Tomorrow we begin our nonchalant version of the dreaded Poem-a-Day Challenge. The P.E.O.D. Is it a challenge? Is it a memoir? Is it a chapbook enticement? YES. But before we step off of that ledge tomorrow, here’s the last Sunday Seed prompt until August beckons. And the prompt is… no prompt. Lately, I’m finding myself handcuffed by very specific nudges into the poetic process. And in that process, I let so many other poems stagnate because they didn’t fit a form, a prompt, a certain predescribed direction. Some days I just need to write a poem.  Write about whatever strikes my fancy. No fill in the blank exercise, no favorite color poems… just poems.

So before we start in earnest, write a poem. I don’t care what it is about. Could be about the neighbors dog barking incessantly. It might be about an almost-accident you had this morning. It may even be about your not wanting to get out of bed. Just a poem. It could be a poem you had written for another site you wanted to offer here. That’s fine, but it may still be a prompted poem. If our EXERCISE IN POETIC THOUGHT taught us anything, it’s that we can find inspiration on our own. We don’t always need a pied-piper to lead us. I’m not saying never write to a prompt. That’s silly. They still remain a staple of what it is we do. It is how a lot of us got started on this journey. I love them to kick-start my writing. But on more occasions, I want you to decide what it is you want to write and write it. BUT MAKE SURE YOU WRITE IT! And then bring it here to plant it and share with the rest of us. We’ll do the ‘no prompt’ day on a regular basis, possibly supplanting the READING ROOM Wednesdays on occasion.  Just poem.



What makes you feel loved?
I silently asked no one in particular,
Expecting their response
To match mine. 
But it didn’t. 
So I had to learn them –
Their language,
Their movements,
Their culture,
Their needs,
Their history –
Then I silently said again,
To all who were there and not there –
What makes you feel loved?
This time, their answer matched mine.
It always did.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019



There it still stands,
abandoned and left
in the dust to rust and decay.
In its day, a trusty “steed”,
but it has needed much attention,
not to mention plenty of cash
to re-convert this piece of trash to the notion
that motion was once its function.
An open lot, overgrown; not mowed
in a long while. Weeds obscured
and amber waves of grain sustain
the field mice that find lodging there
dodging the elements and predators.
And thus, this bucket of rusted,
once trusted truck is stuck,
alone in a field that seems devoid
of dreams and schemes. Just a means
to dispose of a once valued ‘friend.’

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


**Walt’s notes – Every morning I pass this empty lot that has been vacant for as long as I recall, save for the dissolute Ford F150 pick-up truck that rests in pieces in the middle of this bit of nowhere. No one seems to notice it. But it catches my eye every time. And so it gets this tribute.


In preparation for the PEOD, there will be no designated form today. But that shouldn’t stop you from writing a poem of some sort today. Post it below if you do and we’ll enjoy your efforts as always. Sunday will set the tone for the July excursion. Be there then. The INFORM POET will return in August.


It seems the consensus of our poets is in favor of this challenge. With the comments posted, Marie and I look forward to those participating in this month long celebration of poetry. We have conducted this challenge in the past and have come up with some special works. I do not anticipate this year’s to be any different. Here are some of the particulars of this challenge.

1. I will post a prompt every OTHER day. This takes a burden off of you to perform when summer beckons. It is meant to be a memoir challenge, featuring poems about your world, your lives or perspective. However, I will try to post an alternate suggestion for those who are not enthused to write personal poems.

2. As you know, we never close the garden gate. So if you miss a few prompts, please feel free to return and catch up. There is a potential for 16 poems through to the end of July.

3. When July comes to a close, you’ll get a chance to edit, organize and assemble your chapbook memoir. I’ll give instructions on how to submit them at a later date.

4. While you’re waiting for that, think of a title for your collection.

5. Have fun and write. That’s the main reason we’re here. And spread the word of what we’re up to. We always welcome new poets.

6. As we write our poems, please keep in mind also that the regular workings of this site will be put on a hold until August!


Another Summer on our doorstep. I don’t know about you, but the weather has been disappointing around here. A lot of rain and no chance to keep up with the high grass! But, that’s not the typical vision of summer. Give us an image of the idylls of Summer to make the anticipation of this season worth our while. Evoke a smile, illicit a tear, give your Summer whatever twist it needs to make us forget the lead up into its arrival. We, the people expect more from Summer than most months of the years. Write your preamble to Summer.



People are joking,
Poking fun at Ohio.
But this mild June
Has me beguiled.
Too soon, we will
Sweat, and I bet
Some will regret
Their protests,
Once oppressive heat
And mosquitoes meet
Beneath the firecrackers –
Hijackers of all that
Makes me swoon this June.

So chill. Grab the grill
While it’s still cool.

Grammar school!
Error there:
Not cool grill, but cool air.

Make the most of June –
She’ll be gone soon.

