This week you are asked to take the title from an article from any magazine or periodical you may read or have access to and make that the title of your new poem. Then your deed will be to write the poem. Cite the story and source of your inspiration.

WILD CARD PROMPT – Labor Day weekend is upon us. For an extra credit pat on the back and a hearty Atta-girl (or guy as the case may be), write a poem about your job, your dream job, a chore you despise or any activity that works for you. Any poems posted for these prompts will be eligible for a Beautiful Bloom.

There is a specific job we’re looking for that will earn you a CD copy of Walt’s Chapbook WOOD.

Marie’s example:

Remember Me This Way

Raw emotion
Vague impression
Every notion
Begs expression

View and thought
Duly penned
Deftly wrought
Without end

** Reader’s Digest, April 2011, “Remember Me This Way” by Beth Dreher.



Walt’s Peace:


Languishing in a malaise for days and weeks
speaks volumes to your lack of motivation.
It would fill you with elation if you could stand
above the obstacle to achieve as you believe you can.
No block can stop you; your words carry weight
and the power of your abilities, this verbal agility
serves you well time and again. It’s time, my friend.
to start your engine and give this muse a running start.
You have the heart to overcome, so summon
all your ferocity and use your poetic license to full velocity.
Pump up your drive, striving for the excellence you possess.
The rest is up to your heart to do its part. Get fired up.

**Weight Watchers Magazine July/August 2010 issue; Page 110

67 thoughts on “PROMPT #19 – TITLE AND DEED

  1. Chore Wars

    Full-time job, working mom finds it
    hard to deal with such a slob; a
    stay-at-home dad who lays around
    while dishes pile up and toys litter the ground.

    She sinks onto the couch,
    too riled up to be of help.
    He jumps up and striaghtens things
    offers up an appeasing clean.

    She makes their dinner, but
    leaves the mess; can’t he understand
    all her stress. She asks him to
    wash some clothes.

    He washes and folds a couple loads
    then tucks kids in. He tucks her in too,
    and kisses her head
    as she sinks into their comfortable bed.

    Inspired from “Chore Wars” by Ruth Davis Konigsberg in Time August 8, 2011 issue page 45

    Vincenzo Romeo, the mourners at your grave
    remember when you walked and laughed among them,
    the excitement of your waving hands when you explained
    how you would in your small way change the world.
    After graveside prayers, the tossing of roses,
    you remain shut away in your sleeping place forever,
    blind to the falling sun, the moon in the wings,
    your dreams blotted out in a roadside explosion
    somewhere in the perilous land where all life began,
    where terrorists seem to hope civilization
    will end one life at a time. You are gone,
    Sargeant Romeo, and the streets of Lodi,
    nostalgic for those days gone by,
    miss your jaunty footsteps.



    The beauty of poetry has always been
    The joy poets have seen
    Delving into ideas, old and novel,
    Working with their mental shovels
    Where they dig away for the right word
    That fit’s the line, one the poem can afford.
    Poetry is to poets, you know,
    what to the starving is chow.
    Not for material gain are poets’ words said.
    It’s in self-satisfaction they are paid.


  4. I am going with the Wild Card Prompt because it speaks to me. I have always wanted to write a book about my experiences as a speech pathologist, but have never had the time. This poem wrote itself:

    A GIFT

    The ability to communicate:
    It is so basic
    It seems so simple.
    But for some, its an impossibility.

    To get your meaings and emotions across
    To other people;
    To get your needs met,
    To simply make a connection to others.

    How does one function without this simple skill?
    So much frustration
    And isolation.
    Being so separate from others with no hope.

    In my job I am able to teach some skills
    To those who can’t speak
    But have things to say
    To find ways to communicate with the world.

    It might seem that this is my gift to others,
    It’s a gift to me
    From those who can’t speak
    For now I understand what they have to say.

  5. I forgot to write down which site the headline came from. duh. NPR, I think.

    My cat, walking across the iPad, 
    added some letters. I was thinking 
    about something else, at the time, 
    or she wouldn’t have had the chance 
    to express herself.  I, (an important pronoun)

    I was thinking about a photo of a mantis, and wrote
    a poem about its obvious interest in the viewer, now
    and for as long as the image lasts.  But the poem 
    was about a girl on a bicycle
    and how I want, still, to be
    free and perfectly centered,
    just going from here to there.
    And how there are no words between me and the mantis,
    round black eyes, so intelligent
    above that diminutive vee chin.
    Or photos of the girl with wild 
    hair and skinny jeans, and red
    flannel (in the summer) shirt.  To post
    on Facebook and email to you, because
    you have to understand.

