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 respond… Continue reading W3 Prompt #25: Wea’ve Written Weekly
A 'Minute Poem' The sun-Bleached porch is where She sits; Ripples transmit Forbidden Words; Sea-sounds; pert Birds; She gazes up at Haze Of blue; Love soars forth true; Solitude reigns Among sand Grains; And~ Locked away treasures Of shells Guarded by swells; God's Artless art Unlocks the Heart; “I gaze at circling gulls in a… Continue reading The White Beach Hut, or: Normans Bay
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 respond… Continue reading W3 Prompt #24: Wea’ve Written Weekly
A 'Minute Poem' "Please!" she cries, "Just one minute more!" Child eyes implore. Firm, I insist, Though those eyes mist. "Turn off your tablet, or I will!" Bitter tears spill. She shuts it down ~ With sulky frown. "Tomorrow's school! You need to sleep! Come now, don't weep!" Soft, sweet lips pout... But it's lights… Continue reading Parenthood, or: Empathy
My 2nd Minute Poem They're packaged into forms as though we poets know how to use words. How quite absurd. Syllables; enjambments; and lines can sound sublime and pleasure bring - but mean nothing. Our hopes rest with our audience, who might gift sense and meaning to... You do? Who knew! Minute Poetry The Minute… Continue reading Stuff, or: Nonsense
My 1st Minute Poem I wish I could express my thoughts, Twisted in knots, Too tightly wound, Can't find the sounds. Even words written defy me, Hiding shyly From angsty dreams, From muffled screams Even when lines and verses flow I always know they all fall short - my truth distort Minute Poetry The Minute… Continue reading Writing, or: The wall
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