Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 414

For today’s prompt, write a connection poem. The poem could be about a physical connection, like holding hands or building a bridge across a river. Or it could be about social connections, like at a party or online. Of course, there are also electrical connections, magnetic connections, associative connections, and so much more. Feel free to connect the dots however you wish today.

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Here’s my attempt at a Connection Poem:

“Connecting the Dots”

Connecting the dots is easy to do
when the dots are laid out for you,

but it gets more complicated when
the dots become women and men,

and you’re unsure what to connect–
a laugh, a lie, an architect?!?–

because like all games that we play,
it fails to connect in the day to day.

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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 likes making connections.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

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128 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 414

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    connections
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    i think what bothers me most is
    that i’m losing all my connections….

    when my grandparents died,
    they were already so old
    it was kind of expected,

    but then my parents suddenly went
    first one, then the other.
    wasn’t ready for that big step yet
    and neither were they, barely retired.

    then two sister-in-laws
    followed by the first of three brothers,
    along with a handful of aunts and uncles,
    cousins, a niece, even a nephew
    plus an long estranged father-in-law
    that had just gotten back into our lives.

    family reunions shrunk in size and attendance
    each death more devastating than the last,
    empty plates set out during holidays each year
    in remembrance, kept multiplying faster
    adding to the depression.

    and suddenly now i’m the one seated at the head
    of a nearly empty table, with wrinkles and age spots,
    and a gnarly cane, when did that happen?
    the kids are all grown with far away lives all their own
    and the grandkids don’t come round much or call anymore.

    why am i the only one bothered by all these lost connections of olde?

    © 2017 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. taylor graham

    LETTING THE DAY GO

    A trumpet is nagging in the alley
    with its locked back doors. It’s improvising
    blues, transforming mellow gloaming
    as daylight loosens its grip, lets the credit card
    slip from fingers, the project absent itself
    down the transfer-tunnel of hours;
    lets every transient thing go with a mute,
    a muffle instead of a thud. The alley
    transitioning Main Street to cutbank bedrock
    holds its breath to listen. Who knew
    a trumpet could do this, transcend its brass,
    its boister? The tune the man is blowing
    soft as a swan mourns
    was once a rousing psalm –
    some past Olympics dream of connecting
    world to world. Tonight a trumpet
    transfigures workaday
    into dark and the silence of stars.

  3. carolemt87

    Imaginary Friend

    Altered consciousness
    reality imagined
    here in this box,
    white glow, blue screen
    just one double click
    away from me.

    Warm palm
    caresses the edge of
    this Dell Inspiron
    52 gigabyte hard drive
    as the words you type
    magically appear
    while one finger rests
    on the left click key
    then a world away
    you log off
    and close your
    bright screen.

  4. JWLaviguer

    Un-Tindered

    We connected
    but she rejected
    the offer of a second date.

    We’re worlds apart
    it wouldn’t be smart
    to put you in that position.

    So she walked away
    Nothing I could say
    would ever change her mind.

    So I swipe to the right
    why put up a fight
    more fish in the sea.

    JW Laviguer

  5. seingraham

    DROPPED CONNECTION
    (for JAR)

    Another Thanksgiving comes and goes
    We don’t even pretend you might call
    Do you remember that it was to be
    our chance at reconciliation?
    Your idea – three years plus ago
    But – the day came with scents
    of turkey roasting, and stuffing,
    sweet potatoes, gravy
    Oh – and crescent rolls – just in case
    you showed …

    Do you miss us, the closest bonds
    you knew until you married, had kids
    I remember how hard it was for you
    to make friends, to step outside your
    comfort zone – and now you’ve
    moved far away, or so I hear
    Severing our connection even further
    and with greater finality
    Does your heart hurt too, I wonder?

  6. grcran

    since these were all short, i post them here together…

    not vampires either

    no one could cauterize us
    since we could not be
    unconnected
    but we weren’t really
    bleeding
    anyway

    Your Son

    He’s you. He is his
    Self. That too. He’s not him. Self.
    Not you. Yet. You, too.

    el gigante

    smallest in the league
    bringing huge
    heart for the game
    waits
    waits for it
    connects times three
    long balls for Tuve
    the short-long connection

    gpr crane

        1. grcran

          but wait, he’s on second… Bregman’s on third… no, now he’s scoring… no, that was bottom of the ninth in game 2… any way it goes, he’s Gigante… and thanks Eileen and William for the kind comments

  7. Bushkill

    I See You

    Right now, this is all we can manage,
    Interlocking fingers bridging our two worlds.
    Where opinions cultivate chasms
    And entangle lives of shared experiences.

