POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


In some parts of the country, soft drinks are called pop. In other parts, a bottle of pop is called a soda, or sometimes soda pop. Sometimes, soft drinks are called soft drinks. In some cities it is possible to go into several supermarkets and see all three labels on the aisles where these beverages are kept, sometimes right next to the beer. A similar situation occurs with sandwiches that are called, variously: submarines, subs, bombers, grinders, hoagies, po-boys, and the like. Write a poem about an item that has different names in different places, or in different situations.



This word’s vast dispersal
(ahead or reversal)
is quite universal –
it needs no rehearsal.

© copyright 2013, Marie Elena Good

😉 I’m not kidding.  Check it out:  http://www.scientificamerican.com/podcast/episode.cfm?id=huh-appears-to-be-universally-under-13-11-15



When my Pop would drink pop in his shop,
I would notice a head on the top.
Was it soda, I asked?
He then took me to task:
“Ain’t about to drink soft-drinkin’ slop.”

© copyright 2013, William Preston



All my life I’ve listened
to music in all forms.
Records came in flat black discs
that held the music’s grooves,
spinning ’round at any speed
to recreate the sound. Real-
to-reel gave the feel of the
music’s magnetism, a medium
recorded to capture realism.
8-track tapes and compact cassettes
became the latest phase,
reducing still but not the thrill
of the latest listening craze.
Came the disc around again,
but this one was compacter,
from LP to this CD all music
had detractors. And we talk in mp3
and on iPods we play them. A thousand
songs held in your palm, a nice way
to display them. But we have listened
through the years no matter how they
came. Either way it was OK,the music’s still the same!

© copyright 2013, Walter J Wojtanik

Single Post Navigation

134 thoughts on “PROMPT #131 – SODA? POP? SOFTDRINK? WHAT?

  1. William and Walt, you both got it goin’ on!

    • I agree with, Marie! 🙂

      William-Your poem made me smile-the tone of your character is so clear.


      Walt-It’s so amazing how much has changed…so true though…the music is the same. I remember watching that little needle trace the grooves of my grandmother’s records…I watched really closely…hypnotizing really. Great poem.

  2. William Preston on said:

    Marie, what the huh….

  3. William Preston on said:

    Thanks, Walt, for the retrospective. In my case I go back to 78 rpm discs, some of them a quarter-inch thick, but not to wind-up phonographs. Haven’;t made it to mp3 yet, though.

  4. Three fun poems. Walt: Thank you for the Music.


    In hot countries they offer not pop
    but simply say cold drink –
    which could mean anything
    from gin to lemonade, I think.

    A sandwich should have a capital.
    Lord Sandwich – a sinner –
    invented it because he was too lazy
    to leave a card game and go for his dinner.

    In Newcastle it’s a stotty cake
    in the Midlands it’s a butty.
    BLT’s the favourite,
    which I think is nutty.

    Scandinavians leave them open
    and call them Smorgasbord
    in mainly fishy flavours
    and containing much less gluten.

    It’s weird that now in different places
    the same thing has a different name
    Bread and pain, brot, and ψωμί
    ekmek, chlieb and 麵包
    This language business is a silly game
    which nobody can win.


  6. RJ Clarken on said:

    This one is an oldie but it kinda fits, so I’ll post it here, and then try to write something else. (Taking a break from studying for a few minutes. I have 2 midterms this week (two of my courses have TWO midterms!)) Anyway, enough with the kvetching.

    What’s for Lunch?

    Accents and idioms truly abound
    in every state and every town.

    One way to for one to manage to see
    the spoken word discrepancy

    is the local names we give for food.
    Example? A tube-shaped meal can include:

    A sub – or the longer form, submarine
    where meats and cheeses are often routine-

    ly piled quite high between some bread slices,
    sometimes with mayo, oil, vinegar and spices.

    It can also be called a hoagie or even a grinder
    and if you forget, here’s another reminder

    that some folks say po’boy and others say wedge
    with tomato and lettuce sticking out from the edge

    of the Italian or Cuban; they both taste soooo good,
    along with the sarney or the famous Dagwood.

    There’s the bomber, the depth charge, the zep and baguette,
    and I have a few more ’cause I’m not finished yet!

    There’s also the speidie from New York, Upstate,
    you can savor the flavor – it always tastes great.

    Just go to a deli and say that you need, oh…
    a hamboat or roast beef foot-long torpedo!

