Counting Your Ducks in a Row or Zero Ducks to Give—The NSFW Prompt That I Hope My Mother Won’t Read

This next prompt comes from the fabulous HanaLena Fennel: 

“So you forgot to plant your fuck seeds and expect that this year the field is bare. Except nature abhors a fuck-less vacuum and the field refuses barrenness.

What has sprung up in the empty space? Ears of corn, just ears, the remorseful howl of fucks wasted on the unfuckable. Has the entire field retreated back into plainhood, blanketed itself in grass and clover, disguised itself back into the hill above? Are the rows abundant with poppies and primrose, the perfect paragon of productivity? Are you left with raucous wildflowers, a collision of regret and forget-me-nots. Is this a cash crop, a waste of space, both?”

For more prompts and a supportive online community, subscribe to HanaLena’s patreon.

I believe this may come from Red Bubble, but please correct me if I am wrong. I found it posted on Twitter.

  

Bonus prompt: Count your fucks like blessings, name them one-by-one or if you have none left to give, then calculuate the societal and/or personal value of zero fucks. For more on countable fucks and a zero-fucks game, check out this Lexicon valley article link

Monsters are Eric Morago’s Best Friends—A Call for Submissions Prompt

Moon Tide Press sent out a call for submissions. The deadline is July 15th. Editor Eric Morago is looking for horror-themed poems. Rather than “scary” poems, he wants poems that tackle different themes and genres using horror movies, horror tropes, pop culture, and mythology. For details, click here.

So you have already written an elegy for Freddie Krueger’s hat, a pantoum for Jamie Lee Curtis’s scream, a tribute to Bart Simpson as Poe’s raven, a lyric to finger puppets and red paint, a contrapuntal of a conversation between Jack from The Shining and Elmer Fudd, an ode to the Woodsman’s ax in “Little Red Riding Hood” and a sonnet to the tree root that always trips the heroine fleeing the murderer, but you need another in order to send the full possible eight and are at a loss. Here is a popular idea: write a poem about Frankenstein’s monster and send it specifically to Eric Morago because he needs to read another one right now! 

Seriously, though, write that poem and make it so good he has to include it, or perhaps Eric will reserve it for an anthology devoted solely to Frankenstein’s monsters. So what is your monster? What have you pieced together from others’ guilt and from the extraneous bits of yourself that you never wanted to see in daylight but somehow recreated and attached to every mistake you ever made and let this compiliation of regret and rot out into the world? How did you feel as it broke all that you hoped would glimmer? Did you recognize the pattern of your thumb on its spleen, your forced smile on its stitched face, your rage in the flayed vocal chords? What is the shadow of a mirror image and what curse follows when you break it? How will you gather all of its pieces and where will you hide them from yourself?

Photo from Moon Tide Press submission announcement.

In the Eye of the Beholder--Believing is Seeing Prompt

An eye looks like another planet. Perhaps we carry our own world in these orbs—half mythical, half reality but limited by size and time. Light enters the retina and the image is inverted, but our brain reverses it as well as fills in the missing data from the optic disc where no visual receptor cells are located. 

What world do you create? What do you choose to focus your attention upon? What do you never see at all?  What do you believe the world to be? What will you do with the images your mind creates for you? What will you make? For inspiration, read “I look at the world” by Langston Hughes and “Journey into the Eye” by David Lehman.

Lie Like You Are a Twitter Troll—Prompt from Denise Weuve

Some days are good Twitter days—discovering poets new to you and gasping at the beauty of their words, reading and laughing at biologists drag Peterson or some other vile twit, reading historians diss each other’s favorite snacks and sodas—other days are filled with incels, bigots and rape apologists. Today, alas, was a bad Twitter day. 

As Twitter and the current adminstration demonstrate, there is truly no longer any consequences for lying. So have at it. Tell white lies, neon green lies, lies of omissions, tall tales, whoppers, fibs and falsehoods: tell all the lies in this poem...BUT still give credit. This prompt comes from the amazing Denise Wueve. Please click here for her prompt, including her helpful suggestions, and buy her book available from her publisher, ELJ BookNook, and bookstores.

But most of us lie at times and most of us experience the fallout from it, so here are two poems you might like as much as I did: “Lying My Head Off” by Cate Marvin and “White Lies” by Natasha Trethewey.

Building Blocks—Ode to Chemistry Prompt

I believe I stole this prompt from Carrie McKay, but she is so generous she would never rat me out. Choose an element you love or randomly slide your finger across the periodic table. Write an ode to that element: show your gratitude for its influence on your life, perhaps all life, or simply its potential power to end life. Fall in love, be hyperbolic, hold nothing back. 