    This isn’t the first such calamity
    Roiled between us, disquieting our calm
    We’ve always sorted our misalignment
    And been better for it.

    So let us hold on to each other,
    Let us see past our differences
    Embracing our humanity
    And let us marvel in this world together.

    ~KTM

  8. grcran

    cotton

    our marriage date rolls back around
    two years now in the books
    so much that we’ve accomplish-ed
    shed cloaks, learned loving looks

    pushed buttons, learned how not to push
    to tolerate instead
    you tolerate me well then soothe
    the troubles in my head

    your grace behooves you as you float
    from chore to household chore
    i watch you point your toe, just so
    see cleavage, hope for more

    i stay hungry for you, sweet love
    stay full, no need to yearn
    you keep me fine & happy with
    your intimate concern

    so, cared for, i then care for you
    to keep you from some harm
    you seek the cold, i try to help
    you’re cool as i am warm

    we’re opposites yet we connect
    married right through the soul
    as year three starts i’m glad i’m yours
    to have, also to hold

    note: today is our (Denise and my) second (cotton) wedding anniversary, what a great connection!… i thank God for Denise, and Denise for this poem… i give it to her…

    gpr crane

  9. lsteadly

    Dis-connect

    it’s not enough
    to know you are

    only a phone call away, over
    three thousand miles

    of ripples and waves condensed
    into a pulse of give

    and take, much like our own
    hands dancing in

    the air, our fingers seeking
    the other’s heart through

    the line, our voices found
    wanting in the moment

    1. Bushkill

      I like the way you parsed this into two-line stanzas. I really think that emphasizes the disconnect and distance. Long distance relationships are a challenge.

        1. lsteadly

          Thank you both for your kind words. I have been facing new challenges with my husband traveling so much for work and my 2 sons moving out to commence their own lives after college. Long distance IS hard!

  10. Sara McNulty

    Reconnecting to New York City (FYIs)

    Around the corner, a sign reads,
    “Tattoos While You Wait.”
    Place simply does not have take-out.

    Several blocks down is a sign,
    “Call 1-800-BALD” which to me,
    suggests an opportunity
    to become bald.

    Back on the ferry after eight
    years, I look out the window
    at the Statue of Liberty.
    I think I see a tear
    run down her face.
    If she could speak, what
    would she say about how far
    backwards we have fallen.

    I reconnect to my roots,
    watch multi-cultural people
    in all walks of life
    talking, laughing, living
    side by side without
    conflict, connected
    simply by being human.

  11. deringer1

    CONNECTION

    It’s there. You can’t explain it though you try,
    the precious sense of comfort without words,
    the knowing yet not understanding why
    the mother-daughter close connection works.

  12. Walter J Wojtanik

    POEM STARTING WITH A LINE FROM ROD McKUEN

    thank you
    for kissing me in the elevator last night.

    two strangers passing as ships
    different floors…
    different mores…

    over your shoulder
    reaching to press

    your scent: fragrant

    lips vagrantly brushing
    eyes searching
    cheeks flushing/blushing

    lips meeting fully
    no greeting exchanged.

    i didn’t even catch your name!

    – The first line was taken from Rod McKuen’s poem, “Another Thank You”
    from his collection “Twelve Years of Christmas”

    1. seingraham

      Yay – someone else who’s not afraid to use some of McKuen’s lines – he influenced me greatly back in the day (especially after Glenn Yarborough recorded so many of his poems) – makes me sad so many people are snobbish about his work.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik

        So true, Sharon. My copy of his book “Twelve Years of Christmas” was found in a giveaway table at a local church bazaar. You know me and Christmas. But McKuen’s work stood out in this tome and I’ve been a fan for a long time. He was quirky. I like quirky.

  13. caltay

    Mate of My Soul

    Their eyes tried to meet, their hearts not to beat
    Their breaths, one of a whole;
    Then an amorous smile, soft words bare of guile
    Come hither, mate of my soul.

