Written for:  dVerse Poets – Quadrille #19 – Exactly 44 words  (posted by whimsygizmo)
For today’s Quadrille challenge, I want you to include the word spark. Use it as a noun, or a verb. Make sparks fly, or spark an idea that sets fire to the page. Wanna sparkle, instead? Go right ahead. And watch what happens with a strategically placed hyphen:


She excited, ignited,
set them afire.
Wiggled, squiggled
in tight skirts, legs
in silk stockings. She set
off sparks in dark
corridors of high school.
So cool. Boys stared,
and dared not speak.
Girls felt minor league.
She may have been lonely.



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Haiku Wordle

Written for:  Carpe Diem Full Circle #2-2016

Let me first tell you what the challenge “Full Circle” means:

I call it ”Full Circle” because the goal is to write haiku with the twelve (12) words I will give. It’s a kind of word-whirl and you have to use the words given in the clock-wise direction. So every word has to come in the line of it’s place on the clock e.g. rainbow you have to use for line one (1) and autumn for line two (2) and so on.

I will give you twelve (12) words (for every ”hour”) one word. The goal is to write haiku using the words as given in the clockwise way.

1. rain
2. young leaves
3. buds
4. mountain
5. silence
6. monk
7. river
8. summer breeze
9. she
10. snow
11. sparrow (s)
12. blue sky

rainstorm whooshes in
young leaves protect and surround
small shivering rosebuds

high on mountain top
earthly sounds are silenced
monk takes a vow

a river of tears
softened by a summer breeze
she sobs

scent of snow in air
the sparrow is not fooled
looking at blue sky


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Ninety-Nine Percenters

Written for:  The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #271

Words:  birth, we, delve, tell, thrive, spent, plant, way, thousand, break, bounce, wake

Thousands are spent,
and disgusted–weary of
our country’s elections.
Collections for campaigns
tell of breaks in the concrete
of our unity. We are split,
some just making it, others
thriving–well watered plants
since birth. They grow
and leave a dearth of variety
needed to round out 
our garden. Back and forth
they bounce, like ping-pong
balls, delving into each other’s
past for dirt, leaving a trail
of mud in their wake.



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Written for:  Carpe Diem Special (3rd guest) Herman van Rompuy’s 3rd
Write a poem in the same sense, tone, and spirit as:

birds in concert
one sings above all others
I don’t know its name

© Herman van Rompuy (taken from: Haiku, by him)

at sunrise
sunrays on my naked body
birds singing

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

spring has come;
a nameless hill
is shrouded in thin mist

© Matsuo Basho (Tr. Blyth)

Here is my attempt:

row of maple trees
autumn-colored leaves flutter
dancing as one



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“river song”

Written for:  Carpe Diem Universal Jane #3, Riversong

wind blown from autumn trees
a stream of gold                                   © Jane Reichhold

puddles bubble in center
where leaves form a halo                   © Sara McNulty


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Mowed Down Dreams

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Kerry Says ~ It’s Blowing in the Wind
Our Challenge today is to select a line or lines from the work of Bob Dylan, and use it as the spring-board for a poem. The words themselves do not have to be included in the body of the poem, but merely as a reference, but I leave the creative decision-making up to each writer. 

Masters of War

Bob Dylan, 1963

You that never done nothin’
But build to destroy,
You play with my world
Like it’s your little toy –
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes,
Then you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly.

Most people are toys
made and manipulated
by those with wealth.
Do you honestly think
anyone in America
can grow up to be President?
If you don’t have the funds,
you are never going
to be a top gun. Top guns
have run of the country,
amassing more as they build
high-rises, casinos, playgrounds
for the rich. It’s a bitch,
but true. They determine costs,
directions, and wars. Poor little
tin soldiers on a battle field
of their dreams. Moving around
the squares, until there are few
left to tell their unvarnished tales
of horror. But, new babies are born
every day to take their places. Shiny
new toys, not yet broken.


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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1076, Clay
Clay … was always used for pottery, but also for ‘writing’.
In the Ancient Near East, clay tablets were used as a writing medium especially for writing in cuneiform, throughout the Bronze Age and well into the Iron Age. Cuneiform characters were imprinted on a wet clay tablet with a stylus often made of reed (reed pen).Once written upon, many tablets were dried in the sun or air, remaining fragile. Later, these unfired clay tablets could be soaked in water and recycled into new clean tablets. Other tablets, once written, were fired in hot kilns (or inadvertently, when buildings were burnt down by accident or during conflict) making them hard and durable. Collections of these clay documents made up the very first archives. They were at the root of first libraries. Tens of thousands of written tablets, including many fragments, have been found in the Middle East.


Sumerian Clay Tablet

ancient writing skills
forgotten … children play with clay
creating animals

© Chèvrefeuille

Here is my attempt:

turtles formed of clay
a problem for a child–
they do not move


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“lotus viewing”

Written for:  Carpe Diem Special (2nd guest) Kala Ramesh’s 3rd “lotus viewing”
Write a poem in the same sense, tone, and spirit.


lotus viewing . . .
the flowering

the pause
in a dragonfly’s glide—
noon shadows

© Kala Ramesh

Here is my attempt:

rain falls
filling up little pink cups
petals of lotus



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Some Tales, Some Tails

Written for:  dVerse Poets – Homophone Me!  (posted by Lillian)
Today’s prompt:  I’d like you to write one poem that contains at least two homophones. For example, air and heir; bow and bough; allowed and aloud; sole and soul. Homophones are two words that sound the same but have a different spelling and different meaning. They can, in essence, be a perfect rhyme.

Hare and tortoise
make up a fable.
Cinderella’s blonde hair
flows in a fairytale.
Little Boy Blue
blew his horn.
Rapunzel’s long plait
fell into her plate.
With a hurried gait,
White Rabbit shuts a gate.
I could go on and tell you more,
but I’m off to Scotland to see the moors.


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When Conversation Turns Nasty

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~Conversation (posted by Susan)

The Little Boy and the Old Man
by Shel Silverstein

Said the little boy, ‘Sometimes I drop my spoon.’
Said the little old man, ‘I do that too.’
The little boy whispered, ‘I wet my pants.’
‘I do that too,’ laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, ‘I often cry.’
The old man nodded, ‘So do I.’
‘But worse of all,’ said the boy, ‘it seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.’
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
‘I know what you mean,’ said the old man.

There once were two men conversing
’bout a play they were rehearsing.
Talk turned to fight,
each thought he has right,
and polite chatter turn into cursing


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