For inspiration read “Ode to Lithium #1: The Watchmen” by Shira Erlichman. And here is another beautiful poem praising lithium: “Lithium Dreams (White Sea)” by Amy Beeder. I began an ode to helium and someday (I hope) I will finish it. 

Photo credit: This image was downloaded for free at the online site pixbay.

Returning, Call and Answer—A Prompt

For this prompt, spend a few moments remembering all of the people you have loved and lost. Remember their voices, their unique catchphrases, their mannerisms—the way they tilted their head when they spoke or looked directly at you, the stories they loved to tell, their thousand small kindnesses, the last words you exchanged with them and what you wish you had said and what you want them to say again to you or for the first time ever.

Now imagine they have returned. They are in the room with you, all of them. What do they look like now—as they did before they died or perhaps they appear younger than you are now? What do they say? What do you ask and what are their answers. How will you let them go again?

Here is a poem you might like:  “My Dead” by Tim Nolan. And to celebrate Memorial Day I am including one of my favorite poems, “Facing It” by Yusef Komunyakaa.

Keys, Hopes and Dreams—The What-You’ve-Lost Prompt

Humans destroy and break things—hence the invention of bandages, spackle, superglue, duct tape and  a whole industry providing windshield repair. But humans may lose more things than they break. I don’t have the percentages on me right now—I think I left them in the other side of my brain. So write a prompt for what you have lost—phone in the toilet, wedding ring in the ocean, your Play-Doh partner from preschool, your imaginary friends and real friends and frenemies, your belief in human progress, your cat Fluffy, your hope for the future, your memory of last Thursday, your childhood self and your sense of self. 

Imagine an afterlife in which all that you have lost is reunited. You are surrounded by mixtapes and house keys, friends and library books, grandparents and pets, all of the former selves and the self-confidence you held for one whole week...

I love both of these poems: “In the Museum of Lost Objects” by Rebecca Lindbergh and “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop. 

Not pearly gates but gates to somewhere...

Hulk Smash—The What-You’ve-Broken Prompt

Humans are clumsy creatures. We do NOT land on our feet, but so much lands around our feet in shards and splinters. I personally seem to project a field of chaos—technology fritzes out, clocks slow down, sidewalks crack, people trip and fall, hopes crash and best intentions collide all at my presence.

Write a poem or short story about what you have broken: hearts and a liver, globes—whether worlds or grapes, a companionable silence, a marriage, bones or an exoskeleton, the shadow of a bird, a unicorn’s last hope, a sense of order, any sense at all, etc. After you broke it, did you buy it? If you did, in what coin did you purchase its loss? If not, whom or what do you still owe? Where do you carry that debt? On your back, around your neck, in your belly or inside your throat?

For inspiration, read “What’s  Broken” by Dorianne Laux.

Hulk toe smash.  

The Sin of Syndoche and Meta Metonymy—Literary Devices as Prompts

Syndoche and metonymy are figures of speech we all use daily. When we talk about policies from the current administration, we often say something like “The White House unveiled its newest proposal for ....,” which is an example of metonymy. Crown to refer to the monarchy or specficially to a king or queen is another common metonymy found throughout literature and history. 

Synecdoche is similar to metonymy (and usually confused with it on AP exams), but syndoche calls something by one of its parts rather than simply calling something by something else closely associated with it. Sails for ships, wheels for cars, coke for all sodas or kleenex for tissues (in spite of copyright laws) are all examples of syndoche. One syndoche that has been overused politically is “boots on the ground” to refer to sending soldiers directly to a region. 

For more examples of syndoche and metonymy, including literary excerpts, check out this site that I find useful in helping students. Now that you have the explananations (regardless if you mix them up), I want you to develop a poem and fill it up using both or either of these devices but create your own. Rather than relegating your emotions to your heart, maybe your sinuses indicate the depth of your passion. A really intense orgasm gives me a runny nose. No idea why. Perhaps mucus is my lubricate. Instead of thoughts and prayers, maybe you send chips and salsa. Rather than pen or sword, what mightier for you—a Tweet or a vine? My daughter doesn’t “see” people as colors but distinguishes them as individual scents, so perhaps my “soul” is the scent of bed sheets and dryer lint, which she claims is a “good” smell. Not sure St. Peter will agree, but hard to say. Make this personal (and better yet in my estimation, make it weird) but leave a trail for readers to follow if they have to jump across a lot of ravines and onto slippery stones. 

