I am aging



      1. Marie Elena

        Thank you, Daniel. And yes, I am aging, but this is not me. This is my dad, and so many others like him who are elderly and feeling unlike their earlier selves. I think all nursing homes, hospitals, etc. should request and display a photo of their patients’ earlier/healthier selves. Where Mom and Dad live, they do an interview, and display it with a photo of what they looked like in their younger years. I love that. It gives a better “picture” (ha!) of who they have always been and still are, hidden inside them.

    1. tripoet

      I love the way you used enjambent. Also liked the way you used words as adjectives and then for effect turned around and used then as an adverb. This is my favorite line: “At times still life,
      I am life, still”. You are extremely talented.

  38. De Jackson

    I Am a Star of Dubious Shine

    A poem of question
    -able alignment.
    I am bic
    ker(n)ing with my own skin,
    beginning to find my
    self fallen.

    I am 5am and light
    not yet shed and salt
    stirring sans sea. I am three
                (of paper)
    to a broken wind,
    the bend of sky that says
    we are all fractured just
    right at center. I am leaf
    flutter and syllable stutter
    and that crazy peek-a-boo
    moon who cloud-cloaks herself
    and haunts these streets.

    I am slivered,
    shivered deep in faith and fear
    and want and whim, skimmed
    surface of something inky
    black and waiting.

  39. ReathaThomasOakley

    I am adrift

    on this wide expanse of white
    two kindles and one iPad
    lie between us
    on the rumpled sheets.

    I reach across the space
    find your warm, smooth skin,
    and am safely home,

    1. Bushkill

      Tactile. More than just a sensual word. The warmth and comfort so small a touch can emote is powerful. Well described and I love the ending. The single word “again” alone on its own line yet so desperately deep in meaning.

  40. Eileen S

    I am a School Bus

    I am a shiny yellow school and today is the first day of school. I was barely used over the summer taking kids to summer school and camp. Now I will be used a lot for the next ten months. My first run will be for high school kids who will shake and kick my seats. The second run will be for middle school who put their chewing gum in my cervices. Then the last run will be for elementary school students who will push and shove and scream. Some of these urchins will take their sweet time in climbing on to me. Then I will be required to do this again in the afternoon. I know that I won’t get any respect. I hope I have a good driver who drives me carefully and doesn’t slam the breaks at the last minute. That hurts. It will be a long year ahead and I’m not looking forward to it.

  41. annell

    I AM YOU…

    i am…..     what am i     who am i

    i am a woman     i have traveled far     the journey has been mixed

    happiness and sadness     loving and leaving     empty and full

    i hear the echo of my footsteps     there is no other sound     i walk to the end of the hall

    shrouded in fear     i ask      can i do this

    my mother appears     she answers my question     she walks beside me

    though she died four years before     i am aware     she showed me how

    she prepared me     i hold the ancient sheets     yellow with age

    i recognize her careful handwriting     penned are the words     unsaid

    i open the door to your empty room     the silence explodes my head      i want to run

    there is no escape     it is who i am     i stand silently beside your bed

    volumes spoken in my head     each line begins and ends with love     you are no longer here

    still i feel you know my heart     and you said as much     when you touched my heart

    and touched your own     you said, you are me     i am you

    September 6, 2017

  42. PowerUnit

    I am a rogue wave, about
    to flip your gentle boat

    I am the hand you never saw
    who stole your basketball

    I am the air that lingers
    between your toes and fingers

    I am the horn you dread
    that mourns the newly dead

    I am the last breath you’ll take
    in the moment before you wake

    I am the bird that flies south
    whenever words leave your mouth

    I am the morning after night
    before the day becomes light

    I am the last flash you’ll blink
    you won’t have time to think

    1. Marie Elena

      My internet connection went down right in the middle of commenting on this. Sheesh! Somehow, that seems to fit with your poem! 😀

      I especially like, “I am the hand you never saw who stole your basketball.” For some reason that one resonates with me.


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