Random Prompts!

  • Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Larry Chamberlin
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Larry Chamberlin
    2 years ago

    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

  • Anthony replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Anthony
    2 years ago

    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

  • Star replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Star
    2 years ago

    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

  • Larry Chamberlin replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Larry Chamberlin
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Larry Chamberlin replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Larry Chamberlin
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    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

  • Larry Chamberlin replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Larry Chamberlin
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Colm replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Colm
    2 years ago

    ^ 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

  • Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Star replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Star
    2 years ago

    ^ 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

  • Star replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    ^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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Star
    2 years ago

    ^ 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

  • Star replied to Poet on the Piano
    2 years ago

    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

  • Obscure replied to Star
    2 years ago

    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

  • Colm replied to Obscure
    2 years ago, updated 2 years ago

    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

  • Poet on the Piano replied to Colm
    2 years ago

    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