#poem — Public Fediverse posts

Girl is devoured. World blames the girl.
Girl wonders how this could happen to her.
Girl loses her mind. Girl gets angry.
Girl wants to be heard but every time she tells
someone, her voice feels coated with tar.
Girl feels the wound insider her grow.
girl is afraid the wound will one day get
so big she will drown in it. Girl finally tells
someone and they ask what did she do to
ask for it. Girl doesn't speak of it again.
Girl wonders if she deserved it. Girl tries
to forget. And tried to forget. And tries to forget.
But memories have teeth that become fangs.
And fangs have never learned how to let go.

Eventually she becomes a locked door.
Eventually she learns that to devour is better
than to be devoured.
Eventually she becomes the wolf they fear.

-Nikita Gill

This is a good time to read Chanel Miller's Know My Name
https://bookshop.org/p/books/know-my-name-a-memoir-chanel-miller/50796bc03249486f

#ChanelMiller #Cornell7 #RapeCulture #Poem

Αφομοίωση βιβλίων  Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά  Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την  Αφομοίωση τροφής |  SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

[Δημιουργήθηκε με AI στο Βing]

Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά

Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την

Αφομοίωση τροφής

by SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

Για περισσότερα :
– https://stixoi.info/
– https://www.scribd.com/
– https://www.facebook.com/
– https://www.youtube.com/
– https://www.smashwords.com/
– https://www.poemhunter.com/
– https://www.wattpad.com/
– https://www.goodreads.com/
– https://www.overdrive.com/
– https://books2read.com/
– https://fable.co/book/
– https://stmol.author-pages.com

Βαθμολογία:

Αφομοίωση βιβλίων  Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά  Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την  Αφομοίωση τροφής |  SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

[Δημιουργήθηκε με AI στο Βing]

Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά

Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την

Αφομοίωση τροφής

by SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

Για περισσότερα :
– https://stixoi.info/
– https://www.scribd.com/
– https://www.facebook.com/
– https://www.youtube.com/
– https://www.smashwords.com/
– https://www.poemhunter.com/
– https://www.wattpad.com/
– https://www.goodreads.com/
– https://www.overdrive.com/
– https://books2read.com/
– https://fable.co/book/
– https://stmol.author-pages.com

Βαθμολογία:

Αφομοίωση βιβλίων  Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά  Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την  Αφομοίωση τροφής |  SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

[Δημιουργήθηκε με AI στο Βing]

Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά

Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την

Αφομοίωση τροφής

by SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

Για περισσότερα :
– https://stixoi.info/
– https://www.scribd.com/
– https://www.facebook.com/
– https://www.youtube.com/
– https://www.smashwords.com/
– https://www.poemhunter.com/
– https://www.wattpad.com/
– https://www.goodreads.com/
– https://www.overdrive.com/
– https://books2read.com/
– https://fable.co/book/
– https://stmol.author-pages.com

Βαθμολογία:

Αφομοίωση βιβλίων  Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά  Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την  Αφομοίωση τροφής |  SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

[Δημιουργήθηκε με AI στο Βing]

Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά

Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την

Αφομοίωση τροφής

by SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

Για περισσότερα :
– https://stixoi.info/
– https://www.scribd.com/
– https://www.facebook.com/
– https://www.youtube.com/
– https://www.smashwords.com/
– https://www.poemhunter.com/
– https://www.wattpad.com/
– https://www.goodreads.com/
– https://www.overdrive.com/
– https://books2read.com/
– https://fable.co/book/
– https://stmol.author-pages.com

Βαθμολογία:

Αφομοίωση βιβλίων  Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά  Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την  Αφομοίωση τροφής |  SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

[Δημιουργήθηκε με AI στο Βing]

Σε σάρκα, αίμα και οστά

Όπως ακριβώς συμβαίνει με την

Αφομοίωση τροφής

by SearchingTheMeaningOfLife

Για περισσότερα :
– https://stixoi.info/
– https://www.scribd.com/
– https://www.facebook.com/
– https://www.youtube.com/
– https://www.smashwords.com/
– https://www.poemhunter.com/
– https://www.wattpad.com/
– https://www.goodreads.com/
– https://www.overdrive.com/
– https://books2read.com/
– https://fable.co/book/
– https://stmol.author-pages.com

Βαθμολογία:

This poem is all about the honeymoon period of loving someone, and once you get passed that initial flurry, how the damage and wastelands from life start to appear. Past wounds emerge, but they might not even know they're there.

