Cop Culture

Written for:  Poetic Bloomings2 – InForm Poet – Found Poetry
“FOUND poetry is all about taking words that were not meant to be a poem in their original form, and turning them in to a poem. These words/phrases/sentences come from newspaper articles, snippets of overheard conversations, recipes, interactions, letters… basically any materials can offer “inspiration”.

The wording is not changed but your use of line breaks and cuts or by adding or deleting text, thus imparting new meaning.”

For the most part
you spend time
with people you like.
He was old, a loner–
died crumpled on the floor,
a narrow space between cot
and wall. Two televisions
in the cluttered room,
one manic cat. Neighbors
swore they took care
of him; they were drunk,
wanted those televisions.
Military discharge,
pornography, set of false
teeth. Telephone rings.
“Is Mr. Jones at home?”
No. “When should I call
back?” No time soon.
“Well he was interested
in our low-cost
insurance . . .” He’s
not interested. “And who
may I ask are you?”
Cops. He’s dead.

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Twilight Thoughts

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – Toads Out of  Standard
“A Guest Appearance by Kenia Santos  (posted by Kerry)
I present you with post-rock!

“For today’s challenge, choose a song from the list below and use it as inspiration to write an untitled poem. You are expected to incorporate the song title in the body of your poem, though. You don’t need to listen to songs, but I highly recommend you to do so! (The link to the Youtube version is in the number – or access the Spotify Playlist provided below.)”
1 Waiting and waltzing in airport terminals – Industries of the Blind
2 We age onward – Circadian Eyes
3 Unmake the wild light – 65daysofstatic
4 Waiting for the world to turn back – Tides from Nebula
5 If I had known it was the last – Codes in the Clouds
6 By moving the stars I have found where you are hiding – sleepmakeswaves
7 I just wanted to make you something beautiful – Industries of the blind
8 Remember me as a time of the day – Explosions in the Sky
9 Jura – pg.lost
10 First breath after coma – Explosions in the Sky
11 The heart that fed – Caspian
12 When there were no connections – Tides from Nebula
13 Hymn for the greatest generation – Caspian
14 Law of unintended consequences – My Dad vs. Yours
15 The walk of thunder – Those Who Ride with Giants
16 What you love you must love now – The Six Parts Seven
17 They move on tracks of never-ending light – This Will Destroy You
18 Your hand in Mine – Explosions in the Sky
19 Dream is destiny – No Clear Mind
20 Every direction is North – El Ten Eleven

Remember me as a time of the day–
see me as twilight
exploding in the sky.
I rest between
light and dark,
a spark.

See me as twilight
thundering in the sky.
Purple passion,
an aperitif to night,

See me as twilight–

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Written for:  Wednesday Muse – “The Beach”


Photo by Rebeca G Souza from Pexels

of cold
water waves
on sun-drenched skin,
toes curling in mud
as seaweed and driftwood
sweep by.  Seagull’s eyes search for
food, squawking. Children build castles.
How can she wear that bathing suit? Don’t
stare. Look, sun is sinking into water.

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American Museum of Natural History

Written for:  Poets United Midweek Motif~Museum(s)  (posted by Susan)
Pick a museum and write a new poem that takes us there.

Dem bones, dem bones,
dem dinosaur bones
on display, made kids scream
and adults uncomfortable
gazing up at those gigantic

Step down a level and you
are in the sea. Millions
of year ago, large sea snakes
slid underwater. Today clown-
fish glide through sea anemones,
and you can observe glowing
fire worms, and sharks.

Asteroids, native clothing
and art of countless
cultures, and a dim room
filled with mummies.

Impossible to see everything
this museum offers in one trip.
You can make the Planetarium
a part of it. A dark room
with narrated sky shows
on the ceiling. Had enough?
be sure to visit again.

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Of Tea Parties and Mad Queens

Written for:  dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics:  Smoke and Mirrors  (posted by Gospel Isoceles)
As we think about our own place within this complex construct of empty rhetoric and doublespeak, optical illusion and obscure motives; let us also remember most importantly, that writing poetry is a clear and simple form of rebellion against a world that is anything but clear and simple.” 

