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.

I tell my beginning drawing students there is no such thing as line.
(though i love line and the week before told them to draw
every kind of line they could possibly make).
This week, there is no line
A line is just a concept.
There is no such thing as a physical line
just value next to value.

the birds i love again are back
aligning on the straight length of wire that is not a line,
as it was not last year,
the starlings, their wire, their pause and direction, just deeper blues
in a field of blues
in a field, deep field, of black, expanding

This is how painters see things.
the space between the nucleus and the path (not a line) of the electron
probably a color of some kind
probably very hard to get right

the direction of gaze
not a line with beginning or end
but a field in which one can suddenly lift in a startled
movement of living.

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.


my hands grab fast under the wee canopy of dead mums
and i snap their heads off and fling them into the soil
that I blow clean of parched leaves
that shed from the tree
that lets go complex, built pods (of a thousand seeds)
that won't fall apart until the late, later rains,
about when the camelias .shh. unfurl
that will later fall and rest like little pools of pink or white till they brown
and disappear, brown into brown, into the path where I walk in circles
forgetting and finding love with each season,
and the clouds pull back into the sky that grows pink, then blue like
a bruise, then darker again so i climb into bed, like before and before,
and close my eyes and see worlds that should have no light
but do
and in the morning i awaken
renewed
startled to see
a cyclamen
volunteer
established and blossomed
in the driest corner of my garden.

Digital Cloud

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.


If only we could be represented by data
("otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth").

In the news today - the digital cloud being built above London:
- on it to be projected ever-updating data and stirring images,
showing in real-time, as if we live in something else,
inquiries about the Olympics, to gauge and prove our spirit,
the ascension of the cumulative, digital being

no need for a tower of Babel
just the clouds that surround
the hub-bub that, lifted and captured,
evidenced in evidence,
will rain down as some kind of perfect truth
on the athlete below who, at his most arrived result of practice,
at the perfect peak of his gathered strengths,
focusing on the execution of one
exceptional movement of muscle and mind
still can only throw the javelin
some dumb distance
into the earth.

We will know right away how we feel about him.

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).



My Home

I will be living in an abandoned, unfinished construction -
building it out, started as his
(he, who has always been the nicest)

There are no walls - just a floor
and that needs to be pulled up
or at least sanded for days but the wood planks
are thick - though warped to follow the curve of the hill
the house seems to be almost
slipping on
- is this okay?
- a curved foundation?

but the wood could be beautiful
if sanded for days
the damaged skin - exposure
and abandon - lifted as sawdust

it will be nice to be helped

palm trees have grown up through the knots in places
and play with the electrical wires overhead
a wet wind strews the platform with fronds,
soaks my skin
and slats of rain begin to make the floor shine

he will live nearby
in his own place
- also under construction -
and will check on me from time to time.

perhaps it is not too late
to build a shelter.
the foundation could be beautiful
if sanded for days
then sealed and shined and called 'a start.'

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

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


What is the difference?

Molten blade that burns at my wounds
Molten blade that shields in my wound

laughter
yours
a profile
yours
ours ours together
molten
burning one another
lancing memory thirty some years old
a door shut
shut out
the cooling weapons
cold. that fast.
friendship - dead on the floor
and love changing faces
changing faces
needing only one burning
only one
yours
ours
the same
that

oh please, again,
that burning

that one, that one,
that

yes

you
you

burn me
till i vanish




out

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.


I Can't Hold Onto You

I can't hold on to you: concept, lover, moment, peace, bitterness, truth, waking, sleep.

You slip through me. I can't hold onto you: punchline, storyline, travel story, money.

Whenever you are there: faces, hands, sweaters, kind eyes, you slip into street, background, bookcase, dream that slips into words dropping furnished rooms into blur all along the way.

I can't hold onto you: self, who, divinity, what.

Whenever you are there: birdsong, bridesgown, blessing, betrayal, you slip into wall, (candle out), floor, weatherfront, highway, (flat or flattening) into memory that slips, of course, better, faster, than even all the rest.

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?"



Should You Tremble at My Door

Should you see my quiet house
and step up to my door

Should you close your vapor hand
and try to form an timid fist

Should you stand there like a child
and want to vanish further still

Do not drop your arm - transparent
but knock, as if the wind.
Or more don't knock, come in, come in.

Please don't ask permission
should you see my quiet house.

Please don't wait
to guess a judgment in my gaze
or, dear, unsure,
don't tremble at my door.