  14. Connie Peters

    One from my daughter.

    Retread
    By Lori Peters

    Remember what you led you here
    What numbers and clues you stuck together
    Shoved together with tape and glue
    Made them fit by holding your breath
    And counting to ten.
    Remember all the half-heard songs
    And out-of-context stares
    You interpreted that lead to your conclusion.
    Remember adding up all the numbers
    Being so certain that you were right
    You took your certainty as proof.
    Trace back the bridge
    Made of tinker toys and split hairs
    Of patchwork timber and chewing gum glue.
    Decide if the connections between
    What you started out as
    And who you are now
    Makes any sense at all.

  15. Eileen S

    Merrimack River

    Over one hundred years ago,
    the water power of Merrimack River
    contributed to New England’s wealth.
    This powerful river
    energized the mills
    of the vibrant textile industry
    as well as the cities and towns that
    sprung up along its banks
    in Massachusetts and New Hampshire.

    The river name, derived from
    from the native Americans
    meaning swift water place
    flowed fast and furiously
    and contributed to the
    Industrial Revolution.

    water wheels churned,
    cotton spun into cloth,
    cloth weaved into clothing

    Everyone who lived nearby knew
    someone who worked in the mills.

    Along the Mighty Merrimack,
    a way of life was created
    and many manufactured
    products were produced
    which bolstered the
    American economy.

  16. SarahLeaSales

    Broken Connections

    She kept him alive for the world,
    breathing through machines.
    Through his cell phone she did this,
    texting his friends and family
    in that language of his she knew so well,
    posting on his Facebook account,
    Photoshopping and age-progressing his pictures,
    crafting the narrative of the life he’d wanted to continue living,
    so that people continued to wish him a “Happy Birthday,”
    long after he’d had his last.

  17. taylor graham

    HOW TO CONNECT

    Park at the Greyhound station and start walking.
    Blood-orange, huge, sun glares through smoke
    above pines on the ridge – there at forest’s edge,
    forest that hasn’t burned yet in a State of flame.
    A woman in housedress and boots, bookbag,
    walking stick, slouch-hat pauses on the walk,
    sits down on a rock. What is she waiting for?
    Observe the young man standing by his bike
    beside a dumpster, with a half-full garbage bag.
    Graceful as a gymnast, he mounts the dumpster.
    The light-board above the bank says 44 degrees.
    Don’t look that lady with briefcase in the eye.
    She’ll turn away, thinking you’re homeless.
    Note how smoke of distant fires hangs in air.
    Try not to listen when a man tells his friend
    Don’t go outside today, you’re gonna die.
    Blackberry, willow, water-polished bedrock
    along the little creek that runs through town;
    a pink plastic bag on a rock, an easy chair,
    a book: Interludes, Prayers of Remembrance.

  18. Anthony94

    Barred Owl on the 169

    We eye each other
    through thinnest glass

    barely enough distance
    to disguise us

    from one another, you
    in all your feathered splendor backlit

    against westering November sun
    along the southbound two lane

    you sit the carcass of last night’s
    deer with the ferocity of a lion

    yet shaped like some perfectly sanded
    bowling pin. How much morphing

    have you done since that night
    over thirty years ago when you

    fled the shape of my father
    moving effortlessly from one realm

    to another and now this, your eyes
    indelibly imprinted on my skin

    your presence so close we touch.

  19. headintheclouds87

    A Fading Spark

    Face to face
    Is fast becoming out-of-date
    In times so fast-paced
    That we instead opt to create
    Connections of ephemeral state;
    Without the twitching of nervous eyes
    Or the telling face of white lies,
    Free of the awkward shackles of life,
    All corporeal fear surely dies.

    But this is at the cost of the spark;
    That electric touch that marks
    Human blunder and its inelegant remarks,
    For the typing hidden in the dark,
    Carefully prepared, stiff and stark
    Is the digital hermit’s trademark.

    This sets them apart from the brave
    Who expose their imperfect face
    And cast weakness on display
    In this screen-fixated age.

  20. Nurit Israeli

    Ebb and Flow

    Grateful
    for the seasons
    that glide into each other
    with no gaps –
    the ways
    their colors infiltrate,
    ever-changing,
    connecting my dots.

