Poetry Writing Prompts

It’s quiet at this time of day

Silence greets me

And it brings warmth along with it

It smells of pastry and black coffee

It’s stirring of memories

But I have to finish writing

I have to finish this article

I need my job or else I can’t afford to have this coffee

Black.

Reminds me of the worry creeping in.

Steeping in,

like the tea in that pot....

Growing up was constantly

Swimming

With no gills

In a pool of ice water

Always moving

Pursuing

The label of

Your perfect daughter

You love me, you applaud me

You know that I’m smart

But what happens when

Miss perfect

Stops playing her part?

Will you still adore me

If about me

You can no longer brag?

If I start speaking my mind?

Waving a more colorful flag?

If I center my values

Instead of padding ...

Red shoes on the pavement

Step step step

Red converse on the sidewalk

And I rep rep rep

There goes my shoes on the cold hard ground

There goes my shoes

No one’s around

I am known for my shoes

Dirty red and beaten

I wonder how much longer this will keep repeating

I can’t silence my head so I walk walk walk

And stop stop stop

When I can’t think anymore

Unwired,

Too tired

To think, anymore...

We shadows are fickle creatures.

With wavering and shifting features.

Staying static.

It’s causes a panic.

We don’t like staying put,

Yet in the darkness we stood.

Banished to the inky black.

Always pushed back.

Forgotten.

Fallen.

No more.

We swore.

We cut ourselves free.

We flee....

Oh what peace this day should bring

In a solar orbit’s sling

Because sound doesn’t know yet how to yell

In the cosmic great nothing

But when it’s quiet enough to hear my thoughts

The inner supernovas spark

The BOOM of chaotic swirling stars

Cloud the relief of the quiet dark

Jupiter’s stormy eye entraps me

Swirling unable to unwind

Why does the mass of a trillion galaxies

Have weaker pull than m...

Sometimes less is more

Like a handwritten letter for your birthday

It feels like more than a meaningless item

Like smoking cigarettes

The less you smoke the longer you live

Like being in a relationship

It seems the more I care

The less you care...

(Thanks for suggesting this Just Another Teenage Girl! This is draft #43)

Love is a _strange _word.

It means something different

Every time you say it

A truth, a lie

A way to say goodbye.

Love is a _terrifying _word.

You can’t say it without commitment

Without a promise

That you’ll stay

Night and day

Love is a _funny _word.

You don’t know what it means

Until you have truly lost it

Remembering, ...

**The milk expired**

when I decided

I wanted coffee.

Well, it didn’t expire

in the seconds

between craving

and rising.

No—

it had been dying

for days.

A full gallon,

untouched,

slowly curdling

in the cold.

Why didn’t I notice?

If I’d known

it was expiring soon,

I would have used it,

saved it.

Instead,

I watched

as I poured it out,

a thick, sour stream

down the drain

And something inside

of m...

The mind

is a mosaic

of myriad patterns,

each one singular—

wholly unique.

Not fashioned

for purpose

but

the mere essence

of being.

Not for beauty,

not for allure,

though by chance you’d see it,

you might find it

beautiful.

But first,

you’d have to grasp

the gravity

of the pattern’s existence—

how it forms

a person,

defines

a soul.

Without the mind,

there is no pattern,

but without the pattern...

Hey Listen,

I’m not really sure

What a “poetic genre”

might be considered.

But know,

The cadence with which I write

Is a voice cool, calm, collected

-at least in my own mind.

And I know

What They say,

That It takes hard work,

patience and Preservernce

to be great

But hey,

I think it also takes

personal grace,

Courage and

education.

No, not a degree,

No fancy pedigree.

But educa...

I will always remember

the words my mother

told me,

a whisper in the heart

to always look for where

the flowers are.

No matter how dark it

gets, when all seems

lost, look for where

the flowers are

because wherever

there is light, the flowers

will find it.

When I find the flowers

I will know there is hope

and I will have found

my way through.

Where the flowers grow

the darkness will...

The nausea crept up her throat

From the pit of her stomach;

The realisation that yesterday was real.

And the nausea went to sickness

When the walls began to peel,

Like those ailing, painted boats.

Up came yesterday and last year with it

A mess of promises,

Or maybe hopes glued together.

There was peace in burning

Letting go of her tether,

Emptying the first-aid kit.

And there she lay

Counting...