Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
POEM STARTER
Write a Valentines Day story or poem about something you love that isn't a person.
It can be anything other than a human; likely humorous, but it doesn't necessarily have to be funny!
Writings
Music,
The feeling of listening to something so true. Hearing how you feel come out of someone’s mouth in a beautiful way.
Performing on stage, sharing the beauty with everyone.
Writing lyrics, sharing feelings with strangers everywhere.
Knowing you’re not alone.
Living for a song, an artist.
The most famous form of art.
Music, The key to our souls....
A Valentine’s Day dance.
Completely lost to chance.
In the tides of my vision.
I see one, in proposition.
The newest grill.
At the end of the market.
It is a beautiful grill.
Gorgeous and delicious looking.
My heart drums in my chest.
Brain filing in haste.
I thrum my fingers on my waist.
Lip bit, and spit slick.
I look to the price tag, weighing my options.
Sweat rolls down my brow in a panic....
If I stopped writing you,
would you pen me down,
force my hand to revise my plan,
or would you scribble me out of your page forever?
No need, because you are
the author of my happiness,
the composer of my dreams.
No way I could erase you
from my life
as if you were never even printed.
Second drafts try for my attention,
but who needs rewrites when I have you?
You are my sign from God
that we w...
**_Ode to My Mug_******
****
**Oh, my beloved ceramic cup,**
**Each morning, we greet the rising sun,**
**A steaming embrace in my hand,**
**Filled with liquid warmth—you’re the one.**
****
**No beating heart within your rim,**
**Yet you hold the pulse of my day,**
**Coffee, tea, cocoa—whichever whim,**
**In your gentle curve, dreams stay.**
****
**I cradle you, a partner in thought,**
**Through t...
I stare at the love of my life. My collection of old books. Books that went out of print long ago. Books that were written before anyone alive was even born. My babies.
I didn’t always have this wonderful collection. I got my first old book when i had just turned 18. It was a graduation present from my grandfather. It had been passed down from grandfather to grandson since the 1800s. I reveled in...
My tiny terrorist,
Wreaking havoc upon the neat assortment of squish
That occupies the empty space of my bed.
With a wild look in your eye,
The fires of destruction glow brighter
Than the candle I hold to my lover’s name.
He now reeks of inconvenience;
The prey in the palm of his predator.
I wore my wounds under long sleeves,
Tenderized the meat on my bones with salt—
When I was delirious,
Bla...
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