From Robert Lee Brewer:
For today’s prompt, take the phrase “The (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “The Poets,” “The Good Guys,” “The Bad Guys,” “The Last Thing She Said,” and so on.
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NOTE FROM VICTORIA: Can you believe this crappy prompt? Next year, we do our own. Well, maybe include his and then our own as a option. And on a lighter note, WE ARE DONE!!!! Since this is Sunday we will pick up with our weekly prompts next Sunday. Do you y'all want to do a weekly "Edit session" as well, or make it part of the Sunday prompts, alternate between new and edit?
omg! too many fill in the blanks! yes, we definitely need an edit session. lol! my vote is to make it part of the Sunday prompts. I only have 3 I feel are good enough to put time in editing. so have the Sunday prompt and for those who want to they can do two poems... the prompt and the edit. just put which is which before the poem.
ReplyDeleteyep! from the archives! I work hard to not use the word The in the title of my poems as it is boring... here is one I kept the The in... lol
ReplyDeleteWords like water flow and are
silenced in the bubble of truth,
you ask me if I know the answers
I tell you yes but you must
find a way to hear them.
The answers are whispered
in spider webs and crystals,
do you dare destroy the web
do you dare break the crystal
to hear the words of truth?
Or will you let the bubbles
carry off the words to the
waters and the winds
to a place where you cannot
hear them when the bubble bursts?
So what is "The" title? It's not on the poem. LOL Nice imagery in the poem.
Deletewhoops!!! it;s The Bubble... sigh
DeleteLMBO that you forgot the title!!! Oh well, we all make mistakes. I just like the funny ones. great images throughout this poem. soft and gentle.
Deleteshe's a comedian Linda... she makes jokes...
DeleteYes, good images and a fun poem
DeleteInto the Archives:
ReplyDeleteTrash - The Troubadours
They meander through the maze
for days in the compacted trash
two dirty little fellows
both in a daze
They chance upon one another
each had lost his mother
They followed the pathways created by blunder
insane, up an down, around and under
piles and piles of compacted trash
miles and miles was all they could see
it had never been any other way
they didn't care who, they didn't care why
they only cared that they survived
they chanced upon a wooden flute
and some sticks and a small wooden box
they sat down right where they were
and played a mournful tune
soon they saw people emerge from their holes
music was like food for their souls
people were burrowed in like the ants
they brought them cans of food and
something doughy that tasted good
the troubadours walked away that day
with a new will to stay
they'd found a way to survive
in the land of trash...
very sad scenario
Deletethank you, that was what I was attempting...a very sad scenario...lol
DeleteSo cute!!!
DeleteSad yet with an undercurrent of hope. I like that.
DeleteI vote we have a special day for editing like a Wednesday. That way Tad could help. Maybe. At least I am hoping. I hope Tad gives some feedback here.
ReplyDeleteTHE END
ReplyDeleteToday is the end
Thirty days of poetry
Done until next year
succinct and well written and ... thank goodness!!!
Deletewe all made it....every single day without too much complaining either. I was late on three of them but I got them in. Well, four of us made it every single day. Bonnie, Victoria, Tasha and Me. Tad was close.
DeleteThe Tale of the Indigo Knight
ReplyDeleteOver the greensward galloped a horse
All through the forests and towns
Carrying a rider in armor so fine
Over the rills and downs.
A knight was he in armor so bright
Of indigo deep and rare
With an indigo sword and indigo shield
And indigo breastplate fair.
The rider came to the top of a hill
And stood a while to gaze
At the castle below where dwelt his love
He'd thought was his always.
He'd come in haste in hopes that he
Might save her from her fate
For she was to marry another that day
And he prayed he was not to late.
Fearful he started down the hill
And then his heart leaped high
For he heard the voice of his own true love
Calling to him close by.
And there she was, and here she was
Straight to his arms she flew
"Let us away my love," she cried,
"My only love so true."
Twas the indigo armor that cloaked them well
Safe from pursuers sight
Concealing them both as side by side
They rode away that night.
Forged with dwarven skill and might
For an elven king,
His was the Indigo knightly garb
Of which the bards do sing.
And it kept them safe as away they rode
On their horses swift and fine
As away they flew, where no one knew
To be with their own kind.
For she was an elven maid and he
An elfin knight as well,
And so they hastened to return
To where they used to dwell.
And welcomed they were and happy were they
Never again to roam,
Safe and secure in each other's arms
For e'er in their Elven home.
this is absolutely beautiful and filled with lovely imagery. and it flows wonderfully. a fun out loud read. and yes I remember that challenge... lol.. it was mine :-)
DeleteThis should be illustrated and made into a children's book as a lot of your poetry should. Lovely poem, beautiful imagery and it flows like a river on a gentle day.
DeleteLovely story. I think this is officially a ballad, with four beats in lines 1 and 3, and 3 in lines 2 and 4.
DeleteThanks, Linda, you are so kind. I wish I knew an illustrator to do just that. Bonnie I remembered it was you, and it was also fun!
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSo here is my final poem, also an archived one. I wrote it when we did the rainbow poems, remember them? I figured since you two did, I would too. Looking forward to our next year together writing, critiquing and having fun with words.
DeleteHi - sorry I haven't been here. Will try to do better. Archived from the distant past:
ReplyDeleteTHE SPIRIT WORLD
No point looking
for them in castles with
Gothic mansards, widows'
walks, or on deserted
moors. Ghosts like action.
That's why you'll find
so many at the track
--the prickle on your
neck as you stand
at the five dollar
window and say a name
(not one you'd figured)
seventeen to one at
the last tick
--the wind over your
shoulder as the horses
enter the clubhouse
turn, an echo
of your screams as the nag
makes a late bid, an acrid
scent as it fades
to fifth. The ghosts don't
follow the ponies, though no
trainer holds secrets from
them, though they'd have
leisure to make the form
yield up its secret truths.
The truth is they don't care
who wins. They don't need money.
They're in it for the jolt of
what only flesh holds in--
what blazes from eyes,
tugs stomachs like sex glands--
what winning snarls with
greed and responsibility,
but losing gives pure.
wow! i got so caught up in this poem I found I was holding my breath! lol! had to exhale after reading. powerful imagery and a powerful write!
Deleteyea! I like that. the spirit world likes action. hmmmmm you have a very vivid imagination!! I loved the imagery throughout the poem.
DeleteLMAO. This is wonderful, I think one of the best things I've read in a while. It literally made me LOL.
Delete