And here are links to two poems I just love. Whether they are good examples for the prompt or not, fuck it, I just want to link them so that you may read them if you haven’t already. The first is Ocean Vuong’s “Aubade with Burning City” and the second is Jamaal May’s “There Are Birds Here”—both featured by the Poetry Foundation.

List Poem of Excuses—The Writing Prompt for Why I Am Not Writing or Cleaning House or Leaving the Couch

Hi all. I have mentioned I am a slacker—it is a recurring theme along with water imagery, political rants and anxiety in my poetry, thought patterns, existence.... I completed eight “poems” on the last day of April’s 30/30 challenge and managed to snuff any spark of creativity or motivation that once flickered in my ashtray of a head. I was ready to step away from writing and devote myself to video games where I CAN finish quests, earn achievements and fame, develop flame-throwing powers, accumulate gold and get the girl all while sitting on my couch.

After a couple of weeks away from the Ugly Mug due to a short trip and scheduling conflicts, I recovered some of my passion. Thank you, Alexis Rhone Fancher, for an inspiring feature last night and for all of the readers in the open who once more got my rusty gears moving. Check out Alexis’s newest book, available at Moon Tide Press. I cannot wait to read it!

Since all experiences and character traits are fodder, even laziness, write a list poem of why you don’t write. What else are you doing? Be honest or not. Make up shit if you like. Perhaps you have been carrying on a secret affair with the Loch Ness monster for the last three years, and all of your writing journals got waterlogged (shout out to Eric Morago for last night’s poem). Perhaps you would write, but your special quill was stolen by a Poe-reading raven who needed it for its wing and its yet unpublished fan fic. Maybe your cat is curled up asleep on your lap, and she is just sooo cute that you couldn’t disturb her...for three weeks or two decades.

If you are one of those truly diligent, industrious types, take over my life and write about all the things you do in a day. Make my spleen quiver with envy. Make me wish I could adult daily or even attain adulthood periodically.

So now let’s write that list poem, but know that the best title for this list poem or any list poem has already been used: “When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities” by Chen Chen (and it is also the title of his latest book, an excellent read).

And here is one of my excuses for my lack productivity pictured below: 

Sappy Sentimental Death Prompt

Visiting my parents often involves awkward discussions. My mom, bless her morbid heart, wants me to go through their house and choose what I want after she and my dad die. I don’t want to think of this possibility, but of course I do want to ease her mind. How to select though? Which vase holds her love of flowers and butterflies? Which glass spills her laugh? What lamp lights up a room like my dad’s jokes? What furniture feels like a hug? What will keep them here in this world with me?

For your prompt, think what furniture or items hold pieces of yourself that you want your loved ones to hold, that you want to survive beyond you? What should home your memory?

House Your Enemies, Build Them and Make Them Fall—A Borrowed Prompt

Yes, I am using other people’s prompts again. Some weeks—lives—are like that. I really do like this prompt, which can be used to start either a poem or a short story. Click here for the prompt and make Poe proud. 

Suitcases and Excess Baggage—Stowing Your Secrets

Like secrets, we all have baggage, but not the kind we cram under an airplane’s seat and definitely not one we want to go through security. For this prompt, imagine what you need to hide away from your loved ones. What secrets would you pack to take with you to the grave. What would hurt them—and you—for them to find?

Again don’t spill your secrets; for this prompt, keep that suitcase zipped up tight. Rather turn your secrets into objects—realistic or not— a complimentary hotel toothbrush perhaps or a magpie’s squawk, a paper knife or a blinking eye? Make us curious. What does this suitcase look like anyway? Is it a sequined handbag with gold clasp or a battered cargo trunk? What will you do with it? Drop it in the River Styx as you cross? Is there anyone or several people you would entrust to dispose of it? How would they? Bury it with you, drop it into a volcano or the ocean or wall it away in cellar? The inspiration for this prompt comes from Albert Goldbarth’s  “The Suitcase Song”; I hope you like it as much as I did.

Lazy Post Prompt with Giant Squid—Posting Other People’s Prompts with Random Pic

Hi all, as you may have noticed, I am a bit of a slacker (hence the single post for last week). As further proof of my slacker affiliation, I am just posting a shared Facebook post of multiple prompts. Many of them are probably suited more to fiction than poetry, but that is feature, not a bug in spite of National Poetry Month 30/30 challenge (which as further proof of my Slackerdom citizenship, I am 11 days behind—Ooof).

