Day 5 Highlights
Day 5’s prompt was sent via a cranky PC in an arcade in a little mall in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It cost me $3 for 30 minutes of access. So, I…
Day 5's prompt was sent via a cranky PC in an arcade in a little mall in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It cost me $3 for 30 minutes of access. So, I pounded out my prompt and poem in record time--and a bit later in the day than I would've preferred. However, everyone came together and posted some really great "worry" poems. In fact, I have a few new phobias as a result. :)
Here are some of the poems that stood out for me with this prompt.
*****
Spiders
Spiders hide themselves
in silent spots deep
within the closet,
beneath the bed,
between the window
and the screen.
Spiders know
when you are asleep:
They are drawn
from their nests
by the sweet sound of a
little boy’s gentle breath.
They’re in the light
fixture above your head.
They guard the bathroom,
waiting for that midnight
visit made on your soft
bare feet in the dark.
Good little boys have
rooms free of spiders
and midnight venom.
Were you a good
little boy today?
I think not.
Elizabeth Keggi |lilyclarissaAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Decade
My ten-year-old Weimeraner,
the one whose leg may be broken,
who sports yet another set of stitches,
I fear the day I will have to hold her
muzzel close as she struggles
for air. I shy from the day I will see
her deep keel still, her eyes haze, her
tail cease to move, her paws lie still.
I avoid the thought of where she
will lay down for the last time, or
where I will spread her ashes, or upon
which mantle I will keep her urn. I look
into her yellow eyes and vow to spend
more time tossing the ball, scratching her
ears, rubbing her near hairless belly. I know
that I will forget that silent promise until the
next medical emergency will remind
me that she was 69 on her last birthday.
A.C. Leming |fackorfAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Always a Mom
They’ve been grown
and on their own
for nearly a decade.
From two hundred miles away
I wonder whether they’re
eating right, sleeping well,
getting designated drivers
on party nights.
On the phone I ask
do they have enough money,
are their jobs going well,
have they been to
the dentist lately?
I imagine they roll their eyes
the way I did at thirty
at the same questions.
Renee Goularte |share2learnAT NOSPAMsbcglobal dot net
*****
Worry
A song.
An overheard word or two.
When my wife is late from the store.
A late snow storm.
Frostburned flowers.
Arriving late.
My father.
Being chosen last.
Being chosen first.
Reading my poems out loud.
My peers, whoever they may be.
A burning smell when I'm driving.
All three of my sons.
Justin Evans |evjustinAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
At One With Nature
Back home, on the farm,
I clean mouse droppings
out of the cupboards.
The following day,
after a drenching rain,
I find the first ant.
Long ago, barefooted
on the way to the toilet
one night, I crushed a fat roach.
The moths are in the closet,
caterpillars on the curtains,
spiders in every corner.
In bed, at night,
I hear the scratchings
rustlings in the walls.
Only a matter of time
and mother nature will
take this place back
she, its rightful owner.
Beth |womenswritesAT NOSPAMinbox dot com
*****
Monday morning before the garbage truck comes
and the mockingbird sings,
I lay in the too-warm room,
your breath a steady,
irritating reminder
of nirvanic slumber
that eludes me.
Instead, my head
waltzes, thoughts
baraging my brain
like so much clutter
the whirring truck
will soon pick up -
the library books,
no bread for lunches,
and what's for dinner anyway?
The client meeting,
and calls for freezing rain
to snarl the overlong commute.
Forgotten birthdays
and unpaid bills,
the perfume on his collar
(not mine) slide into static,
white noise to accompany
tomorrow's appointment
with the radiologist.
Linda |drwasyAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
I'm worried
that talentless American directors
will be permitted to keep producing
rotten remakes of Japanese horror movies,
that someday the religious right
will succeed in sending a man
to the White House,
that society won't collapse
before I have to join "the work force,"
that the West Coast will be as dead
and depressing as this state's always been,
that a random psychopath
might see me riding on Route 5
and decide to hunt me down in his pickup
then rape, kill, and discard me
before rolling off with my precious bike,
that the fluorescent stars I taped to my ceiling
won't come off when it's time to move out,
that I complain too much
or dream or drive too much
or eat too much suspicious slime
at all these Chinese buffets -
but above all that I'm worried
I'll just run out of things to say.
