Prompt #67 and Wordle #21


The leaves alone stir,
Delicate memoirs of hearts
Torn asunder and laid
Vicariously to rest.
That I were shrapnel
The perfect embodiment
Of a perfectly unjust hate
I might not stand here
On this precipice
Wondering if
My very practical life
Merits another day

To wield such a legacy
Would not satisfy
These grievances
I find solace only within
The hours of wan
There is no one in whom
I may confide
But in times such as these
The pen is itself a syringe

Perhaps I am the better
For this suffering
I have forged a heart
Of pulp and nectar
A heart of sympathetic leanings
Even in the midst of Gehenna
I am certain to remain sincere

The mistress exceeds me,
Her beauty is such that
Even the stars appear dirty
In the the halo of her smile
But she is only so
In the company of men
I know well her temperament
Her hedonistic excursions
Her cruelty as the riding crop
Is driven through every
Disintegrating layer
Of my intermittent pride

I have never treated her unfairly
For there is nothing in this
Mortal realm that I fear
Quite so much as finding
Myself unrecognizable
She may own every
Rotten inch of flesh
But of this soul she will
Never understand
And I may be beneath her
In every wordly respect
But in the eyes of God
We are both children
I was out all day again while there is still warmth to be had we’ll continue visiting the countryside. I forgot to bring my Wordle list and then I lost what I had written so I am surprised that I have managed anything today.


Prompt #62 and Wordle #16



Ever taciturn,

Her lips denounce

The possibility between us

How capricious the light

In the presence of smoke

But the fire remains

Desperately auspicious


Her breath speaks of purity

And smells of exclusion

A subtle artifice her voice

Has no place in this world

Even less in my heart

Yet there it remains

A song intimated

But noiseless


She inhabits me

As a scofflaw

Furtive and castigating

She occupies me as resin

The very substance

Of a ravishing frisson

I know that we are destined

No matter how circuitous

The engagement


On Wednesday early in the morning I am leaving for Göteborg. We are going to visit Liseberg (it’s an amusement park). I will be back late Friday. I will not have internet access so I won’t be posting during that time and possibly not on Saturday either. I will miss you guys!

Wordle 15 “Oil and Blood”


She slathers nimbus over her chatoyant eyes

That no mortal in afghan should seduce her aims

She is volatile, promethean,and in her wildness serene

She postures herself in books assuming

Both confidant and thief, both villain and ally


Society weighs upon her as pollution, as oil in blood

Nailing down her crisp white feathers as so many crosses

Such is the onus of the radical and she does not care

To linger among them, invalids with their shrill eyes

Nesting in deep black pits pulled taunt as a corset


They pass glitter as salt to season but taste nothing

And know nothing of genuine artistry for everything

Consisting of heart is too deep for their convenience

She steadies herself on a divan drinking deeply the air

The skeptics inducing her tears as fireflies

To illumine in captivity and she unapologetically

Easing the lid for fear that her dreams will starve


Wordle #3 Illusory


I carry your slouching sonnets

Inside my winsome capillaries

A carnival of contusions and dilations

An exhaustive obituary read

Cautiously over breakfast

As if the print were itself contagious

And given the lucidity of your influence

I might very well follow you


My larvate heart ejaculates in silk

Meanwhile the sun flickers piecemeal

Through an intervening storm

It’s not over, I still have books to write

And there’s still the city which

I refer to only in euphemism

I can’t begin to tell you all the ways

She has betrayed me

I exist within her now

A latent birth


For all the probing and tugging

You think I would have materialized

But I am as evasive as I ever was

I won’t wait up for you long

Lest your ghost overcome me

Photo Prompt #2 “Mollusk” Peristalsis (Audio)


Tomoki Hayasaka

Each person has a heart line

A palm-woven guide given

To sincere acts of self-expression

My line is composed of barbed wire

With every confession my scars

Sink deeper, scars being the residual

Of lips that no longer elongate or ascend


My heart line is defective

Not because I cannot love

My composition is eternal

Not because I lack passion

Though mine burns

For very little besides poetry

But because I cannot find

Within myself that spark of genius

I am then again perhaps I am not

A writer but what of endowment?

What of the mollusk that tends

My garden divesting each muse

As if a wholesome cabbage?

What of my carapace

Which prohibits any reality

Counter to the spineless sliver

That constitutes my own?

What of my wall-crawling heart

Weeping and sluggish in exile?

I am afraid that I will not last long

That I will accomplish little if at all


Your exposed pupils scream

Too low for the human ear to detect

Your hysterical slopping brows

Taking detour after detour

We do not meet face to face

Or soul to soul but hip to hip

There is no question of desire

No question of existence or love

When we are primitively employed


There are too many questions

Too many hypotheses

Both judicious and presumptive

I can no longer feign human

My gait forbids acceleration

Steps are impossible

I move through peristalsis




Wordle #2 Darker


Tomoki Hayasaka

There is only this moment

Headlights and horns blaring

Moonskin eyes sere and cavernous

Knuckles tense and gutless

Like the womb of a prepared fish


The scarf around my neck

Sticks in the axle of your left wheel

That queer oscillating grimace

Vital to the propulsion

Of your defecting asylum


We gather feathers and rifts

Powered Juniper wishes

Which disintegrate between

Our intimating and indulgent lips


Why must we speak of misery

As if a sacred elixir brewed

By our ancestors and given in infancy?