    ~ Nurit Israeli

    1. tripoet

      I your piece for Robert on “Why I Write Poetry”. I was very inspired. My friend, an artist, and poet has a piece called “Numbers” on the Holocaust for “Prairie Village State of the Arts” that opens this Friday in Kansas. I would love for you to see it.

  21. tripoet

    Fly the Friendly Skies and Save

    When you live in the mid-west
    and need to get to the coast
    It’s generally easier to fly.
    I think you can guess why.

    One day when inordinately busy
    I asked my hubby for some help
    “Can you make my reservation?”
    He said, “Yes”, no hesitation.

    He went right to work
    On that point, I concede
    booking my flight,
    I figured everything was all right

    only to find that from KCI
    I flew to Denver, next up
    Austin, then Kalamazoo
    I screamed,”What did you do?”

    But there is more to this story
    and to my travel plans.
    Next stop was Miami.
    Then a small airport in Kentucky.

    The printout only got longer
    as my temper shortened
    Off to Detroit, then Toronto
    Montreal and Ontario.

    “Look you are by the window.”
    he stammered with a smile on his face
    A good view? Was his only excuse
    for this crazy route to Syracuse?

    But I know better
    from this coupon man
    Saving every penny he can
    Is behind every plan.

      1. PowerUnit

        😉 Hardly. I just read a book called Black River Road set locally 150 years ago and a publican named Craft was mentioned. I know a Craft who teaches freshmen ‘remedial’ English. Could be related.

  22. Daniel Paicopulos

    Caroline
    It’s a stretch to call it a reunion, she having been five months
    in her mother’s belly
    the last time we saw her.
    Still, she had her mother’s smile,
    her father’s soul,
    the father she never met,
    my good friend, our Best Man.
    Thanks to a Facebook-driven
    connection with her mom’s best friend,
    we’d found them all after
    more than thirty years, learned
    we’d driven right by their home,
    once a month for years,
    headed to Sedona.
    Almost a Doctor Zhivago moment,
    but the gods were kind,
    her mother Gretchen happy to see us,
    “aunt” Carol the messenger of joy,
    So, when we met, again,
    or for the first time,
    as if it mattered,
    bittersweet happiness all around,
    she eager for my memories of
    the dad she never knew,
    me thrilled to see what he had given,
    before he died too soon.
    She lives now in the town we left,
    her boss my friend,
    her staff colleagues my pals,
    working where I would have been,
    had we not moved.
    Married, she has an unfamiliar name,
    so would we have figured it out
    if I had stayed?
    Hard to say.
    It’s a funny old world that way.

  23. Uma

    Even as you build the bridge
    you hope will bring us together
    I feel it crumble beneath my feet

    You lay the right words
    for me to step on, but the hollow
    beneath my bones silently grows

    And I fear I will tumble
    into the chasm of your silence
    If I walk back to you again

  24. PressOn

    STOPPING BY BUSHES ON A WINTER EVENING

    How marvellous the chickadee
    who perches with sunflower seed
    to satisfy his tiny greed
    by chipping at it rapidly,
    then hieing to the feeder tree
    while sounding like a raspy reed.
    How marvellous

    the change this bird can make in me,
    for, as I watch his busy deed
    I feel the fleeing of my need
    for unremitting certainty.
    How marvellous.

  25. Walter J Wojtanik

    ONE GOOD EYE

    The vision of a friend; seeker of artistic worth.
    How on earth did she ever find this connection?

    But the direction she chose to expose that eye,
    a far cry from Toledo, across the Erie Lake toward Buffalo.

    Little did she know, the voice she heard spoke in words
    that expressed a devotion to song, lyrical and lilting; lifting

    an unsure foot, and then the next. Small steps into this world
    unfurling the banner of poetic pondering, wondering if her words

    could touch the soul of one she perceived so gifted,
    lifted by his support and recognition; a position reciprocated

    in kind. In his mind, he was driven, given the opportunity
    to share in poetic unity; like minds found a common bond.

    Hands across the lake, reached and taught each other,
    a rhyming sister and brother, related by their poetry, knowing

    they were enhanced by their presence, in essence their words
    became their umbilical, joining and nourishing their combined muse.

    He was used to relying on her friendship; a necessary camaraderie
    in her eye, the window to their personalities, a view to their worlds.

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