Prompt Twenty-Four – Because they Hope

Prompt Twenty-four – Text Prompt – Write a poem about hope.


Because they Hope


Hope is the best there is.

Was she not the last one out of Pandora’s box?

There is always hope, even against hope.

Till the end, till the very last breath.

Goals have been scored a second before the referee’s whistle.

Because they hoped.

Children rescued from earthquake rubble after weeks.

Because they hoped.

Folk rising from coma after showing Grim Reaper the door.

Because there was hope.

Fishermen returning to land after a stormy night at sea.

Because they hoped.

Soldiers walking away unscathed from the battlefield.

Because there was hope.

And when you join your palms as you hope

There will always be Hope.



Prompt Twenty-three – The Caveman Calls

Prompt Twenty-three – Text Prompt

Write a poem about a world that is not this one.


The Caveman Calls


The cavemen had it good.

They foraged for food,

Collected their wood,

and relied on their mood.


They drew on their cave wall,

Which was really their rave hall.

Hunted when the crave calls.

Never needed to shave at all.


No roads, no cars, no potholes

No pressure, no need for career goals

No gas bills, no meters, no carbon coals

No voting, no lobbying, no tax polls.


No banks, no cards, no hefty loans

No wars, no blitz, no spyware drones

No pollution or low emission zones

No candy crush on mobile phones.


That’s the life for us I guess.

We don’t need so much, a lot lot less

Some basic shoes, a basic dress

I’m heading there. Coming? Yes?

Prompt Twenty-two – Contrast

Prompt Twenty-Two – Visual Prompt – Silencio


The Hush hits you when you walk in through the door

after a month in India. Or Thailand. Or Spain.

It cradles the racing, travel weary, jet lagged pain.

You can hear the neighbour’s grass being cut.

Two doors down. Through double glazed windows.

You can even hear your own heart beat

And the buzz in your ears.

But what of the buzz you left behind?

Cackling kids, constant doorbells, honking cars.

Constant chitter chatter and yelps of laughter

Merging with the yelps of stray dogs.

You cant hear the birds there, so they caw louder

To be heard. Everyone needs to be heard.

And here, its Silencio.

Prompt Twenty-one – Captain Haddock Dunning

Hour Twenty-one – Text Prompt

Write a poem that starts and ends with the word running.


Captain Haddock Dunning


Running a tight ship like he was wont to do,

Barking command till he was blusterly blue.

Poor old Captain Haddock Dunning

The men were lazy bastards all,

They never heeded his shout or call.

Ship stayed moored as Cappy did the running.


Prompt Twenty – Dugga Dugga

Hour Twenty – Text Prompt:

Write a poem about a routine or ritual that is part of your life. It can be something like making coffee every morning, or something like attending religious services once a week.


Dugga Dugga


Not sure how or when it happened.

The exact moment I metamorphosised into her

is lost to posterity now.

But I cannot leave the house,

or start a journey,

or indeed any project

without saying Dugga Dugga.

She did that, all her life.

Invoked the blessings of the goddess.

Durga, the God of Power.

We laughed, tutted,

got embarrassed when friends were around.

It wasn’t cool to have an uncool mother.


And now, I’m her.


Chant it out loud when I’m alone.

Whisper furtively when I’m not.

No matter what, though…

I can’t begin till I feel the cloaked in blessings.


Just one unanswered question,

Is it the Goddess, or Ma

who protects me?

Hour Nineteen – Of Scottish Summers

Hour Nineteen – Text prompt

Write a poem describing your surroundings as inarticulately as possible but maintaining just a tiny bit of the truth.


Of Scottish Summers

If you live in Glasgow

and look out of the window,

You’d see all that is to be,

Shouting out from every tree.

Lush grass from last night’s rain

in contrast to the leaf’s refrain.

Apples ripened, begin to fall,

past their prime, harvested all.

Hedges are already thinning somewhat.

Still bushy and green but not a lot.

Cherry trees that once were pink

have turned to green, they make you think

of the colour splash splendour of Fall.

yellow, orange, red, pink and all.

