Write.as Cues


By Keira E McDonough

i stand here hollow in the ghost of myself Wishing that I was something more than A ribcage that protrudes when i stretch all i have been and all i could be Is nothing If i can’t see my collarbone If my friend doesn’t remark “wow your hips are so bony” If i can walk up the stairs If i can drive If i can perform Sing Dance Write It’s worth it It’s a sacrifice but It’s worth it I played my cards And i went all in.

Look where that got me.

A response to our National Poetry Month 2023 prompt

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By Margherita

Today I followed a cat He took me places I'd never been at I learned that life is so much simpler Than how my worries make it feel That something as easy as sitting in the sun Can show you the truth That to live is so beautiful That to breathe is easy in a spring green field with yellow flowers

A response to our National Poetry Month 2023 prompt

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Unreciprocated love

By thatravenousgirl

Love is so strange Yet its what brought all this change

We love so as to feel complete But in reality we are brought to our defeat

The early days of falling in love are so rosy and picturesque From the moment you said my name To the first day we met Even our first outing to the mosque who would of thought our love would reach so much fame yet now my heart is filled with so much debt only you can proclaim

I wish we could go back to the days when my every breath made instant sense to you what happened to the love we had it has died and so has the passion in you

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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By Johan Visschers

Mijn schaduw wierp nog nooit zo lang ik loop op twee paden tegelijk, val over sloten en bomen dekken mij toe

Op links kwetteren parkieten op rechts raast een tram door de scherpe bocht in het midden prikt de zon, ik ben de roos, het stierenoog

Wat ik zie is wat ik nog niet eerder zag wat ik hoor is wat ik eerder nog niet hoorde ik voel mij als vanouds en niet voor het eerst groet ik de vriend die ik zelf nooit was

De deur gaat van het slot, het licht vlamt blinde steken de avond zakt door haar stukgelopen knieën de nacht staart uitgeput de morgen aan en de grond trilt als de schaduw schreeuwend achterover valt.

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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Closed doors in broad public Meanwhile coated in dust Risked a unified republic? Did you ever lose your trust?

All of us have once been tested Some even more than others But not all of us protested. Only those with no grandmothers

If modern exertion of this kind, Stresses & strains for body and mind, Strained your trust so swift and explicit To scream `freedom, my freedom?! I miss it!

If so, I have to make a qualified assumption About your motives and reliance. The union did not fail the science And your trust never really functioned!

Closed doors in broad public sometimes coated in dust. In a unified republic I will never lose my trust!

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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Reflection By Courtland Roberts

They tell me, “read between the lines” I see lines between the eyes Lies that cloud the skies Truth hidden deep behind the eyes But i can't read it Encrypted in hidden mental mines Its me I see in you “What's your next move?”, I say As i walk away from the glass I realize it is me, and there is no you

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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By Acererak

I wrote in colored chalk today about just how I felt in long looping lines in flourishes and pouts

I wrote my grief in a thousand words that spilled down..... ....... asphalt

the things I loved about you moments that drove me away about those things id given those feelings id kept at bay

grainy words becoming stories that bloomed in every hue in every situation that id lived and grown into


when all was done

my heart sated for today

I found a hose and held it

then washed the chalk away

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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The Sleeping Universe By Johan Visschers

How oppressive the sleeping universe The giant claw convulsing in it’s silent sleep

How I suffocate how I choke Melancholia pulverize this sick and cruel place

How I live my life in the shadows

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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By Barry Graham

She came into the kitchen with the sky crumpled in her hand.

That’s the sky, I said. Don’t throw it away.

It’s empty, she said and tossed it in the trash.

A response to our National Poetry Month 2021 prompt

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By Sam Whited

The fiddle player sat upon the stage Surveying all she saw; The dancers pranced upon the floor As many more came through the door And walked on down the hall.

Beside the band the caller stood, He looked at his cards and frowned: Circles and squares raced through his head As the new dancers stood around in dread Or fell down on the ground.

The banjo was played by a drunken fool Who’s wits were drowned in booze; But even Ale couldn’t make him so daft That he would forget his banjo craft Or cause him his skill to lose.

Beside him sat a mandolin, His hands o’er the strings took flight He’d stamp and stomp in time to the beat While his fingers tried to keep up with his feat And his eyes watered with delight.

There also played a sweet guitar, Without a penny to his name, But he was rich in other things, Music and dance were his diamond rings And he loved them all the same.

Far upstage the drum stood tall But its player was fast asleep; He always woke before his cue And with the rest he’d pay his due And work to earn his keep.

The bandmaster glanced into the crowd, Then signaled the fiddler to start With a neck-breaking tune By the light of the moon To quicken the pace of every heart.

The banjo and guitar strummed madly away, With a squawk and a screech they played, In the key of G, To a veritable sea Of dancers well arrayed.

The fiddler started to quicken her pace And the dancers became a blur Of tapping feet and moves so neat That the caller ran off down the street, Forgetting just where they were.

No matter that the caller dropped out; His dancers now knew the drill. Each petronella and dosido They executed with much gusto, Never allowing their feet to still.

The mandolin made a mournful twang, As all its strings did snap; With a whoop and a holler he jumped from the stage And started to dance with a passion and rage Til his feet could no longer tap.

Faster and faster the band played on, The fiddle player kept the time, With a start and a yalp the drum player woke He thought the whole thing a mighty fine joke So he played without reason or rhyme.

As the next phrase started up again With a faster pace than before, The drum head broke with all the strain Of beating hands like falling rain, So he threw it right out the door!

The bandmaster knew their time had come They couldn’t keep up with the pace, So he threw up one hand To stop the band But only the guitar fell out of the race.

The fiddle and banjo still played on Paying no heed to the crowd With a yip and a yaw, and a mighty yee-haw They played both soft and loud.

Finally the banjo could endure no more His fingers had all gone wrong With one last strum And a bit of drop thumb He finished up his song.

Now only the fiddle player could still be heard She bowed with all her might Playing away, Till the slow break of day Gave her quite a sight!

Daylight crept into the hall, (The clock read half-past four) And though the dance was finished at last The dancers into sleep had passed And were lying on the floor!

A response to the National Poetry Month prompt

#Poetry #NationalPoetryMonth #NationalPoetryMonth2021