Prompt words for The Sunday Whirl are: spiral craft signal draft shallow rule dense send shell sham slapping laugh
“Life” for The Sunday Whirl Wordle 719, Aug 17, 2025
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Tag Archives: Shape Poem
For Thursday Tree Love, Apr 3, 2025
I just rediscovered this tree-shaped poem I wrote a few years ago and couldn’t resist posting it to this prompt.
For Thursday Tree Love, April 3, 2025
After 15 Years, for dVerse Poets Apr 25, 2024
If this poem left justifies, click on it to get it to center as it is a shape poem!
After 15 Years
Your memory cuts so sharply
through my dream’s beginning that I wake,
gasping like a fish on the sand
left by some fisherman
too intent upon his next catch
to end it cleanly.
In its tight skin,
I gasp for air,
rise as it cannot rise
and like you cannot rise
out to that night sea air
which is the only coolness
in a month of burned days.
My memory, curving round,
pulls in the memory of you
like gills seeking to understand
the waterless air.
Landed by some bigger fisherman
whose bait you couldn’t resist,
“Oh,” you said, just “Oh,”
before you took the hook,
slipping from my grasp
as I held on, held on,
let go.
This is one of the poems in my book of 50 years of love poems titled
If I Were Water and You Were Air, about to be published on Amazon.
Posted in response to the dVerse Poets Open Link Night.
See how others responded to the prompt HERE.
Interlopers, For NaPoWriMo 2024, Day 16
Interlopers
The little dog sleeps nestled.
No elbow room, even though
just two of us in this big bed.
A truck’s roar from the road
a mile away. Last night’s near
partiers now gone to bed, but
at 5 AM, the strains of music
from below, Sounds lifting up the mountains
like clouds to float above my bed.
For 15 years, I surrendered
my side of the bed to you.
23 years after, I still
sleep on
the
other side.
Fallen Woman
Sam has asked what tree we would choose to be and perhaps this is fudging a bit, but this is a poem I wrote a few years ago about the tree I am no doubt fated to become:
Fallen Woman
For Sam’s prompt: https://mcouvillion.wordpress.com/2023/01/01/which-tree-would-you-be/
Question and Answer
Question and Answer
When all our colors fade to white
and night is day and day is night,
and I am you and you are me,
erased for perpetuity,
when spectral is our whole domain,
when death obtrudes, what will remain?
When death obtrudes, what will remain?
When spectral is our whole domain,
and all our colors fade to white,
when night is day and day is night,
we will be one—our you and me
erased for perpetuity.
Prompt words today are perpetuity, erase, spectral, obtrude and white.
Junk Drawer
This is the prompt:
- First, find a song with which you are familiar – it could be a favorite song of yours, or one that just evokes memories of your past. Listen to the song and take notes as you do, without overthinking it or worrying about your notes making sense.
- Next, rifle through the objects in your junk drawer – or wherever you keep loose odds and ends that don’t have a place otherwise. (Mine contains picture-hanging wire, stamps, rubber bands, and two unfinished wooden spoons I started whittling four years ago after taking a spoon-making class). On a separate page from your song-notes page, write about the objects in the drawer, for as long as you care to.
- Now, bring your two pages of notes together and write a poem that weaves together your ideas and observations from both pages
Click on the arrow on the album to hear the song.
Shelter in Place
The dVerse Poet’s prompt today is the word “flush.” The poem is to be a quadrille—-exactly 44 words, not counting the title.
Early Morning Jazz
If you are viewing in Reader or on facebook, please click on the title or URL to view poem in its correct form.
Early Morning Jazz
The scrape of your chair.
The gentle tap of keys
as you, rhythmic early riser,
rouse the day.
I burrow deeper,
trying to ignore
Icicles
beating
your accompaniment
as
o
n
e
b
y
o
n
e
touched
by
sunlight,
they
loose
their
h
o
l
d
on the
frozen, silent
night.
Tailor of Mankind
Doll by Judy jdb photo
Tailor of Mankind
He thought he would be a tailor of men.
Then, “Woman!” he thought,
laughing as he
extracted a rib, seaming
hills and valleys, taking a subtle tuck
here, folding an excessive curve there
and there. Smoothing it over, shortening
a length. Extending another.
Making them fit and not fit.
Not a perfect pair but rather
thesis and antithesis,
yin
and
yang.
Anima
and
Animus
he shaped into each
in different quantities.
Then, he clothed perfection,
sheathing it and obscuring
differences to be discovered
under falling leaves, in darkness,
setting a whole world in motion.
Then he wept.
The prompt today is tailor.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 