Callan Bignoli-Zale |shehadausernameAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
Lump
The doctor said there’s nothing to worry about
“But let’s keep an eye on it.”
How do you keep an eye on something
that cannot be seen but is felt
fingertips probing gently so as not to awaken
the beast that may lie within?
How do you not worry when every shower
reminds fingers soaped and slippery
of a presence that is not meant to be there
and may someday stir to be removed?
How do you not check more than monthly
for any changes that might occur
until one day the mirror shows you what
fingertips already saw and now eyes see?
How do you keep the fingers from
overshaking onto the wrong digit
as you dial to make an appointment
with a person who told you not to worry.
satia |satia62AT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
The Progression
I cannot leave the house today,
for if I do, I might trip
over the welcome mat
and break my foot.
That would require a visit
to the emergency room
and probably a cast,
not to mention a needle
for the I.V., (I’m breaking out
in hives just thinking about it!)
and I won’t make it to work.
The eventual ramification
of my fall
will be the loss of my job,
followed closely by car,
house and sanity.
How much safer to remain
in the pillow-topped kingdom—
warm, settled and moments
from dreamland—than to risk
stepping out the front door.
Call my boss,
tell her I’m sick
with worry.
Sara Diane Doyle |saras dot sojournsAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
To Sleep, Perchance to Worry
I just know the salmon
I ate for dinner
Had gone bad.
But I ate it anyway.
And if I go to sleep now,
I'll be up in two hours
Singing Technicolor lullabies
Into the commode.
If I survive the salmon,
And manage to get to sleep,
The phone will ring
At 11:22 p.m. again.
It will be that brusque guy
Calling from India,
Offering to wave the fee
On my monthly VISA bill
If I pay now.
I keep telling him,
The fee I can afford.
It's the payment
I'm a little short on.
Really, it doesn’t matter.
If I sleep, I’ll just have
That dream again:
The one where the
Chimpanzee wearing
A red and yellow swimsuit
Chases me through my
Home trying to feed
Me a pepperoni pizza.
Maybe I should eat
Something before
I try to sleep.
I wonder if there’s
Any salmon left?
Mike Barzacchini |mjbarzAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
Animal Anxiety Dreams
I worry in my dreams. Some people have anxiety dreams about being naked in front of the class, or performing in a play having forgotten the lines, but I have anxiety dreams about pets. I’ve dreamed disaster for every dog I’ve ever had. My Pembroke Welsh Corgi falls off a cliff, runs out into traffic, is lost in the neighborhood after dark (she’s small enough to make some coyote a tasty meal). I bet the queen never has dreams like this. My Siberian husky broke her chain and it is now wrapped around a tree deep in the woods where she will probably starve to death before I can find her. It is always my fault. When I got myself two fish tanks filled with tropical fish I thought my animal anxiety dream days were over…who can feel guilty about fish? Oh no, even Steven King couldn’t do better than my fish tank dreams. I’ve dreamed about that third tank I forgot I had, the one I never remembered to clean, the fish I neglected to feed. What is growing in the algae at the bottom of the tank? What is floating in the water when I take the lid off? And what about that tank so big it filled the whole wall, the one that I kept a walk-in freezer just for fish food? What kind of fish grows that big and what might it eat? And when the tank shatters, what kind of fishy dream monster flaps around in the glass shards, gasping for air?
Kate |kberne50AT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Make Your Worries Count
Some folks worry night and day.
I hear them rant and yelp.
But after all is said and done,
Their worries rarely help.
As for me, I’ve only two:
Not finding words that rhyme.
And, yes, I’d like to rid the world
Of Daylight Savings Time.
Bill Kirk |RnBKirkAT NOSPAMaol dot com
*****
My Grandmother’s Worries
My grandmother
worried about
going barefoot
in months without r’s,
whether grandfather
approved her
new hat,
children without
sweaters,
men without
suspenders,
people without
humor,
plates without
gravy,
hair without
ribbons,
plants without
water,
children without
sweets.
I worry
about becoming
my
grandmother.
Lori Jackson |ljacksonAT NOSPAMtcsdk12 dot org

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.