  6. Mermaids: The New Vampire

    Who wouldn’t want to be a mermaid
    swimming through the sea of life
    without a sinking worry or care?

    Who wouldn’t want to be a mermaid
    pop culture’s neo-vampire of late
    amphibious women with an evil air?

    Who wouldn’t want to be a mermaid
    tailed with latex rainbow fins?
    You’ll soon find them everywhere.

    Source: Bloomberg Business Week Aug. 29- Sept. 4, 2011: ETC/ The New Life Aquatic

  7. Why We Write

    It could be we’re gluttons for punishment;
    we enjoy hearing not quite right, try again.
    It could be we’re too shy to speak
    so it comes out in some literary form.
    Perhaps we’ve nothing better to do
    like some people seem to think.
    Or maybe God has given us more time
    than He has given other people since
    that’s the biggest excuse not to write.
    Or maybe we think it’s just plain fun
    to make tangible the intangible
    to move, motivate, inspire, incite
    encourage, entertain, help, heal,
    teach, taunt, tantalize, turn things around
    or just to make someone laugh.
    Or maybe there really is a writing bug
    that crawls around biting the unsuspecting.

    Poets & Writers “Why We Write” Laurie Rachkus Uttich

  8. Introductions

    Dear children, you need to pause
    ’cause I’m givin’ you some advice.
    Beware! I’m just like Santa Claus.
    I know who’s been naughty and nice.

    Don’t think you’ll fool me with your tricks,
    don’t play the innocence game,
    ’cause I know who hits, know who kicks,
    and know you all by name.

    I know who pulls little girl hair
    even when my back is turned
    ’cause I’ve got a mirror eye stare
    (as some of you have learned).

    So think twice before you act,
    ’cause I know the homes of you all.
    And this ain’t a threat but a fact–
    if you misbehave I’ll come call

    to tell your parents what you’ve done
    and then I’ll suspend you for a week.
    This is my warning to everyone.
    Don’t give me trouble or cheek!

    Be good to me and I’ll be good to you.
    Be bad and I’ll set you straight.
    Now that you know my point of view,
    welcome aboard school bus number eight.

  9. Marie Elena & Walt: Way to Lead off the pack!

    Marie Elena: You cut this one pretty nice. I particularly like the lines ” Duly penned
    Deftly wrought”. Nice piece.

    Walt: Sir Walt, Prolific as usual. Enjoyed Verbal agility, poetic license and
    start your engine and give this muse a running start.

    • Thanks a bunch, Benjamin! I clicked on your website, because I wasn’t sure who “poetryshack” is. COOL WEBSITE!


      • Thanks meg feel free to stop by the shack anytime. Us poets have to stick together!

        I’m having little trouble with this prompt. Or challenge, I should say. But I like a good challenge.
        Will be posting sometime soon. Probably a shardorma to kick off the muse then go from there. They’re so quick to write.

        Well my fellow poet buds, keep bloomin’ in the GARDEN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

        Benjamin Thomas

  10. These are by Jane Shlensky. I honestly don’t know how she manages to write such quality SO quickly! Mine is always painstakingly s l o w. ~ Marie Elena

    For the Love of Herbs

    Benny remembers when
    my 4-H garden and my shoe choice
    included Mary Jane,
    my busy fingers
    bruising the leaves
    and snipping new growth
    just to breathe green
    pungent fragrances.

    Now in his jail cell in state prison,
    Benny shares glad stories of raising
    and disseminating his favorite herb,
    which I recall was a hearty,
    fast-growing, and joyful plant,
    and like cilantro, basil, and thyme,
    added a certain zing to soups, sauces
    (and brownies, Benny whispers, smiling).

    We were innocents, holding
    our blue ribbons, our dried herbs
    labeled and bagged, a tasty recipe
    attached to each baggy,
    on sale for $4 each, a smart
    cottage industry for twelve-year-olds.

    We were appalled when farm agents
    tore my mother’s poppies from the earth
    and stuffed their cheerful heads
    into black plastic bags, explaining
    all we needed to know about
    the origins of opiates,
    all by way of shaming us for
    loving dangerous beauty.

    “I never fully understood the joys
    and risks of herb gardening,”
    Benny says in his defense.
    “Green power can be mean power.”