    In case you might wonder, this list’s incomplete,
    but it’s made me quite hungry – so I think I’ll go eat.


  7. Schizophrenic Beverage

    To pop
    Or not pop?
    Tis’ the age old question
    Watch it snap in your mouth
    Soda? Coke ma’am?
    Does it need a new name? Idea? Suggestion?
    Squiggles, fizzes without a plop
    Not alka-seltzer and no it won’t stop your bellyaching (Though I wish it would).
    But you might need some after you drink it. Soda-Coke? Don’t confuse the folk
    How about Soda bubbly pop Cokes?
    Or bubbly-wubbly Coke poppers?
    Could be a little confusing for the shoppers. Maybe a Sproke? Sodoke? Or maybe just bubbles? My suggestions could cause a wee bit of trouble. Maybe we should drink it and just be done with it?

  8. William Preston on said:

    This also is an older piece, modified slightly for presenting here:


    From Philly to Frisco and back to Saint Loo,
    from Mpls to Ipls to San Berdoo,
    this land is chock full of abbreviations
    and truncated names and pronunciations
    like Buff’lo and Loovuhl, Saint Joe and K.C.,
    and Cincy and Quinzy, P-town and Big D,
    and Roch’sters and Wust’sters and Sara-cuses
    and San Antone and many Waterlooses.
    It has a Big Easy; a Big Apple to go;
    a Big Potato’s out there, in Idaho;
    it has a Sin City in the Silver State
    and a Barbary Coast near the Golden Gate.
    It’s a land whose Athens is known as the Hub
    and sometimes as Beantown, and there’s the rub:
    when driving to Boston, some baked beans to slurp,
    you pass Belchertown, fondly known as Burp.
    When travelling here, be cautious and wary;
    have a map and an atlas, and a thick dictionary,
    for you never can tell, as you drive on your way,
    if you’re passing through Oz or the U.S. of A.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  9. Handyman

    Jim, the hinge is broken.
    Can you fix it, please?
    Yes, dear, I was just fixin’ to,
    please don’t nag… geez.

    It Bugs Me!

    The shopping cart
    dinged the car door.
    It is my biggest peeve.
    Why won’t people park
    their buggies ?
    Too lazy, I believe.

  10. Breakfast at the Pensione

    I mix batter for pancakes,
    set fruit and jams beside,
    “Oh, man, a mess of hoe-cakes,”
    yells Felix, grinning wide.
    “Not hoe-cakes, these are blini,”
    points out Vladimir, excited.
    “We Russians eat them teeny
    thin, with fruits and sauce inside them.”
    “You speak of crepes,” says Dominique,
    “as French as Sacre Coeur.”
    “Not hardly,” ventures Texas Pete,
    “Them’s flap-jacks, that’s for sure.”
    “We called the thick ones pan bread,
    when I was just a tot,”
    says Grandma shaking her old head,
    “with honey, syrups, hot.”
    “They’s griddle cakes or hot cakes,”
    Sadie will have her say.
    “Palacinky!” “Blintzes!” “Langos!”
    This could go on all day.
    I like the sound the batter makes,
    the griddle hot as appetites.
    “Today I’m making pancakes.
    Eat, and call them what you like.”

  11. Time to Eat

    By David De Jong

    It used to be a simpler feat,
    To get together and just eat.
    When I was young, we called it lunch,
    Take a break, with something to munch.
    Now we say; “Let’s have coffee”,
    While we drink a glass of iced tea.
    Careful, when you say; “Let’s have lunch”
    Be specific, it’s just a hunch.
    You might be called a real winner,
    When they were expecting dinner.
    So let’s confuse it still further,
    Skip dinner and meet for supper.
    Or maybe, let’s get right to the perks,
    Have pie and coffee, just desserts.

  12. Pingback: The Fog of Surrealism | Two Voices, One Song

  13. The Heart Of The Matter
    By: Meena Rose

    Webs bind and bonds form;
    An invisible hand seemingly
    At play and the intent,
    Either lecherous or divine,
    Depends on your point of view.

    Innocent child and noble bear;
    An alternate universe’s
    Lucy Pevensie and Aslan;
    Here to remind us to look at
    Our world slightly askew and

    Perhaps even with a squint;
    Always with wonder and promise
    Of something more – that something
    Beyond that would liven the gray
    And return full color to the land.

