Drove up from Georgia to Ohio last night, so I'm writing on 3 hours sleep this morning. Hopefully, I'll write something that makes at least a little sense. Then again, since yesterday's poem was titled "Dream," maybe it's better if I don't.

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "And then (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Some example titles could be: "And then Godzilla attacked Tokyo," "And then McDonald's opened a store on the moon," "And then nothing," "And then everything," "And then you probably have an even better idea for a poem title," etc.

Here's my attempt for today:

"And then he fell down"

A fog is another kind of ghost;
its breath presses the earth
and asks forgiveness before
the sun wishes it away. Our
dreams are clouds are ghosts
swimming across lakes we
imagined could drown us.

We find him French-kissing
under water; we find him
in love with our daughters;
we arrive with just enough
time to wave them off and
wonder if and wonder if
as if it could have been us.

*****

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For today's prompt, I want you to write an attachment poem. There are all kinds of attachments you could write about: physical, emotional, digital, etc. You could even write about your fear of attachment OR fear of no attachments OR fear of seeming to be afraid of attachment when really you're afraid of not being attached but you don't want other people to know that you know that...where was I?...oh yeah, write an attachment poem. Write it now.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Dream"

She walks into his room and starts talking
about how he's begun to float. "It's getting
a little out of hand," she says as she ties
some rope around his waist. He doesn't try
to stop her. In fact, he notices his feet
have left the ground completely. "See,"
she says, "Good thing I brought this rope."
He hopes it isn't serious as he floats
out the window. "I have you," she says,
"even if gravity doesn't." He wants to thank
her, but he can't remember how to talk.
He just rises higher as she continues to walk
beneath him, his legs and arms spread apart.
Below, she hides in the shadow of his heart.

*****

What do you get when you take a little poetry and a little dictionary and you mix them together? You get John Drury's Poetry Dictionary. It's filled with a load of poetic information. Click here to learn more about this and other writing titles today. 

After today's poem, we'll be 60% of the way through November. I can't believe how fast this month is moving. I've been dropping in and reading poems in the comments, and I'm looking forward to reading your chapbook manuscripts after this challenge is over. (Also, thanks for the kind words about my prompts and poems this month. Much appreciated.)

For today's prompt, I want you to write a slow poem. (If you want you can re-read that sentence in your best "slow motion" voice.) I'll let you decide what a slow poem should be.

Here's my attempt for today:

"Let us not go then, you and I"

Maybe we can feel the world turn
or watch the universe burn. We
could find the star giving the most

light as our hot sun sets the moon
on fire tonight. Shooting stars are
just meteoroids burning up

in the mesosphere; so keep your
fire near, dear, and we'll just stay here--
both burning so bright and so clear.

*****

Learn from the instructors at the Vermont College MFA Program in Words Overflown by Stars, edited by David Jauss. Click here to read more about this and other writing titles.

Sigh. Tuesday morning, and we've already had connectivity issues and a Turkish hacker (going by the handle Cyb3rking). But poetry is a powerful force that keeps on keeping on despite wind, rain, sleet, junk mail, global warming, asteroids, infomercials, etc.

As mentioned above, today is Tuesday, which means we've got a "Two for Tuesday" offering. Remember: With "Two for Tuesday" prompts, you can write to either one or both (or none, if that's how you roll). Here are the two prompts:

1. Write an explosion poem.

2. Write an implosion poem.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Black holes"

How they happen: A giant star
explodes. The explosion is called
supernova, which scatters most
of the star across outerspace
and leaves behind a dead remnant.

How they work: Alive, nuclear
fusion a giant star creates
balances the inward pull caused
by the gravity of its mass.
A giant dead remnant creates
no counter balance. It just sucks
so hard that even light cannot
escape, though only if objects
pass a point of no return called
darkly the event horizon.

Why they matter: Black holes cannot
be observed from the outside, so
we can only know they exist
by how they consume the burning
light produced by other objects.

*****

Want to get metrical for less than $7? Click here to learn more about Writing Metrical Poetry, by William Baer.

Oh yeah! We're more than half-way to the finish line; kind of hard to believe, eh?

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "Clouds (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and write the poem. Some examples: "Clouds float," "Clouds rain," "Clouds don't exist," "Clouds block my sunshine," "Clouds are cool," etc.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Clouds that don't bother to rain"

They hover over us and save
themselves for somewhere else.

We watch them pass like ghosts
searching for a better place to

haunt. We want nothing better
for our time than to see clouds

float to the horizon, followed
close by everything ever after.  

*****

Looking for poetic inspiration and instruction throughout the year? Look no further than Sage Cohen's Writing the Life Poetic. Click here to learn more about this and other writing titles today.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a hanging poem. There are a lot of things that can hang (some a bit more gruesome than others). You can hang clothes, pots and pans, pictures, and other inanimate objects; there's, of course, the kind of hangings that end lives; or you can even leave someone hanging (as Tammy pointed out to me). So, I'm not going to leave anyone hanging anymore today.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Hanging ghosts on trees"

All he needs is string, paper, and trashbags,
some branches to hold. If he reaches up,
he can tie them. In his dreams, paddle boats
are crossing the lake, and she swims across
to find him. They meet on the bridge that runs
over the stream where they would build a house
if they could. They come from both sides and meet
in the middle as the bridge lets loose. They
both, holding hands, fall and feel the cold rush
of water. And then, they see them hanging
from trees, blowing in the wind like autumn
leaves: 1,000 ghosts, trying to break free.

*****

For those interested in workshopping their poetry under the guidance of an instructor and with feedback from fellow poets, click here to learn about the Advanced Poetry Workshop offered by WritersOnlineWorkshops.com. Registration deadline is 12/24/09.

Sorry for the late start this morning. I was enjoying a rare chance to wake up and have breakfast with the family unit. Weekends only come once a week, you know.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem involving lines. There are several possible lines you could write about: shopping lines, pick-up lines, lines from movies or songs, lines drawn in the sand, lines that should not be crossed (physically or emotionally), and so on. If all else fails, remember: All poems consist of lines.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Fire lines"

If only the fire burned slower;
if only we weren't surrounded;
if only we weren't all about
consuming and being consumed,

maybe then, baby, we'd gather
the earth around us and push back;
maybe then we'd try slowing down;
maybe then we would be content

to circle this fire, both arm's length
apart, and watch it fail to jump
the line, watch it with abandoned
abandon as it slowly died.

