The prompt is 'wish you were here', postcard style.
I wish you were here . . .
I wish you were here with me,
Now, today, sharing the wind
And blustering sea.
I wish I could share with you
The washing on the line,
And the island view.
(c) 2ndwitch (I do not usually offer a dedication but I dedicate this short poem to Cookiepuss.)
The prompt is to write a poem rooted in 'weird wisdom'.
I put my keys on the table . . .
They cannot breathe.
They do not sleep.
But they talk.
They do not eat.
They do not drink.
But they speak to me.
There is reality
And there is life
In inanimate objects;
And they can move
Without being physically active,
And they can act with malice
Without having a brain.
Inanimate objects may be politicians.
(c)2ndwitch
The prompt is to consider how two or three things would look at something.
Cluck.
It is time to eat.
I am hungry.
I get the small frying pan
Out of the cupboard
And turn on the ring.
Butter sizzles,
Toast toasts,
and I scramble.
Yum.
It is time to eat.
I have barely lived.
What is that pan?
Why is it somewhere hot?
Why am being hit with a knife?
Why am . . .
(c)2ndwitch, 04/04/24
The prompt is to take inspiration from a book called The Strangest Things in the World.
The Complex Spider's Web.
it is well known that spiders make webs
and that they spin the gossamer threads
into a spiralised net to entrap flies
and keep them there until dead
but we should not just look at the web
but at what it might symbolise
in the way its threads interweave
to entrap the fly until it dies
but is it the web that is complex
or the spider that weaves its trap
and that reads the vibrations
as a single use auditory map?
(c) 2ndwitch, 04/04/24
Today the prompt is a surreal prose poem.
Swartmill.
The sea, a swirling cacophony of grey and green, writhes beneath the steel grey sky and calls, seductively to the birds that circle ceaselessly above it, crying and screaming of last years triumphs or perhaps of fish that once caught escaped and became eels that then wriggled and wiggled their way into the land round the loch, became wormified and worried, dodging fleecy feet that stamp and stomp on rain sodden ground until a man stops and smiles, watching the silent and invisible upheaval.
(c)2ndwitch, 03/04/24
The prompt is an unusual love song.
Ambrosia.
You have always been there for me,
From my earliest years
You appeared and I was glad.
You came camping and hiking with me,
When as a teen my walking gear
Helped me, weather-well-clad.
You joined me in the joy of delivery
Of children, comforted my fears
And were constant when life seemed mad.
You stood beside my misery,
And helped to halt my tears
When life seemed black, ever sad.
You are my waking cup of tea,
The mug of joy that always cheers
And is the best drink I have ever had.
(c)2ndwitch, 02/04/24
The prompt is to recount an old story from memory.
That Portrait . . .
An old life, lived young,
Desolation, an industrial world,
Fighting to escape,
Sex, and friendships.
A young man, an old world,
Exploited for the rich
By the downtrodden.
Love, lust, and hatred.
(c)2ndwitch, 01/04/24
