Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live 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:
‘Blinding Noise’ by Deepthy
Fiery red does my soul burn and sizzle, With eyes shut – lost, drowning in noise so bleak; Purple, yellow and neon green; chisel These puzzling monochrome thoughts – rather meek; Drowning in boundless, brownish worlds; to seek Vision in pearls, among chaos so black, With stunning ruby words stabbing the back, I curl up in this sapphire dream of peace Emerald promises, speech so lilac, And pastel hopes this blinding noise will cease.
II. Deepthy’s prompt guidelines
- Write an Ode to a thought or idea that largely influenced your life and character.
- This can be the time you decided to give up something, chose your career, picked up a certain book etc.
- Originally accompanied by music and dance, and later reserved by the Romantic poets to convey their strongest sentiments — a formal address to an event, a person, or a thing not present.
- There are three typical types of odes:
- Pindaric: named for the ancient Greek poet Pindar, who is credited with innovating this choral ode form;
- Horatian: named for the Roman poet Horace, generally more tranquil and contemplative than the Pindaric ode;
- Irregular: employs all manner of formal possibilities, while often retaining the tone and thematic elements of the classical ode.
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, October 2, 10:00 AM (GMT+3)
Last week’s W3 poem
This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Deepthy, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Murisopsis wrote:
‘Looking at the Flavor of Color’ by Murisopsis
I see deep greens in azure streams Murky depths where the light is low My prism eyes detect the separate dreams I feel the colors of the swirling flow Murky depths where the light is low Rough red and saffron through my hands I feel the colors of the swirling flow My crimson blood released to foreign lands Rough red and saffron through my hands I taste the tang of purple, indigo and drink it in My crimson blood released to foreign lands Running carmine and cobalt off lip and chin I taste the tang of purple, indigo and drink it in My mouth is not big enough to contain the swell Running carmine and cobalt off lip and chin I hear humming wave and chiming bell My mouth is not big enough to contain the swell Bass brown countered by soprano buzz of blues I hear humming wave and chiming bell My soul sings in counterpoint in forest green hues Bass brown countered by soprano buzz of blues Inviting me to become the water’s bride My soul sings in counterpoint in forest green hues I want to be washed, soaked in color, tie-dyed Inviting me to become the water’s bride I pray for more than black and white I want to be washed, soaked in color, tie-dyed No artist’s palette can contain the sight I pray for more than black and white My thoughts are drenched in grue and bleen No artist’s palette can contain the sight Hope is water wings glowing octarine* My thoughts are drenched in grue and bleen** My dreams float above the water line Hope is water wings glowing octarine Caught on fire and drowned in brine My dreams float above the water line I see deep greens in azure streams Caught on fire and drowned in brine My prism eyes detect the separate dreams