*****

Want to boost your creativity with helpful prompts and useful tips? Click here to check out The Pocket Muse, by Monica Wood.

It's Friday the 13th! For whatever reason, weird stuff always seems to happen to me on these days; I hope today is an exception--unless, for once, it's a good weird thing.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a renewable poem. I suppose you could write about renewable energy or renewable books (from the library). But there are other ways to come at this, too. Vows are renewable, as are promises and oaths. In fact, if you think about it long enough, it's hard to think of things that aren't renewable. Now, get writing.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Phoenix"

She stands beside the fire with her
smile wired to the shadows licking
her face. He's not sure how to read
what she wants, so he doesn't try.

Instead, he walks over and pulls
her close. Enough with the guessing,
he thinks before leaning to kiss
those lips, cracking open with heat.

*****

Want to learn how to write better poetry in an online workshop environment? Click here to find out how.

Quick Note: Please refrain from posting multiple previously written (old) poems in the comments. While I'm fine with 6 brand new poems, posting several old poems is kind of not in the spirit of creating. Of course, it is fine to post an older poem every so often, but let's avoid an avalanche of previously written material. Anyone with Internet access can start a personal blog for free and do that kind of thing there.

*****

So yeah, we're 12 days into the challenge, which means we're 40% of the way through it. Feels like we just started, but here we are with 12 (or more) poems.

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "If only (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Example titles might be "If only we remembered our umbrellas," "If only the train came on time," or "If only, if only." The possibilities are endless.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"If only we lived in Kansas"

Holes worn into the knees of her blue jeans,
she walks around with a buckeye-filled shoe
and, with her hair pulled back, says, "We come here
once a year to collect these and throw them
at my uncle." She hands me an empty
shoe and walks away bare-footed. I walk
around the buckeye tree, but there are no
nuts to be found. Then, a boy approaches
with a stick, which he throws into the leaves.
Down fall several buckeyes. The boy scoops
them up and runs off, leaving his stick, which
I throw into the leaves making buckeyes
fall. I throw the stick again and again
and again thinking of how proud she'll be
with a thousand buckeye-filled shoes, thinking
of how her uncle will really get it
this year, thinking this is love. When the ground
around the tree is completely covered,
I realize that I have buried her shoe.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a construction poem. When you think of construction, you may think of cranes and bulldozers and safety goggles, but there are many other forms of construction--both big and small (and not all are by humans).

Here's my attempt for the day:

"So we built a house"

In a forest. Beside a stream.
It had a front porch and windows
in the kitchen above the sink.
We surrounded the house with eight
birdhouses. We made a garden
and shared our food with the other
woodland creatures. And then, people
followed the stream to our home and
liked what they saw. So they cut roads
through the forest to build their own
remote houses. They brought children
and work with them. They brought phone and
electric companies, even
parking lots and landfills. And yes,
the Internet arrived a bit
late (as you would expect). As we
washed our dishes by hand we watched,
and eventually, we moved.

Over the weekend, I purchased a copy of The Best American Poetry 2009, edited by David Lehman and David Wagoner. This has turned into an annual tradition, because the anthology brings together 75 poems (usually by 75 poets) by new-to-me poets and some familiar favorites. The 2009 edition actually includes two poets who've been interviewed on Poetic Asides: Denise Duhamel for "How It Will End" and Martha Silano for "Love." (Click here to read the Duhamel interview; click here to read the Silano interview.)

*****

Today is Tuesday, so it's a Two for Tuesday prompt! Here are your two options:

1. Write a love poem.
2. Write an anti-love poem.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Front porch, windows for kitchen"

Something as simple as leaving the couch
to answer the phone. He feels his vision
closing, his body tightening. He sits
down in a pool of darkness, a shallow
dream. Everywhere, voices are searching.

Leaving the company of people is
disconcerting. She discerns a nothing
in his eyes, so she looks into them and
talks. She breathes her life into his mouth and 
knows this is the moment she always feared.

What would happen if they found their dream house,
but it was engulfed in flames? Would they try
to put it out? Would they ring all the bells
in town for help? Or would they hold their hands
together tight and watch the damn thing burn?

Remember: If you want an easy way to communicate about the November PAD Chapbook Challenge, you can join the #novpad discussion on Twitter. (And if you're not already, you can follow me @robertleebrewer.)

*****

For today's prompt, I want you to write a slippery poem. The subject can be about something slippery (snake, soap, etc.), or the poem itself can deal with a slippery subject (I'm thinking big concepts like that have words ending in -ism might fit the definition of a slippery subject). If in doubt, just write.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"notveryreadableforhumans"

Do not use the words crash or burn
at the airport. If I could, I would
make every kiss her kiss. On the clouds
below, a golden halo forms around
the shadow of our airplane. Our shadows
slide across the pavement. Our brains
are targets for marketing departments.

I'm not sure if she thinks about me
when I'm a mile above the earth
or wondering how long until we land.

Now, when my heart skips a beat,
I'm not sure if it's love or a signal
to call the doctor. Maybe the doctor
can tell me if it's love or something else.

Over by the buckeye tree, I watch
them all crash and burn. The teens
who live here slide in together. They
just don't know any better. I made
the same mistakes they will. Somewhere
below, a door creaks open. Somewhere
above, I slide through the stratosphere
and think about the way she kisses.

The heavy silence of early morning
when the sun rises whether I'm ready
or not. Anything new is a fear; we
are number one for take off. We
hope we won't crash and burn.

Quick note: There seems to be some confusion over writing to a theme for the chapbook challenge. You do NOT need to write to a theme. If you do (as I've been trying to do throughout this month), then great. But it's not mandatory. Because while a theme may help enhance the success of a chapbook, what really matters is that it contain spectacular poems.

*****

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "Should (blank)," replace the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and write your poem. Examples could be "Should I Buy This Outfit," "Should You Leave Before I Buy This Outfit," or "Should This Outfit Be in the Title? You Don't Even Know What This Outfit Looks Like Anyway." The Clash even wrote a song to this prompt (okay, they didn't write a song to this prompt, but their song fits this prompt) called, "Should I Stay or Should I Go?"