#love #relationships #poem #poetry #writing #poems #ampoetry #reading

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/30/the-fields-a-poem-about-love-trust-and-the-damage-inside-us/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

This poem is all about the honeymoon period of loving someone, and once you get passed that initial flurry, how the damage and wastelands from life start to appear. Past wounds emerge, but they might not even know they're there.

#love #relationships #poem #poetry #writing #poems #ampoetry #reading

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/30/the-fields-a-poem-about-love-trust-and-the-damage-inside-us/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

This poem is all about the honeymoon period of loving someone, and once you get passed that initial flurry, how the damage and wastelands from life start to appear. Past wounds emerge, but they might not even know they're there.

#love #relationships #poem #poetry #writing #poems #ampoetry #reading

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/30/the-fields-a-poem-about-love-trust-and-the-damage-inside-us/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

This poem is all about the honeymoon period of loving someone, and once you get passed that initial flurry, how the damage and wastelands from life start to appear. Past wounds emerge, but they might not even know they're there.

#love #relationships #poem #poetry #writing #poems #ampoetry #reading

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/09/30/the-fields-a-poem-about-love-trust-and-the-damage-inside-us/?utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=jetpack_social

The Fields: A Poem about Love, Trust, and the Damage Inside Us

Your lips are soft, elastic,
easy to press. Our tongues collapsing
two slimy stars colliding, searching for atoms
to borrow, breathe, and bend.
Your hips are snowy cityscapes. I’ll climb them.
We’ll sweat, folded, then sit on our sides,
naked, the sheets vandalized
by our oils and skin.

Wake up, you still have to travel.
Pass them. Leap them. Dodge them.
Voids, mines, pits, holes, chasms,
all definitions of the abyss
wait inside me.
The fathoms are scars, left from
others; lovers, family, friends and dreams.
They pepper and punctuate the chambers of my heart.

They are your path,
and marked by the billowing,
tattered cloth of fallen travelers
skeleton bent, clumped, reaching from
the ashen soil in all directions.
Vultures cackle-mark the cloudless sky
their hovers the only sound, save the omnipresent
howl of the empty, endless wind.

I wish there was a guide
for your wasteland crossing.
Even Charon, hobbled, translucent,
or Cerberus, yipping, panting.
Anyone would do
since it cannot be me.
I’m lost in the labyrinth of my damage
the lone living bee in the long dead honeycomb.

And please,

if you find a way through

can you tell me?

The Fields: A Poem about Love, Trust, and the Damage Inside Us

Your lips are soft, elastic,
easy to press. Our tongues collapsing
two slimy stars colliding, searching for atoms
to borrow, breathe, and bend.
Your hips are snowy cityscapes. I’ll climb them.
We’ll sweat, folded, then sit on our sides,
naked, the sheets vandalized
by our oils and skin.

Wake up, you still have to travel.
Pass them. Leap them. Dodge them.
Voids, mines, pits, holes, chasms,
all definitions of the abyss
wait inside me.
The fathoms are scars, left from
others; lovers, family, friends and dreams.
They pepper and punctuate the chambers of my heart.

They are your path,
and marked by the billowing,
tattered cloth of fallen travelers
skeleton bent, clumped, reaching from
the ashen soil in all directions.
Vultures cackle-mark the cloudless sky
their hovers the only sound, save the omnipresent
howl of the empty, endless wind.

I wish there was a guide
for your wasteland crossing.
Even Charon, hobbled, translucent,
or Cerberus, yipping, panting.
Anyone would do
since it cannot be me.
I’m lost in the labyrinth of my damage
the lone living bee in the long dead honeycomb.

And please,

if you find a way through

can you tell me?

The Fields: A Poem about Love, Trust, and the Damage Inside Us

Your lips are soft, elastic,
easy to press. Our tongues collapsing
two slimy stars colliding, searching for atoms
to borrow, breathe, and bend.
Your hips are snowy cityscapes. I’ll climb them.
We’ll sweat, folded, then sit on our sides,
naked, the sheets vandalized
by our oils and skin.

