Your challenge is to write a poem about the topic of marriage, without ever using the word marriage, and while also ideally avoiding the words spouse, husband, and wife. We started off with promise a love so deep it conflicted With every other chiding adult…

She is not lonely. She’s protected.

Metaphorically speaking she is a couch potato with a heart of gold answering siren song of heart-tugging tear-jerking infomercial paeans to starving children abandoned pets endangered land forking over credit card access with every channel change racking up enough points to travel the world times…

Perhaps merely lonely The griefling sought out like Perhaps merely lonely They stole a yellow bike Perhaps merely lonely They hid in a dark alley Perhaps merely lonely They set a monster free Perhaps merely lonely The monster ran amok Perhaps merely lonely And by…

I quite enjoyed fulfilling (half) the tasks for this prompt. Look forward to editing it [wrestling a fraction more sense from it] post marathon. swish the world is an orange it can be eaten in just three bites acidic nose bitter tasting waxy skinned squelching overripe…

“Give each project at least one line. You should open the poem with the first project, and close it with the last, but otherwise use the projects in whatever order you like. Do all twenty. Let different ones be in different voices. Don’t take things…

“Poets of the Night” A Golden Shovel   who are we those of us who write what will our words amount to what can we make you taste   do we have the answers to life   walking the paths, at least twice three hours…

I am not here, I do not sit noiselessly And contemplate life Surrounded by rounded walls I do not live in this modern house Or in a cabin in the woods. I am not in the homeless shelter I am not the vagabond under the…

The world suddenly weighs on my shoulder Strangers that turned friends Have gone back to being strangers And friends now, think I’m naïve. There’s a sudden nudge from everyone around, to get work done faster in ways better than before. But buds are to bloom…

The blank space invites. I imagine what could be. Artist, creator.