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Should She Burn Across the Atmosphere"

Here is the hand she held. Hers closed over mine
as if it were a trap. We stared across the field
and started walking to the forest. The deep, dark
forest. She may have nudged my foot. She may
have suggested the plan. We may have devised
the plan together. On second thought, we may
not have had a plan. But soon, the field turned
to fire, and we were both running. And laughing.
Because there was no escape. Because this is
exactly what we wanted: to run and to burn.

After finishing today's poem, we'll be a full week through the challenge! Can you feel what I feel? That's right, it's progress!

For today's prompt, I want you to pick a plant (any plant), make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Pretty simple. (Or is it?) Most people, including myself, immediately think of plants as organic creatures, but, of course, "plants" can also be places of employment or spies or...as you can see, there's always room for breaking outside the lines.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Dionaea Muscipula"

Or more commonly, Venus Flytrap,
named for the Roman goddess of love:

This small carnivorous plant catches
animal prey that trips the bulb-like

trap. Each plant has four to seven leaves;
if it appears to have more, this is

a colony formed by rosettes split
underground. Found in nitrogen-poor

environments, the Venus Flytrap
tolerates fire well. In fact, Venus

depends on periodic burning
for its very survival. And rest.

Without a period of winter
dormancy, Venus Flytraps weaken

and die. Plants that find favorable
living conditions will live twenty

to thirty years resting and burning.
 

Wow! We're already 20% of the way through this here challenge. Those who are behind or just getting started still have plenty of time to catch up, and those who've been keeping up can feel pretty good about the progress they've already made. And it's Friday! Yay!

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with (or about) someone (or something) covered. A person could be covered with a blanket or blanketed with darkness. Something could be covered by water or earth or anything you can think, I guess. Or you could write a poem about how you "have it covered," I suppose.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Running it into the ground"

Saying it doesn't mean you mean it,
but if you mean it, you should say it,
and say it like you mean it, even if
you're not sure what you should say
or how to say it so that she knows
you really mean it, because she will
either believe that you mean it when
you say it or she won't, or she won't
know how to let you know that she
believes you mean it when you say it
like you mean it, because she's not
used to having someone say it like
he means it and really means it, so do
not let intent (yours or hers) hold you
back from saying what you mean when
you really mean it, because you really
could be damned if you do and damned
if you don't, but you won't really know
where you stand unless you mean it.

*****

If you want to discuss this prompt or poem, or just want to communicate with other poets throughout the month of November, go to Twitter.com and search on the hashtag #novpad. (And be sure to follow my Tweets from my handle @robertleebrewer.)

*****

If you want a resource to help you publish your poems after the month of November is over, then you should check out the 2010 Poet's Market (also known as the best Poet's Market ever). Click here to learn more.

Over on Twitter, @taunalen created a hashtag for everyone to communicate about the November PAD Chapbook Challenge easily. The hashtag is #novpad. Just use the search box on the right-hand side of the Twitter application and search for novpad and you can participate in an ongoing conversation that might even go into January (as everyone revises and organizes their actual chapbook manuscripts). Use the hashtag to share comments/critiques of posted poems, links to your November PAD Chapbook Challenge poems on your personal blogs, revision tips, and whatever else springs to mind. 

Also, if you're on Twitter and not following me yet, you can do so by finding me @robertleebrewer.

*****

For today's prompt, I want you to write a growth poem. This could be psychological or emotional growth, physical growth, or however you'd like to take it. Maybe your poem is about growing hair or growing hungry or growing impatient or...

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Don't grow old on me"

I was frightened to think I could
ever die, that I would die. Would
you look for me if I were lost? I'm
at the place where you got your
bike. Push throw to catch. Go back.
Two, one. It's in a building. And it's
somebody's. But you have to teach
it to fly. Look what I got. That's what
I have. In the middle of battle, they
can evolve. They can all evolve. But
it takes awhile. At the town right
before, you finally held my hand.

Everyone's doing a great job so far! I'm already getting excited to see what kind of manuscripts will be trickling in during December and January.

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "Maybe (blank)," replace the (blank) with a word or phrase, and write a poem using that new phrase as your title. Some example titles: "Maybe we really did need a bigger boat," "Maybe next time you'll listen to me," "Maybe never," "Maybe baby," and so on.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Maybe my pulse"

A plane passes low
so that I wonder if
it will clear the trees.

Seriously, an asteroid
could be headed
for me right now.

The very next car
that runs a red light
may find me walking

across the street,
my feet heavy
with wondering how

and when I will go.
But it doesn't matter
as long as she is there

to lean over me, breathe
into me, and coax me
out of the darkness.

Well, I finally have Internet access again today. What a rough start to the challenge! On a positive note, I'm glad Brian was helping out, because he's the WritersDigest.com editor and was able to get everything working faster on Day 1 as a result. Just some super duper bad timing. Ugh!

*****

Today is a Tuesday, which means it's a "Two for Tuesday" prompt day. You can choose your favorite prompt; you can write one poem for each prompt; and/or you can blend the two prompts together. Your choice.

Prompt #1: Write a positive poem. Like how great writing a poem a day through November is.

Prompt #2: Write a negative poem. Like how un-great technological hiccups in November are.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Negative Option"

Beyond this stream is a tree
in which she hides, ringing her bell
softly and waiting for the man
who wears wings and who she
wishes to surrender herself, but

he wanders inside a cave, feeling
his way along the stone walls, praising
the echo of his own footsteps and
the scraping of his wings. Meanwhile,

she waits and waits and knows
that no one will ever die and stay
dead. Of this, she is positive.

*****

Want to talk poetry today? Every Tuesday, we have a poetic discussion on Twitter, using the hashtag #poettues. If you use Twitter, be sure to friend me @robertleebrewer and join the conversation (or follow along silently). See you there!

First off, the November PAD Chapbook Challenge is all about the fun and poeming! During the month of November, don't worry so much about finished drafts; just get the rough drafts cranked out each day. After all, you've got December (and the rest of your life, for that matter) to edit.