Wake up, you still have to travel.
Pass them. Leap them. Dodge them.
Voids, mines, pits, holes, chasms,
all definitions of the abyss
wait inside me.
The fathoms are scars, left from
others; lovers, family, friends and dreams.
They pepper and punctuate the chambers of my heart.

They are your path,
and marked by the billowing,
tattered cloth of fallen travelers
skeleton bent, clumped, reaching from
the ashen soil in all directions.
Vultures cackle-mark the cloudless sky
their hovers the only sound, save the omnipresent
howl of the empty, endless wind.

I wish there was a guide
for your wasteland crossing.
Even Charon, hobbled, translucent,
or Cerberus, yipping, panting.
Anyone would do
since it cannot be me.
I’m lost in the labyrinth of my damage
the lone living bee in the long dead honeycomb.

And please,

if you find a way through

can you tell me?

The Fields: A Poem about Love, Trust, and the Damage Inside Us

Your lips are soft, elastic,
easy to press. Our tongues collapsing
two slimy stars colliding, searching for atoms
to borrow, breathe, and bend.
Your hips are snowy cityscapes. I’ll climb them.
We’ll sweat, folded, then sit on our sides,
naked, the sheets vandalized
by our oils and skin.

Wake up, you still have to travel.
Pass them. Leap them. Dodge them.
Voids, mines, pits, holes, chasms,
all definitions of the abyss
wait inside me.
The fathoms are scars, left from
others; lovers, family, friends and dreams.
They pepper and punctuate the chambers of my heart.

They are your path,
and marked by the billowing,
tattered cloth of fallen travelers
skeleton bent, clumped, reaching from
the ashen soil in all directions.
Vultures cackle-mark the cloudless sky
their hovers the only sound, save the omnipresent
howl of the empty, endless wind.

I wish there was a guide
for your wasteland crossing.
Even Charon, hobbled, translucent,
or Cerberus, yipping, panting.
Anyone would do
since it cannot be me.
I’m lost in the labyrinth of my damage
the lone living bee in the long dead honeycomb.

And please,

if you find a way through

can you tell me?

Permanent Member, 2026

woke up with the mark
smaller than a paper cut
permanent member

#mixedmedia #collage #photography #dailyart #poem #intuitive #abstract

Permanent Member, 2026

woke up with the mark
smaller than a paper cut
permanent member

#mixedmedia #collage #photography #dailyart #poem #intuitive #abstract

Permanent Member, 2026

woke up with the mark
smaller than a paper cut
permanent member

#mixedmedia #collage #photography #dailyart #poem #intuitive #abstract

Permanent Member, 2026

woke up with the mark
smaller than a paper cut
permanent member

#mixedmedia #collage #photography #dailyart #poem #intuitive #abstract

Permanent Member, 2026

woke up with the mark
smaller than a paper cut
permanent member

#mixedmedia #collage #photography #dailyart #poem #intuitive #abstract

Today we wear orange
to share our sorrow and warmth
on a chilly day.

#dailyhaikuprompt - chilly
#haiku
#poem

Today we wear orange
to share our sorrow and warmth
on a chilly day.

#dailyhaikuprompt - chilly
#haiku
#poem

Today we wear orange
to share our sorrow and warmth
on a chilly day.

#dailyhaikuprompt - chilly
#haiku
#poem

Today we wear orange
to share our sorrow and warmth
on a chilly day.

#dailyhaikuprompt - chilly
#haiku
#poem

Today we wear orange
to share our sorrow and warmth
on a chilly day.

#dailyhaikuprompt - chilly
#haiku
#poem

W3 Prompt #231: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘To a Flower on a Kashmir Mountainside’ by Khadija Shabbir

Little one, clinging to grey stone
where nothing else dared root itself ;
what do you know of stubbornness
that I have yet to learn?

I found you between two boulders,
petals the color of held breath,
trembling not from weakness
but from wind that has crossed glaciers
just to reach you first.

Thou growest where the mountain
offers no soil, no shelter, no promise;
only altitude, only cold,
only the kind of beauty
that asks nothing in return.

What do you know of solitude,
small and bright against so much grey?
Do you count yourself alone,
or does the whole mountain
keep you company in its silence?