    “For the Love of Herbs,” Birds & Blooms, July 2011

    Shadorma: Wild Card

    The Teaching Moment

    If my job
    were judged for daily
    or long hours,
    schools would be teacher-less, but
    we teach for moments.

    class has a lesson
    when what is
    being taught
    is being learned and absorbed,
    when I stand before

    them as I
    am, knowing they know
    feeling so
    heart-filled, so
    connected to truth that class
    ends and no one leaves.

  11. Father, Son and Friend

    Simple goals for a simple man.
    Simply be the best you can,
    A good father, son and friend.
    Up until the very end.

    Each and every day you live,
    find a way that you can give.
    Helping those for whom you care.
    Sharing love and being there.

    Do your best to lead the way.
    Support and nurture every day.
    Forever protect and defend.
    Be a great father, son and friend.

    By Michael Grove

  12. This Shadorma is dedicated to a 12 year old boy who died during the earthquake in Sumatra, Indonesia

    Sumatra Earthquake

    Earthquake pounds
    Sumatra, pummeled
    Homes, hearts, heights

    6.6 had a boy in
    it’s sights, rest in peace

    From: Mayor: Boy, 12, killed in sumatra earthquake 9-5-11 USA Today

  13. Nice Work If You Can Get It

    Another Labor Day passes without a thought
    of childbirth, a quarter century since I retired.
    Instead, the headlines bemoan employment gloom,
    and morning show anchors chat with an expert
    claiming that college may not be the way to go.
    And I’m marking a first set of essays, narrative
    that tell more about my students than I could
    learn from hours of interview—fathers that left,
    unplanned babies, unexpected birth defects,
    leaving high school at sixteen—by choice
    by necessity, by force—now back fourteen years
    older, scared to death. Wielding a purple pen—
    more benign than my usual red, I mark run-ons,
    fragments, split infinitives, but at the end,
    I can’t resist a note or two: Good for you!
    I’m proud of what you’ve done. Well told.
    And though I know I won’t be interviewed
    on NBC or quoted in People; Fortune 500
    has no place for me, but tomorrow, loading
    my car for Tuesday of a short week, essays
    in the back seat, ready to return, I hope I’ll say
    a prayer of thanks for honest work, more than
    hands on. Tomorrow, again, I’ll touch lives.

    *title from the new issue of my favorite magazine, Oxford American (the Southern Magazine of Good Writing). This time it’s the Education Issue. If you aren’t familiar with it, check it out.

  14. I agree with whoever it was who wondered how people could write such good poems so quickly. I’ve been pondering this prompt all week, and this morning came up with a non-poem, more of a rant. Having read all of these, I’m off to do a complete re-write.

  15. Wash and Bubble Not (Draft 1)

    Shall I wash yet another dish?
    When to slack and rest is my only wish

    As I wash and bubble tis for this I ponder
    and into the living room now I wander

    The wife may grump, tear and disagree
    return to your post soldier don’t you flee

    There’s pots and pans amassed in the sink
    A load, a pile, a mound they stink

    So get off your duff and do your job
    and don’t be a sloth potato slob

    ….to be continued gotta go to work!

  16. A childhood memory, of some workers I admired.

    England’s great tradition of painting

    They were an hour late,
    Three likely lads in white shirts
    With five cans of paint
    Three drop cloths, brushes, rollers,
    And, of course, a tea kettle.

    Don’t mind us, Missus,
    The blue-eyed leader declared,
    Patting my mum’s arm.
    We’ll make ourselves right at home.
    You won’t even know we’re here.

    I watched from a chair
    As they brewed a pot of tea
    And surveyed their task.
    Looks a bit dodgy, dunnit?
    One said, and they all nodded.

    That decided it.
    “Back in the morning, sunshine!”
    The oldest one winked
    And quietly handed me
    The cards from the tea packet.

  17. The Girl at the Hearth

    A young girl,
    she can’t be much beyond twelve.
    The curl at the hem
    of her skirts
    are frosted with ash,
    and our eyes meet
    as I walk into the room.
    Her smile slight and sweet
    but her stare is as cold
    as her tombstone that leans
    into the northern wind.
    She turns away, her skirts
    swirl and twirl,
    and she vanishes
    into the flames of the hearth.

    Inspired by the young girl who wanders the Caterham Bypass.