Accept the unfathomable
–a tea party with hare and hatter
–a white rabbit worried or late
–liquids to drink and cake to eat
that will cause you to grow or shrink.

What to do about a mad, red-
faced queen, who it seems,
must have everything her way,
chopping off heads of those
who disagree. Selfish, spoiled,
should be boiled in oil, but
you cannot get close enough.
So you write about her collapsing
queendom in poem, on banners,
with organized marches. Sooner
or later, stupid loses.

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Poets Fitting Moods

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – Tuesday Platform  (posted by Anmol)
“I have been thinking about the condition of the world that we live in and where we are headed. In that context, reading Sylvia Plath doesn’t provide a very hopeful image. But I go back to Ariel when everything stops making sense and I find my individuality embellished in the collective. Which are the poetry collections/poems/poets that you find yourself reading over and over again, especially when nothing else seems to work?”

My antithesis to darkness is Nash
who cheers me up in a flash.
His made-up words make me laugh
and his animal poems are mish-mash.

Yearning for things in the past
Mr. Poe comes to mind with his cache–
poems of women lost, of seas and cast
-off ravens revealing panache.

When a need arises to contemplate
days of sadness, and joys, I go straight
to Maya who always accommodates.
Souls of people and cities and fates.

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“a mile wide”

Written for:  The Twiglets #140 – “a mile wide”

They stood together,
the distance between them a mile wide.

In terms of miles,
she could only see them
as linear.

each felt lost, lonely
divided by the sea
a mile wide

He vowed to always be at her side
insisting her smile was a mile wide
The only trouble
was a constant bubble
of gum she blew, which stuck to teeth she could not hide.

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1724 Cornflower


“In this episode I have chosen for the Cornflower … I found an example of a haiku on cornflower in my archives:”

beautiful and fragile
cornflowers sway on the breeze
inspiration flows

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

Here is my attempt:

on a bent green stem
cornflower opens its heart
all shades of blue

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Written for:  Carpe Diem #1723 Honeysuckle
“As a haiku poet I use a “haigo” or “penname” and as you know my “haigo” is Chèvrefeuille (French for Honeysuckle). I am a Dutch haiku poet and I write almost all my haiku in English. I even find it very difficult to create haiku in my own language, Dutch. Sometimes I even think in English and that’s sometimes, e.g. at work, a “pain in the a..”, but I cannot help it.

“For today’s prompt I have chosen a haiku in which my “haigo” is used.”



sweet perfume
lingers in the warm summer night
Honeysuckle blooms

© Chèvrefeuille (our host)

And here is an oldie from my archives:

searching my inner self
following the way of Honeysuckle
path of wisdom*

© Chèvrefeuill

Here is my attempt:

I walk past it
block later, I smell perfume
drifting scent of honeysuckle

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Phases of your Life

Written for:  dVerse Poetry Pub – Prosery #3:  Love After Love  (posted by Kim)
“We ask you to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of your choice.

As it’s flash fiction, we have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, within the 144-word limit.”

For the third Prosery, I’d like you to write a story that includes the following line from ‘Love After Love’, a poem by Derek Walcott:

‘You will love again the stranger who was your self’.


Her M.O. was men and moving. A spate of apartments,
hard to recall now, as were some men. What was
she out to prove, how fast she could self-destruct?

Time moved on and she, with it. She has dwelled
in the same apartment with the same man
for years. Life is secure, relatively speaking. She
has enough to live on, and love of three dogs,
three cats, one bird, and her man.

Today, she ran into an old friend who had been
a flightier risk than she. Catching up over drinks, both
women laughed, reminiscing about old times. Odd,
as she did not like thinking about who she was
then. Sitting on the subway, she smiled inwardly. Lives
change. Why should she not love again the stranger
who was her self. That was one phase of many. Perhaps
there would be more.

(144 words used.)


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