And if you could answer,
I imagine you would say:
I am not stubborn
I am simply placed.
The wind did not defeat me,
it planted me.
You call this solitude;
I call it being chosen
by the one place
soft enough to hold me
and hard enough to keep me.

That surprised me more than the climb did;
that what I read as struggle,
you might call belonging.
That the very stone I pitied you for
may be the only ground
that ever truly wanted you.

I left you there, still standing,
long after I had gone;
small, stubborn, sacred thing,
who taught me that survival
and belonging
are not always
the same story.

II. Khadija’s prompt: Repeat after yourself

I invite you to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds.

I’d like you to begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora. Think of how a repeated word can sound like a heartbeat, a chant, or a prayer: each time it returns, it can carry a little more feeling.

Here’s what we’re going for:

1. Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.
2. A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.
3. Any subject: I welcome poems about anything that catches your attention: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.
4. An optional twist: By the last line, try to make your repeated word feel different from when it first appeared.

Here’s an example:

slow rain,
slow steam, slow light,
slow hands around the cup,
slow breath, slow hush, slow thanks for this,
slow home.

In this example, I use “slow” first to describe the rain, then the unhurried movements of someone holding a cup. By “slow home,” I want the word to suggest the comfort of being somewhere we can take our time.

I’d love to see where your chosen word takes you. Have fun!

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Oct. 5, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Khadija, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Heather wrote:

‘Crabbies Ginger Beer’ by Heather Carr-Rowe

on a hot summer's day
late in the afternoon
listening to reggae

I flip the cap away
hear the gasping bottle swoon
on a hot summer's day

let liquid gold hold sway
sip the ginger beneath the day moon
listening to reggae

there is a bite per say
bitter sweet memories croon
on a hot summer's day

the ginger snaps me on my way
tastebuds all a festoon
listening to reggae

it's the taste of the sun's ray
a sensory monsoon
on a hot summer's day
listening to reggae

W3 Prompt #231: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘To a Flower on a Kashmir Mountainside’ by Khadija Shabbir

Little one, clinging to grey stone
where nothing else dared root itself ;
what do you know of stubbornness
that I have yet to learn?

I found you between two boulders,
petals the color of held breath,
trembling not from weakness
but from wind that has crossed glaciers
just to reach you first.

Thou growest where the mountain
offers no soil, no shelter, no promise;
only altitude, only cold,
only the kind of beauty
that asks nothing in return.

What do you know of solitude,
small and bright against so much grey?
Do you count yourself alone,
or does the whole mountain
keep you company in its silence?

And if you could answer,
I imagine you would say:
I am not stubborn
I am simply placed.
The wind did not defeat me,
it planted me.
You call this solitude;
I call it being chosen
by the one place
soft enough to hold me
and hard enough to keep me.

That surprised me more than the climb did;
that what I read as struggle,
you might call belonging.
That the very stone I pitied you for
may be the only ground
that ever truly wanted you.

I left you there, still standing,
long after I had gone;
small, stubborn, sacred thing,
who taught me that survival
and belonging
are not always
the same story.

II. Khadija’s prompt: Repeat after yourself

I invite you to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds.

I’d like you to begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora. Think of how a repeated word can sound like a heartbeat, a chant, or a prayer: each time it returns, it can carry a little more feeling.

Here’s what we’re going for:

1. Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.
2. A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.
3. Any subject: I welcome poems about anything that catches your attention: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.
4. An optional twist: By the last line, try to make your repeated word feel different from when it first appeared.

Here’s an example:

slow rain,
slow steam, slow light,
slow hands around the cup,
slow breath, slow hush, slow thanks for this,
slow home.

In this example, I use “slow” first to describe the rain, then the unhurried movements of someone holding a cup. By “slow home,” I want the word to suggest the comfort of being somewhere we can take our time.

I’d love to see where your chosen word takes you. Have fun!

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Oct. 5, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Khadija, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Heather wrote:

‘Crabbies Ginger Beer’ by Heather Carr-Rowe

on a hot summer's day
late in the afternoon
listening to reggae

I flip the cap away
hear the gasping bottle swoon
on a hot summer's day

let liquid gold hold sway
sip the ginger beneath the day moon
listening to reggae

there is a bite per say
bitter sweet memories croon
on a hot summer's day

the ginger snaps me on my way
tastebuds all a festoon
listening to reggae

it's the taste of the sun's ray
a sensory monsoon
on a hot summer's day
listening to reggae

W3 Prompt #231: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘To a Flower on a Kashmir Mountainside’ by Khadija Shabbir

Little one, clinging to grey stone
where nothing else dared root itself ;
what do you know of stubbornness
that I have yet to learn?

