My Soup Runneth Over

Written for:  Miz Quickly – Complete in Itself

Write between five and fourteen lines (one poem, or more than one), and let every line be complete in itself.

That’s not always a complete sentence. Though you want every line to be a worker and not just the child of a capitalist pig. Each line needs to carry something.

This is subjective.
If I were to write “a pickle jar,” you would have some idea of what I was thinking about, if not what I intended. It’s not a poem, not by itself, but it might do for a line. If I wrote “can,” or “blow,” or “steps,” I wouldn’t be bringing much to the party. On its own, “runs awkwardly” isn’t a whole thought, but might suggest enough to be a line. “Can’t dance” is iffy at best.

Oh, and two fragments with no connection don’t necessarily make a thought.

Every stitch in time saves
extra preparation later on.
Dinner time is nigh.
More water goes into the pot,
soup for extra guests.
Too many cooks.
The broth will be spoiled,
dogs lie in wait.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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