Day 2 Highlights
As you may remember, the Day 2 prompt asked poets to put themselves in someone (or something) else’s skin. What great responses this prompt produced! Before I share the poems…
As you may remember, the Day 2 prompt asked poets to put themselves in someone (or something) else's skin. What great responses this prompt produced!
Before I share the poems that most caught my attention, I want to share some patterns I noticed. For instance, poets became dogs in about every 3rd or 4th poem. Sylvia Plath was the most popular poet to be channeled. Of the inanimate objects, cell phones dominated. Some interesting subjects included a revolving door, hotel mattress, and hybrid car.
*****
Computer Keyboard
must be morning
here she comes
again
pounding
all day
pounding
the sound of the phone
brings respite
5 minutes
anything
I’ll take it
oh God
not the peanut shells
every day
peanut shells
until I can’t move
upside down
her hands crashing me
on the desk
over
and over
until the shells are gone
pineapple juice
peanut shells
salt from pretzels
pieces of sandwich
drops of soda
why can’t she see me?
why doesn’t she care?
when will it end?
jane |wordscribblerAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
discarded paper
meant for greatness
from the second highest tree fell
years spent gathering dust on the shelf
amongst lesser paper
from lesser trees
he brought me home
put me in a warm place
ink seeped into my fiber
once, twice, three times the ball of the pen found me
neglected once more
setinto a dark case
dust gathers
it is cold
strange hands my temporary rescue
once again warmth
till
sudden pain
fibers broken
crumpled i fall
once again amongst lesser paper
from lesser trees
tim |timputnamAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Sylvia Plath
In the darkness,
And under the stairs,
I smell the firm
Dry earth
Beneath me,
Comforting, that dank
Strong scent
Wafting through me
As I attempt
To still myself
In silence,
Block out
The world at large.
My little hiding place,
A hush to keep me warm,
I will stay here,
Only a little while,
Make shadows in the dark,
Whisper my litanies
To a future me unsung.
I’m a little girl,
Mean and grey,
A monster miasma
Waiting to burst
Into rain.
Kevin |kevintcraigAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Bouncy Ball
Whee! Bouncing up, up, up
Falling down, down, down
My rubber flattens slightly
when I reach the ground
and then I am up again
Soaring, flying, racing
The air swooshing past my sides
The ground retreating, retreating
then coming back again
The air is fresh and new and clear
The ground propels me upward
I could do it again and again
all day long
Tonya Root |booklet dot geoAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
Dad's Old Brown Sweater
Don't hate me because he would rather be close to me than you
I smell like him, cigarettes, whiskey, and maraschino cherries
and anything else he has eaten in the past month
He likes the temp at 65 in the winter
makes him feel like he's saving money
he likes the feel of me around him
like his blanket when he was a baby with a bottle
when he had a brother and a father
before they left him alone and untethered
We like it when you tease us about how close we are
"you love that sweater more than me!" you shout
it's true, it's so true but he can't tell you
you would not understand
Last night he we fell asleep together on the couch
he dreamt of a long walk on the beach with Cordy
fetching sticks
you were there too
in the distance waving
at least I think it was you
Teri Coyne |tmc329AT NOSPAMaol dot com
*****
turntable
you like the way
i swivel wax
against my hips: my hula
hooping coyly against
a needle
the vinyl swirls
in a whir of autumnal
sounds; crackle
of leaves, cool
wind, and lovers
under thunder
and covers
i sing the blues
and bring back
jazz, memories
of faraway throats
and fuel
the dance
be careful
oh yes
be sweet
because, sometimes
my birdsong
is noise
and static
and when you
least expect
a chalkboard
shriek; i
scratch
k weber |ilovehateyouAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Holly Golightly
A chocolate croissant
and coffee in front
of a storefront window
in the morning
before all the feathers
fall around at night.
In the morning
knowing the cat
is around here somewhere
and seeing the neighbors
through thick eyelashes
and thin hangovers.
Oh to be somebody's Tomato
and have a cab waiting
so long for me in the rain
just as darlings turn to dusk.
Golda Fried |goldafriedAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
NASCAR Trophy
Today I can be anything.
I have chosen to be cold, metal, hollow.
Smeared with fingerprints,
passed from hand to hand
on a wave of sweat, motor oil,
and gas mileage calculations.
Shaken-up soda, sprayed everywhere
in the exuberant celebration
that belongs more
to eight-year-old boys
than full-grown men,
drips down my smooth sides.
First place, he grasps me with warm hands,
hoists me up, plants a kiss
on my shiny face, reflecting his own.
He raises me over his head.
I am afraid of heights, I want to say.
Kiss me again.
Sarah |MusicToKnitToAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
Cell Phone
I'm tired!
My buttons feels bruised
by constant finger pressing;
I am loaded with images I'd rather not see--
The scary one of your cat
with laser beam eyes;
The one you sent you boyfriend
when he was out of town. . .
well, we won't go there!
Full to overflowing with texted words--
LOL, OMG, ILMAO. . .
I have two letters for you sweetie. . .
