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 More poems for Promptly Poetry |
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Prompt: (verb) to move to action Promptly: (adverb) : very quickly or immediately Poetry: a form of writing that no one ever reads |
| The leaves mutter and whisper as they skitter around our feet. The night is colder, crisper no hint of fog clouds the street. Then, putting on a fierce face A pumpkin dares to scare us! Knowing he cannot give chase, He must resolve to spare us. No witches fly, no black cats yowl cheery chatter fills my ears. There are no ghosts, no spirits foul only candy this time of year. Written for"Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)"  Week 11 Prompt - pumpkin, cat, fog |
Time entangled with the fibers of space is woven into the universe expanding ever outwards, driven away from me by some dark energy. Maybe Einstein understood, but even he was left behind by Time. It is a one-way street we travel. The past is a shadow, we cannot return. The future is inevitable, but my place in it is not guaranteed. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Week 10 Prompt - Time |
They told me: “Don’t go to the woods today!” But what harm was there if I go and play? “I want to visit my grandma ,” I say “Nothing nor no one will get in my way.” How could I know that a wolf great and tall, His coat grey and brown, but sleek over all, Would ask of me in his deep, growling drawl: “Where are you going, my red-hooded doll?” I tell you I saw no reason to lie, “I go to see Grandma” was my reply. “I’ll give you food if you let me go by, My basket holds cookies and minced meat pie.” The wolf thought it over and scratched his head, Should he choose pie or this girl dressed in red? His stomach growled, it wanted to be fed, He grabbed the basket - to the woods he fled! So if your grandma lives deep in the woods, Make sure you carry a lot of baked goods, To escape like Little Red Riding-hood, Trading your life for a basket of food. Promptly Poetry, Week 9 Prompt - image of a little girl and a wolf walking through an autumnal forest scene |
In you want the fruit, you must climb the tree - A piece of wisdom, and a quest, That my wise, old father set for me. A reminder of goodness found above, Even though from below, we may not see, Still, we strive to ascend new heights, Determined, at last, to be free. I am weary at times, I do confess But if I want that fruit, I must climb the tree. One that would have the fruit, must climb the tree. Thomas Fuller, English Clergyman Written for Promptly Poetry Week 8 Nine lines with the last word of each line rhyming with this scheme: "abacadaba" |
| I do not believe in luck. I don’t have no truck with claiming sovereignty over random things. I possess nothing mysterious. No inner force that can change the world or overcome gravity. In fact - if a falling brick misses me nearly I am grateful, dearly to the universal hand that slowed it down (or hurried me up). Luck says I rule but no, I only recognize the One who does. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Week 7 Prompt - Luck |
| It’s possible that this could be the day the morning to leap ahead of the alarm to wrestle all the shadows of my doubt and walk into the light leaving their lifeless forms behind me and forge a new future built on dreams or it’s possible that this is a dream that all these grandiose schemes are merely the misfirings of neurons undergoing repair and that sleep is the mechanic so I should pull the blanket tighter and stay until the work is done. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Week #6 Prompt -- Write a poem about possibilities |
| Over the sleeping world, memory wanders. In dreams, it follows familiar paths of footprints pressed into timeless snows, until desperate fingers grab the icy blanket and roll over. It’s a journey of love and longing - chasing shadows of things out of reach, plucking the past from winter’s grip, anointing it with tears, mixing joy with regret, mourning the final setting of so many suns, their lights extinguished. 14 Lines Written for"Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Week 5 Write a poem about something that will always be out of reach. |
I held out hope for a minute, but only a minute that's enough to change your life, or for someone to take it and change everyone else’s. Half-condolences coming from the made-up faces and typed into social spaces discussed hot buttons. It’s the rhetoric, they said, there were dangerous words. Hate is often the fear of hearing things you don’t want to hear, But when they’re running on rooftops, when they’ve got an eye on the scope, it’s not a moment of crisis or anger overwhelmed by passion. It's not an instant of blind rage, a momentary loss of control. It’s all about control, in fact, eyes wide open. Words are not violence, but a bolt action rifle in the hands of hatred is not to be debated. Hate is often the fear of hearing things you don't want to hear, It’s rough to take it on faith, to believe even for a minute That you can change the future, but there’s hope anyway. Someone might see the danger to our freedom and cry out so another son, another daughter won’t grow up fatherless. So another mother, another father won’t know the pain of losing love to those who have no heart to hold it. Hate is often the fear of hearing things you don’t want to hear. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Prompt/Week # 4 Poetry Form: Bop The bop is a new form of poetry introduced by poet Afaa Michael Weaver. It is an argumentative form, like the sonnet, with three stanzas, each with a purpose in the argument. The first six-line stanza introduces the problem, the second eight-line stanza expands upon it, and the final six-line stanza explains the solution or failed attempts. There is a repeated refrain line after each stanza. |
| It was just a yellow afternoon We didn't know it was the last chance day. But there on the table lay, All the words we would never say. I was twenty-five that year. I remember feeling old, And those secrets we never told, Fearful of what the silence might hold. We were so stupid young back then,. Still,I cannot would not change it now. I wanted all that love would allow But we became other people, somehow I was twenty-five that year. Once, I wish I’d been bolder, Rested my head on your shoulder. But that was when I was twenty-five - And now, I am older. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)" Round 6 Week 3 Prompt -In celebration of WdC's 25th Anniversary, write a poem involving the number 25 or a birthday/anniversary celebration. |
I want to comfort you in your darkness to show you the light that is coming. I want you to see how it is held in the shadowy arms of giants. They let it fall in drops from fluttering fingers upon the fresh breath of morning. How it glistens! in dewy kisses on the grass. I want you to be inspired, I want you to rise with me in the fire at daybreak. I want to be a new flame burning in your cheeks. Let me dry the tears that soak your pillow, and I will quench the bitter streams that flow from the aching loneliness of your dreams. PPC 6 Prompt/Week # 2 Use these words in your poem: KISS - DAYBREAK - TEAR (or tears) |
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