Random Prompts!

Hi! Feel free to write whatever you like based on these 3 objects, then leave 3 for the next person and so forth :)

Prompts: popsicle, hat, porcupine

Dropped my popsicle
cause a porcupine raced up
growling at my hat

he jumped at my treat
smirking with his clever ruse
ran back to the woods.

******************************

turtle, woven basket, eggs

I see creatures all around me
at dawn -
as the world awakens,
the river runs steady,
the mountains exhale.

Walking through a path
in the forest,
squirrels scatter,
birds weave songs like thread
and an old turtle carries a
woven basket on his head.

I look closer to find
eggs in the basket,
polka-dotted, more colorful
than any kind I'd ever seen before.

I smile, wondering if I should follow,
wondering what I have to lose.

There is life all around me.

__________________________

smartphone, train track, shovel

Thumbs are tap tap tapping
As I have a one track mind
Typing words to sooth the hurt
And leave the past behind

Because my day has been derailed
By the words that I have said
Or typed on this damning smartphone
That you no doubt by now have read

It’s so much easier to hurt you
When I’m just tap tap tapping words
Tying you to a train track
With all this verbal hurt

Forgive me for what I said to you
In the heat of all my hurt
This phone is like a shovel
The way it covered you in dirt

Why’s is to much easier
To hurt someone over text?
To say or type things I don’t mean
It just has me so perplexed

—————
Forgot to leave 3!!!
Bleach, salt, and sage

I close my mind to
the memory, but it
intrudes, as it always
does. The canary paint,
chipped in the corners.
The small, never-locked
bathroom. The lingering
eulogies of bleach,
entering your lungs.

I watch the grains of
salt collect on my palms,
reminding me of your
ashes, a stark difference
in color.

And I wish I had more
solid proof of your
existence,

but you burn like sage
on my lips,

purifying everything but me.

_____________________

orange juice, skeleton, parking lot

There was this time
when I got lost in a parking lot,
cars screaming on me
people with no faces staring.
I could hear my heart beating
in the same melody as the
crackling bones of the skeletons
that kept following while sipping
on the freshest orange juice.

——
Marshmallow, ambulance, vase

There's blood on the marshmallow,
the one in my hand.

The fire is silent now,
but the shadows still dance, taunting.

The ocean like a crystal vase
that could crack at any moment
and whip my spirit.

I think I hear the ambulance sirens,
but I realize it's my own pulse,
screaming, pleading,
into that autumn night.

No one is coming for us.
For me.

________________________

Jellyfish, pot hole, apricot

Diving Aegean

Off the coast of Mykonos
among the Greek Isles
is a wreck more ancient
than any nation in existence.

Down among fearsome sharks,
apricot tinged angelfish and
moray eels with gaping mouths
lie amphoras spread on the floor
from where they fell out
as the ship rotted over ages.

You can see jelly fish floating
in crazy back-and-forths
following the turbulence
that keeps you from
stationary rest above it all,
yet the constant swimming
is made worthwhile by joy.

Swimming closer you see
where crustaceans pierced
some amphoras, leaving
holes in the pots from which
the wine leaked out, wasted
in the depths of the brine.

A few hundred yards away
a plane from World War II
lies flat on the bottom
cockpit shattered, guns bent,
already taking the patina
of corral, sponge and debris
fallen like mown grass that
covers the Nazi insignia.

Now there are two wrecks
which have outlived their
nation's terms on earth.

`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`
snowday, cathedral, covered bridge

Soon, it will be like last year,
except it won't. I will be jobless,
but secure in a home I've wanted
to leave for a decade. The snow will
bravely dust the cathedral's secrets,
the spire untouched, watching as I
keep myself from making the same
reckless decisions, my heart
a covered bridge on a less traveled path.
A snowday is like all the other days, trying
to bury my past, and sometimes, I let it.

_____________________________

violin, coffee grounds, plum

As I tried to picture the murder
scene among the chaos,
I noticed that Amelia's violin
had not been moved.
It was secure, in her case,
an instrument that was priceless
to her but had been given as a
gift from her grandmother;
it cost a quarter of a million dollars.
The space surrounding
it was pristine, but only past a few feet.
Anger brewed everywhere else,
unthinkable remarks carved into the walls,
every piece of furniture reduced
to nothing but ashes,
scattered thoughtlessly like day old
coffee grounds.
The room felt like more than death;
like expired dreams and decaying fruits,
a plum and banana on her kitchen counter
rotten and rancid, ants pooling over it.

This was not just a murder,
but the culmination of her spirit's work,
and there would be nothing more solemn
than the absence of her fingers on the violin
in that lonesome apartment now riddled
with curiosity and strangers.

_______________________________

carriage ride, pocket watch, strawberry

This? It's my father's pocket watch.
burnished gold, keeps meticulous time
and I can tell you to the minute
when he gave it to me, it was sublime.

