Prompter: “Use an earthquake reference or metaphor in your poem.”
Earth shakes,
Ground quakes,
Are my mistakes,
The hearts and breaks,
The weapon that takes… away?
Prompter: “Use an earthquake reference or metaphor in your poem.”
Earth shakes,
Ground quakes,
Are my mistakes,
The hearts and breaks,
The weapon that takes… away?
Today’s prompt: “Use the last sentence from the nearest book as the inspiration for the first line of your poem.”
I have a pile of books near me and since many of them are manga volumes (Fruits Basket for the win), I had to do some searching before finding a book with an actual ending sentence. I settled on an unread DisneyPress book called Stealing Starlight, hoping I wouldn’t be too spoiler-alerted. All good, though I am intrigued.
This changes everything
My every rearranged
I can’t fight the feeling
I’m elated, scared, it’s strange
If tomorrow never happens
Then what is this feeling for
As my soul is spun asunder
I know life is meant for more
Prompted by: “Imagine an invisible ghost picks up a pen and starts writing to you.”
You’re like a ghost, my secret writer
Flame is burning like a lighter
Time goes by, you just get brighter
Now connected with soul fiber
I don’t think that you’re a ghost, my friend
Just someone lost in the tesseract bend
I leave out paper and my favorite pen
You write the words that cut my soul again
Some how, some way you’ve been caught between
No one could understand the things you mean
I only now do through the words I’ve seen
Through your eloquence, it’s so serene
I really think your soul could use some peace
Don’t want you caged and so I call release
One hand of mine does want a missing piece
The smarter me just wants your pain to cease
In this crazy-dramatic like a new movie
The pen keeps fluttering as you move through me
Your words they whisper that you need to see
A way back home to where you really should be
I’ll bury my head in all the pages
Read all of the words built over ages
To get you home I’ll be outrageous
Just please remember what my name is
It’s April 2020. Tensions are high, prayers are many. It’ll be interesting to look back one day and see the order that finally emerged after this massive disorder. I’m quite blessed to be able to work from home, and this prompt spoke to me as a way to eloquate how things are going as I work from home during COVID-19.
Prompt: “Write a poem where each line/sentence is about each day of last week”
Monday I slept in until 10 minutes to the clock
Tuesday I woke early, later walked around the block
Wednesday I want takeout but I cook another meal
Thursday I am lonely and I can’t forget the feel
Friday I am sleepy but 8 hours left, oh no
Saturday imagine of the places I would go
Sunday I prepare a mask that I don’t want to wear
Monday drone rolls by again, when can I get some air?
Evening light above
Reflecting but not copied
Muse begins to write
Today’s prompt (so suitable for this particular blog): “Write about an experience in the moonlight.”
Prompted: “Write a poem using sarcasm as a form of illustrating your point.”
– This is kind of homage to the many arguments I’ve witnessed/had in which both parties thought they were in the right simply because they went some sort of an inconvenience. There is no one to blame, but the frustration is still very real. So, when the story gets told, it sounds like there is someone to blame.
I’d been stranded in the summer heat
Just waiting for your call
But I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all.
I couldn’t go to the bathroom
There’s no service through the wall
But I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all
Since my battery life was dwindling
I couldn’t risk a another call
But I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all
It’s understandable you stopped for hunger
Of course the ice cream had to thaw
But I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all
Makes sense the food just didn’t make it here
I mean, I’m starving, but that’s all
But I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all
There’s obviously trust here
This isn’t friction, not a brawl
Oh I’m fine, yeah I’m good. There’s no anger here at all
This prompt hit home a little. I’ve been slowly learning guitar and all too often fail to practice. My pretty, blue Epiphone sits quietly as the magic it’s capable of weaving is simply lost to time. I really should do better.
Prompt: “Base your poem around the plight of a musician who hasn’t picked up the guitar or touched a piano in years.”
Seeing a whisp of magic air
I stopped to ponder whence it came
I follow the draft to my olden muse
Rusty strings glint in the sunlight
Both sad and hopeful
I reach out with trembling fingers
Then holding back, I catch fear
We once spun light and wonder
How can I best myself?
I cannot hope to be what was
Days turned years of glances in yearning, nostalgia
Finally not at all – I realize now I was wrong
Even so, surely I am forgiven
My fingers have grown rusty as the strings
Am I responsible for time?
I begin to walk away but am caught by magic air
A friend is calling me, do I have the heart to listen?
I return and picking up my string-ed wand
My fingers find the resting place they’d forgotten
A curse has been lifted: I’ve remembered my love
Continuing the #NaPoWriMo festivities!
Today’s prompt: “What ideas and feelings keep you up at night? What’s it like when you have to wake up in the morning on a night you can’t sleep?
These thoughts keep me awake as they buzz about my head
Questioning, turning, wondering if my dreams are dead
Is there more, I want to know, than I’ve been banking for
Is my time and money useless, simply rusting on the floor?
Am I burying my talent before it has a chance to bloom
Is there more I should be doing than just laying in this room
At what point is my exhaustion both well-earned and well-deserved?
At what point am I just lazy and avoiding what’s perturbed?
Am I wasting time with questions as I ponder and remind
Or do my thoughts abate decisions that would prove far less than kind
Will a future unearth before me, or do I have to go and look
Should I sing or should I paint, should I teach or write a book?
I know a share of trades, but a master I am none
Is that because I need some time, or is my chance already done
I know my purpose overall but it views like a fuzzy line
I can’t keep being afraid because it’s wasting all my time
Through it all I keep on thinking about the hours wasted by
I don’t function well on lack of sleep, I need a heaping of shut-eye
I’ll awaken the next morning: yawning, rubbing at my eye
I don’t count minutes as I toss, so I can’t tell the time goodbye
Y ou, over there, yes you
O ver in a mind of blue;
U nearth that diamond in your rough
A gree and know that you’re enough;
R egret will always follow doubt
E ach great has chosen to surmount;
A ll that to say I know that you
W ill overcome that wall you grew;
E ach day you chip, though seem far long
S ew threads into your tapestry song;
O h if you’ll but take that step and see
M inute are the flaws you flee;
E ver true that you are more
prompted: “write a poem telling someone they are better than they think they are”
This church I stand before is mine
Next door, 3 crosses left behind
They hail from an event now passed
But the crosses, they were built to last
There they are, wrapped in lights
Not for Christmas, just to light the night
A hayride planned to journey past
It took awhile but the rain did pass
As always I parked beside the field
Weeks gone by, the crosses steeled
Standing vigil, or so I thought
One cross… two…. and one did not
I’m not sure which wind laid the waste
But mid cross fell upon its face
This was so jarring to behold
As the other, smaller two stood bold
I paused, reminded of history
Long past, but still no mystery
An innocent man had drooped far down
As devout sinners, whispering, stood around
It was poetic just to see
That one cross bent low, on its knee
I know the story, believe it true
Savior on the cross for me, for you
A pretty story for the spring
But there is sorrow that we sing
That clean cross now on muddy ground
Life keeps going, who looks around?
One person could run and lift it up
Two people and the work be shut
Instead inside the church I go
To teach a story of long ago
Prompted by: “Write a poem about noticing something interesting while passing by a church near your home.”