That said, let's bring on the bulleted list:

• You do NOT have to register anywhere to participate in the challenge. (Though if you want updates from the blog each day, you can sign up for an e-mail update or via RSS in the upper left-hand corner over there.)
• The Challenge will begin sometime on the morning of November 1 (Eastern Time U.S.). The time can vary, but don't worry if your day is ending as this blog's is beginning, because...
• The Challenge will continue until noon (Eastern Time U.S.) on December 1.
• Beginning December 1, all participants will have the month of December to revise and organize their November poems into manuscripts of 10-20 pages (no more than one poem per page, though it's okay to have one poem that runs for multiple pages).
• By midnight January 5, 2010, poets will need to e-mail their manuscripts (saved as either .doc or .txt) to me at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com with the subject line: My 2009 November PAD Chapbook MS
• Poets do not have to post their poems to the blog to participate, BUT it's a lot more fun for everyone if you do. (And remember: This is all about fun and poeming, yo!)
• I'll go through the manuscripts with the assistance of my wife, Tammy Foster Brewer (who's actually had two chapbooks published now, so she's kinda like an expert), and we'll announce a winner on Groundhog Day 2010.

There may be other rules, details, etc., which I've somehow overlooked, added later, but this gives a pretty good idea of what to expect. Can't wait to see everyone on Sunday morning!

There will be no more Wednesday Poetry Prompts until December, because we're only days away from starting the 2nd annual November PAD Chapbook Challenge! That means a prompt and poem each day of November! So, I thought today might be good for a tune up or exorcism.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a bad poem. Take bad in any direction you want, but for me, I'm going to try to just write a horrible poem. (This where the hecklers can shout out, "Why try when it comes natural?") Anyway, let's get bad!

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Poem"

When I get really blue
or say "aaaaa-choo!"
or play the fool,
I think of you,

sweet, sweet linebreaking,
image making,
love forsaking

document.
What I meant
or what I want to vent
is not as important
as how the words are bent

or interpreted.
My heart beats red;
rhymes roll from my head;
I write what I should've said;
and I hope sweet poem you will never ever be dead.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write an overextended poem. That is, I want you to write a poem about someone or something that is being stretched too thin. For instance, a co-worker with too much work to do, or a balloon that is being filled with air to the point it is about to pop.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Too many balls"

In the air. A wind,
a whistle. We found him
in the ditch along 73,
a smile on his face. No
telling if he swerved
for a deer or for himself.

Online, we tweet and
twitter like birds. Can we
exist in more than one
place at once? We can,
we must. Our smiles will
tell the stories we can't.

We found him and
that is the end. Or is it?
We scrape and scatter
theories off the road,
the grass. We rule out
everything we can't touch.

The sun is the wind
is the weather that covers
us in rain. We're having
an American party--
one with no reason,
one with no end.

*****

Advanced Poetry Writing workshop with Joyce Ferman Wells begins tomorrow (with registration open until 10/27/09). If you're interested, click here. 

That's right! We're still getting April sorted out, but the 2nd annual November PAD Chapbook Challenge is just around the corner. Every day in November, I'll post a prompt and poem. If you want, you can join in the fun, too.

At the end of November, each poet should have 30 (or more) poem rough drafts. During the month of December, you can edit, revise and organize a manuscript of 10-20 pages of poetry (no more than one poem per page) that you'll submit by January 2, 2010.

Then, Tammy and I will go through the manuscripts and select a winner, which will be announced on February 2--along with a handful of honorable mentions.

I'm not sure what the prizes involved with the challenge may or may not be, but it's more about the challenge of writing a poem a day in November and getting a chapbook manuscript together. I know I'm getting excited thinking about it.

More details will be on the way, but I just want everyone to start preparing and getting psyched up for the challenge now!

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "I think (blank)" and fill in the blank with a word or phrase. Make this the title of your poem for today. Then, write the poem.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"I think the world is a pin cushion"

There's a space between everyday matters
that makes someone feel every day matters,
a breath or sigh in the darkness. We surround
our time with excuses and distractions, bind
those we love with commitments when we
should be splashing in puddles while the rain
covers us in nothing more than what it is.

*****

Thanks to the Kind Over Matter blog, which has posted my attempt for the day on their weekly Wednesday poetry feature. Click here to check out the poem with an accompanying (and appropriate) image. (Thanks to Amanda Oaks at Verve Bath Press!)

*****

Looking for more poetry-related information?

• For poetic forms, CLICK HERE
• For interviews with poets, CLICK HERE
• For the free monthly Poet’s Market newsletter, CLICK HERE
• For discounted poetry references, CLICK HERE
• For poetry listings on WritersMarket.com, CLICK HERE
• For 2010 Poet's Market, CLICK HERE

We had a fun poetry discussion on Twitter yesterday. It went so well that I think we'll continue meeting on Tuesdays. If you want to find what was said, just go to Twitter and search for #poettues. Today's prompt was actually inspired during the conversation (thanks to @martinjason and @ronbaker).

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about finding something that doesn't belong where it is. The examples from the discussion were to find a collection of Pablo Neruda poetry in the children's section of a library with the counter-example of finding a children's book in the poetry section. Pure chaos! (By the way, I don't know if I belong on Twitter or not, but you can find me at @robertleebrewer).

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Note found beneath the wiper blade"

This is your last chance. If you don't
come to me today and confess
you were wrong, I'm on the first plane
back to Hawaii. If you won't
have me, the volcano gods will.

*****

Looking for more poetry-related information?

• For poetic forms, CLICK HERE
• For interviews with poets, CLICK HERE
• For the free monthly Poet’s Market newsletter, CLICK HERE
• For discounted poetry references, CLICK HERE
• For poetry listings on WritersMarket.com, CLICK HERE
• For 2010 Poet's Market, CLICK HERE

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a discovery poem. You can go "old school" and write about a discovery that's already been made; you can go "sci-fi" and imagine discoveries yet to be made; you can go all "Bukowski" and share your own personal discoveries; or you can "discover" a direction completely different.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Standing on bridges"

The worst part is that the doctors make
no discoveries. Instead, they tell me never
to let myself fall and turn blue again. My boys
are taught how to dial 9-1-1 if I do. Part
of me prepares for every bridge I cross
to collapse. I know it's dangerous to think
that way. The rain is coming down hard.
Much of Atlanta has flooded or is flooding.

