PAD Challenge – Day 15

Doing double-duty today, incorporating a word list prompt from Poetic Asides, and the NaPoWriMo challenge to do something in “double” — in my case, I wrote in non-rhyming couplets. I used six out of eight words: flat, ring, lavish, vessel, paper and tooth. Just couldn’t get gaudy and blacklist in there. This was tough, and not very successful, but it’s the half-way point in the month, and I can’t stop posting now! 🙂


Vanishing Act


She put the ring on the counter, next to the coffee pot, and started walking

through the fields, flat and white as paper, now and for most of the year.


She would miss the sky, revealing so much depending on the shape of the clouds,

and the way the wind would chisel at her front tooth if she dared to smile.


She came with the hope she could be a vessel for something — grace

or contentment. Nothing so lavish as joy, but together they tried.


She left emptier, a familiar feeling, but  by spring — distant spring,

her footprints would melt away. Even the coldest winters are forgotten.


This Is Not A Literary Journal suggests writing a poem using Robert Peake’s word generator. I’ve used this before and posted the result here. It’s a great tool to take you unexpected places, and if nothing else, check out the rest of Peake’s site, and read three of his picturesque poems here.

poem: Flight Song

I’ve recently discovered and become rather enamored with the work of American-British poet Robert Peake. On his site he has a poetry prompt thingamajig, which randomly generates words to use in a poem. I was feeling a little stuck today in my writing, so decided to see if this tool could fix me up.

I tried for ten words and got: hens; undulating; harp; agreed; anew; expectations; treasures; encounter; ham; reefs.

This is what, and who, sprung to mind and I decided to post it as it came.


Flight Song


It was agreed that Vicky would get out

before she knew how to crawl.

Sitting on the filthy shag rug

in a soggy diaper

listening for treasures in the harp-string

melodics of her mama’s voice.

Gooey smile

answering her mama’s invocation.


Yours will be a life anew,

hummed Vicky’s mama to her

undulating babe on the rug.

You’ll hit green summits,

plunge to skeletal reefs.

Encounter men with a natural knowing

of how a woman should be touched.

Have expectations

of being loved.


No truck stop life for my babe,

crooned Vicky’s mama to Vicky.

No serving up fried hens and greasy ham,

prying slimy fingers off your hips

when you come to refill the coffee.

No wearing some stranger’s old coat

to fend off that shrieking January wind.

I ain’t gonna buy you a mockingbird,

Vicky’s mama sang,

but I am gonna teach you

how to fly.