He was old, of course, really old
and must have felt his end of days;
San Antonio, we had wandered
the Riverwalk, the sun ablaze.

Sunset, the water taxis lit up
and all the walk was alive
such a good time I had not
expected, he seemed to thrive.

The stairs to the street were
tough on the old bird, wheezing
but the sight above was magical
horse drawn carriages teasing.

We took the bait and climbed in
a strawberry - lemon chariot
with white noble steed ahead
rode all the way to the Marriott.

At his hotel we walked to the lift
he spoke of mom, tears hidden
and handed me this watch
knew I'd loved it, gave it unbidden.

When I opened it up, the chimes rang
midnight on the dot, such is magic;
when I remember his passing I smile
nothing about him was ever tragic.

**********************************

carnival, stuffed-dragon, Buddha

Before her, I'd never really believed in magic, in its
fiery presence and power surrounding the air. It was
never something I could prove, or point to, but I
saw the start of a gleam in her eyes, the way she took
my hand for the first time as we hurried to the festive
carnival gates. She and I became every possible cliche,
and no one cared as we danced from one attraction
to the next. By sunset, my heart and hands were full.
She'd bought matching bracelets and won a purple
stuffed dragon the size of my head. The heat was
oppressive yet her touch cooled me down, even my
anxieties were subdued for the most part. We talked
until the stars peeped out; her words soothed each
fear of the unknown. I felt like I learned a side of
the universe from her. She taught me about Buddha
and the cessation of suffering and what it meant
to feel awakened. I told her about the fullness in
my spirit, simply being by her side. She smiled,
amber eyes glowing, and I felt more alive than ever,

until I realized, time was running out.

She was evaporating in front of me,
particle by particle.

And so was I.

____________________________________

purring, fountain, jazz club

3AM, left the smoke filled lounge
hoping for a breath of cleaner air;
the city - clean air is a relative concept.
Lionel Hampton drifted out the door
at least his music - clean and complicated.
Like my life: no ties, no women, no friends
but so much crap to deal with it overlaps.

I sat down on the edge of a fountain
set in in the cul-de-sac with cool water
sprays misting my heated forehead
bring my thoughts to a slower pace
so I became aware of what was around:
deserted street, early fog, glistening asphalt
and purring . . . purring. Close by.

I look around the curve of the plinth
there it is, a tiny calico kitten, rubbing
against the concrete fountain like she
thought it was her mom. She looked at me.
Suddenly my life no longer felt complicated.
I had a room, a bed a kitchen, food, work.
Little Orange Drop had none of that.
At least, until tonight she did not.

*******************************
gazebo, geyser, gazelle

On that October eve,
I was like a gazelle,
springing into the air to
avoid your predatory glare.

It had only been a week since
we visited my parent's farm,
finally meeting again after
decades of disappointment.

We lounged in the barn and
fed the animals and sat at the pond,
watching the water smooth the ripples
from orange leaves and heartache.

At night, the moon lifted our spirits,
as we slow-danced in the newly
painted gazebo, a slightly withered
daisy tucked behind my ear.

I should have taken that as a sign,
that we too, would wither.

All of your warmth,
the fireflies lit up by your eyes,
all of it dissipated
when you traded nobility for greed.

I saw the change in your shoulders,
the softened edges now hard, aggressive.

The moonlight was no longer a
silver beam, dancing with grace,
but a monument of glass shards.

I didn't know you,
(maybe I never did).

Though you and I barely made
a sound, I thought the world
would be just as startled as I was.

Yet, no one noticed.

Now, I refuse to ever be like you,
letting the avaricious pressure build,
steam erupting from a geyser, elements
of surprise and no redemption.

I will catch you by surprise too, someday.

I will catch you, first.

____________________________

kangaroo, keyboard, lace

The lace hung from the rafters,
a piece stuck in time,
while a record player filled the
empty space with keyboard tunes.
Her heart started and stopped,
kangaroo stutters,
kaleidoscopic brain,
and she wondered when she would
have the power to escape this timeline.

___________________________

jazz club, backbone, flannel shirt

The rhythm beat of sax floated
over from the canopied jazz club
three alleyways down. Cobblestones
underfoot wobbled, crooked with age
as backbone-straight monastery walls
rose up, Adriatic and weathered-red.

You stood out like a fox among hens -

Standing across the square, vaping,
in that oversized flannel shirt, mustard/orange
under a lantern streetlight.

I looked at your stoic posture and I looked
at your half-hat-hidden face and I wanted
to turn away but I didn't want to turn away
from you --

I breathe -
I breathe -
I breathe -

And I wonder which one of us,
blocked out the sound of a jazz bar
three alleyways down.

Prompts: maple, dust, radiator

^ Blown away by this, Colm!

