http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2010/12/08/WednesdayPoetryPrompts113.aspx
Prompt #113: Write a poem about a generalized group.
THE OUTSIDERS OR ARTISTS
A hermit is what I am,
Free to move about,
Free to work
I don't wait for orders,
To be posted on the board.
I form my own thoughts,
At times I ask you to take a look,
Want to know if I'm still on the rails,
Or am I now, bumping along beside
The road, off the path,
Sometimes I need you,
Just to bounce ideas back and forth.
Then back in the studio alone,
I formulate my thoughts,
I create.
Get out my ruler,
Pencils and pens,
Make a sketch,
Choose brushes and paint.
I create.
In the beginning,
I didn't know,
Now, I'm more clear,
It takes a long time,
To become --
It is the journey of a lifetime.
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http://www.threewordwednesday.com/
The prompt was;judge, nightfall, safety
IT'S THE DAY WE ARE LIVING FOR
Safety is an illusion,
We are never safe really,
If there is someone,
Who wants to hurt you,
They probably will,
What can you do?
Should you hide under the bed?
Should you run away?
Maybe, a course in martial arts?
You judge the path ahead,
It looks safe,
Until nightfall,
All bets are off,
You are never really safe,
Should you be afraid?
And what is to fear after all?
It's really death,
When you get right down to it.
And still it is the destination of the living,
We'll all die one day.
Perhaps it's not so bad,
It is our job,
To live each day to the fullest,
So on the day,
Death knocks on our door,
We'll be ready,
Greet him as our friend,
Open the door and let him in.
Dedicated to Elizabeth Edwards.
Who died December 7, 2010
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We Write Poems
Prompt #21 Love
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/
LOVE
Love isn't an easy thing to describe,
There are many forms,
And these can be split again into,
As many stars as there are in the sky.
But in the heart there is only one love,
We see a child,
We call it love,
A flower, same thing.
It is told in an Eastern myth,
The child is born,
With a red cord,
Connected to the one he will love.
It is up to him to follow his heart,
To follow the cord,
To follow the red,
To find the one waiting,
Before he is dead.
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Mag #44
A Snow Sled
My experience of a sled is limited,
Something to found only in dreams,
Of course, I saw pictures,
But where I lived it was warm and balmy,
There may have been one,
Brought there from colder climes,
Tucked away in a garage,
In hopes children's dreams would
One day be answered.
But if so I didn't know,
We loved roller skates,
And on hot Friday night,
We would meet at the rink,
To go around as fast as we could,
Slicing the warm night air.
But if there were any sleds,
They had to wait,
Perhaps they also dreamed of snow.
