Prompt Twelve

Prompt Twelve

This is my last prompt and I got stuck on the word count and couldn’t come up with anything to write. So, I checked the random prompts from previous years and one came up suggesting I use at least five of the eight words listed. They were: piano, ferns, lantern, beech, boots, laughter, jars, clear. My word count fits, as I used ‘maple’ twice. Because the ‘word prompt’ was not included in the original prompt, I relaxed, even though I only managed to use half of the eight words. They inspired me to write my last poem! Thank you for a fun and challenging contest – it was well-organized and set up for success!!! I will be back next year!

Near dusk, they reach their destination –
under a canopy of beech and sugar maple they
lay down their tarp and spread their feast: cheeses,
and salad topped with musk mallow seeds.

Wine-filled glasses perched in hand –
they watch maple syrup seep into hanging jars;
while the singing warbler’s sweet tones ring
through the forest, and night brings a piano of colour.

Black and white shadows of light play along her face –
he curls a waft of her hair through his fingers.
The soft touch of his lips on her cheek, lingers;
each star a lantern, as they make their way home.

Prompt Eleven

As in the Past

Come dance with me,
a ‘swallowtail jig’,
like early settlers to this land.

We worked all day,
tilling summer’s yard,
tonight – let me hold your hand.

Come dance with me,
verdant skirt swishing,
while tapping out this buoyant tune.

We’ve earned our keep –
time to cheer our toil;
tomorrow’s labour comes too soon.

Prompt Ten


prom corsages
bridesmaid dresses
and baby blankets

tattooed hearts
a rocking musician
and warrior wear

the last caress
the colour of my fear
and my cancer pin

Prompt Nine

In One’s Nature

The wind knocks
and his gossamer trap
is torn asunder –
he wakes, and rebuilds.

A boy on his way to school
tears through the fine filaments
of hexagonal brilliance –
she spins, anew.

The couples yell and break
promises; webs of lies leave
destruction in their paths –
they separate, and walk away.

Prompt Eight

Moving Day

– End of the month and it
is raining. The truck we booked is
late and the house, a dangerous
mess of life, packed in boxes to
trip over. So, we slow the pace, nestle together on the veranda and read
Aesop’s fables, choosing his words, over the daily newspapers.

With thanks to Margaret Atwood for her brilliant poem,
“It is Dangerous to Read Newspapers”
(this line also appears in the body of the poem)

Prompt Seven


because of his eyes
the moon waxed
out of tune
and like a dying star
she waned

because of his eyes
her tether
to the earth
held fast
and kept her chained

because of his eyes
she let things go
the house
her health
a child un-named

because of his eyes

Prompt Six

Prompt Six:

Que Sera, Sera

At the halfway point
and the words jumble;
arthritis numbs each joint,
as fingers fumble.

Creative juices, gone,
the muse has left me.
Pages still undone –
what will be, will be.

A final attempt –
pulling threads of thought;
ideas unkempt –
half a sonnet, I’ve got;

but not a pentameter,
within the parameter.

Prompt Five

playing ‘kick the can’ at thirteen

under a perse sky
as twilight curtains
the city –
our townhouses rowed
together like people
(huddled against the cold
we corner the same space)

our lips pursed
as heat actuates
our senses –
reaching out to each other
before our bodies link
(cuddled against the wall
lips fuse as our fingers lace)

a first kiss, pressed
into the album
of memory –
my playlist near full
but this song persists
(shuttled back to that night
with each new embrace)

Prompt Four

Prompt Four:

Two Thumbs

The coffee shop teems with people –
a ruck of millennials.
Thumbs flying, heads bent;
gaps in the line-up.

Gaps in the line-up –
but nobody cares; they have time.
My coffee break dissipates,
like the mud in my cup.

Like the mud in my cup,
there’s a sluggishness to the conversations
once they reach the till; a moment of re-orientation
to the present world.

To the present world
I say, ‘hang on’ – these sophists
will find their way, or the future boasts babies
with two thumbs per hand.

Prompt Three

Prompt three:


alike and unlike –
the cabin in disrepair

paint stripped, doors
and windows unclosed

so anyone can walk in
especially the air

that rips through
in frigid blasts

abandoned and unabandoned –
like the house that sits

empty, but for the frost that
hangs like bits

of christmas lights
and the brush that hides

the fenceline with candid strokes
the striking contrast

beautiful –