Once a Year

Written for:  Phoenix Rising
Destination:  Stonehenge

There is an aura of mystery surrounding this structure and your imagination could play a key role in your poem as to its origin, reason for existence and its purpose as you see it. Write about these monolithic legos!


Mid-summer solstice,
sun fired through stones,
painting structures in gold.
On this sacred ground
where numerous hunts
occurred, they gathered–
maidens in gossamer–
dancing through columns,
some playing flutes,
others singing soulful
tunes as they paid homage
to the honorable totems.
When daybreak dappled the skies,
diaphanous shawls draped
the stones; the maidens were gone.


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We, The Ravens (a Fibonacci)

Written for:  Phoenix Rising
Write something on this site and an experience there. You could write from the POV of a palace guard, or a Londoner, a royal or maybe even as William the Conquerer, who had a hand in its design and construction.

to guard
the tower,
Morris and Marley,
brothers fed by Raven Master.
Our diet, and jobs as guardians was rote,
though we enjoyed overlooking the moat, a constant sense of guilt prevailed–we were stuck.
Warned by Raven Master, the tower would tumble if we left, one day we heard the song of a lark; it marked our departure to freedom.


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Written for:  Phoenix Rising
Destination:  Hiking

Hiking now
would be a mistake
Left hip hurts
Right hip aches

I am sure
there were hikes in my past
where? I don’t know,
my memory has crashed.

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The Dead

Written for:  Poetic Asides #312
For today’s prompt, write a dead poem. The poem, of course, could be about a dead person, animal, or other formerly living creature. It could be about the undead, I suppose, or facing death. But then, there are things that die too: computers, relationships, feelings. And some folks feel “dead to the world” or just “dead,” though they are alive (it’s an expression). I hope this prompt doesn’t create a series of dead ends.

Grateful Dead kept truckin’
along–marathon concerts,
fans called “deadheads.”
Loyal to the max. Boxes
of rain could fall, but
they stayed, even knowing
the music might go on
all night. Sugar magnolias
rippled to strains
of Uncle John’s Band.
Fiftieth anniversary
tour, minus Jerry Garcia,
gone too early in his life.
Grateful his music carries on,
and he is immortalized
in every pint
of Cherries Garcia.

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #764, “stones”


words of god
spoken softly by
river stones

where the water was
a white stone

beach nap
the afternoon covers me
with stone shadow

(C) Jane Reichhold

Stepping in ocean
Toes slide on smooth surface
Slick stones

© Sara McNulty


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“Indian Summer”

Written for:  Carpe Diem Time Machine 10 Indian Summer (Koharu)

after a warm day
a thin layer of fresh fallen snow
covers the garden

(c) Chèvrefeuille

Red leaves glisten
On an autumn morning
in bright sunshine

© Sara McNulty


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“outdoor concert”

Written for:  Carpe Diem #763, “outdoor concert”

after the concert
my souvenir is the tune
I can hum

call of the flute
answer of drums
among redwoods

flute concert
in the surf sea stones
move at sunset

flute concert
speaking Japanese fluently
the shakuhachi

island fishermen
singing with foreigners
learning to clap

calling through the trees
with two notes

© Jane Reichhold

At sunset we gather
Listen to clear notes of horn
Jazz at the ocean

© Sara McNulty


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“a beautiful peace”

Written for:  Carpe Diem Special #153, Rallentanda’s fifth “a beautiful peace”
Write a poem in the same sense, tone, and spirit as:

a beautiful peace
I sit quietly with them
feeling their presence

© Rallentanda

Picture of her
Smiling down at grandchild
Memory on my wall.

© Sara McNulty


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Dog Wishes

Written for:  The Mag #276

Midsummer Night's Melancholy by Michael Sowa

Midsummer Night’s Melancholy by Michael Sowa

Turn around.  Dog makes a silent wish.
House is still. Alone again.
Graciously willing to let bygones
be gone, he sorely needs the cat’s
friendship. Despite the fact
that the cat’s family is out–hurriedly
dumping a can of food in his dish–
he seems content to sit, staring
through those inscrutable green eyes
at who knows what. Doesn’t he ever
get bored? Disappointed, the dog
will give his friend another
five minutes to acknowledge him.
He sighs. No wonder it is trying
to be a cat’s friend.


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The Intriguing Letter

Written for:  Sunday’s Whirligig #13

words:  elsewhere, shop, records, way, walk, run, idea, sitting, book, hands, letter, mailbox

Curled up in a corner
of the old, overstuffed
green chair, hands holding
a leather-bound book, previously
sitting on a high shelf, neglected
for years, he spies a letter
slip out between pages. Stained
with age. Lavender scent.

He walks to his desk drawer, runs
his hands though old checkbook
records and shop receipts,
finally uncovering a magnifying
glass, best way to examine
faded handwriting. A love letter,
written to his grandmother, not
from his grandfather!

The idea of reading a personal
letter bothers him, although all
parties concerned are elsewhere.
Grandma had an admirer,
while grandpa was away at war.

He imagines his grandmother opening
the mailbox, and finding this
declaration of love. Was the feeling
mutual? He will never know. Closes
his eyes and pictures what might
have happened. The leather-bound book
falls to the floor, still unread.


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