Whoops Wave

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Wave,” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Tidal Wave,” “Next Wave,” “Friendly Wave,” “Heat Wave,” and/or “Sound Wave.”


Whoops Wave

The women wore their summer dresses
for the first time that spring
at a handicrafts street festival.
I was admiring the art
when a beautiful young lady
approached, smile beaming
like a laser to my eye.
I raised my hand to wave
but only got as far as my chin
when I realized she wasn’t looking
at me. I quickly converted
the wave into a tuck the hair
behind the ear motion
and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

That’s called a Whoops Wave
and she was focused on the handsome
young gentleman standing behind
me. Lucky bastard. I remember
when I was him.

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Pon Farr

For today’s prompt, write a story poem. Think of a story, could be a long, complicated, winding story, but for a poem, it may make more sense to make it a short, direct story.


Pon Farr

My friend should have let me die
but he was an emotional human,
prone to irrational outbursts.

He risked his career
to save my life
by bringing me home.

Home, where every seven years,
I must return to lose control
else die an undignified death.

Home, where the stark beauty
and austere landscape
enforce discipline.

Home, where she waited
in clear precision
for my desire.

Or so I thought.
She challenged my right,
declared my friend her champion.

Were I not deep
in the blood fever,
I would’ve understood,

countered her tactic
like any gambit
in three dimensional chess

but I fought as an animal
to pass my genetic material
to the next generation.

My friend lies in the dust,
my ahn’woon around his neck,
the fever passes.

He should have let me die
then I would not have killed
him, my captain, my friend.

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Frost on Dead Leaves

Image prompt from Suzanne Olivante which combined nicely with the Poetic Asides prompt:

For today’s prompt, write a relationship poem. Of course, there are human relationships, but there are also plant-animal relationships, animal-animal relationships, and even mathematical relationships. Good, bad, healthy, and not-so-much. Dive deep today.


Frost on Dead Leaves

I remember spring.
It was several years ago
when we first met
and the world was full
of waggy puppies and purry kittens.

Then a few years of summer,
sure there were storms,
but easily weathered
and it seemed like the picnic
would never run out of potato salad.

And just like it did once before,
autumn blew the bright leaves
to the graying ground
where they gathered the frost
from your voice.

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For today’s prompt, pick an intriguing and/or seldom-used word, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. If you have a limited vocabulary, try out brabble, dandle, feracious, impavid, lippitude, or vulgus. Or pick up a dictionary or thesaurus.



I welcome the rain
after an eight month drought,
greet the electricity
in the air with open arms.

The scent of petrichor
fills me as the first drops
touch the dusty ground,
invigorating memories.

I’d forgotten the taste of water,
grown accustomed to this thirst.
Imagine my delight in the downpour,
feeling life return vibrant

and strong but all too brief
like the crimson desert flowers.

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Cavern of Green

Credit Suzanne Olivante for the image below which prompted the poem. Further inspiration from Robert Frost’s Nothing Gold Can Stay to which the first line alludes.


Cavern of Green

Frost’s first green surrounds
me like a cavern of gold
with stalagmites of wood
as I walk through this suburban
grove in rainy late April.

Just yesterday the deer
could see me and clatter
away through the winter
fallen limbs but today the trees
are claustrophobic with growth.

Branches drape my path,
heavy with new hung leaves.
If this were a cave,
bat ears would brush my hair
instead raindrops caress my scalp.

I would build a tree house
here and live in this day
for tomorrow the green will deepen
to lime and the sun will tarnish
this brief spring.

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Arc Welding

For today’s prompt, write an action poem. So many actions are available to the poet: singing, running, clapping, working, and–umm–poeming. Yes, there’s a world of possibility today–all ready to act.


Photo courtesy Tara Lynne Groth.


Arc Welding

Unlike kissing
sparks should not fly
while welding.
There is an electricity
involved in convincing
two metals to join
but all the action
happens out of sight
as the molecules,
freed from their solid
families dance into liquid
and are married.

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Reporting live from…

Here’s the poem from last Saturday’s prompt. Now we’re even, twenty-two poems in twenty-two days with eight to go.

For today’s prompt, write a report poem. I know, I know: Writing a report sounds about as far away from poetry as flying is to a penguin, but many poems report on a moment or an instance or a scene. In your poem (or poems) today, report on something big and important or small and inconsequential (or small and important–or, well, you get the idea).


Reporting live from…

I had a gas mask
unlike the locals
whose misery is porn
for you back home.

I try my best to remain neutral
but amid such suffering, blame
falls upon the most recent attackers.

Our leaders have tantrums,
wet their pants in the sandbox,
treat people like plastic soldiers,
cities like building blocks.

We don’t care who’s retaliating
for what or who’s deterring
whom. Like our neighbors,
these people’s biggest worry
should be if their boss
likes their work
or how their children
are dealing with peer pressure
not if they’ll survive
the night.

Let’s pray for a merciful god
to save us from the whims
of powerful men.

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Squash Blossoms

For today’s prompt, pick a plant, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Pick a favorite vegetable or fruit, a flower, a tree, even a shrubbery.


Squash Blossoms

Why don’t we make bouquets
of squash blossoms?

Bright yellow Van Gogh stars
swirl in a deep green garden
sky, pistils and stamens
quivering in the breeze
to tease the bees.

In the language of flowers
what does an edible represent
when given to a lover?

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For today’s prompt, write a danger poem. There are various levels of danger out there–from physical danger to the danger of being discovered doing something you shouldn’t (or doing something that might embarrass you–or someone else). Even the act of writing and sharing a poem brings with it the potential for danger.



You make me forget
and that’s dangerous
for all I know
is memory.

You make me believe
it will be different,
this time. I can adapt
and adopt new habits.

You are exceptional,
that’s obviously true.
Why else would I consider
such a foolhardy venture.

If insanity is doing the same
thing twice and expecting
different results,
what is a third marriage?

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She Dances

For today’s prompt, take a line from an earlier poem (preferably from this month) to begin your poem for today. For instance, I took the final few lines of my poem from day 12 to start my example poem below. So scan through your earlier stuff to figure out where to start today.

I stole the first line from my April 4th poem, Let Freedom Ring.


She Dances

So they might shed their burdens,
she dances to distract the puny men,
worn down from living too long.

They pay to see her topless,
though they can’t touch.
They just crave her attention.

They want to hear a female voice
that isn’t sarcastic or nagging
and apparently without judgement.

She raises her glass with their liquor,
laughs at their tasteless jokes,
grins at their clumsy innuendos,

so they might suspend their disbelief
and relive the days long past
when they were young and sexy
like her.

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