Prompt 15, Hour 12

Half Marathoners this is your last prompt! Full marathoners you are now half way there! Either way, congratulations on getting this far!

The prompt for this hour is to write an erasure.

Erasures are a form of poetry where you create a poem using existing text. You take that text and by blacking out or erasing terms you can create a new poem.

Source material for this can be anything. Lots of people do this with the New York Times but you can also use pages from classic novels or letters or anything that has enough text. Some poets do erasures on other authors poems, but they do have to be long ones.

You can pick out a page to print online, use a page from one of your magazines around the house or you can use the handy erasure app over at Wave Poetry.



8 thoughts on “Prompt 15, Hour 12

    1. If you use something that’s available online, you can just do a screenshot. For example, if Amazon has one of their “Look inside” previews of a book you already own, you may be able to find the page you want there—no copying or scanning required! 🙂

  1. From Les Mis – Nightmare
    She, seated on the bed
    might it have been half-past five? she said
    separated from what was to be
    arteries, body ticking like a watch’s plea.

    A double march going
    crime on one side, justice knowing
    tho’ not afraid, shuddered she
    of what was surely soon to be.

    Assailed by adventure unforeseen
    the day produced a hazy dream,
    to persuade it was a nightmare, no
    the moon disengaged from foggy bow
    and light, mingled with fallen snow

    Now twas light thru chamber hinge
    a hole shining with reddish tinge
    bloody, but not by a candle
    not a sound, not a soul was moving, able.

    no speaking, not a single breath
    silence glacial, profound, and death
    were it not for light in there
    now next to a sepulchre, where
    she seemed to say a little prayer.

    A lower door on hinges turned
    a heavy step on staircase, hastened the hovel’s eerie latch had lifted
    something on the table shifted
    and at once the horrid dream,
    like flour sifted.

    -Sandra Johnson, 6/22/19

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