  18. Another occupation poem. Unfortunately, I haven’t found any inspiring headlines yet.

    Morning Fright

    From the kitchen window
    I see him stop
    in front of my house,
    strong, gloved hands
    grabbing and hoisting.
    I shiver as those same hands
    then dig into his jacket pocket
    and pull out a very large, shiny
    red apple which he bites into.
    He may deal with garbage
    every day but this trash man
    seems to have no clue
    what the word sanitary means.

  19. Bask in the Bay of Fundy (For New Brunswick Newbies)

    Hey folks keep this place on your radar it’s gorgeous!

    Put aside your pleasure parodies
    and enter the parceled paradise
    of Canadian charm
    an east coast ecstasy

    Mundify your palate with
    maple glazed salmon
    in this maritime merry land

    Hike in the hills, tailored trails
    sport the coast surfacing whales
    shop, lodge, boost the sales

    An unknown gem, a sight to see
    has yet to be seen

    So don’t be deceived
    Come bask in the Bay of Fundy

    Inspired by article in USA TODAY Fundy Coast is an unfound gem in New Brunswick

    Link to a pic

  20. There is a braird


    Demolition steeps
    Destruction spreads
    Death seeps

    After the aftershock,
    there’s a building that remains

    After the hurricane,
    the waters recede

    After the wildfire,
    the smoke dissipates

    And after the last raindrop,
    there is a braird

    Inspired by several articles online about the latest Calamities can’t quite remember the specifics but from CNN, USA today, Mnsbc.

    • I guess that’s true.
      And although I don’t want to admit this, I had to look up the word braird. (I usually try to learn a new German word each day but often forget I don’t know all the words in the English language either. This is my word for the day. Thanks.)

  21. From: The Columbia Daily Tribune – Columbia Missouri

    Economic Bill sees growing opposition

    Now some would say he’s thrifty
    and some might call him mean
    but in my book he’s canny and careful
    that’s economic Bill

    Word is getting round that’s he don’t buy his round
    and while he won’t share his stock is going down
    but he don’t pay no never mind
    he don’t take no heed
    that’s economic Bill

    Some folks are protesting and want to make a stand
    others say they’ll boycott him he says that’s just grand
    and he toasts the 49
    (he never recognised Missoura anyway)
    that’s economic Bill

    Some call him a liar and some a hypocrite
    but frankly my dear he don’t give a flying spit
    cause to him the truth’s like money
    and you have to guard it well
    that’s economic Bill

    Now some would say he’s thrifty
    and some might call him mean
    but in my book he’s canny and careful
    that’s economic Bill


  22. Pingback: Friday Freeforall: Gather Ye Prompts While Ye May « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

  23. Residents of the Brain

    Down one wing of the old Victorian mansion
    you will find a writer,
    alternating between pensive stares out the window
    and vigorous scratching upon a piece of vellum;
    Next door there is an artist,
    who glows with satisfaction
    over a recently completed work of art;
    Across the hall is a seamstress,
    seldom seen but the sound of her sewing machine
    assures the other residents she is still there;
    At the end of this wing is the photographer,
    often darting off before dawn
    only to be found during the heat of the day
    within the dark confines of his room.

    In another wing
    lives the family that generously host
    these mismatched souls,
    their laughter is often heard echoing through the halls.

    Through the secret door behind a panel in the library
    lives the secret residents,
    the introvert dreaming of being on stage, acting and singing;
    the adventurer, seldom home for he is constantly traveling the world;
    the interior designer, furiously sketching and designing new ideas;
    the astronomer, watching the stars every evening;
    the archeologist, planning her next dig;
    and the athlete, working out every day.

    These are the residents of my brain-
    who I am,
    who I used to dream of becoming,
    who I wish I was,
    I am.

    Title taken from the July 30, 2011 issue of Science News.

  24. This is also posted for the Nove Otto prompt.

    Oops is a daft French magazine
    devoted to celebs’ obscene
    posturing and antic bloopers.
    Though why we should be riveted
    to rubbish like these syndicated
    words and photographs by snoopers
    defies good sense and has debased,
    nay, desecrated all good taste,
    turned me into party pooper.

  25. The Sky is Falling
    –American Photo, Sept/Oct 2011

    Turns out
    Chicken Little
    was right
    on that day our hearts
    rained down
    as terror
    scraped the sky
    and gravity
    grabbed hold
    Ashes, ashes
    we all

  26. Pingback: Aggressive Realignment « echoes from the silence

    • I just commented out at your blog, Paula. Way to combine the prompts! Looks like you’ve climbed out, indeed!


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