Imagine the Scottish Gods get drunk

with paintbrushes, they goes all punk

Unreal colours, as far as eyes travel

Neon reds cling to branches, then unravel.

Gentle late summer days are nearing the end,

But hey,

there’s awesome autumn around the bend.

Prompt Eighteen – The Sacred Crows

Hour Eighteen – Text Prompt

Write a poem about a haunting, real, or imagined, detailed or abstract.

Image Prompt – Ravens and Crows


You always know, when you see a crow

Of the powers that they own

For those who die, are unable to fly

Up towards salvation, alone.


Their soul just flows, into our crows

Till they’re ready to leave this earth

Its not a haunting, not even daunting

They merely await rebirth.


This is a fact, not a made up pact

Hindus believe this to be true

The crows are fed, when our own are dead

So, we feed our own folk too.


For as long as it takes, no one breaks

This sacred circle of life

To ether they go, the humble crow

Carrying, parent and child, husband and wife


When you hear crow caws, please just pause

And say a silent prayer

For they’ll fly away, in the next few days

To deliver the soul to Universe’s next layer.



Prompt seventeen – Twin-toned Kaleidoscope

Prompt seventeen – Text prompt

Write a poem either titled or centred around a ‘Kaleidoscope’.


Twin-toned Kaleidoscope

At a little past six in the morning

I watch the sky dawning

with a fat yellow oval moon hanging bright.

The dark night trees begin to green,

apples emerge, those unseen

whilst branches had merged into the night.


Shades change in subtle splendour

Various blues and greens add colour

Dual tones of a kaleidoscope.

Each time I look up and out,

It’s a tad bit brighter, today does shout,

Brightness lightness brings me hope.


Then through the green on the treetop head

There glistens a shiny newish red

It’s September, the seasons are turning.

These three colours can wake me up

I go to refill stale teacup

While marvelling at this learning.

Prompt Sixteen – Come, visit me please

Prompt Sixteen – Text Prompt

Write a poem that is pretending to be something else, a set of instructions, a recipe, a letter, a news report, etc.


Come, visit me please


Dear Dad,

Hope you’re well, but you know,

I have a bone to pick with you, old man

been cross with you for a while.

It’s not enough to sit in a photo frame

smiling your gentle beatific smile.

What’s the use of being my muse

and sending lightbulbs from afar?

Why can’t you visit, pop in some time,

my heartmind door is always ajar.

Almost three years, since you marched away,

can’t you please turn around, and see?

I’m doing so fine with this life of mine

wont you please, please just visit me?

She did the decent thing, you know,

and came to me one night.

Magnificent Ma, in her old housecoat,

just to say she’s doing all right.

I need to know that you’re ok too

even as you’ve gone and crossed the line.

I need to share this cake with you

today, as you turn eighty-nine.

Odd how you’ve managed to stay away,

you and me, we were such a team.

It’s okay you know; I have let you go,

but visit me please,

visit me tonight as I dream.

(Love, from your firstborn)

Prompt Fifteen – Down Memory Lane

Hour Fifteen – Text Prompt

Write a poem about an experience, but from the perspective of another. For example you could write a poem about your wedding from the experience of your spouse, or you could write a poem about an argument with a stranger from the perspective of the stranger.

Down Memory Lane

It strikes him then, as she pauses at the gate.

It hits him as he watches her hesitate,

This is the first time she has ever gone back.

Back the way in life. His brave lost wife.

He grabs her hand then, aware of her pain.

And propels her forward, down memory lane.

The long winding drive of the house she lived in

Four decades ago.

They walk together, a curious trio,

man, woman and her seventeen-year-old self.

This house stood for everything she had lost.

Childhood. Parents. Gone abruptly.

Solitary Sibling. Feral Squabbles.

Disintegrated Shared Childhood.

And suddenly it was there, in front of him.

The old house, in a state of enchanting disrepair.

He watched as she watched her young self

Run ahead, into the house.

He watched as she tried to follow.

He watched her breathe in and swallow

the Past. Return to the moment.

And reach for the doorbell.



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