From 6 Words to a Poem: July
It's time for July's challenge.You take the six words listed below, and weave them into a poem. It's that "simple." Whether you use the exact words, or forms of them, is up to you. As long as anyone...
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After the StormCyclonic winds snatchapples off the treesand scoop up streamsin spouts that spew like fountains.When, finally, the roaringrumbles fade,we're startledby the suddensomber...
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The TragedyThis faded photo, Father took in Francewhile cycling. He often toured aloneand camped in farmers fields despite the chanceof trespassing. My mother looks windblownand winsome, waving. That...
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A Lesson on LifeAn apple for the teacher whose whole class can bear in mindour life's a simple cycle, we get stressed and then unwind.We go to school to learn; we work; we age; begin to fade.Theres no...
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Enjoying sounds of silence in the wind,a couple lay beneath an apple tree to take a moment's respite and unwind.Then suddenly who would have guessed a fountain came alive and sprayedits irrigation...
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Kaledens Shores *Warm summer windlike whispered wordsglides round the laden apple treesupon slight swells and rolling knolls above Kaledens shores. Small fountains spurtas water headspffft to and fro,...
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A Little Closer, Please come closer still my child,whispered the fox wind into her earsshe didmagic fruit springs fromthis fountsilencejust one bite will give you sight,the search for your brotherwill...
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PESSIMISTFirst apple-biteto fountains gushlifes cycle windsfrom bloom to blushFuture, once perfectvia present tensefading - and failed ? -then endless silence ....Alan McAlpine Douglas(Words used :...
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FallenNor'easterwinds untimely throughthe orchard, snows fountains of leaves down summer cycledpaths and gardened rows; Silently,hare hurries home, hides beneath the undergrowthwhere marigolds'...
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Last DraftHer face has faded; but familiar then,my minds eye would reflect it. Perhaps whyI recognized that look, recalling whenit winded me. Not apple-cheeked, but I,by her account, was just a kid....
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The TumbleLast Friday night, a young man whom I knew,watched, silent as a stone, me, weaving byon bike downhill. Huge pothole puddles threwfresh rainwater like fountain sprinklers. Shyat raising his...
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PopsicleThe wind was silent; Joey satupon the fountain berm and suckedan apple-flavored popcyclethat faded to its stick inside his mouth.
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