Welcome to our ninth W3 Poetry Prompt, which will we shall be publishing on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.
You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:
The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants respond to in verse.
The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.
After four days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.
Simple enough, right?
Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!
I. The prompt poem:
‘Thunderstorm Magic’ by Ami (Gypsie) Offenbacher-Ferris
The thunderstorm raged around his parasol, yet not a single first touch of wet frigid rain fell on his umbrella received from someone extraordinarily special if a tad timid in his bearing and a little self-conscious about his scrawny body, which is a groovy window to the gents soul. Unseen droplets flow from the umbrella pattering away from his feet, his arms and his entire body, pools of dew from his walk become rivers forming
II. Ami’s prompt guidelines
- Your poem must include both of the two following words:
III. Submit: Click on ‘Mr. Linky’ below
In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.
Submissions are open for 4 days, until Sunday, July 3, 10:00 AM (GMT+3)
Last week’s W3 poem
This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Ami, was in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Kunjal wrote:
His first rain, From a little scrawny window, Droplets pattering and dew forming, His first thought is a big spit or too much sweat. His second rain, Through open gates And-he-could- crawl- cross-fall Above those big bouncy raindrops, Stripped in straps he looks- At The kids dancing, He feels his heart sighing and shunning The remorse- and skipping with the drops falling.