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


The old children’s chant goes “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream”! These dog days surely call for a taste now and then. Pick a favourite flavour as your inspiration and use it as the title of your poem. Points for making up your own flavour! Bonus points if your poem actually has nothing to do with ice cream!

I’m battling connectivity problems and will post my poem in the comments when I’m able. Posted the prompt on my phone from an ice cream emporium, so…

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32 thoughts on “PROMPT # 193 – WE ALL SCREAM


    Tonight across the drawbridge of sleep,
    strawberry dreams canter in brightest red,
    carmine shadows of red knights, tints and shades
    of crimson trees spotted with cardinal nests
    and owls hooting open-eyed wisdom.
    Sorrows pulse in red-wine puddles of tears
    around which the dreamer skirts toward coral grass.
    A night-breeze flush nudges the forest leaves
    into a choreography of soft sweet dancing.
    When the flaming arrows fly and ogres
    wear their hideous faces of demon-red,
    the dreamer on the run crouches unseen
    in the berry bushes, awaiting dawn’s
    Yellow sun, white clouds, blue skies,
    A respite from the clench of red gone mad.

  2. William Preston on said:


    yield happiness.

  3. connielpeters on said:

    Chocolate Marshmallow

    Inwardly, he’s chocolate marshmallow ice cream
    Sweet, addictive, mushy
    Outwardly, he’s a humble paper cup

    Apple Pie Dream

    a red white and blue sky morning
    a cuppa and another
    cuppa down the hatch, Jack
    newsreels reeling, airwaves crackling
    another red white and blue stars and stripes
    up in smoke mad world spinning on FIRE
    out of love with Lady Liberty

    Lady reporter
    sings in her mic,
    we’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna die
    world sinkin’ into a mire of fear

    tears tumble inside the empty tide
    where standin’ right there right
    inside the sea right
    inside a wave of grief
    39 signers with inky fingers
    holding up a parchment of gold
    (safe and sound)

    tonight’s delight—
    a Grand Canyon dipper (or two)
    of apple pie dreamy creamy à la pro patria
    nestled inside one giant melting pot (or two)

    it’ll be a cozy night
    a gonna take it slowly night
    for mom and baseball
    for mustangs and rodeos
    for James Fennimore, Twain, and Poe

    under a blue moon of dreams.

  5. Pingback: Apple Pie Ice Cream Dream | Writing On The Sun


    Purchased on lower east side
    of New York thirty years ago,
    our beloved coffee table was carved
    from a tree. A deep groove
    and narrow hole add charm
    and character to polished

    Table was ensconced in our living
    room for years. It was cleared
    out during our marble craze,
    and then our trunk craze. Unfazed,
    the table resided in attic.

    Seven years ago, we moved
    to Oregon. Soon as we settled
    in, we knew the table belonged
    front row center again. Strewn
    with magazines, crosswords,
    and small books, it voices
    no complaints of clutter. Oddly,
    we have never had coffee on that table.

  7. Oh, this has made me hungry for ice cream!

    Mint Bright

    because the air bits
    cool and wintergreen,
    and bare bough trees
    hang withered leaves,

    and because they fall,
    they crunch like sugared
    cones and crispy flake,
    and because days are

    rushing into heavy fog
    and damp brick walls,
    and because autumn’s
    halo golden glows —

    we will eat minty green
    ice cream because we can.


    © Misky 2016

    Zinfandel Caramel Gelato

    I’m melting.
    Oh, my beautiful badness,
    I’m melting.
    This heat, this sodden, sticky heat
    brings out the wilted lettuce
    and vinegar in me.
    I growl, I simmer,
    I whimper and whine,
    lay supine, throw a hissy fit
    in the shade of the old elm tree.
    Humidity, I won’t miss you a bit.

  9. The wicked witch probably likes humidity, just to be annoying.


    Mom loved maple walnut.
    No shopping trip was a success
    unless that mess ended up
    in a cone or a cup.
    I had come to disdain with ease
    the maple walnutty brain freeze.
    To this day I still retch and refuse to fetch
    that accursed blend. I’d rather send out
    for chocolate or vanilla bean instead,
    but mom loved maple walnut!

    © Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

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