I found you between two boulders,
petals the color of held breath,
trembling not from weakness
but from wind that has crossed glaciers
just to reach you first.

Thou growest where the mountain
offers no soil, no shelter, no promise;
only altitude, only cold,
only the kind of beauty
that asks nothing in return.

What do you know of solitude,
small and bright against so much grey?
Do you count yourself alone,
or does the whole mountain
keep you company in its silence?

And if you could answer,
I imagine you would say:
I am not stubborn
I am simply placed.
The wind did not defeat me,
it planted me.
You call this solitude;
I call it being chosen
by the one place
soft enough to hold me
and hard enough to keep me.

That surprised me more than the climb did;
that what I read as struggle,
you might call belonging.
That the very stone I pitied you for
may be the only ground
that ever truly wanted you.

I left you there, still standing,
long after I had gone;
small, stubborn, sacred thing,
who taught me that survival
and belonging
are not always
the same story.

II. Khadija’s prompt: Repeat after yourself

I invite you to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds.

I’d like you to begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora. Think of how a repeated word can sound like a heartbeat, a chant, or a prayer: each time it returns, it can carry a little more feeling.

Here’s what we’re going for:

1. Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.
2. A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.
3. Any subject: I welcome poems about anything that catches your attention: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.
4. An optional twist: By the last line, try to make your repeated word feel different from when it first appeared.

Here’s an example:

slow rain,
slow steam, slow light,
slow hands around the cup,
slow breath, slow hush, slow thanks for this,
slow home.

In this example, I use “slow” first to describe the rain, then the unhurried movements of someone holding a cup. By “slow home,” I want the word to suggest the comfort of being somewhere we can take our time.

I’d love to see where your chosen word takes you. Have fun!

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Oct. 5, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Khadija, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Heather wrote:

‘Crabbies Ginger Beer’ by Heather Carr-Rowe

on a hot summer's day
late in the afternoon
listening to reggae

I flip the cap away
hear the gasping bottle swoon
on a hot summer's day

let liquid gold hold sway
sip the ginger beneath the day moon
listening to reggae

there is a bite per say
bitter sweet memories croon
on a hot summer's day

the ginger snaps me on my way
tastebuds all a festoon
listening to reggae

it's the taste of the sun's ray
a sensory monsoon
on a hot summer's day
listening to reggae

W3 Prompt #231: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘To a Flower on a Kashmir Mountainside’ by Khadija Shabbir

Little one, clinging to grey stone
where nothing else dared root itself ;
what do you know of stubbornness
that I have yet to learn?

I found you between two boulders,
petals the color of held breath,
trembling not from weakness
but from wind that has crossed glaciers
just to reach you first.

Thou growest where the mountain
offers no soil, no shelter, no promise;
only altitude, only cold,
only the kind of beauty
that asks nothing in return.

What do you know of solitude,
small and bright against so much grey?
Do you count yourself alone,
or does the whole mountain
keep you company in its silence?

And if you could answer,
I imagine you would say:
I am not stubborn
I am simply placed.
The wind did not defeat me,
it planted me.
You call this solitude;
I call it being chosen
by the one place
soft enough to hold me
and hard enough to keep me.

That surprised me more than the climb did;
that what I read as struggle,
you might call belonging.
That the very stone I pitied you for
may be the only ground
that ever truly wanted you.

I left you there, still standing,
long after I had gone;
small, stubborn, sacred thing,
who taught me that survival
and belonging
are not always
the same story.

II. Khadija’s prompt: Repeat after yourself

I invite you to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds.

I’d like you to begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora. Think of how a repeated word can sound like a heartbeat, a chant, or a prayer: each time it returns, it can carry a little more feeling.

Here’s what we’re going for:

1. Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.
2. A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.
3. Any subject: I welcome poems about anything that catches your attention: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.
4. An optional twist: By the last line, try to make your repeated word feel different from when it first appeared.