    Lecherous or divine, I know not;
    My reality consists of making
    Rainbows so I can get busy
    With the inevitable chase;
    That necessary hunt in response

    To someone who blew a horn ages
    And ages ago in a long lost time
    And in a place not so different
    From this here and now – each a
    Character in our own play and

    Each with a hero’s journey ahead
    Of us – will you walk your path
    Or sit idly by? Will you eventually
    Succumb as all heroes unwillingly do?
    Inner child forgives responsibility bear.

    Note: This poem is a response to this prompt in addition to an image prompt which be found here: http://2voices1song.com/2013/12/01/the-fog-of-surrealism/

  14. Pingback: A Whole New Meaning | Metaphors and Smiles

  15. A Whole New Meaning
    I often call you this,
    (more than any on the list),
    this one always rises to the top;
    spoken softly and sometimes sharp,
    depending on the instance
    and if you’re at a distance.
    On occasion my glance utters it,
    soundless words inaudibly slip
    lit by eyes enamored-passion’s glow
    and yet so swiftly this name changes.
    When speaking of the manger,
    strangers-wise at His crib-side,
    and a telling star plied to sky.
    Why, this certainly transforms
    four letters are bettered;
    we’re beckoned by a Prince
    and since the season lingers brightly,
    Babe, takes on a whole new meaning.
    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2013
    The other day my son asked me why I call my husband “babe?” I didn’t even realize that I had said it. This is one of those names that I’ve called him so often that I don’t even think of it anymore, (until I’m questioned!).
    Thanks you guys for your examples and William for your prompt idea!!

    Smiles to all in the garden!

  16. elishevasmom on said:

    Culture Shock

    Growing up in a
    Philadelphia suburb,
    I ate hoagies and
    drank milkshakes.

    After moving to a
    Boston suburb in
    high school,
    little did I know

    I was in need of a
    whole other education.
    This predates Sub-Way and Quiznos,
    (yeah, a long time ago)!

    One Saturday, I stopped
    to pick up some lunch.
    I asked the guy for a hoagie
    and paused a beat as he

    checked the second head
    I just sprouted, and said,
    “Yeah, what’s a hoagie?”
    My drink presented it’s own problems.

    I ordered a chocolate milkshake—
    and I got chocolate and milk—shook.
    To get the added ice cream that
    I wanted, well that was a frappe.

    To me, a Pepsi was a soda.
    To my new neighbors, soda
    meant soda water. In my new
    habitat, Pepsi was tonic,

    which I would have used
    on a man’s hair.The livingroom
    became the parlor. The couch,
    as sofa. A rubberband, and elastic.

    Had I moved to England, I would
    have expected to relearn English.
    I just never imagined that New
    England had a version all its own.

  17. connielpeters on said:

    Jingle Bells Alzheimer’s Version

    Dashing through the doodad
    In a one hickey open thingamajigger
    O’er the thingies we go
    Laughing all the way

    Gizmos on dillybobs ring
    Making whatchamacallits bright
    What fun it is to laugh and sing
    A thingamajiggering doohickey tonight

    Oh, jingle gizmos, jingle gizmos
    Jingle all the way
    Oh, what fun it is to ride
    In a one hickey open thingamajigger

    Jingle gizmos, jingle gizmos
    Jingle all the way
    Oh, what fun it is to ride
    In a one hickey open thingamajigger

    A day or two ago
    I thought I’d take a thingamajig
    And soon Miss Fanny Bright
    Was seated by my whatsit

    The hickey was lean and lank
    Misfortune seemed his lot
    We got into a drifted thingamabob
    And then we got upset

    Oh, jingle gizmos, jingle gizmos
    Jingle all the way
    Oh, what fun it is to ride
    In a one hickey open thingamajigger

  18. Otherwise Known As

    Steamed or fried, Chinese
    dumplings filled with vegetables
    or pork, work well with dips–
    tangy or sweet–and are a lovely
    component of wonton soup.

    Pan fried gyoza, a Japanese
    style dumpling, is half-moon
    shaped, and scrumptious
    plain or with a soy based sauce.

    When I was a child, I was wild
    for Grandma’s kreplach, large
    dumplings stuffed with meat,
    set afloat in chicken soup.
    Not a fan of chicken soup,
    I would kidnap the kreplach,
    and pile them on my plate
    for a soup-free feast.

  19. “Who put the “R” in Washington?”

    He says it like a battle is brewing in the

    • The wild city of the east
    • The rugged state of the west.
    • A George.
    • The Redskins.

