#Poetry Prompt

[smittenbypoetry]

Poetry Game!

February 2025 Edition:

The rules are as follows: write an eleven line poem. Each respective line includes, but, unless stated, is not limited to the following in order:

1. A bird 2. A plane 3. A denial 4. (Refers to) your favorite superhero 5. A question 6. The name of any mountain 7. Pertains to vision 8. Must start with: But 9. The word: shoelaces 10. Free line, use however you like 11. Any sound of the wind

Have fun!

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Tag your poem #smittenbypoetrygame, and I will reblog it here. Be sure to use one of the first five tags to do this, else there’s a chance it won’t show up when I search for it. If I haven’t reblogged your poem within 24 hours, please send me a message and I’ll add it to the queue.

[tansdiary]

i carry a briefcase with me all the time a deep dark brown bag always by my side like the poor men’s garbs, its surface is ragged— the contempt of the world, it tries to withstand, the shell shields a jewel—a souvenir within— like an undisturbed resting corpse in a coffin. the jewel—i must confess—is not ruby or emerald, nor pearl or opal, neither lavish nor lustrous— for that’s not the essence of a corpse… lifeless are the dead… waiting to be reborn. the jewel—that perhaps still belongs to me— is a miserable heart… that forgot to breathe. — preserving my heart in a briefcase // @nosebleedclub february prompt

[lorienfae]

The marshes echo in sway, turbulence evident in the gray heaviness and pallor of the sky,

it is the burden of time that flays the skin of memory,

scattering ashes

the ones we weave into breath itself — a howl of rising wind and something else, reverberating as revolution

this pendulum self wrapped around life, extant in motion

and the hum of ventricles beating as wings through the mist and the splash of weary tide against the hull of our souls

but can we let go of the moorings?

fading polaroids we hope to savor yet the flavor left is melancholia and we have become lost

in pareidolia.

© Anna S. 2025

[grimfox]

hello, fellow travelers.

i have a poetry prompt for you:

the spirit world

reblog with your original poetry.

have a good early October everyone.

[senlair]

All This Time.

I was going through random, unknown songs, Tunes I don’t know, tunes a computer thinks I would like... Does the computer know me better than I know myself? Does the computer write my poetry, not me? A song named "All This Time," an old, emotional, teenage one a song I would have liked when I was rebellious. But not anymore, because I'm tired. The title hit me in the face: All this time. All this time... I listened to the song, wishing the lyrics matched the ones I had printed in my head, but they didn't. Maybe it was a song I was meant to write and publish, Something that was meant to be a sign. Sometimes I wonder: would it be public humiliation if I self publish my writings? Should someone do it for me so I don't feel it? Should I go anonymous?

But I like the attention, positive or negative. All this time. All those nights. All those words. All those songs, all of you, and... none of me. It's a lot of time really, it is but I didn't realize it until now.

All this time, my heart crying for the unknown, Wanting something to want it, not knowing whether it would be good or not. Maybe that's life: we want things. Maybe all the things I ever wanted were as cruel as you, and maybe I'm a true masochist and should accept it. I do accept it; it's bittersweet anyway. All this time, all this time. Does the song have to be this bad? Is my destiny cursed and doomed? All this time, thinking about you, caring about you. All this time, it feels like a decade... A month or two summed up by me just thinking about you

All this time. Maybe I should've done what I always do: let you go far with everything you want.

That's the only way I keep the men I ever want. All this time. All this time.

- S.D

[merakiione]

disgraced cosmonaut

(ione meraki 2024)

[cruxymox]

poetry prompt for today: write a poem about a diner.

A poet could write volumes about diners, because they're so beautiful. They're brightly lit, with chrome and booths and Naugahyde and great waitresses.

- David Lynch

[isiaiowin]

GOetry - A Patchwork of Prophecies: Celebrating 100 GOems

Welcome to GOetry! A weekly poetry club.

Every Monday, you'll receive a new poetry prompt and have until the following Monday to submit your poetic creations. Come join the fun! Post your finished work under the #GOetry and tag me @isiaiowin so I can see your work. Thank you so much to everyone who participated last week and surprised many artists with poetry inspired by their work! Amazing to see so much love shared.

This week’s prompt:

We have something to celebrate this week—over 100 poetry works have been added to the GOems collection on AO3!

In honour of this milestone, we're crafting Cento poems using lines from the Good Omens book or the Bible. I'd love to see poems that are at least 100 words long.

What is a Cento poem?

A Cento, from the Latin word for "patchwork garment," is a poem composed entirely of verses or passages from other authors' works.

Example:

New york times

And most of all: Have fun!