Here’s an example:

slow rain,
slow steam, slow light,
slow hands around the cup,
slow breath, slow hush, slow thanks for this,
slow home.

In this example, I use “slow” first to describe the rain, then the unhurried movements of someone holding a cup. By “slow home,” I want the word to suggest the comfort of being somewhere we can take our time.

I’d love to see where your chosen word takes you. Have fun!

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Oct. 5, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Khadija, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Heather wrote:

‘Crabbies Ginger Beer’ by Heather Carr-Rowe

on a hot summer's day
late in the afternoon
listening to reggae

I flip the cap away
hear the gasping bottle swoon
on a hot summer's day

let liquid gold hold sway
sip the ginger beneath the day moon
listening to reggae

there is a bite per say
bitter sweet memories croon
on a hot summer's day

the ginger snaps me on my way
tastebuds all a festoon
listening to reggae

it's the taste of the sun's ray
a sensory monsoon
on a hot summer's day
listening to reggae

W3 Prompt #231: Wea’ve Written Weekly

Intro

Dear friends,

Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish.

You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version:

Part I

The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read before participating in the prompt.

Part II

The second ingredient is a writing guideline (or two) provided by the PoW. Guidelines may include, but are not limited to: word counts, poetic forms, inclusion of specific words, and use of particular poetic devices.

Part III

After five days, when the prompt closes, the PoW shall select one participant’s poem as the W3 prompt for the following week, and its author becomes the next PoW.

Simple enough, right?

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘To a Flower on a Kashmir Mountainside’ by Khadija Shabbir

Little one, clinging to grey stone
where nothing else dared root itself ;
what do you know of stubbornness
that I have yet to learn?

I found you between two boulders,
petals the color of held breath,
trembling not from weakness
but from wind that has crossed glaciers
just to reach you first.

Thou growest where the mountain
offers no soil, no shelter, no promise;
only altitude, only cold,
only the kind of beauty
that asks nothing in return.

What do you know of solitude,
small and bright against so much grey?
Do you count yourself alone,
or does the whole mountain
keep you company in its silence?

And if you could answer,
I imagine you would say:
I am not stubborn
I am simply placed.
The wind did not defeat me,
it planted me.
You call this solitude;
I call it being chosen
by the one place
soft enough to hold me
and hard enough to keep me.

That surprised me more than the climb did;
that what I read as struggle,
you might call belonging.
That the very stone I pitied you for
may be the only ground
that ever truly wanted you.

I left you there, still standing,
long after I had gone;
small, stubborn, sacred thing,
who taught me that survival
and belonging
are not always
the same story.

II. Khadija’s prompt: Repeat after yourself

I invite you to write a cinquain, a five-line poem, using repetition to give one word or phrase new meaning as the poem unfolds.

I’d like you to begin at least three lines with the same word or short phrase. This is called anaphora. Think of how a repeated word can sound like a heartbeat, a chant, or a prayer: each time it returns, it can carry a little more feeling.

Here’s what we’re going for:

1. Five lines: Use this syllable pattern: 2–4–6–8–2. That means two syllables in the first line, four in the second, six in the third, eight in the fourth, and two in the last.
2. A repeated beginning: Start at least three of those lines with the same word or short phrase.
3. Any subject: I welcome poems about anything that catches your attention: a feeling, a place, a memory, or an ordinary moment.
4. An optional twist: By the last line, try to make your repeated word feel different from when it first appeared.

Here’s an example:

slow rain,
slow steam, slow light,
slow hands around the cup,
slow breath, slow hush, slow thanks for this,
slow home.

In this example, I use “slow” first to describe the rain, then the unhurried movements of someone holding a cup. By “slow home,” I want the word to suggest the comfort of being somewhere we can take our time.

I’d love to see where your chosen word takes you. Have fun!

III. Submit: Click on ‘Mister Linky’ below

In order to participate and share a poem, open up this blog post, outside of the WordPress reader. At the bottom, just below these words, you will see a small rectangular graphic with the words ‘Mr Linky’. Click on that to submit.

Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, Oct. 5, 10:00 AM (GMT+2)

Last week’s W3 poem

This week’s W3 prompt poem (above), composed by Khadija, was written in response to last week’s W3 prompt poem, which Heather wrote:

‘Crabbies Ginger Beer’ by Heather Carr-Rowe

on a hot summer's day
late in the afternoon
listening to reggae

I flip the cap away
hear the gasping bottle swoon
on a hot summer's day

let liquid gold hold sway
sip the ginger beneath the day moon
listening to reggae

there is a bite per say
bitter sweet memories croon
on a hot summer's day

the ginger snaps me on my way
tastebuds all a festoon
listening to reggae

it's the taste of the sun's ray
a sensory monsoon
on a hot summer's day
listening to reggae

Ups and Downs

A geographer says it’s not fair
To blame him for something so rare
It seems there’s a flap
O’er a prob on his map
A small topographical error

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #limerick #geography #topography #topographical #map

Ups and Downs

A geographer says it’s not fair
To blame him for something so rare
It seems there’s a flap
O’er a prob on his map
A small topographical error

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #limerick #geography #topography #topographical #map

Ups and Downs

A geographer says it’s not fair
To blame him for something so rare
It seems there’s a flap
O’er a prob on his map
A small topographical error

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #limerick #geography #topography #topographical #map

Ups and Downs

A geographer says it’s not fair
To blame him for something so rare
It seems there’s a flap
O’er a prob on his map
A small topographical error

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #limerick #geography #topography #topographical #map

Ups and Downs

A geographer says it’s not fair
To blame him for something so rare
It seems there’s a flap
O’er a prob on his map
A small topographical error

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #limerick #geography #topography #topographical #map

For Sail
by Kevin Ahern

Years ago the Navy women
Before each of their sails
Would pinch themselves for luck
Or is that an old Wave’s tale?

#funny #comedy #laugh #silly #humor #humour #verse #poetry #poem #sail #sailor #navy #women #Wivestale #wife #tale

Added this hit. Proceeding with How Alive Poem by Wade Forster. A good song to practice tapping. Add it to your queue. URL:

https://chordyes.com/chord/wade-forster-how-alive-poem

#guitarlessons #musician #australian #malevocalist #poem #acoustic #reflective

Added this hit. Proceeding with How Alive Poem by Wade Forster. A good song to practice tapping. Add it to your queue. URL:

https://chordyes.com/chord/wade-forster-how-alive-poem

#guitarlessons #musician #australian #malevocalist #poem #acoustic #reflective

Lightfall

Sun, through Autumn trees,
stains the leaves as glass, to cast
colour on my path.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#haiku #senryu #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Lightfall

Sun, through Autumn trees,
stains the leaves as glass, to cast
colour on my path.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#haiku #senryu #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Lightfall

Sun, through Autumn trees,
stains the leaves as glass, to cast
colour on my path.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#haiku #senryu #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Lightfall

Sun, through Autumn trees,
stains the leaves as glass, to cast
colour on my path.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#haiku #senryu #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Lightfall

Sun, through Autumn trees,
stains the leaves as glass, to cast
colour on my path.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#haiku #senryu #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Unhomed

The years roll onward,
and I no longer belong
to "now," or "to come";
but I have always been part
of an unremembered past.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#tanka #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Unhomed

The years roll onward,
and I no longer belong
to "now," or "to come";
but I have always been part
of an unremembered past.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#tanka #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Unhomed

The years roll onward,
and I no longer belong
to "now," or "to come";
but I have always been part
of an unremembered past.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#tanka #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Unhomed

The years roll onward,
and I no longer belong
to "now," or "to come";
but I have always been part
of an unremembered past.

© Simon J Ashcroft, 2026

#tanka #poem #poetry #PoetryCommunity

Ice cream treat with mom
Maple walnut her top fave
Sweetest memory

#dailyhaikuprompt #haiku #poem #shortpoem #senryu #writing

Prompt ~ Walnut

Ice cream treat with mom
Maple walnut her top fave
Sweetest memory

#dailyhaikuprompt #haiku #poem #shortpoem #senryu #writing

Prompt ~ Walnut

Ice cream treat with mom
Maple walnut her top fave
Sweetest memory

#dailyhaikuprompt #haiku #poem #shortpoem #senryu #writing

Prompt ~ Walnut

Ice cream treat with mom
Maple walnut her top fave
Sweetest memory

#dailyhaikuprompt #haiku #poem #shortpoem #senryu #writing

Prompt ~ Walnut