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 |  More poems for Promptly Poetry, stuffed into this book because I have reached my limit. |
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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 |
Love is an anchor on my heart stops it drifting from shore to shore, steadies it when the storms of life batter its sails and the rain does pour. Love is a banner that flies above proclaiming victory though there was no war, tells the world that you have won. Love is a banner that marks me as yours. Love is the guardian of my heart, it guides my steps as I explore the depths of our happiness and keeps me in its arms of enraptured splendor. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)"  Prompt - image of the word L O V E, each letter attached to a heart that is hanging from it |
| I wouldn’t mind getting old if I were consulted, like a book of knowledge on subjects wide and varied, if I could silence them all with a look. But youth is all bounce and go, the time is now, no delay will it brook. My brain works slower when it’s harried, the answer’s not worth the time that it took So I sit, undisturbed. At least age lets me off the hook when it comes to burdens I once carried - Someone else will have to cook. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Prompt/Week # 26 Poet's Choice! You can write a poem on any topic or form you like. Remember, your poem must be at least 12 lines. |
In a long unrecalled corner of memory there grows a dandelion jungle and there a yellow-haired child waist high in green and daubs of light giggles as she grasps a dozen suns in chubby fingers. Summer days live there too plump blackberries growing wild in fields of daisies and overgrown brambles a girl wipes the juice dripping from her chin laughs as she plucks petals that know how I love you. In a moist and warm September digging in the earth beneath the leaves planning some spring arrivals the young woman plants the bulbs waiting in hope and faith for tulips by the front door to welcome you home. It was a sunny day in December the ground not yet frozen the earth in a mound beside you a daughter and now mother lays a perfect rose upon the casket where you sleep. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Prompt/Week # 25 Use these words in your poem: roses, daisies, tulips |
| Alligators are ancient, eating machines that still survive. Baboons war with chimps, for bananas they’ll strive. Crocodiles don’t feel guilty, despite their tears. Dragon snakes can’t fly, nor use fire to spark fears. Eagles are agile raptors, ever eager birds of prey. Foxes are sneaky and steal chickens when you’re away. Giraffes make gaffes when they bend to drink. Hyenas are smart, though they practice groupthink. Impalas are not as fast as their namesake car, Jaguars jogging could catch them if they didn’t live far. Koalas are sleepy and tired of leaves. Llamas are sheared and their wool tied in sheaves. Myna birds are great mimics and repeat what you say. Nigerian dwarf goats are friendly and don’t get in the way. Ocelots are an awful lot to try to keep as a pet, Pigs seem nicer, but don’t go buy one just yet. Quail are quite tender, some people eat them. Raccoons wear a mask whenever you meet them. Snails are too slow, I don’t like to wait, Turtles also, have a plodding gait. Urials are gregarious and somewhat sheep-ish. Vultures hang around in a way that is creep-ish. Wombats are nocturnal, not good if you’re sleep-ish. X-ray fish are transparent and live in the deep-ish, Yaks have your back, they’re a kind of bovine, Zorses are horses and zebras combined. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Week 24 Prompt: The Alphabestiary, Poetry Form The Alphabestiary a type of Acrostic or more specifically an Alphabet poem, which dates back to Greece in the 2nd and 3rd centuries but truly came into its own in medieval England. There is no required line length, meter, or rhyme scheme. The only requirement is that each letter of the alphabet is described poetically as an animal or in human terms. |
Does the sun still play on the water while tadpoles dart in the shallows? Do the ripples trip over the same pebbles speckled black and white that you gathered by the handful? Saturdays, we returned the bottles for change nickels enough for a pink-frosted donut speckled with sprinkles and a bag of bread to feed the ducks. The geese were demanding, honking disapproval when the food ran out, chasing us to the car. Our bench is still there, the concrete cold, wet with dew on this spring morning. A blue heron watches silently then, in an instant, is gone with the memories. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Week 23 PROMPT Image of a bench by a pond/lake |
1929 Godfrey was a forgotten man to the world he once ruled living amongst his brethren, those who were once giants. But now their tattered suits and dingy overcoats told a tale of how a life crashes as the Depression sets in. They tip their hats still, but their stained fingers leave prints on the brims. Grateful for a can of beans and a match to keep the fire lit. A little warmth, when society turns a cold shoulder. Inspired in part by the movie “My Man Godfrey” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09COqlcC0-4 Prompt/Week # 22 Use these words in your poem this week: bean, can, match, grateful |
| Among modern parents has arisen a rift, About the bringer of Christmas gifts. The snootier type say you mustn’t lie, You’ll lose your child’s trust, make them cry. But these fears are founded on a misconception, That Santa Claus is some holiday invention. Now take it from me, he’s as real as can be (maybe even realer than you or me). I mean, have you ever been to the North Pole? Probably not, it’s far too cold. That's for the man in the red suit and fur cuffs, With his hardy elves, hardworking and tough. Together they weather the stormy winds that blow, They happily welcome the ice and snow. Of course, it does happen as we grow older, Our vision of Santa gets fainter, not bolder. So though he exists, we just can’t see him, And in our clumsy way, we try to be him. From store to store we hurriedly caper, To buy Christmas gifts and bright wrapping paper. We hope to spread the joy we knew back then, And feel like the children we were, once again. To know in our hearts what we knew in our youth, Santa is real, and that’s the truth! Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Prompt/Week # 21 Write a poem about a mythological creature. Poem should be inspired by the prompt/image in some way A minimum of 12 lines, no maximum There are no form requirements Your submission must be newly written for this week's prompt |
| All the paper had been crumpled and balled, (The boxes stacked for future use) While Rudolph pranced across the TV screen. The children with new toys enthralled, Played underneath the fragrant spruce. How I remember this Christmas scene! It’s quieter now, this year’s holiday, With acceptance and silent gratitude. Like Scrooge undergoing his annual redemption So do we, each in our own way, For a moment put aside our humbug attitude, And revel in the joy of our disbelief’s suspension. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Prompt/Week # 20 Form: ZENITH Invented by Viola Berg 1. Any number of sixains. (Your poem must have two = 12 lines.) 2. 8-syllable lines. 3. Rhyme Scheme: a-b-c-a-b-c d-e-f-d-e-f |
| As night falls, snowflakes swirl under lampposts stealthily building banks and drifts in the shadows. They lay where they fell, and no measurements taken. There’s nothing to do but sleep while they silently blanket the motionless street. At four a.m., the snowplow hazards a warning. It rumbles along, scrapes it jaw along the rough road, squawks a retreat, then repeats it. Morning lights are flashing, twinkling like a holiday display. The DPW trucks grumble in a salty way. And when the sun rises the blue tinge of night has gone. The sunshine is golden the snow glistens like diamonds. Neighbors with masked faces set snowblowers to growl, or clang shovels against the sidewalk. It’s going to be a white Christmas |
I could never make plans, surely they’d all go awry. With my head in my hands, I’d just sit down and cry. The good that happens to me may be coincidental. It may be serendipity or even accidental. I believe that God leads me and what seems serendipitous, is really His hand that keeps me and that is miraculous. Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2024-2025)" Week 18 Prompt = Serendipity |
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