On the news, a man talks about watching
a car drive into a river: "The bridge was out.
I was on the other side waving my hands and
yelling. There was nothing I could do." Life
and death are like that. We can scream
to the heavens and wave our hands in the air,
but in the end, we make our own discoveries;
we stand up and hope that we won't fall.

*****

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As some of you may have heard, Atlanta was hit with some massive rain at the beginning of the week (after a lot of rain last week) that caused some record flooding throughout the area. Bridges washed out, Interstates more than 6 feet below water, and some fatalities. Luckily, our family is fine; Reese even got two days of no school.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a disaster poem. It can be large or small in scope. It can be a natural disaster like the flooding or a man-made disaster--or even a disaster caused by aliens or something.

Here's my attempt:

"Mud Flood of Doom"

Reese stands on the window sill and
peers over the ledge. "I've never
seen a flood before," he tells me.

Somewhere between here and her work,
Tammy is merging to the left,
because the right lanes are flooded.

On the TV, the reporters
have never seen anything like
this before, say, hundred-year flood.

Will rocks in his swing and listens
to the rain pelt the windows, pound
the earth, searching for a river.

When I moved to Atlanta, they
were experiencing the worst
drought ever; now they'll feel the flood.

*****

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It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it is a dark and stormy night. Earlier, it was a dark and stormy day. Stormy enough to knock out the electricity when I was half-way through typing up today's prompt. Believe me, I realize the irony of the situation. In a moment, I'm sure you'll recognize the irony, too.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about starting over. Think of a situation in which you could hit a re-start button involving yourself, some one (or thing) else, an idea, etc. As with all these prompts, I'm sure there are several different paths we can follow.

With my fingers crossed that the power won't go out again, here's my attempt for the day:

"Finding patterns"

In the year of the days, the monsters
are attacking themselves and everything
that crosses their paths. Those monsters
are blinded when the flashlights dance
into corners frequented by spiders. Poor
Stacy isn't sure what will happen next:

She's already been clubbed by a troll and
trampled by an army of zombies. Once, a car
ran her over while she crossed the street.
Reese includes her in his stories--with her
always by his side--but he denies he likes
her. Easier to throw Stacy under a bus.

*****

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Wow! Today is 09/09/09. As someone who got married on 08/08/08 (at 8:08--in the p.m.--no less), I can totally appreciate the effect of numbers in the writing of others. After all, numbers and letters are basically the same thing: symbols representing something else.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem that incorporates numbers in some fashion. The title could be a number. The end word for each line could be a number (maybe even a counting sestina?). There are a number of ways you could come at this one.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Counting"

Reese is five years old;
Jonah is six. Benjamin
is eight, and Will is, too,
though he's still in months.

I turned 31 earlier
this year, but I have no
idea how old my grandmother
is. She may not even know.

We visited her and grandpa
today, and she asked me
six times if I had seen
dad's new house. His last

move was more than 10
years ago. She disappeared
into the house one minute
after grandpa got everyone

drinks before reappearing
with four pops. Grandpa
smiled and had her sit down
while he took them back inside.

Left alone with her, there
was little left for us to say.
The sun shining and a nice
breeze, we both just smiled.

*****

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For most of my life, I've encountered complete strangers who've taken the liberty of shortening my name from Robert to Bob or Rob or Bo or even Bill (click here if you're interested in reading me rant about the subject on my personal blog). Another common mistake is to mispronounce my last name as "Brower" instead of as "Brewer." I know most people encounter this phenomenon of mislabeling regularly, whether it's their name or something related to their work or hobbies, etc.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem that deals with some form of mislabeling. The poem could deal with getting someone's name wrong, slight mistakes on signage, etc. I'm really interested in seeing how "out there" this prompt might get.

Here's my attempt:

"My Name Is Not Bob"

Or Rob or Bo or Robby
or Bobby. I don't go by Bill
or Bert. I won't answer to Mr. Brewer
or Lee, though those are better than Mr. Brower
or Leah. No, I really just prefer Robert
or Robert Lee or Robert Brewer
or Robert Lee Brewer.
Or "Hey, you."

*****

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(Sorry for the late prompt today. The day job has required a lot of my immediate attention--like 14 hours yesterday and another 9 already today--so I'll go out on a limb and predict that the Poetry Workshop will not happen tomorrow and possibly not even next week. However, I do have some great news: We received copies of Tammy's 2nd chapbook today, No Glass Allowed, published by Amanda Oaks at verve bath press.)

For today's poem, I want you to write a mistake poem. That is, I want you to write a poem about a mistake you've made, someone else has made, or even what can happen (or has happened) as a result of a mistake. How do mistakes affect people? The environment? Etc.? There are a lot of ways you can attack this prompt.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Albuquerque"

He should've taken a left he tells her,
and she smiles. She didn't expect to find
him or this coffee shop today. "I was
just following my feet," she says, "and they
led me here." "Where are they headed next,"

he asks. "That's a pretty personal question,
mister," she says. "I had a destination,"
he says, "but it's not important now. I'm
sure my friends will understand." She
smiles, he thinks, like a model. "Anyway,

I have no plans the rest of the day."
She says, "I guess that makes two of us."

*****

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(Quick note: If you're interested in following more than one blog authored--or bloggered--by myself, then feel free to check out my new personal blog at http://robertleebrewer.blogspot.com.)

*****

For this week's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "Better safe than (blank)," fill in the blank with a word or phrase, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem. Your title could be "Better safe than late for dinner," or "Better safe than exceptionally gifted," or you can go the "safe" route with "Better safe than sorry." Your poem, your choice.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Better safe than lost"

He watches the sun rise out of the trees
and stretches his legs. He listens to birds
sing and cars rush past headed to work
and school. He starts running against
the wind and toward the woods. A trail
he loves is in there that twists and turns,
works up and down. He listens to his shoes
on blacktop then grass then the dirt and
rocks of the trail. Even though he's run
this path every morning for more than five
years, he immediately misjudges a step
and twists his ankle. But he continues
running anyway. The pain makes him feel
more alive somehow. He runs up and down
hills, through spider webs. Soon he's running
across a wooden bridge over a wide creek.
Half-way across, he stops. A raccoon is
splashing around in the water unaware
of the man in running shoes. The raccoon
twists and turns with a wood box. He
stands there on the middle of the bridge
for what feels like forever just watching
the animal play in the cool of the creek,
wishing he could be down there with it--
completely unaware of the world. Then,
he and the raccoon tense, both startled
by the sound of an approaching runner.

