Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
POEM STARTER
'The memories of longing reached for her under a cloudless sky'
Use the line provided to write a poem in any style. You could use this as a theme, include the line in the poem, or work around the idea throughout.
Writings
The memories of longing reach for her, Under a cloudless sky, The birds sing sweetly from their branches, In the cozy trees up high.
She lies in a field of green grass, Bathed in golden beams, But the memories of longing reach out, And shatter all her dreams.
She wonders how the world can still spin, How time can still fly by, How the birds can keep on singing, When all she can do is cry.
All she ever wanted, Was to not feel so insane, For someone to understand her, To take away her pain.
Then he came along, And swept her off her feet, He was the beautiful missing piece, That made her world complete.
But just like everyone else, She’d Ever taken the time to love, He burned so brightly, he burned to ashes, And drifted to the world above.
She used to see the beauty, When she looked at the bright blue sky, But the world is just empty now, Since she was forced to say goodbye.
She looks up at the shining Sun, Feeling worthless and small, For without his love, she has nothing, She’s nothing… Nothing at all.
Sitting on the ground On a chilly summer day, Words scratched at her throat, Yet she had nothing to say
It was never truly clear, She’d forgotten her own face There was something about fear, It kept her stuck in one place
She’d gotten a taste of life Now her mouth was full of sand, Someone twists the knife, Her blood was on her own hands
The sky was cloudless, Longing reached for her, Forever soundless, Remember what we once were?
The sunrise is telling stories again. It's crafty like that. She's very good at forgetting these days, But it won't let her. They have an understanding at this late stage of their friendship, She and the sky. All she has to do is look up, And the rest is up to the memories. It starts early. Standing next to the coffee pot, letting the first soft pinks touch the faux-wood grain of the countertops. She is old now and should not be able to see them, But the sun tells her that she is young, That her hair is dark and her lips full, That this is another morning with another coffee pot and another impossibly pink window. Another morning with a breeze just cold enough to blush her cheeks, Alpine air thin and bracing, Big stoneware bowls of cereal carried outside to catch the first birdsongs, A kiss heated up by the autumn wind. Another steaming mug lifted to the sky, Coffee blending with woodsmoke blending with something else, Something steady like cedarwood, aftershave maybe. The sky knows how much these little details matter. This other morning, Using her good eyes, Watching the sun turn the tops of mountains that dusky purple that means they are alive up there, Listening with her ears that have never been stronger, For the excitable clip-clop that means a mountain goat has had quite enough of being observed, Listening for the eager footstep of a once and future love who wants only to steal as many mountain mornings as he can, She makes a bargain with the sky. "When my hair is white, And my name is a mystery to me, Bring me a sunrise so this will last forever."
The memories of the flood reached for me today under a cloudless sky My soul remains
The rain gently fell the woodlands my soul was nourished
The torrent of water replaced soft steady rain My soul was frightened
The homes lost and the roads impassable My soul was breaking
Lives were lost My soul lay grieving
the damage so devastating My soul was churning
The chinook was loud and my dog panicked My soul was empty
My friends opened thier home My soul was uncertain
No route in or out My soul was trapped
The love of my life was reconstructing My soul was separated
The bottles cried out for me My soul was weakened
Reunited again My soul was grounded
The resilience of my people My soul was hopeful
I remain and thrive My soul is still bleeding……
Under a cloudless sky I remain in my forest
With art and rhythm My is soul is healing.
she decided when it was done she always was the first to run what she had was so great but i didn’t leave first-it was too late
she wanted to feel better and she always wanted to receive a meaningless letter a stupid volleyball setter
the thought she had of me wasn’t true but the lies she told after we’re all askew i would’ve done anything to feel something for her but all our time together became a blur
i can’t say i ever missed you not even your eyes, ever so blue the memories of longing reached for her under a cloudless sky why, oh why
The memories of longing Reached out From under the clouds Heavy with water
This view was cloudless and blue Only yesterday The sun was shining
And there was the kiss Of a prairie stream Over a naked body
But today she can’t swim The thunder is calling in the lightning So she rests inside a cedar cabin And lets the longing soak into her heart Like rain into the dry land
When she sees her old friends speak to the ones we spoke bad about it’s a bittersweet feeling Thinking back on good memories makes her wince She compares their old selves to their new selves, it’s a nerve wrecking thought Oh how she longs she can remake those memories Of ordering food in the middle of the night Or facetiming all day everyday Or horror video games in the dark She can sit under the sky and look at the reflecting blue, and it’ll still remind her of them The memories of longing reached for her under a cloudless sky
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