# Speed Poetry Writing: Prompts & Posts



## Dirac (Feb 22, 2010)

This is kind of a game, but more of a creative exercise. Write your poems in five minutes or less (ideally, without stopping), then leave a prompt for the next poster to write about. By prompt, I mean a story idea, an object, a theme, or anything you can think of. I'll start off:

(Beware. This may be terrible.)

Candlewax
Like drool in the maw of a rabid dog
Dribbles downward,
Slowly cooling,
Slowly halting,
Slowly crystallizing
violently, softly

You take the drops in your fingertips,
and trace lines with it
along my collar bone
along my neck

it burns, but I say nothing
because you'd prefer if I didn't

It's quiet
It's dark, but I can see
This room you've built
This room I'm locked in
With nothing but the nothing-scent
of candlewax
searing my skin
and cooling, 
hardened 
against my naked skin

This is right
because you say it is
and the candles
make me believe you,
somehow
----

Next poster! Something involving the color white.


----------



## Atrak (Feb 23, 2010)

As I whittle away at my white bouquet,
I wonder why so many people are dreary and grey.

Never thinking about my past,
Except to ponder what made me last.

And as I came to a conclusion,
I came to realize it was an inclusion,
Of white.

So many things are born from white.
Why, every color comes from this essence of light.
From greens to blues,
To tints, and hues,
All have a common origin.

So I'll conclude this short rhyme,
Because frankly, I've run out of time.
The essence of light is the essence of life,
And the essence of life, is rife with strife.

So do not frown, but end with a smile,
Because white also gave us the color of bile.

Thus ends this short, little piece,
That tells of the tale of the color of lab mice.

Bright light,
White.

-------------
Prompt: Ear wax.


----------



## TakeWalker (Feb 23, 2010)

I feel stuff inside my ear.
I stick my finger into there;
What is this squishing noise I hear?
Disgusting! Now it's everywhere.

-----

Prompt: Ponies!


----------



## Browder (Feb 23, 2010)

The child ask for the pony for christmas because
If she couldn't have one then what was christmas for?

Somewhere there is
A field with
A pony. Newly born with her name engraved on its heart.
Maybe she'll go there some day.

If your name was written on someone' heart would
Know?
What if Someone's name is written on your's?

She wanted a pony for christmas:
She got tube socks. 


_Dice_


----------



## Atrak (Feb 24, 2010)

Rollin' rollin' rollin'
Rollin' all the dice.

Dolin' dolin' dolin'
Dolin' all snake eyes.

Roll 'em high,
Roll 'em low,
Roll 'em wherever you go.

Rollin' rollin' rollin'
Keep on a dolin'.

Rollin' rollin' rollin'
Shiza, I'ma yodelin'.


----------------------
Prompt: Tariffs


----------



## Scarborough (Feb 24, 2010)

The amount of goods that can travel from your heart to my heart
and vice versa
is limited. The local government has set in place some tariffs,
and frankly it is getting too expensive for me to receive the same goods over and over:
"I love you."

How about you provide some services for a change,
or,
be more original. Your face is like a
cuttlefish. My love for you is like
linguini. The two are best served on the same dish,
and to a self-righteous vegan.

- - -

Prompt: amber


----------



## EdieFantabulous (Feb 26, 2010)

Once you lay within the trees,
A pretty little thing within the ground,
Just a golden shine if you please,

A lovely little trinket you will make,
To wear around my neck, or wrist?
Not quite a jewel, however not fake.

Around a stranger's neck I see,
the same thing that I wanted,
Now a new object I wish you will be.
---

Glass.


----------



## Scarborough (Mar 1, 2010)

When I make out with you it's like there's a
sheet of glass between us, and I
can't even begin to imagine the universe because
it is so expansive and it
grows at an exponential rate,

the curvature of the moon should be
slightly more romantic and you should be
slightly more romantic than the
wooden cupboards in my kitchen,

it becomes clear that
the sun will explode in a fit of
existentialism, lethargy,
sweat. Except I won't be
around when that happens because you are a

n imagination shard and I am a
wind-up glass doll on a
frigid July morning. And we are

- - -

waves


----------