    He says it like they’re dirty—

    • A curse word here.
    • An angry retort there.
    • Everywhere an uncensored tongue.

    (That’ll earn them a bite of Irish Spring.
    Grab a washcloth Run the Hot water.)

    Midwest dad slang?
    Clever verbiage?
    Monkey-see monkey-do?

    I just really want to know—
    Who put the “R” in Washington?

  20. Henrietta Choplin on said:


    A Garth Brooks’ song, “The Dance” of Love…
    A butterfly’s lilts up above,
    “This Life’s a dance,” someone then sighed…
    And poets know of hearts that cried.

  21. Communing with Anubis

    I’m making shadow puppets
    in the house of God.
    My hands,
    resting on the pew,
    cast the shadow of a cat
    on the floor.
    I move my thumb
    to wiggle his ear
    and try not to think
    of Thanksgiving morning
    when my own cat
    as I stroked his dark fur.
    I distract myself,
    thinking of the faces
    we put on death.
    Would Anubis
    be there to greet him
    or perhaps Osiris
    or Hades.
    And I wonder,
    do we allow
    the purer souls
    in our

  22. William Preston on said:

    Just wanted to let folks know that I’ll be away for a couple of weeks, and don’t expect to have much opportunity to follow your work. I’ll try, though. Ah, well; into every poet’s life must come some adversity.

    Sorry, couldn’t help it.

  23. Fun

    When I was just a little child
    Fun was playing with Matchbox cars
    Fun was making snowmen in the winter
    Fun was listening to Grandpa read

    When I got a little older
    Fun was riding my Buzzbike Eliminator
    Fun was a day of football and baseball
    Fun was hiding in the woods down back

    When I hit adolescence
    Fun was chasing the girls on the playground
    Fun was riding my Kawasaki 350
    Fun was climbing hills in the gravel pit

    When I became a young adult
    Fun was taking road trips
    Fun was making out in the back seat
    Fun was hanging out at the lake

    When I joined the Air Force
    Fun was weekend parties and picnics
    Fun was exploring new countries
    Fun was forming a family

    When I became a dad
    Fun was watching them grow up
    Fun was acting like a child to make them smile
    Fun was lemon slices, pictures, and videos

    As they got older
    Fun was a paper route at 4 am
    Fun was going to school events
    Fun was teaching them all the nutty things I did when I was their age

    And when teenage rolled around
    Fun was golfing with my son
    Fun was teaching them how to drive a stick
    Fun was Friday night ball games

    And when they graduated
    Fun was family trips to here or there in separate cars
    Fun was setting off illegal fireworks
    Fun was watching them meet their forever loves

    Now that they’re grown and on their own
    Fun is hearing from them
    Fun is visiting the grandchildren (and them, of course)
    Fun is having them come home for Christmas

    Over the years my idea of fun has changed
    As I grow older I’m sure it will change again
    All the fun I’ve had was fun
    And will fill my memories with fun thoughts

    Funny how that works

    © 2013 Earl Parsons

  24. FUN, fun, fun! Great prompt, little time to comment on the offerings above. Here’s mine.

    My neighbor’s name
    is not the same
    dependin’ how you’re hearin’ it.

    Across the south
    our southern styles
    of saying it is diff’rent.

    One might use drawn-
    out “oooos’es” and thats
    properly appropr’ate.

    One might say it
    with “eeees’es” and that’s
    just fine if you knows it.

    It don’t make much
    a diff’rence if
    you’re here or there. You’re either

    in Looos-i-an-er
    or Lu-weees-ee-anne–
    unless in neither.

    © Damon Dean, 2013

  25. speaking a foreign language
    she listens to her neighbor talk –
    surprised to hear she’s from the East Coast.

  26. BUGS ME

    Among bugs and insects, that pestilent zoo,
    was too much diversity. What did we do?

    We gave them all names to discriminate nicely
    with terms scientific. The names fit precisely.

    But still when they buzz, creep, or crawl or just bother
    we shriek ‘bug!’ or ‘insect!’ and swing wide the swatter.

    (And spider, poor chap, I’m afraid he’s included–
    to leave him out would be to leave him deluded.)

    © Damon Dean, 2013


    When did it happen
    that I changed what you’re called?
    When did you guys
    become known as Y’all?

  28. Pingback: When Things Went South | echoes from the silence

Plant your poem or comment here!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: