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season to taste ~ let none go to waste ~ some at every meal ~ the fuller you'll feel |
| [Introduction]
Welcome! This is a poetry campfire. Here's how it works:  The previous poet will leave you a prompt. You in turn will leave a prompt for the next poet. Simple as that. If you do not post after a week, I will have to skip you. Nothing personal, I just don't want people to have to wait forever to get a turn. If you don't want to be skipped and just need an extra day or something, just let me know. After all, I'm not a fascist. It's up to you what sort of prompt you want to leave - be it a particular form, theme, phrase, etc. But my opinion is that it should be "moderately challenging" lest we forget that writing is a workout for our brains.  When you post your poem, feel free to also leave a link to it if you want reviews. This campfire will expire after six rounds. (This is Round 5.)The participants are: Piglet  Sophy New Year  Joy  Annie  Unicorn Katya the Poet
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"Invalid Item"  While roosting in my nest, I'm struck by an astounding clarity, an awareness of the sharp ticking of time. Minutes are heavy within me, slowly molding into ovoids until they are so weighted I must lay them. My instincts are to keep these seconds safe and warm beside me, but my nest never feels full enough, as if someone is snatching my eggs. NEXT PROMPT: Bring new life to a cliche. |
| A good friend of mine, who was an avid gardner, died quite unexpectedly today from a brain aneurysm. When I saw the prompt from Becky, the "down the garden path" cliche immediately occurred to me, as it fit with what I was/am experiencing in the wake of her death. I don't know if I've given the cliche new life or not, but it seemed a fitting tribute to her, and her life. The Garden Path As I wandered down the garden path I couldn't help thinking of you on this, the day you left us to go wherever it is we go when we are done with our living. It still seems so unreal -- we just saw you the other day laughing and singing with children, admiring the flowers you planted, worrying about the summer heat taking too much of a toll on them. We knew we'd see you again next Sunday, and the next because that is what we were used to, what we expected -- had come to take for granted, which is what we do with those we love. But then the unimaginable happened and now you are gone. Thank God and thank you that your flowers thrive along your garden path. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * NEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about rediscovering something ... |
| "My Blood Redux" It seems to have been a while since, trusting my act in the kitchen, I touched the knife on the wrong edge, sliding my thumb. The shock of blood, rediscovered so red when fresh, spun out of the mind--with the pain and humiliation--other things that bled, while I blinked to wave off carelessness, but the pattern of the warm liquid zigzagged to fill my perverse temper with the recall of sharp-edged words that cut like cutlery when he said I was full of shit and I should watch out, as he cast off my human skin and made me bleed to a peculiar numbness. Now, I hold my thumb to the light and think, after the ointment, my blood will clot again. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Next Prompt: Write a poem about the inner life of a stone: rock, boulder, or pebble. |
| "Pebble Dust" That's my youngest there, atop this hill looking brave like me, his father. I know he sees me, here in this boulder graveyard, looking up as he sits where I once did. His brothers make their way slowly down to me, as if they could return me to a full life. I am but a pebble now, sitting here at the bottom, among my friends. Content to watch my children and theirs. Knowing, by the time they reach me, I will be but the dust that softens their fall. Next Prompt: Write a poem about how the rain makes you feel. |
| "Invalid Item" Lightning 1 I blink away the blue aura and press close to the cold window, cooling my forehead, watching the sky darken with the distain of Mother Nature. 2 Fat, heavy drops splatter the pavement vanguard to the deluge; the trees shudder in anticipation – welcoming the nurturing nectar – their lifeblood. 3 I am standing in the open, ready to receive baptism, praying the water dissolves my sins as indifference dissolves my resolve. 4 I shudder as the rain multiplies to infinity - almost - I retreat to the safety of monotony a slave to the system, tethered to the world with duty and expectations. But then I shake my head and hold my breath. Thunder I crash to the sky. ***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~ Next prompt: Redress a regret - rewrite history. |
| "Invalid Item" Listen, blue girl, at last you can bare your regrets, bringing the light fantastic. Love the art of time. Next prompt: write a collage poem, a "found" poem in which you reassemble words and phrases you find in the world around you, making new sense for yourself. Read about how I did it at "Regrets Only" |
I really enjoyed this prompt. All of these phrases were found in various magazines and newspapers and reassembled into my collage "Monochrome" which is still a work in progress. It never occured to me that I had been cutting and pasting poetry. "Invalid Item" "Can Lucy come out and date?" Play hide-and-seek with the light. "Don't ask, don't let me tell." A sobering tale. Someone who didn't want to hurt anything hurt herself. She wandered, going nowhere, Who had abandoned her? Martyr in this dismal age of martyrs, an emptiness in her features. She became a fixture framed. Framed with very big mounts. The long silences need to be loved. I bought her a pretty piece of jewelry... something with opals. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Next Prompt: concoct a poetic recipe and dish it up for us |
Recipe for Love In a large bowl mix together generous portions of: romantic fantasies infatuation (you may substitute lust) chick flicks and action adventure movies unrealistic expectations passionate sexual exploits roses and chocolate Carefully fold in: insecurity jealousy codependence past relationships impatience ego (you may substitute pride here) Mix at high speed for three to four weeks. Add a dash of: old friends pushy mothers a weekend getaway work pressures love handles ex-significant others familiarity Mix at medium speed for six to eight months. If mixture doesn't separate pour into well greased pan. Bake on low for fifty to sixty years. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * This is a PROMPT we didn't use in the Spring SLAM, but I really like it ... We don't always count our time in hours, days and years. T.S. Eliot's Prufrock says "I measured out my life in coffee spoons." Some count by the weeks till vacation, hours classes till the end of a school day, months to summer, regrets, For this prompt, write a poem which addresses the passage of time in an unconventional way. |
| Sorry if I kept you waiting. I wasn't home, but I am glad I peeked in. "Places" Time tick-tocks in places for me. First marker: The beach where I loitered among a thousand heads, winging shadows, tumbling into hollows of damp sand, searching. Second marker: The stairway where I first saw you in shaky heartbeats; although, I had met you a hundred times before. Third marker: The places where you explored me, caressing in the nightlong frenzy of your game. Last marker: The exit where you spun away, dancing into the cobwebs. So now, I stare at the earth with seismic wonder: Where did time go? Next prompt: Write about being stuck in between two things: people, ideas, choices, etc. |
| "No Reply" Screams echo down that awful staircase as she stands looking. Memories of being pulled up and down, at the same time wash over her. "She's going with me!" "NO! She's staying here!" Words, splitting her soul as they tried split her body. She loved them both, did she really have to choose? Why couldn't they just get along? She remembered the surprise etched on her mother's face as he let go sending them both tumbling like deflated basketballs to the bottom. It should have hurt, that broken bone. Wrapped like a pig in a blanket, she felt nothing, until... The echo of her child voice fills her eyes once more with hot, hurting tears, "Mom?" are you okay?" Still, no reply. Next prompt:Write a humorous palindrome.
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Din't know how humorous this is though...  Doors revolving in hypnotic circles walk women, caught - dress, long legs, silk stockings - silk legs, long dress caught, woman walk circles, hypnotic in revolving doors. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NEXT PROMPT - Define why you like your favorite song, how you respond to it. |
"Invalid Item" If you were a man as I am a woman of words, you'd surely know why I sing the song I sing of you and silent the tear I cry but you are the man of the kiss, the embrace, the melody of blood alone and you cannot bear the words of farewell as cold as the buried bone. "Ae Fond Kiss" is a sad love poem by Robert Burns, about having to leave Nancy McLehose, a married woman he loved, after one last kiss of farewell. Set to a traditional folk tune and sung beautifully by Eddi Reader, it has become a favorite song of mine. Next prompt: Write a poem of praise, but praise something that usually troubles you, hurts you, or causes you to complain. Find what there is in it to praise! |
Dear Cowboy Dear cowboy, sweat oozing from your wrinkled brow, straining against the bull you lassoed, thinking it a cow. He sees red and drags you through the dirt, bucking, snorting, giving you a dusting of desert. Still you struggle, draining your strength. Your limbs protest – oh the violence! – but you believe the bull should be free. You tug tighter, holding on until you find the way to let go without anyone getting gored. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Next Prompt: One of the hardest prompts I ever got was from a friend of mine who challenged me to write a serious poem about cauliflower. Your prompt is to write a serious poem about a vegetable of your choosing. |
I am having such a busy week and slowing the campfire down, so I am going to cheat and rework a poem I already wrote - about a vegetable - rather than pass. I'll do better next time I promise! Artichoke Hearts We sit at an outside table, clinking our wine glasses and feeling decadent for drinking in the middle of the day. The waiter appears with appetizers – an artichoke for me, something with shrimp for you, and I tear off the first green leaf as soon as he sets the plate down, dipping it in the melted butter scraping off the meat with my bottom teeth, eyes closed, unaware of the butter making its way down my chin – you catch it with your finger and touch it to my lips; I open my eyes and smile before returning to tearing off leaf after leaf after leaf, dipping, scraping, savoring, so much work for so little reward, until finally all that is left is the heart – so I remove the fine purple hairs and thorns and present it to you. You ask me to remind you why I never eat the heart as you dip it in the butter dish. Because, I say, it’s too much goodness in one bite. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * New Prompt: This prompt comes from "Poets Oline" ... Magical thinking is the belief that we can somehow cause something to happen in an unscientific but magical way. It's causal reasoning that mistakes correlation for causation. Whether you consider it superstition, magical thinking, or faith, write a poem about magical thinking. |
This is to my son who now has posttraumatic stress syndrome, because during 9/11, he was working near ground zero. In my Hands You are churning again like water above the falls, but I will hold your head in my hands--as I once did, when you were just a foot and a half long--to conjure up your courage and shoo away that current of fury, so you'll sail out of the radiation zone of one hypodermic radical barb. Then, somewhere from the dense memory of structures coming apart, you'll arise like a supernatural creature to hold the world aloft with your kisses. Next Prompt: Write a poem using road signs inside your poem. The poem need not be about road |
| "Dead End" Backing away from your acid heart, licking my wounds, I see them. Signs, that were obscured by emotional rain. SHARP CURVE Warning me of your approaching change of heart. YIELD My beacon to proceed with caution. Somewhere near your proclamation of love. SLIPPERY WHEN WET Passed this one where I slid and fell in love with you. Stepping out, I turn, one final glance at the map to your heart. At the entrance, on each side, the path is littered with warning after warning... STOP TWO WAY TRAFFIC SOFT SHOULDER DO NOT ENTER And in bright, neon yellow the most believable one of all DEAD END! Next Promt: Write a poem giving personality to a creeping plant, ivy, vine, etc. |
Sorry it took me so long to post  "Invalid Item" Tendrils stretch lovingly caressing walls embracing stone white stars dazzle ambrosiac aromas seduce Ride the wave of waxy green to Xanadu But don’t ignore me a trophy to display - dismissed from your thoughts when out of sight For underneath, hidden cilia dig, scratching for purchase, dissolving mortar to expose skeletons smothering resistance undermining your domain The damage concealed by shaded sorrow +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ NEXT PROMPT - Write a Pantoum about a current local event. |
Cold Cases Things just don't add up: a little boy beaten, found in a lake, no fingerprints on the hammer, a girl beside her car stalled on the road. A little boy beaten, found in a lake, haunting a small town. A girl beside her car stalled on the road climbing up into a truck. Haunting a small town, all clues are individual snowflakes climbing up into a truck when the door opens onto a swirl of wind. All clues are individual snowflakes melting before the pattern can be seen. When the door opens onto a swirl of wind, no one enters the room. Before the pattern can be seen-- no fingerprints on the hammer-- no one exits the room. Things just don't add up. Write a free verse poem on the theme of being too late for something very important. |
I had to admit this one had me a little stumped. I am one of those people who is hardly ever late especially for important things. So I tried to think of a situation of making someone wait. Convicting myself of felony late, I drift at an inexorable rate. My body strains to the horizon where you hide, where I fear you die, slipping further, not just to the other side of the world – but to the other side of mortality. I can imagine you mentally pacing around a hospital bed, heartbeats quickening like impatient feet - the tapping of the forgiven ready for salvation. NEXT PROMPT: Write a letter to someone using free verse |
Dear Mom, Living so far away we only see each other a couple of times a year, but each time we are together you look so much older than the time before -- so frail so thin so fragile. And yet, you hug me so tightly it hurts -- and then there is always that awkward moment when I let go a few moments before you, as if you are afraid to break the connection. Maybe it's been like this since you gave me birth and the doctor separated us after nine months together -- me pulling away first you trying to hold on just a bit longer. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * NEXT PROMPT: Write a poem in which you make an apology to someone without using "I'm sorry" anywhere in the poem. |
| "Apology" Apology If I stand now in front of you as daring as the housefly on a frog's nose, it is because I have not done before what I ought to have done, for I am not an angel after all, and to unwrap a happier tomorrow from these frigid winter hours, I would like to rearrange the timetable of an adverse past to let a tacit scar fade away into the dead language of myth, so we both feel blessed for the warm wind's promise to transform my prickly image in your heart. ******************* Next Prompt: Describe an imaginary scene in an abused women's shelter or focus in on one specific subject in such a shelter. |
"Finally Over" She sat in a white room, surrounded by toys and bookshelves. She didn't play, she didn't read, she waited and watched. While her mother talked to a lady with glasses and pom-pom hair that bounced as she bobbed her head in agreement. She saw her mother's lips move through the window, the black bruise on her cheek whispering hate that slithered under the door to dig its nails into the bruise on her own thigh. She longed for it to be over. As she waited and watched, she saw something she had never seen before... Her mother smiled. New Prompt: Write a funny poem about the process of writing! |
| I am a writer... With pen poised on the point of pontification wise words of wisdom, witness to my greatness heralding the hour I will honor history a declaration of my dynamism, demanding diligent deference (lots of aphorisms have already been invented you know..) I stand sit ready My mind a billboard lights flashing ready. I….. I.. I. (damn, I forgot what I was going to write!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NEXT PROMPT - enhance an old proverb.  |
"Invalid Item" These days I read the obits wary of heart attacks at 49, mysterious untold illnesses, implied suicides. The sun arrives late on a partly cloudy day, just in time for dinner. It's praying mantis season. They are young; they cling to every screen door in town. They've no idea what's coming. I live miles from a man I loved, briefly, in the spring. No, I still love him. I yearn for him; he's a thorn in my side of beef, the hot sauce on my chicken fingers; he's my chocolate, my red wine. What's a virtuous woman to do with her passion? I have a beauty mark on my left breast. Every rose opens wide. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Here's the prompt: Put together a series of seemingly random phrases or images, so they hold together somehow as a whole. Could be mood instead of meaning. |
This was fun! The five things as chosen by my husband: Alaska, Splenda, FBI, badgers, and tsunami. Awaiting Monday A hint of Alaska in the air. I move glacially, frozen joints nudging forward. I want to burrow like a badger, dig into covers, reveling in the paranoia of those predators that walk about. Deeply-rooted dreams upended in a tsunami of coffee crashing into my brain. I tap five packets of Splenda into my cup for a sweeter awake. The sky becomes rosy. An FBI application open on my screen. It's not the only thing that awaits me. It's one of many things. NEXT Prompt: Write four rhyming couplets, then link them together using free verse or prose. |
Sorry gang!  I've been busy with work and judging the Sr. Mod contest this past week - and now have been sick the past five days - so I'm gonna pass this round so you don't stay stuck on me any longer (it's already been a week). My apologies! Piglet's prompt passes on to Joy. Catch you next time! |
| "Invalid Entry" he took his poetry to the streets and people smirked at the man dressed in a suit with an imagination rife and a last twitch of life although he pulled a masterstroke with sighs and sorrows, a killer publisher left his book of poems on a bench in the rain to warp and drench then he left for good, taking his jazzy voice with him and the gusts enhanced gypsy lies his absence's presence in the eyes grunting, shouting, intellects sprouting they remembered him with perspiration on his brow as a man driven since ashes stay as people pass a sip of spirit in a glass ------------ Next prompt: Write a poem about an image that keeps haunting you. (A member of the family watching TV on the couch, a child skipping, cat on a flagpole, first snow on the lake, hurricane force winds tearing down the street, etc.) |
Mirage A three-story house of red brick rises in the field now flat, harvested, a pale carpet. When I take the train out of town I look for it, long for it, will live in it someday. When I fail to look up and see it, or if I am distracted by the conductor taking my ticket, I feel the loss of the tall red home with its ballroom on the third floor, with its wavy window glass that will make all I see a mirage when finally I stand and look out.
Next Prompt: Write about a feeling you keep inside (internal emotion) and do so in a poem that uses only internal rhyme (no end rhyme). To elaborate on form: The internal rhymes can fall anywhere in the line, and can be slant or true. A word mid-line can even rhyme with a word at the end of a line, as long as the end doesn't rhyme with the end of another line. Therefore, all rhyme is very subtle and might not be noticed by everyone....just the way the emotion is kept inside but might be sensed.... |
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