There are so many writing prompts on Twitter. I recently discovered the website below to refer to…you can always check out Ariel Poets and use our hashtag #arielpoets on Twitter.
This month”s writing prompt is sadness and madness..
Mountain Daisy
Twitter Ariel Poets
Most popular tweet on Ariel Poets
The Day my Life Changed
1
It was twenty-five degrees hot
that summer July heat
sliding on your skin
with wanting.
It got so warm on the dance floor
as Get into the Groove
turned our dry clothes
wet with sweat and need.
Hours later
I still did not know your name.
Not sure if a lie
bleeds words.
2.
I said I need space
from someone
who gave me too much
of it.
3.
You broke my mirror
and called me a whore.
4.
You rubbed my back
held my hand so tight
never left my side
when I almost died.
5.
I flew half way around the world
so you could look at me
like a lover is supposed to.
6.
That day
you made me leave
work with one call
I need you.
7.
There was a hockey game on
I guessed some statistics
Canadians vs. Rangers
(it was a bang on guess though)
you turned to me
You are so fucking gorgeous.
8.
Last night when I left the restaurant
and drove home alone
crying.
The Accident
I can relive it every other day
of how I almost died in broken glass
but I am not dramatic like that
do not label me a hero
because the angels came to save
the three little girls
as they whispered in my ear
give her oxygen
lift the car
run to pick her up
I picked up her tiny body all blue
from under the tire
it’s weird how these images
never escape your mind.
Hey, you’re bleeding, the paramedic said.
I bent down and just then notice the ripped pants
and bleeding knee.
Oh, I shrugged.
I held her hand in the ambulance
so who really cares about some broken glass
in my knee
or in my heart
as Blondie’s premonition
eluded me.
It was not a regular day
as CTV news waited hours
for my account
I saw you on the news, strangers at Bath and Body Works
so now all anyone
has to say to me
the accident
and memories of how I hit a
glass wall at the Starbucks
hit me, and I cried waiting in line,
and that night all I did
was hit that Jack Honey
and hugged my pillows
as buckets of vomit
cleared my mind
of everything.
Life is a miracle though
for those three tiny girls
just entered kindergarten this year
November 12, 2013. You can google it
if you want to.
This is a true story.
Nothing to deconstruct her.
Footsteps yet taken
I suppose when you think about someone’s life
and its variables
you can make an equation
as to its sum of all matters.
I am not a pianist, or a mathematician,
I do not even claim to be a writer. I feel
inadequate at the most. When I think my
worst work is my best, I still
close my eyes. I listen to
instrumental music to block
out all lyrics, all of his poems
that keep me grounded. He says
I am everything and nothing
in the same sentence. I can
turn to dust on all the footsteps
yet taken. Turn around from the
walk on the beach
and enter the snowstorm of the
year. Play you a song you will
never forget. Write you a poem
you will read over again.
Not from a book, or a blog,
but from my heart.
The ones that make you
think more than you ever
wanted to. The poem that
blends into the next.
The one that refers to the
same person you never
forget.
All these paths
lead me to the same
entrance.
Band-aid and Bruises
It is a dream you are selling
to the neediest girl,
about fancy rides in cars
admiring every part of her body
pretending she is the only woman
on earth that matters
besides your wife
and numerous lovers.
All these band-aids and bruises
you cover up your roles
like a thespian.
Tell me have you discarded morality
as much as you profess?
Have you discovered the ego
is the only thing worth stroking?
Have you forsaken even god
to kiss the devil?
I am too old for fancy cars
and precious poets
who claim to
love me from afar.
When I was eight
I covered up my bruises
with band-aids
they healed.
Now they are invisible.
Who can see the cuts now?
Truly not you,
with your line-up of women
at the door
and your presumption
that I like anyone you have ever met before.
I am not even close
to anything you think I am.
I have not been married three times,
I do not have children from different men
I loved.
I do not have a mental illness,
I do not care for the car you drive
or the clothes you wear,
I do not care about the money
and what I have in my life
I cherish
I hold dear.
And what I’ve lost
I hold even closer.
Your tricks do not work with me
so stop trying.
Hymns for the Hopeful
I will make this a Hellenistic hymn to all my ancestors
who believed in the twelve Olympian gods. We had to
memorize them in Greek school, learn how to write
them, practice our diction to continue the traditions
of people I never met. We learned that Zeus and Hera
were the Queen and the King and everyone that came
after did so with intentions to create this world of caves,
darkness, silent roads, mountains that reach the
sky. I learned to see mirrors in rivers. I was taught that
stories can corrupt my mind into believing myths
as real. So young, even Hercules became my idol and
my hero. Who can compete with the gods? No mere
mortal man could ever win my heart. I wanted the
top of the echelon. I wanted my own Zeus, who created
the world out of chaos. Who else could tame my soul?
All these hymns for the hopeful left me breathless
for such intrigue and adventure, not even Aphrodite
could have the visions of beauty I imagined. She
took hold of my body and showed me how to dream
the imaginable. Could you see how I became another
person in my mind, the one that spoke to Goddesses
in Ancient Greek and touched the sky with her
fingertips? Artemis guided me to the moon, to hunt
for my solitude, to hide from all the demons claiming
to be on my side. I learned about deception, betrayal,
brotherhood and sisterhood through the ancient ways
and much like others I became invisible. People mocked
me, sold their adventures to me as golden tickets. All
these leaps, I have taken for no one but my ancient
soul that saw the constellations up close from a
chariot in the sky, along with eleven other friends.
Let’s Welcome Back Humility
Your ego needs a break
stop staring in the mirror
and taking all those selfies
for strangers. your wardrobe is
stale, humidity can be seen
on your clothes. your hands
need pens instead of those
fake diamond rings.
check your narcissism
at the bar of outdated dreams
writing is an amazing escape
not a word
to the neighbours
who pretend to not read your status.
please stop telling us where you ate
and how beautiful your lie is
your gray is showing
and your husband is too sweet
for your wicked party ways.
I was raised with more heart
than glamour
mended socks
home-made meals
opera singers
so let’s welcome back
humility,
it missed you
while you were
taking another selfie.
mental blocks
How do I flee?
tell me how to get rid of
mental blocks
show me how to stop
the voices
trust me when i say
i want you
to curse me
prepare my will
for all these walls
keep me locked inside
myself.
every time i want to escape from you
you bring me back
clean the snow off my car
let go of the facade
and i can complain
about mental blocks
come here, you say, i’ll show you
exactly how to get rid of them…
but you never realize that
these blocks keep me sane
to stop the intruders
from sucking my soul
and fucking up my brain.
