Today's prompt is very short. Write a poem about war (any type of war, although your poem must make clear what you are writing about) that never uses the word "war," or any variant or like word (warring, warrior, battle, etc.).
To Walt Whitman in Heaven by Betsy Sholl from her book Late Psalm Things that look good and aren't: high fashion, Manifest Destiny, limp wires the electrician thinks are dead till he grabs hold and then, O Infinite— coursing-through-finite—thank God his spastic dance is only a shock—one yelp and he shakes it off. Not so easy for the girl next door feeling her first kiss begin to fester as the young man's buddies drive by hooting and one calls out, how far did ya get? Whadda
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, hig
Zero Gravity by Eric Gamalinda The dry basin of the moon must have held the bones of a race, radiant minerals, or something devoid of genesis, angel-heavy, idea-pure. All summer we had waited for it, our faces off-blue in front of the TV screen. Nothing could be more ordinary—two figures digging dirt in outer space—while mother repeated Neil Armstrong’s words, like a prayer electronically conveyed. The dunes were lit like ancient silk, like clandestine pearl. In the constant
Today's prompt has two parts. BUT it only works if you do the first part completely before doing the second part. So promise me you will do the first part before looking ahead. Promise me. Okay. Here we go. You are going to use your full name as a way to mine some words. STEP ONE My full name is Mary Christine Bernadette Delea. I can get the words: mar or mare (Mare-ee) criss-cross or teen (Chris-tine) burn (Bern-adette) delay (which is how my last name is pronounced) If I wa
The Execution of Henry Wirz—November 10, 1865 by Daniel Nathan Terry published in Capturing the Dead, and can also be found on the Split This Rock website by clicking here That Andersonville was a camp of nightmares, a dark machine that brought slow death to nearly 13,000 men, is not in dispute. Survivors tell tales of atrocities: dysentery, a water supply festering with human waste, mass graves, a fence called the deadline where snipers waited for would-be escapees. And you
I love looking through prompt books and web pages. I love taking generative poetry classes and workshops, and a silver lining to this horrible pandemic has been having so many poetry opportunities moving online. I have attended poetry events in Oklahoma, California, Maryland, Washington, New York, Minnesota, and elsewhere, all from my home office in Oregon. As a professor, a workshop leader, and a member of poem-generating groups, I have had to come up with prompts fairly reg
Seconds in a Momentary Science by Kristina Martinez Another breath, deeper, undo these buttons to fit the stethoscope, calipers, forceps, deeper, the cuff tight enough, systole and diastole, formaldehyde, ether, give me a fist, hypertonic solution, insect drawer, mollusk drawer, jacket of plasma, centrifuge, keratin, carbon, tentacles lick the aquarium wall, mercury, hemoglobin, this is a small needle, microscopic, open your mouth, pace yourself for a quick analysis, bismuth
“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.
Yep--I am a day late this week with the week's prompt! (And I am always a dollar short!) But it has a silver lining, as many mistakes do, because today Dictionary.com posted its Most Saved Words for last year. Had I posted a prompt yesterday, it would not have been hot off the press like this. These are not run-of-the-mill words, and too many of them in one poem might be too much weight for any poem to bear. So write a poem that uses one of these words as your title, and use
What’s Going to Kill You by Jayne Marek published in Black Horse Review (January 2, 2021) How secretive it can be, swimming the long courses of your body’s fluids, nosing against veins and bowels. Synapses light up as it passes. How you think about it doesn’t change its intention, whatever the direction it explores, beating past your eardrums, festering a little in your alveoli. It’s not urgent, it’s slow to take, not fixed like thin lilypad goblets in the quotidian pond of t
published in Ponder Review, Spring 2017, Volume 1, Issue 1 When We Became Trees by Mary Christine Kane We saw them first on our walk. Bodies, once apart reached toward each other until limbs wrapped, roots kissed two trunks twisted into one. We took a picture sat with them awhile. Back at the cabin: my branches into your trunk your leaves into my mouth You nestled into my hair heard the rustle. We swayed and reached and fell into earth, then past it I said, We are trees now.