*****

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I always keep pens with me. And usually paper, though I've been known to write on anything near me if needed: Post-It notes, receipts, envelopes, brochures, napkins, etc. Often, I'll write out a few lines, and those lines will either lead to more lines (and eventually--hopefully--a poem) or that's where the fun will stop: just a few lines. I copy all my lines into those marbled Composition notebooks whether they turn into poems or not. The reason?

Because every so often, I'll go through my notebooks and play a little game with the following rules:

1. Gather up a lot of lines from different sources. The lines can be stand alone thoughts or good lines from abandoned poems.
2. Try to make a poem out of these lines.

You can add new lines, too, if you want. But the fun of this game is trying to take a bunch of little nothings and turn it into a big (or little, I suppose) something.

Here are some random lines I've got together:

* sprawl la la la la

* I've been waiting all night

* Define yourself by what you like
   not by what you don't like

* situational ethics

* it's not the rain
   but the puddles
   that freak me out
   when I'm driving

* our toothbrushes lean into each other
   when we travel and when we forget one
   toothbrush we don't hesitate to share 

* All the ways you can hurt a man
   while tucking your hair behind your ears
   and squinting into the sun. Chewing gum
   with your mouth open, you pull
   your sunglasses over your eyes
   before leaving me alone beside the pool.

* Babies like to touch stuff

* these are the things we tell each other
   and the things we don't

* I've come for your taxes

* If I were born of the sea,
   I would carve your face
   upon a coral reef. My bottle
   would float its message
   for you to read. I would wait
   until the planet warmed...

* I got some kind of guilt

* let the old folks die
   let them wither and die

* Like this girl walking...

* I could tell you to prepare
   for the unexpected but we both
   know there's no point

* Blame it all on the girlfriend

* I can't figure your signals out anymore.

(That's a good starting point, I think.)

*****

"Situational ethics"

Blame it all on the girlfriend:
She's been waiting all night
for him to say, "I got some
kind of guilt." But he's a big
baby, and babies like to touch

stuff. Like this girl walking
while tucking hair behind
her ears and squinting into
the sun, she chews gum
with her mouth open and

leaves him alone beside
the pool to think, "If I were
born of the sea, I would
carve your face upon a coral
reef. My bottle would float

its message for you to read:
Let the old folks die; let
them wither and fade
as we sprawl la la la la
across the salty waves."

She points at the clock, says,
"I can't figure your signals
out anymore." He says, "I
could tell you to prepare
for the unexpected, but we

both know there's no point."
He defines himself by what
he likes, not by what he
doesn't like. So he shows
her their toothbrushes,

how they lean into each
other when they travel,
"And when we forget one
toothbrush, we don't hesitate
to share," he says. These

are the things they tell
each other and the things
they don't. "It's not the rain
but the puddles that freak
me out when I'm driving,"

she says. He pulls her close
and leans down to tell her,
"I've come for your taxes."

*****

Best poem? No.

Fun? Yes. And now, I've got a bonafide poem that I can try revising.

Try it out with your own lines.

*****

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Since my two oldest sons live in Ohio and I live in Georgia, I travel a lot so that I can still be involved in their lives. It means that I spend two weekends and the week between in Ohio each month, which also means I spend that same time away from my wife and other two boys. So I always feel like I'm returning to someone.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a return poem. The return element can play a small or large role in the poem. Someone can be returning; someone can be waiting for another's return; or you can get even more creative (y'all constantly surprise and amaze me). Heck, I guess it could even be a poem about returning a book to the library or returning a box of stuff to an ex-lover.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"In a Mood"

Every billboard and cross
along the side of the road
has a story to tell,

but she's a blank slate,
a carpe diem waiting to happen--
so she doesn't hold back

when she tells him,
"List every girl you ever
had a crush on, and then,

count the ways
I don't measure up."
He knows this is a trap,

but he drives on anyway
looking out for speed cops
in the median. A light flashes

CHECK ENGINE within
the first hour, so he pulls
into a gas station to check

the fluids, the gas cap.
"Do you know where
you are," she asks

when she returns with
a bag of boiled peanuts
and a Coke. "Listen,"

he says, motioning her
over to his side of the car,
"I just need one bed

and you, and I'm happy."
She rolls her eyes and
jumps in the passenger seat.

"We're never going to make it
on time," she says, "you
know that, don't you?"

He doesn't believe
in quitting and thinks,
Maybe if I ignore

the CHECK ENGINE light,
it'll go away. They pass
over the Tennessee mountains

and into Kentucky without
stopping. She closes her eyes,
puts her naked feet

on the dashboard, crossing
one foot over the other.
He notices every animal

laying dead along the side
of the Interstate. The sun
shines and then it doesn't

and then it does. He thinks,
How many Waffle House
locations can one man

see before the universe
splits in half and sucks
him under? She wakes up

screaming before glancing
over at him. "I can't ever
take back the things you did,"

she says, "in my dream
just now." He's had enough:
"But I was in the car

beside you this whole time."
She turns her back to him,
"But you weren't by my side

in my dream." Frustrated,
he wonders, How many bugs
can one windshield hit

before there's no visibility?
Then, it begins to rain.
"What in God's name

happened to the 'no chance
of rain' today," he asks.
"Your problem," she says,

"is that you're not realistic.
We're never going to make
it home in time. No matter

how early we leave or
whether or not there's rain
or if the CHECK ENGINE light

is on or off. Your father's
dead, and you missed
your chance. We're just

returning to an empty shell."
He thinks, Not every hilltop
has a cemetery, but

so many do. "I was in a mood
when I told you what I told you
in your dream," he says.

Just then, the CHECK ENGINE
light flickers off, the rain
moves on, and so do they.

*****

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Sorry for the late prompt. But I'm on vacation. And the good kind. Where I'm not on the computer the whole time. And one where I can spend time with all four of my boys (and even one of their cousins). And one where I can read literary journals. And collections of poetry. And even IKEA catalogs (actually haven't read that yet, but found it in the mail moments ago).

So anyway, I've been on vacation and soaking it up.

*****

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about something you've been through. For instance, you may have been through a divorce, a car wreck, bankruptcy, detention, or the flu. Please make the something you've been through the title of your poem and go from there.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Hydroplaning"

Rolling Stones play "Ruby Tuesday"
on New Year's Day through southern Kentucky
Ben and Jonah asleep in the backseat
as their mother falls in and out up front
rain beats on the windshield and blacktop
water pushes through the rocks
puddles along the edge of the Interstate
even at 50 miles-per-hour this car
moves faster than most and then I feel
the wheels turn in a direction I did not intend
and before I can stop myself I try to correct
our trajectory which only spins us faster
one.....two.....three times into the guard rail
their mother screaming "omygodomygodomygod"
as I hold the wheel steady and wait
for everything to stop and hope we aren't
blindsided by a truck that can't stop behind us
and then the car stops and we're facing
the railing and blocking the first lane
and Ben and Jonah and their mother are all
screaming and I'm thinking "is everyone okay?"

I admit it; I'm one of those weird people who actually loves the 80's movie Ishtar that starred Warren Beatty and Dustin Hoffman as struggling musicians. In true 80's movie style, this movie has an incredible plot, but what I love the most is how the characters played by Beatty and Hoffman are always creating new songs--from "Hot fudge love, cherry ripple kisses" to the scenes with both working on a song with the line "telling the truth can be dangerous business" this movie is a must-see for all who haven't. But this is not a movie review.

For this week's prompt, I was inspired by that line "telling the truth can be dangerous business," and I want you to write a poem that deals with telling the truth--or even with telling a lie. It can be dangerous business, especially if the news is bad. I hope that this prompt is not as big a flop as Ishtar (again, go see it).

Here's my attempt for the day:

"The Review"

We appeared at the designated time
and place. We ate the hors d'oeuvres,
but we can't remember one painting
that will stick with us past this week.

*****

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I always love this time of year because of the Tour de France. Lance Armstrong is back cycling, but it's obvious his teammate Alberto Contador (who I love watching race) is going to win this year unless something catastrophic happens. My love continually grows for the Tour because of the combination of ability and strategy that makes for great sport.

For today's prompt, I want you to write a competitive poem. That is, I want you to write a poem about a competition of some sort. Could be an athletic competition, academic competition, the age old competition of survival of the fittest, or even the competitive art of getting published.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Complementary"

She arrives home early from work
and begins cooking. He follows

minutes after with the children
who he helps finish their homework

before they all sit together
at the table to eat. Then, he

washes the dishes as she puts
the kids in the bath tub. They both

get the children dressed and ready
for bed--taking turns reading books

and telling stories. When the kids
finally fall asleep, both race

each other to get into bed.

My oldest boy just turned eight last Friday, and I'm turning 31 on Saturday. (Oddly enough, my son turning eight is the number that makes me feel older out of the two events.) But the subject of birthday poems got me thinking about event poems--poems that mark an event.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write an event poem. Remember: Event poems can cover happy events like birthdays and weddings, but they can also mark funerals or divorces. If possible, try making the title of your poem the actual event.

Here's my attempt for this week:

"Movie Night"

Mom calls in the boys from outside
chasing lightning bugs as the sun
bends away from their neighborhood
street lights turning on and shining
against the houses filling up
with families. Father carries
popcorn into the living room
and clicks on the television.
The boys yell and swat each other
as mom and dad tell them to quit
or else. But when the movie starts
everyone hushes real quick.

Wow! Two late prompts in a row. It's not intentional--just trying to put out some fires at work this morning/early afternoon. Fun times! Actually, that would make a great prompt.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem about putting out fires (either literally or metaphorically). After I write my attempt, I'm going to get back to fighting mine.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Cutting back"

Water seeping through carpet
and strange noise rattling
through the wall like a tornado
trying to sound like a train
trying to sound like an automotive
assembly line. Birds still twitter
in the trees and thunderstorm
passes with its thunderclaps
and computer flickering
when they clap close enough.
"It never ends," says the man
who comes to check out the wet
spot in the carpet before leaving
without any word on whether
he plans on coming back to fix.
"I'll tell you it just never ends."

Sorry for the late start this morning; I went for an early morning run, had a couple meetings, and yadda-yadda-yadda, here it is the early afternoon. Oh well, sometimes it's good to get off to a late start, right?

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem that has the title "Nobody's worth (blank)" in which you replace the (blank) with a word or phrase. For instance, you could have the following titles: "Nobody's worth a nickel;" "Nobody's worth that kind of headache;" or "Nobody's worth missing the Ohio State-Michigan game."

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Nobody's worth killing over"

I can get so angry sometimes
over the smallest things: a flat
tire, slow website, prerecorded
messages trying to sell me
random services and products.

Then, there's the big stuff: women and
children raped and murdered, people
exploited by the leaders of
countries and companies, long lines
when my boys need to go "potty."

While having breakfast this morning,
Reese said, "They should stop releasing
atomic bombs, because all these
monsters are getting loose." He meant
Godzilla, Mothra, and other

kaiju from Japanese monster
movies. He meant he's noticing
too many bad things happening
on this planet. It's time to quit
fighting and preparing to fight,

because nothing conflict begets
conflict. Releasing atomic
bombs creates a monster or wakes
one from its sleep. Then we all pay
whether interested or not.

Since it's the first prompt of summer (at least in the Northern Hemisphere), let's write a summer poem. You can write about a summer activity, summer heat, summer flowers, or summer whatever.

Here is my attempt for the day:

"Summer Song"

The fireflies rise out of the grass
as the sun fades into the west
and the cars' headlights shine through glass

to ward off the threat of a crash.
Watch for wayward deer up ahead
where fireflies rise out of the grass

and other creatures sometimes pass
like wandering souls of the dead
as the cars' headlights float by fast.

If a witch, then a spell to cast
filling children with awesome dread
when fireflies rise out of the grass.

She tells the boy to hit the gas,
though the sign reads FLAGGER AHEAD.
As the cars' headlights float by fast

boy and girl feel alive at last.
Both disappear around the bend,
and fireflies rise out of the grass
as the cars' headlights float on past.

What would you do if you happened to win $1,000,000 today (tax-free, no less)? Would you run out and buy a house? A car? Pay off debt? Throw the biggest party ever? I'm sure we'd all react differently, soooo...

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem related to getting a million dollars. You can focus on what you'd do with the money. Or you can focus on an object you'd buy with the money. Or you can focus on a related action. You could even write about the negative things that could happen if you were suddenly rich (think John Steinbeck's The Pearl).

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Rich"

Bye-bye debt; hello house
in two states: Ohio
and Georgia.  I travel
by plane. Make stops in New
York with Tammy. Explore
the country. Keep working,
writing and spending time
with family. Maybe
open up a bookstore.

Our house is filled with reading materials. Books, comic books, newspapers (old and new), our own writing (whether Tammy's, mine own, or the boys'), literary journals, and magazines. I feel strongly that the more you read the easier it is to write well. After all, everything I read is being enjoyed by me as a reader, but it's also being studied and analyzed by me as a writer. And, of course, reading can kickstart my own writing.

For today's prompt, I want you to take a headline from a magazine, newspaper, or website and make it the title of your poem. Then, write a poem. You can find your own (and please reference where you found it), or use one of the following (taken from magazines in our apartment):

• Why You Eat More in Winter (Shape Magazine)
• The Best Gifts for Runners (Runner's World)
• Games to Grow By (Playing With Your Baby)
• Simple Storage Solutions (Family Circle)
• Tasty Ghoulish Goodies (Halloween)
• A Perfect Wreck in the Tetons (Backpacker)
• Out With the Other Woman (US Weekly)

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Why You Eat More in Winter"

There's a hunger for the sun
and then a fear of evening
gaining traction. You want
to forget you could cramp
in swimming pools. Of course,
holidays will have their way
with your waistline. Plus,
nobody leaves their homes
anymore. They sit and wait
for the cold wind. They pine
away for another heat wave.

Looking back, I often feel like my father raised me almost entirely on adages and sayings like "early bird gets the worm" and "you snooze you lose." Another of his favorites was that we were always "burning daylight."

For this week's prompt, I want you to take an adage or popular saying and make that the title of your poem; then, of course, write the poem. There are so many possibilities: "Right as rain," "Better safe than sorry," "Penny earned is a penny saved," etc.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"You snooze you lose"

You booze you snooze;
you snooze you lose;

you lose you quit;
you quit you sit;

you sit you think;
you think you sink;

you sink you cry;
you cry you lie;

you lie you sin;
you sin you gin;

you gin you smoke;
you smoke you croak;

you croak you snooze;
you snooze you lose.

There are so many things that seem obvious on the surface. But when you look beneath the surface, you may find surprises. Houses that are beautiful on the outside may be completely torn up on the inside; super athletes can be ticking timebombs for heart attacks; and even "happy" families have been known to eventually reveal dark secrets.

For this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem that looks beneath the surface. For extra effect, you could possibly title the poem after your subject. For instance, you could title the poem "Happy Birthday" and then look at how it's not happy; or you could title the poem "Self-made Man" and describe how that might not be such a good thing. There are lots of possibilities for this one.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Neighbors"

At first, I think these people don't know who
I am. But then I realize I don't know
who they are either. My hair needs cut and
my eyes need glasses if I ever want
to see. In the distance, I hear children
play their games in the dark. I walk
my dog and never see them. They surround
me with sound, and I wonder: Who are they?
Who will they become? Hopefully not just
another old man quietly walking
a dog in the rain and thinking these thoughts
while stepping on the moon in each puddle. 

Sorry for the quiet on the blog over the past week and the lateness of the prompt today. I'm just glad to be able to deliver a prompt and poem today. On Saturday morning, I lost consciousness and quit breathing for a short period of time. Tammy and my (soon-to-be) sister-in-law called 911 and got me to safety. In fact, Tammy is the person who restored my breathing (apparently, I turned a bright shade of blue). I was hospitalized from Saturday morning until yesterday evening. In the process, I met several very nice doctors and specialists; had lots of blood drawn; was put through several tests; and ultimately am not sure exactly what my condition is or what caused my episode (though I have been given a prescription for Vitamin D, have more follow-up tests to do in the future, and am not allowed to drive for at least another week). I'm very thankful to be able to throw a prompt and poem up today and to have a wife who kept me alive and (by restoring my breathing) saved me from any brain damage. (I, of course, let her know how special she is to me, but I thought I'd share with y'all, too.)

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Anyway, I was trying to think of a good prompt that might tie in with my recent "adventure." Sooo, for this week's prompt, I want you to write a poem about the unexpected. It could be something along the lines of the completely unexpected episode I recently experienced. Or it could be an unexpected act of kindness, an unexpected visitor, an unexpected gift, etc. There are a lot of ways you can run with this one.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Waking in our hospital beds, we think"

We are born without heads
and build space shuttles
in our laboratories and public parks;
we dream of what worries us
while wearing our tubing and bracelets;
the lucky ones
are rolled around on their beds.

The nurses will wake us
and ask us questions;
the doctors will wake us
and ask us questions;
even our visitors--
they will ask questions, too.

No one will walk away satisfied
with our answers; they
will look at us
as if we are liars
or idiots.

They will order more tests
and blood drawn,
more questions asked
by more specialists.

Maybe this or that;
nothing confirmed
by blood or tests.

They will ask us questions
again. They will sigh.

They will tells us we're lucky.

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "Don't you (blank)," fill in the blank with a word or words, and make that the title of your poem. Then, write a poem using that title. Example titles could be "Don't you forget to turn off the lights," "Don't you tell me what to do," and "Don't you laugh." There are many, many, many possibilities with this one.

Here's my attempt for the day:

"Don't you burn no bridges"

Plant a seed in the earth. Dream
of Beau Bridges; dream of Jeff Bridges;
dream of Lloyd Bridges; dream of everyone
with that last name: Bridges. Wonder
what it means when you do. Should
you gather up mashed potatoes, sculpt
a bridge? Beau won two Golden Globes;
Jeff won only one, though he had four Oscar
nominations; and Lloyd won nothing.
You don't need to know their successes
and failures. They are a family. They are
the dust of the earth. They reach and
toil. They burn and boil. They want more
than just an image burned on a disc or
saved on a server; they, like anyone
(like everyone) just want to find something
hidden and unexpected. A light, perhaps,
or a moment. When a seed enters the earth,
there is nothing if not possibility.