W3 Prompt #49: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

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:

Part I

The main ingredient of W³ is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

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.

Part III

After five 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:

‘Hoped existence’, an ‘American Sentence’ by Aishwarya

Hope is the incomplete set of all the possibilities within.

II. Aishwarya’s prompt guidelines

• Write a beauty-themed poem using one of these two poetic forms:
  1. American Sentence;
     • Click HERE for explanation of ‘American Sentence’;
  2. Limerick;
     • Click HERE for explanation of the ‘Limerick’.

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 5 days, until Monday, April 10, 10:00 AM (GMT+3)

---

Last week’s W³ poem

This week’s W³ prompt poem (above), composed by Aishwarya, was written in response to last week’s W³ prompt poem, which Kerfe wrote:

‘Of Eden, or: Paradise Lost’, a poem by Kerfe Roig

Once rampant with color, its fragrance long gone,
the paint has dried into textured lines–
afternoons of melodic stillness now mourned–
decorative traces lost inside frozen time.

The paint has dried into textured lines,
ringed by the noise of questions unasked–
decorative traces lost inside frozen time
bleeding destruction we haven’t yet grasped,

Ringed by the noise of questions unasked
life is tenuous, scattered, emotions removed–
bleeding destruction we haven’t yet grasped,
as over and over we bandage the wounds.

Life is tenuous, scattered, emotions removed,
following roads that only disappear–
over and over we bandage the wounds–
the darkness rises, overwhelming with fear.

Following roads that only disappear,
like the garden once bursting with growth—
the darkness rises, overwhelming with fear–
sky is silent, empty, brittle as bones

We lived in a garden bursting with growth,
afternoons of melodic stillness, now mourned–
sky is silent now, empty, brittle as bones–
once rampant with color, its fragrance long gone.