write a poem in response to, or upon reflection of, an image you find at flickr - 7 days.
to challenge yourself, try to use one of the nine images on the very first page; avoid hitting the reload button!
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Each week, we post a new poetry prompt and share the resulting poems in the comments section of the prompt post. You may also post the poem on your own blog and share the link in a comment.
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We invite you to contribute your poems.
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want to be added? post a poem in response to a prompt with your blog or web site as the URL.
fight or flight
ReplyDeletehttp://www.flickr.com/photos/odelot/3963337732/
mine is to row among beasts
the rest wicked and rummaging
below the surface
where man once triumphant
slain the last horse to stay warm
and married himself
into a lonely despair
without faith or worse
without spirit and drunken
his stoop became bare
so here he is left alone
with a device as simple
and unforgiving as his imagination
fueled with the renewable half life
of old hardback novels
KNITTING WITHOUT LOOKING
ReplyDeleteHands on the needles
clickity-clack
Soon they've knitted
a gunny sack
A pair of socks or a
giant bag
There's no telling
once the fingers wag
I must've been seven
on the Vancouver ferry
when I saw a woman on it
knitting in a flurry
looking straight ahead
instead of looking down
I asked her how she did it
and she said without a frown
"I live in a lighthouse
and I have to keep a lookout
for boats on the rocks
so I learned to knit without
looking"
a pebble carried across the beach
ReplyDeletelistens to the rolling waves
certain she was your Chateau
swells the heart within one's villa
a rose to the camera lens
stare at the geese above
wolf down the flows of wine
while gleaming starlight touches the bay
yearning lies in the glistening tide
http://www.flickr.com/photos/querelle/3965529057/
ReplyDeletejuly thirteenth. ten p.m. dear tomas:
i spent the whole day on my back.
does it please you to know i am not ill
or fucking old charles, who still comes
to dale hollow with that irish wolfhound?
today i went out to the water’s edge,
laid supine on the paint-peeled boards,
and splayed my limbs wide on the pier.
i longed for you to look in on me
like god or a google earth satellite.
Is this what your insides look like?
ReplyDeletedeep down grinning beauty
but brittle and colorless all the same?
your stereo crackles with wind
in its hollows, this you're ok with.
so we went apple picking yesterday,
me putting them on and you plucking
them off, then slept so warm
in the tall grass that I
thought the sun was there.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/stathisz/3974220747/
ReplyDelete