Poetry Prompt: Getting Personal 

Painting by Astrid Bruning


My prompt at dVerse Poets Pub is up and it’s about writing a “personal ad” to collect your soul.

“Write a poem that only your intended audience will get. Show them who you are, not who you want the world to see. When I think of sample poems, Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ immediately comes to mind as he declares to the world in (at the time) scandalous free verse the celebration of love for both nature and humanity and how they carnally and spiritually intertwine within him.”

To see the full prompt, visit dVerse, and feel free to join in the engagement. Prompt closes this Thursday, June 7 at 1pm Rocky Mountain Time.

You can also see my example, New Refrain.

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Intrigued

Painting by Angela Moulton

Driving home with Taj Mahal barely on the stereo, as the sound of the southern valley wind through cracked windows was blasting in my ears, I rounded a curve on the descent into town and very clearly heard a call of the Western meadowlark to the east, then once again in the brush to the north. Was it possible for the birdsong to drift above the currents of the strong wind and make itself heard to this passing vessel? Perhaps, if only to drive home the lesson Read More

Gospel

Photography by Cindy M. Diaz

I crowned twilight with the breath of the mountain, diphthongs down the valley.
I found my flight on this diadem, opening mouth to allow vowels out
I wound them up with streams of clouds into a timbred halo, Read More

Storytime 

Painting by Julie Robertson

Your tangled blond curls and indigo snow boots as you sit, legs outstretched on the library floor

Maypole ribbons of language flaring from the page to touch your vast eyes and lioness laugh at all the good parts

The other kids lean on you — their protector — sensing you see what they cannot yet

Qohelet wisdom, and fear– a Serengeti carcass  Read More

Cracked

My docility seeming fragility
Have been spread too thin
Fear cracking high-altitude skin
Exposing the damage caused by elemental sin;
This is not how it’s supposed to be, friends,
Taking directives from directionless men and other dead ends.
We are Read More

Past

Mixed media drawing by Carne Griffiths

The exhaustion cuts, shards-of-broken-mirror style, contusions in the psyche realizing there have been twenty-eight jobs in fourteen years since I started my first at age fifteen. (To Joshua’s twenty-three since sixteen.) My mind experiences it most acutely, always trying so hard just to pay rent and maybe eat something, and of course the incessant criticism that chides, “And you’re glorifying God, how exactly?” Then the body manifests the fatigue, and at last the spirit gives in. And I’m not even counting the nights at Ralph’s in Costa Mesa where he would take glamour shots for eighty bucks, or making aspen bar stools and scattering the wood shavings in the forest, or dealing Texas Hold’em Read More