© Marie Elena Good, 2019



I walk along the shoreline. Evening has lowered her veil showing her sumptuous soft features laced by her endearing charms. Darkness sweeps the horizon as if her arms had become heavy and fall slowly to her side. I slide my hand into hers when she would allow it and we steal soft whispers and the most delicious tender kisses, a bliss unknown to us so far. And as the stars find their spaces, our faces are graced by a glow so bright it can be seen for miles and miles of smiles for a summer night!

waves washing away
the harshness of  summer days
as the night smiles

(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019


I had a thought about a new poem challenge combining the best of what had worked for us in the past. But with a twist! (Lately, there’s always a twist!) Connie Peters had recently reignited the fire to consider a new poetic memoir project. We had done a July Poem-A-Day challenge on several occasions. But a daily excursion sometimes frustrates a poet trying to stay the course, leaving us a bit  P.O.’d. So, this is what I’m proposing: the POETIC BLOOMINGS July P.E.O.D (Poem Every Other Day) Memoir Challenge. If you’re interested, starting July 1st, we’ll begin. If you’re not up for it, we’ll just cruise along as we have been. Let me know in the comments below since I’ll need to get a jump on the proposed prompts!


TRIMERIC is a four stanza poem created by Dr. Charles A. Stone.  The first stanza has four lines,  and the remaining three  have three lines each.   The  first line of stanzas two through four repeat the respective line of the first stanza.

The sequence of lines, then, is abcd, b – -, c – -, d – -.




Opportunity has knocked,
the winds of change have blown.
But, a heart in flux can’t get enough
when love comes to call.

The winds of change have blown,
bringing something new to a life
that has waited for its coming.

But, a heart in flux can’t get enough.
It yearns for a touch, a caress,
a longing kiss to steer its course.

When love comes to call,
will your heart be willing and accepting to
a welcomed guest that might stay a lifetime?

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012



There’s a new voice to be heard,
and it’s absurd since she has no voice.
Only a few weeks into this life,
she’ll have a lot to say before she’s through.

And it’s absurd since she has no voice.
She makes her noises and they’re cute,
(and she’d dispute that she has no “voice”).

Only a few weeks into this life
and she’s touched so many hearts.
She imparts the need to love her.

She’ll have a lot to say before she’s through.
Brooklyn Ariel would tell you that is true,
Until she finds her voice, she’ll use those eyes.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2019


Emily Dickinson was an American poet. A prolifically private poet, very few of her nearly eighteen hundred best poems were published during her life. Many publishers edited her works to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Dickinson’s poems were quite unique for the times in which she wrote. Her poems generally dealt with themes of love, death and immortality. Dickinson lived much of her life in isolation. Thought to be an eccentric by locals, she had a penchant for wearing white clothing. Somewhat anti-social, Emily was known for her reluctance to greet guests or even leave her room. She had never married.

Emily Dickinson

I Cannot Live With You

by Emily Dickinson

I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sevres pleases,
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other’s gaze down,
You could not.

And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death’s privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus’.
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by. 


They say that it is good to get away, but it’s even more wonderful being back home again. And in that regard there are two views to this issue. Some will say, “They’re coming home today!” The other side thinks, “I’m going home.” There is always comings and goings. This prompt came to me on the day my darling granddaughter was “going home” from the hospital. She has come home to new surroundings, new sounds. An newly finished bedroom, and her future partners in crime, her dogs Guinness and Marvel. If this prompt makes you unsure whether you’re coming or going, write one of each. Write a “coming” poem. Write a “going” poem. Or give a voice to your frustration and write a “comings and Goings” poem.


For Sophie and Izzy (Our Rosie and Bean)

Four little loved feet lived a few feet away
‘Til they moved to St. Thomas’s lush Caret Bay.
Abruptly, an ocean and 2,000 miles
Created a chasm, and dampened our smiles.

But then they moved closer (no ocean to cross)
And the far-fewer miles seemed less of a loss.
“It’s all relative,” as the old saying goes,
But oh how we still miss our Bean and our Rose.

Now all of a sudden, life’s changing again!
We’re all looking forward to Saturday, when
Four little loved feet can stay put and not roam:
Our Sophie and Izzy are coming back home!

It’s hard to believe it’s been only one year
Since we said our goodbyes, and we choked back our tears.
Here’s move number three in a rather short time –
Returning our smiles, and ending this rhyme. 🙂

© Marie Elena Good, 2019



I might as well rhyme.
I have this blank page, and the time
and the rage to go gently into that good write.

I might as well rhyme.
A poem is as expressive as I can get,
and I’m of a mind do it all on my dime every time.

I might as well rhyme.
Poets are a special breed. We don’t need much
except a muse and just enough heart to get started.

Since I’m going to write something anyway,
I might as well rhyme.
It’s the best way to know I’m alive.

 © Copyright Walter J Wojtanik


Are we having fun yet? The third step in our poem building exercise is upon us. Today, we put some parts together. Choose one of your titles written in exercise #2. Now, starting with that title and nudge, write your poem. BUT…. you CANNOT use the original line that the title is based upon in your poem. You must fit one of your OTHER lines into your poem. Make it work. What we once deemed as disassociated, does have a link after all. You can write in a poetic form, or not. Have a rhyme scheme or not. Count your syllables or not. This one’s on you to find the beauty in your process.





It seemed that he spent his life,

looking for the one to complete him.

There’s plenty of fish in the sea they said,

so he would cast his line in the hope

of catching his prize. His eyes

were ever searching. Each time

he threw his heart out there,

it got trampled underfoot.

so, the search continues.


(c) Walter J Wojtanik – 2019




Wystan Hugh Auden was an English-American poet. Auden’s poetry was earmarked by its style and technical accuracy, its foray into politics, morals, love, and religion. His work could be identified by its variety in tone, form and content. One of his best known works is this featured poem, “Funeral Blues”



by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.