~Moon

@goodomensafterdark

[whickberstreetwriters]

Five Words Friday: a Good Omens Poetry Prompt Challenge!

In the Whickber Street Writers Association discord, we've recently been putting together some poetry prompts.

The idea for this challenge is that our members suggest and vote for 5 words that everyone can then write a Good Omens-themed poem about.

If you'd also like to take part, the words for this week are:

Ink

Feral

Hunger

Dew

Wanton

How to take part:

This challenge runs until Friday 13th September (at the moment, we're running this challenge every 2 weeks)

You can decide if you want to use all the words or just some - we want people to have fun with this, so we're not going to make it a rule to use all of them if you don't want to

Format/structure is also up to you! Freeform, nonets, haikus, couplets, odes - whatever appeals most. The idea is for folks to feel inspired creatively, and there are lots of possibilities out there. You may find this helpful for some ideas

If you choose to post online, feel free to tag us! We'd love to see what the fandom comes up with and to reblog it too 💜 Have fun!

[rachelbracepoetry]

Trentino

The mountains watch the valley of wine

Their faces impassive - though not uncaring.

They love the people,

But they are intimate with tragedy.

Besides - they have no need to morn those who are lost;

The bones of the dead always return to the hills who love them.

____________

December Day 3: To the mountains

@nosebleedclub

[smittenbypoetry]

Poetry Game!

November 2024 Edition:

The rules are as follows: write an eleven line poem. Each respective line includes, but, unless stated, is not limited to the following in order:

Motion

Pertains to 'talking'

Something you find in the sky

Free line, use however you like

The word: energy

Reference a part of your morning routine

The word: orbit

Consists of one word only

Must start with: And we all

Must start with: Because

Repeat what you wrote after 'Because' in line 10

Have fun!

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Tag your poem #smittenbypoetrygame, and I will reblog it here. Be sure to use one of the first five tags to do this, else there’s a chance it won’t show up when I search for it. If I haven’t reblogged your poem within 24 hours, please send me a message and I’ll add it to the queue.

[angie-words]

A cinquain for one of the @aug-kissed prompts this week 💜

Goodnight Kiss

We walk

through moon-cast halls

of the home we have won

Bedroom lamplight kisses you as

I do

[lorienfae]

Sanctum

that falls like dusk over the murmuring sea, gentle hands swept over waiting shoulders, 

listening

to the echoes in each wave, each eternal minute patterned upon the surface…

if only we could remember the way our wings once whispered in the briny air, yet

the memories are draped in verdigris now, ribboned in kelp and murky depths

oxidizing away under all the layers

of thought. Oxidizing like Cthulhu in his saturnine slumber.

Old truths or new wonders, maybe hearts were written into being so we wouldn't turn driftwood in an infinite void and learn to breathe,

learn to see what the whales mean

when they sing.

© Anna S. 2025 / wrote this at tonight's local writers circle meeting

[grimfox]

hello creepy-crawlies,

it will soon be October, and i...

well, i can't wait any longer.

here's your poetry prompt:

haunted

reblog ONLY with original poetry.

wishing you all a safe and spooky October,

-grim

[tansdiary]

the way you touch the life’s canvas & paint your dreams— with a vision that sees beauty in random things, the way you listen and obey your heart’s melodies, the way you breathe the sun in yourself and seldom savour the dark delicacies— today’s a celebration of your senses indeed. —may 6, 2024 // wrote a li'l something for a friend's birthday on being kinda prompted by the co-star app

[merakiione]

-wolverine, alone-

a millipede has more faces than legs– one

a baboon’s byzantium snarl or number two

the flutter of a hare whose back is fastened with silkworm chiffon

a stone is no more than a bullet with a back yet to be broken

saturn’s rings shaping four elements, an ouroboros,

tongues of flame water the front yard hurricane

scattered bolide pieces, a starshine bangle

transcendental, we fly on buffalo back but below

do i not see you swimming there, with the

turtle that carries a holy spirit keychain, that jungle matrix?

i search for pale blue colors but i believe swatch 6785 is best

any entity sniffing about here is coated in it, a nebulous hue

but most of us are just in search of the teapot– my teapot

the uncle that hands it to me has not changed his robes

or trimmed the hairs of his beard since his son held

the last egg, fortress of combustion and first-rate engines

these wyverns, amphipteres, wyrms, and drakes, where else

do you think the light could possibly come from?

knuckle to knuckle, fist to fist, the phosphorescence of two eyes

arrows circling, soaring on something paper-light, paper kites

in my iceberg palace, the cold feels no different from home’s.