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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 |
| There are cookies fresh from Mama’s oven Or stacked in a bakery box, by the dozen Or in a bag, from the grocery store I knew them all once, but not any more. My favorite cookie, in these strange days Is not made in any conventional way. It's a dollop of sunbutter and some whey In powdered form and may I say - I like to add some pancake syrup Sugar free to sweeten it up. Some baking powder for the rise Chocolate chips further entice. (It’s a cookie of sorts and fairly tasty ten minutes to bake if you're feeling hasty) Written for Promptly Poetry Prompt/Week # 18 Favorite Cookie! Write a poem about your favorite cookie. The title of your poem should be the name of the cookie. |
| When it’s quiet, I whisper seeding insecurity through second thoughts making the path clear for stepping back, you see I like the double-mindedness of indecision. The products of my uneasy interjections become doubts rolling on a conveyor belt - unstoppable and exhaustless in supply, they fill your mind. Because I know you well I can inspire you, or leave you standing alone on a beach watching a sea of fears roll back only to send it crashing down in a tsunami of paranoia. Prompt/Week # 17 Write a poem personifying whichever emotion you’re predominantly feeling right now. |
| If I were a snowflake I might be a mere particle of dust encased in ice. I might once have been a bit of pollen or pollution from a traffic jam swept to heights by winds unseen then transformed by every molecule of water vapor that tripped over my icy prism stacking crystals on delicate branches and shimmering facets. If I were then let go to fall back to earth I would want you to know that beauty may arise from ashes. Prompt/Week # 16 Use the following title for this week's poem: "If I Were a Snowflake" |
it’s strange this attraction pulls me towards your core a love that’s gravitational keeps me ever near you and yet distant alone Written for "Promptly Poetry Challenge (2025-2026)"  Week 15 Prompt Form: Eintou The Eintou is a septet—a stanza of seven lines. In these lines, there is a cycle, a flow of syllables or words that rises and ebbs. It is an African American poetry form consisting of seven lines, totaling 32 syllables or words. The Eintou developed as a means for African American poetic forms to take their place in the forefront of American poetry. The 2-4-6-8-6-4-2 structure of the Eintou is crucial to African-American philosophy. Life is a cycle. Everything returns to that from which it originates. |
My Christmas blanket upon my bed, Gingerbread men with arms wide spread, Each stitch, every row crafted by hand, The bitter nights to withstand. A sleeping cat, snoring lightly, Curled and tucked up against me tightly. Two snuggled up in sleeping form, Struggling to keep one another warm. The aroma of coffee at five o’clock, Chugging and gurgling into the pot, Enough to fill my stoneware cup, And warm these winter fingers up. Week 14 Prompt - Tiny Happy Things Write a poem about at least three 'little' things that make you happy |
| It’s a soft whistle, high then low a morning call, that wakes me an ethereal echo of my childhood the singsong greeting of the chickadee And the books say it’s “fee-bee” But a "fee" requires teeth to filter A "bee" must explode through lips Such consonants they assigned you Could never be made by you Which is why you sing “wee-woo” (and I won’t even discuss the unlikelihood of “dee-dee-dee” my little chick) Prompt/Week # 13 Write a poem about a bird! Any bird, any color, your choice |
Freedom was the roadblock I was locked into a game of poke and prompt. Then she said: “write anything you want” (or words to that effect). The specs were simple and clear, but fear took all the words, all the ideas I had no instructions on what to do none given for me to adhere to. Two months gone by, so dumb - but I cannot write this poem. Written for Promptly Poetry Week 12 Prompt - Poets Choice |
| 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 |
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