As if it were the primary ingredient

Of our cellular composition

Like hemoglobin only darker 

Where’s the prompt?


Encase you missed the announcements. I have started a prompt site!

Which you can find here


Rather than have 1 weekly prompt. I now have a prompt for every day of the week! I have even brought in some talented writers to help with both hosting and managing the site. Everyone is welcome to participate. There are no obligations/requirements. Pick and choose the prompts that intrigue you. The time limit for each prompt is 1 week but you know me even if you posted late I would still read and comment to your entry.

Here’s the schedule

Monday- Wordle (hosted by Yves)

Tuesday- Photo Prompt (hosted by Yves)

Wednesday- Haiku/Tanka (hosted by Anmol)

Thursday- Short Stories (hosted by Oloriel)

Friday- Fairytales (hosted by Anja)

Saturday- Shadorma (hosted by Bastet)

Sunday- Freestyle (hosted by Yves)


Prompt 48 Escalating Humiliation


Brooke Shaden

This week’s prompt is An Escalating Humiliation

I am going to share a personal story by way of example but you do not have to write about my experience. I would rather you write about your personal experiences with embarrassment. You say something foolish and when trying to regain dignity/composure you end up making things worse. This is something I feel we can all relate to. You don’t have to write nonfiction. I understand that for some this topic might be too painful.

When I was a child I wanted to be a singer. I was quite the little mimic and I was able to adopt a satisfactory speaking voice from a Hollywood actress but I could not emulate singing voices. I had a knack for remembering songs and intuiting lyrics but my singing was comically robotic. No matter how hard I tried to let go I just couldn’t produce human emotion. I practiced daily, rigorously and like most children in the pursuit of a dream I didn’t consider proclivity. I figured I just had to do and it would happen. In the 3rd grade my drama/music class held auditions for the school play. Everyone would participate but you had to try out for the lead singing roles. My decision was totally impromptu the teacher asked “Who wants to sing?” and my hand shot up. Now normally I could remember the lyrics but even with them in front of me I couldn’t “remember” them at all. The class was already giggling before I even opened my mouth (which took quite a long time for me to do). When I started to sing it was much worse, my little robotic voice forcing its way over the laughter and jeers of my classmates. The teacher told me I could stop but no apparently I couldn’t I had to finish out the song. That was bad enough of course but the teacher pulled me to the side after and told me she was going to put me in the very back of the chorus and instructed me to lip synch the whole performance. I was never allowed to sing in class again! I was also forbidden to participate in PE because of my poor coordination (didn’t I need PE to help that?).

Prompt 47 Street Art


Jeff Soto

Today’s prompt is an intermission. As some of you may recall we were doing a series of 20 prompts. The series was designed to assist in story-writing. At present we only have one person writing a story but that’s okay because as I mentioned at the beginning you could treat each prompt individually just as we have always done. We have (if I counted properly) 9 prompts left in the series. At the end of the series Prompt will of course continue so no worries!

Today’s prompt is Graffiti/Street Art. Your job is to go outside and take a picture for inspiration. I don’t care if you take images of statues, city murals, children’s sidewalk drawings, graffiti, or whatever. You can stop with the image if you are an artist or photographer but if you are a writer then write what the piece makes you feel. From my post you will see I didn’t write a poem about street art in general I used the words as a prompt, so everyone’s entry will likely be very different this time.  I have your back if you couldn’t get out Isadora has taken photos for you! Yep the numbered ones are hers except the angel which I took and the saint and bunnies which Sam took. There isn’t so much interesting graffiti in my area and we were limited to a certain area since I was on foot with a 6 year old haha. I have named the photos 1-20 that way you can easily identify which photo you have used. You are free to share the photos on your blog. You are also free to modify the photo(s) in whatever way you see fit. You do not have to post the photograph with your prompt if you’ve used one of mine just specify which one somewhere in the post.

There was one image we couldn’t take at her elementary school written on one of the buildings is “Dead Angels” The text is very faded but the words really stood out to me. You are free to use this also.

Pictures found here

Mister Linky Here

Prompt 46 Bitter Loathing


This week’s prompt is bitter loathing. Know anyone who cannot let go of a grudge? Who continues to hate and behave hatefully? Who remains consumed/obsessed with a specific person and/or specific event? Have you found there is someone that even after years you still cannot forgive? A person that brings out the worst in you? A relationship that even if long extinguished leaves the taste of grapefruit in your mouth?