I picked up the letter on
the dresser, leaving behind
a quarrel of dust -
your honeyed, maple words
are too forgiving of me.
I almost choke on your
kindness, not used to the
care and curve of each word.
Regret knocks on my door,
rattling the leaky radiator,
and I listen for your breath,
perfumed by repentance,

but only hear the death
of my own.

__________________

sailboat, lava, chartreuse

I listen to your signals -
synthwaves on a sailboat,
the lava pouring out of my
cranium and into an ocean whirlpool.
drinking chartreuse beneath
a smokey saffron sunset.
Tranquility sits like a mantis
on my shoulders, protuberant eyes
relaxed, and the disarray between
my bones settles into a silence
that intimately details your aura;
I realize I had been sinking us,
and now, aquamarine memories
draw me closer to serenity,
steering toward a home we will
finally build a foundation for.

_________________________________

lunar eclipse, tank top, succulents

I was looking for you
as an inspiration,

but I only found
you in the shadow
when our
moon
earth
and
sun
aligned.

I tried to come
closer but you were
far from my reach,

every time I took
a step, you sailed
further away.

------------------------

sorry I just couldnt use tank top lol

pepper, lamp, pocketknife

^ No, I love it! Good job, and I love the prompts you gave me. I had no idea what I'd come up with.

Spiritless.

At dawn, thrushes and finches
decorate her windowsill,
a chorus of jocosity,
as she wanders the kitchen
with day-old coffee and stale
pastries in her hands.

At noon, she grows red and
yellow bell peppers
in a half-forgotten garden,
wondering why the soil
cakes her hands with dejection,
no matter how much tenderness
she tills the earth with.

At night, ghosts lounge in the
common room, hovering near
a lonesome lamp, drawn to its
dismal light, using their energy
sparingly to remain close to her.

She sleeps with her father's
pocketknife under her pillow,
knowing it is no longer sharp
enough, realizing she doesn't
have that option anymore,

and she shuffles to bed in the dark,
unaware if she is even alive.

_______________________________

prompts: old mattress, wet cement, bubblegum

^WOW how do you come up with these while random prompts!!!

her body sank on one side
of the old mattress,
and her memories start
unfolding themselves,

as if it was her last
chance to stay alive
she tries shuffling to
more comfortable
position but she fails.

for one memory locks
her breath to the pillow;

she could almost feel
the warmth of her father
as he held her on his lap.

teaching her how to blow
a bubblegum bubble,
to keep her away from the
newly cemented driveway.

the smell of this forever home
is now lost in the wrinkles
of her tired eyes.

---------------------------
this is inspired by your piece MA :)

nail polish, house plant, blue door

^ Star, the memories you created with this, and those last lines especially... the emotion and sadness in them!

The boy in the house with the blue
door buys nail polish at the corner store,
says "it's for my sister" and secretly uses it
late at night, marveling at the sight, careful to
remove it before the bus rolls down his street.

It makes him feel whole,
this innocent little secret that
is a simple understanding of color
yet feels forbidden in the eyes of others.

He's a child who finds joy when
it's not present elsewhere,

and I'm honored, that recently,
he's shared this with me.

As I water the house plants and feed
the fish and bake cookies for him,

he trusts me to love and accept this part
of him, the way his mother never could.

______________________________

radio silence, avalanche, teapot

I'm not sure whether
I was lost in radio silence,
or trapped beneath a cold
avalanche

but I know that I couldn't
find myself.

Emotions were always
a sip of tea poured from
one single teapot,
I can taste it's notes,
and determine what
they were, but

this time I can't
even touch them,

I'm lost.

-----------------
braille, butterflies, baseball bat

Her fingers flutter over braille
Seeing what her eyes cannot
The pages shift and she hears
A ringing, like a gunshot

In moments, she is four again
Chasing butterflies in the park
Their colors flit overhead
Sharp pain, then the sun goes dark

Butterflies scatter at the crack of a baseball bat

-------------------------
paint, tacos, friends

The shadowy taco sauce stain
On my shirt is a photograph
Telling a hundred words.
Tijuana mezcal dribbles on my sleeve,
As lights fuzz in a metallic background.
But the hand of a friend on my arm
Is the freeze frame you don't believe -
You never used to be paint-by-number
To me. I never noticed you becoming
Somebody who wore cardigans and slippers.

---
Tequila, sweater, camera

You flipped the camera to face me,
knowing how I'd react, your lips
holding back a laugh. I almost knocked
the bottle of tequila off the table as I
darted to the side, holding a hand in
front of my eyes. You surrendered,
setting the camera down, and gently
approached me. I played with the threads
of your frayed olive-green sweater and
sighed, wondering how it became the
two of us to survive this. I wanted to ask
why death had entered every home but
ours, yet I hesitated. Your eyes were
obsidian, glancing away, and I barely saw
a flicker of hope in them. I knew better than
to ask you, now. It was too soon. Too soon
after. We needed time, although the
concept of time no longer mattered...

_______________________________

astronaut, lava pit, knighthood