Here, is the link. I hope one of them gets you started!

If nothing else, maybe it is time for you to write that sonnet to a giant squid you’ve been putting off. Or maybe that’s just me. Good luck!

Secrets—For Whom We Tell

Secrets—we all have them. Sometimes we hold our secrets, or those of others, tightly as if they were the handrail beside icy steps, and at other times, we spill them like the third glass of red wine on a white skirt.

For this prompt, don’t tell us your secrets; instead, tell us who knows each one, or all of them. Who witnessed that white lie last Wednesday? Who watched your last transgression? Who knows where all the bodies are buried and who has kept the shovel? Is your secret safe? Are you? Who knows, and more importantly, who will tell. If someone tells, will it be with a whisper or a roar? Tell us more about who knows. Check the poem “Secrets about Nothing” by Katherine Soniat and the anonymous poem “The Secret” published in 1947 in The Golden Book of Poetry.

Friday the 13th—The Embarrassing Epitaph Prompt

Bonus prompt: make a list of five bad omens (vultures circling whenever you leave your house or the Tarot’s Death card appearing in all of your games of Solitaire) and then make a list of five embarrassing deaths (Darwin award-worthy offings, particularly those involving hunting or masturbating). Compare the two lists; see what “sticks” or create a poem using of all the bad omens and one particularly spectacular death. Or create an epitaph for the ages—the death no one would wish on anyone. Go big, go broke, go blushing into the void.

FYI, the workshop I attended included a slow death by hungry turtle. Beware

Speaking Up and Speaking Out—A Prompt

Last week I attended the Poetry Lab workshop run by visiting author Julayne Lee. Julayne led a fascinating discussion on how society silences children and certain groups of people and how politeness and often even our own families reinforce suppression.

She noted how often we spend years regretting what we didn’t say because we were told not to and feared retribution. She offered us a chance to mitigate that regret with the following prompt: Begin a poem with the line “What I wanted to say was...” That line can be kept as your first line or even your title, or you can use it as a ghostline and erase it after the poem is finished. So for your prompt, spill. We want to know what you’ve kept quiet for too long. 

Julayne has a new book out,  Not My White Savior. Be sure to check out her website to find out when her next workshops and readings will be. 

Arse Erotica or Poetica Scientifica—The Poem on Sexing or Science-ing

Last time the prompt was to write a poem on your poetic philosophy or technique or process and try to incorporate other subjects. Today’s prompt is to write a poem on the theory of science, the application of sex and the process/techniques of either. Be didactic and philosophic. Pretend you are Alexander Pope explaining the mechanics of friction, proper installation of a dildo, the first law of thermodynamics or the concept of reproducibility. To get a feel for the style and tone you may wish to use, you can read a little of Pope’s “Essay on Criticism”; remember he was only 23 and set guidelines for criticism that remains relevant today. Put on your expert hat. Get started writing! Enlighten us.

Meta Poetica—The Poem-on-Poeming Prompt

The term ars poetica means “the art of poetry” and is a poem about poetry. Homer may have started the tradition, but poets have long continued it. For more information, check out this discussion (and links to poems) from the Academy of American Poets. Modern poets usually seek less to prescribe or define than to reflect upon their individual writing, often with humor. I particularly love Dorothea Lasky’s “Ars Poetica” (so much so that I used her line “I want to make my face a poem” as an epigraph). Sharon Olds with “Take the I Out” and Terrance Hayes with “Ars Poetica With Bacon” demonstrates how much range a poet has in creating this type of poem (and how creatively and beautifully it can be done).

Your prompt for the day: write your own ars poetica. Bonus points if it includes another field of study (perhaps physics or law)  or references pop culture (perhaps Kids in the Hall or The Simpsons or My Little Pony, anything you like). But, you earn all the points if you write the poem. I promise.

Sign on the Dotted Line—Prompt

We all make promises. Sometimes we even write them down and sign our name on the dotted line—perhaps this is only a promise to pay a bill in full or to agree we understand the terms and conditions of a service or maybe this is a promise to stay together, a wedding vow, or simply to stay in the living world. Take a promise you’ve made or that someone made you and treat it as if it were written in blood on paper crumpled and torn. Words are missing. What fills those spaces?

You can make this a true erasure poem or rearrange the words if need be. Perhaps use the form as a word list and restrict yourself to only those words and phrases.

The poem, “Book of Memory” by Rebecca Hazelton doesn’t really fit the prompt, but I like it and hope you will too.

If you wish, you could use this customer agreement for your word list.

Good luck!