Writing Prompt

A few weeks ago, I attended Poets at Play and the proctor provided a writing prompt.  I didn’t follow the prompt that day, but decided to try it out while I was relaxing at the beach the following day.  I’ve listed both the prompt and my poem below 🙂

The Prompt:
Make a list of the following things and include them in your poem

  • 3-4 colors
  • 3-4 sounds
  • 3-4 flavors
  • 3-4 parts of the body
  • 1 factual statement
  • 1 command
  • 1 thing you lost
  • 1 particular question
  • 1 abstract question
  • several locations
  • several objects
  • 1-2 living creatures
  • 2-3 kinesthetic adjectives

My Poem

I arrived at Seacliff Beach
in my metallic baby blue minivan,
dressed in a neon pink shirt,
a flapping lavender skirt,
and modern happy black sunglasses.
I can’t stop… dancing to the music.

Birds chirping in the sky,
dolphins swimming in the ocean.
The scent of smoked sausage
drifts in my nostrils
and I can’t stop
popping flaming hot
cheetos into my mouth.

My big toe caresses the sand.
I am writing a poem at the beach,
sitting in my camping chair,
tapping my knee cap
as visions of the past
drifts into mind.

“What time is the turkey done?”
my grandparents asked
over the loud hum
of the refrigerator
as I stood on the balcony
eating mint chocolate chip
ice cream,
watching the dog’s leash
get caught on the tree trunk.

A fly buzzed by
my ear lobe just then,
just like the time
at Levi’s Stadium.
I was so distracted,
I hit my funny bone
and dropped my nachos.

Nothing was as bad
as discovering bed bugs
in our room
on the cruise ship
and hearing the fast
clickety-clack
of high-heeled shoes
on the dock
every hour, every night,
more annoying
than the loud rev
of a Harley engine starting.

Is my sanity worth more
than human compassion?

A tangent of images,
a tangent of thoughts
based on a list of words.
Maybe it’s time…
to leave the beach.

seacliff.jpg

  • Please note that majority of events and locations (other than me writing at the beach) are entirely fictional.
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Shaping Life

clay bobblehead
Blue, green, pink, peach, white
rectangular blocks of clay
sitting on your desk
beckoning to come alive.

It’s silent and dark,
the spotlight
is on you
as you peel back
the plastic
and knead the clay
over and over
in your palms
until the clay is soft
and your fingers hurt.

Slowly you shape
the legs, mold the torso,
add the shoes,
check the size,
make sure you’re satisfied.

Add the chest, mold the arms,
ensure it stands upright,
mix some pink, mix some white,
mix some yellow too,
now you have a skin-like peach
that works, that works for you.

Work your fingers, mold the face,
shape the nose, the ears, the eyes,
envision what you had envisioned
in your mind.

Take it, bake it, make it
come to life.  Draw the eyes,
add a smile, dot some hair,
add a spring, he’ll bobble,
glad to be here, glad to be alive.

 

Black Birds

Going on an evening stroll,
step by step,
swinging my arms,
twisting my torso,
loving the movement,
feeling the freedom,
listening to mellow melodies
of instrumentals.

I watch black birds
swirl in the sky,
flying in harmony,
dancing in rhythm
loving life,
living freely
in the pink-blue sky.

Cadillac

Tall and slender,
lots of curves,
buns of steel,
blue as the sky,
deep as the sea,
hopeful, bright,
and happy.

A golden interior,
leather seats
massaging my back,
caressing me.
Waiting in park,
waiting patiently.
Key to the engine,
key to his heart.

His every move
is my command.
Imagine,”
he sings
my favorite song.

Tap, tap, we drive
slowly, cautiously.
Over time, faster,
passionately.
Right turn, left turn,
U-turn, I turn.
We move in sync
to the traffic jam,
dancing in the moonlight.”

I light a cigarette,
the wind blows
my hair back.
His mirrored eyes
tell me how beautiful
I am.
While I’m lost
in thought,
he reads
my mind.
Green light, red light,
he knows to stop.

In hours of darkness,
he becomes my light.
When teardrops
block my vision,
he wipes away the rain.
When I become lost,
he’s my GPS.
In hours of sorrow,
he sings my song.

He takes me places
far away from here.
He sets me free
on the open highway,
under the star-filled sky.
He is “the wind
beneath my wings.

cadillac

Forever Creating

A crystal dewdrop twinkles in the sun
A little furry spider weaves his web.
He’s intertwining, overlapping; spins
and spins to make, to shape, and to create
a simple work of tranquil beauty. He’s

just like the painter with his brush in hand
and a white canvas before him, he will
create when inspiration strikes, but for
now, he will simply watch, observe the light
that dances on the haystacks, that plays in
your eyes, that surrounds you with warmth, the light
embraces nature with its touch. He smiles
and paints with pastel colors, gently, he
puts vivid images, visions from his
mind on to canvas. How serene, a work
of art. He paints and paints from day to night,
just watching the waves, the stars, the life that
goes by. He sees, he paints, and he creates.

Just like the writer with his special quill
pen, who puts words on paper, which brings things
to life. He writes and writes from dawn to dusk
of people, places, and weird events. He
shares heartfelt emotions, his joy and pain,
his dreams and hopes. He shares his fantasies;
he beckons words to come alive. He writes,
he types, he makes, he shapes, and he creates
through time and space, eternal, just like God.

forever creating
– Images taken from Google

A Jumble of Words

A jumble of words
in my mind
that don’t come together
in a rhyme.

Searching and searching
for that single theme,
struggling and struggling
for a rhyme scheme.

Looking and looking
for the meaning,
but the structure and style
seem to beguile me.

Trying hard
to sort it out,
nevertheless,
I still don’t know
what it’s about.

Metaphors and similes,
recordings of reality,
imagintation and fantasy,
emotions and expressions
of my creativity.

Just words on paper,
how hard could it be?
As you can read,
not very hard, indeed.