But, we won't go there either.
Annoying ring tones--
My God what kind of hip-hop
rap crap is that?
All I ask for is one day off--
no calls, no texting, no photos,
don't even put me on vibrate,
(It may feel good to you, but
does nothing for me)
One day. . .
just let me. . .
sleep!
Terri |ttlmtAT NOSPAMaim dot com
*****
Sunday Morning Crossword Puzzle Not Yet Solved
It's all been a blank until now,
A few bits here and there
to piece together a coherent whole.
I'm open to your questions
I'm willing to take suggestions.
Yet I feel boxed in somehow...
When at last I reach daylight
morning sun warming my bones
the smell of good coffee nearby
with a good snap of the page
and the soft folds until am
the only one you desire--
Then I will be a slave to your gaze
for as long as it takes,
at least until your coffee runs out
and I am left, drunk with words
and yet so easily discarded.
Elizabeth Keggi |lilyclarissaAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Cell Phone
I hear you laugh
I hear you cry
Can you hear me now?
Hello? Hello?
You yell at me,
drop me repeatedly,
and you wonder why your signal was lost
Hello?
Mee* me a* ***
You're breaking up on me
Run over,
lost,
drowned in the washing machine...
Use me,
break me,
replace me
And yet you feel empty
when I'm not with you
And you never leave home without me.
Cari |nyscarebearmassAT NOSPAMaol dot com
*****
Wearing My Sister's Dress
The times I feel at my best
I'm wearing my big sister's dress
she's everything I'm not
I'm the sister that time forgot
She's wild and crazy and fun
I see a cute guy and I run
In her dress I don't have to be me
yet I still can't see what she sees
I try but the dress has not spell
to make me the popular belle
So I'll spend another saturday night
in my sister's dress, no man in sight
Diana |laydedeeAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
Kindergartener
Every day we have to
say I plejallejens and then
sing yankeedoodle.
Our teacher makes us sit
on the hard floor
but she gets to sit
on a fluffy chair with
rolly wheels.
She tells us to write
when we want to draw.
Then we count to a hundred
and it takes so so long.
Renee Goularte |share2learnAT NOSPAMsbcglobal dot net
*****
Muse
At three p.m. I push back
the silk eye mask that shelters
my delicate eyes from harsh daylight.
I’ve left my charge to wade
the early hours of the day
alone, unguided, uninspired.
After a quick tossle
of my auburn curls,
I start my daily stretching
routine—poke the fantasy
still ten chapters away from completion,
poke the short story idea
she still hasn’t put to paper, poke
the poem, the one about the plum,
that she just can’t figure out.
My workout complete, I lounge
on a velvet chaise and eat cold grapes
until she calls for my aide.
I sip wine as she pounds
her head and the keyboard—
a slave to my whims.
Sara Diane Doyle |saras dot sojournsAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
Mountain Bike
Robbed of my knobbies,
Stripped of my tools,
Tilted against the wall,
I see but am not seen.
Dirt-covered wheels,
Grease-coated chain,
Clothes-covered frame,
I am but a coat rack.
Until
Oregon skies brighten,
Clouds drift away,
Puddles disappear,
And he comes to my side.
Caressing my body up and down,
Running his fingers across my top,
He clears away the debris
And tunes me ‘til I hum.
As his thumb strokes my gears
And he mounts me for a ride,
I know he’ll take me long and slow,
He’ll take me all the way there.
Intrepid Explorer |salyxraeAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
A.P. Stylebook
I'm afraid I've been affected. What a horrible effect. I think I am infected – with words!
Peddle harder. Pedal faster.
Begin your reign by reining them in.
Enjoy a cupful or even a few cupfuls, but never ever enjoy cupsful.
Am I anybody or any body? I am nobody. I am a body – of text.
Would a book by any other name be as fully revised and updated?
From a to ZIP code I have your words, my words.
KP |kerritothepointAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
The Politician Speaks
Blah blah
Blah blah
Blah blah blah blah, dee dah.
Blah blah
Blah blah
Blah dah dee dah, blah blah.
Paula Fairbrother |liveadrmAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
MOZART
When I was a lad of nearly three years
They discovered my gift
Music to the ears
I wrote a little ditty
Then another, then three
They used the word genius
when referring to me.
I cranked out those tunes;
became the hit of the day.
Travelling the world with no time to play,
except on a keyboard in vast concert halls;
the applause was thunderous -
it bounced off the walls.
Then I died and was buried -
with the old RIP
The music is all that is left of "Motzee"
Essa Bostone |essybeeAT NOSPAMsbcglobal dot net

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Editor of Writer's Digest, which includes managing the content on WritersDigest.com and programming virtual conferences. He's the author of 40 Plot Twist Prompts for Writers: Writing Ideas for Bending Stories in New Directions, The Complete Guide of Poetic Forms: 100+ Poetic Form Definitions and Examples for Poets, Poem-a-Day: 365 Poetry Writing Prompts for a Year of Poeming, and more. Also, he's the editor of Writer's Market, Poet's Market, and Guide to Literary Agents. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.