Established in May 2011 by Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik, to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.


New York Movie, 1939 by Edward Hopper

New York Movie, 1939 by Edward Hopper Courtesy of www.EdwardHopper.net

We haven’t done a photo prompt in a long while so I thought it was about time that we did! The extraordinary works of artist Edward Hopper have been thought provoking and have inspired many writers and poets throughout the years. I’m sure we’ve all written to a Hopper painting at one point in our poetic endeavors. Stepping away from the usual (popular) offerings (many found at www.EdwardHopper.net) I’ve found this print of Hopper’s “New York Movie” (1939). Derive whatever inspiration you can from this painting and write your poem.


Second Week of February

It has been four years
since we nearly lost Izzy,
our grandbaby girl.

It has been two years
since my mother passed on to
the heavenly realm.

Now my son-in-law’s
mother is hospitalized,
fighting for her life.

The second week of
the second month of each year
feels like a movie –

a film I am in,
but choose to view from a safe
distance. Unseated.

© Marie Elena Good, 2020



She stands alone,
pensive and detached,
attached to the dark shadows she lurks.
The audience does not see her,
lost and absorbed in her self-loathing.
Her clothing indicated her position
a condition of her employment.
Her enjoyment and ambition
long left languishing in her dreams
of becoming the next best vision
on the silver screen. Life didn’t mean
to deal her this hand as she stands:
alone, pensive, detached.
She knew she belonged in the theater,
but this cruel twist of fate has her sealed.
She ought to be in pictures, but
her life sadly ushered her into this.

© Walter J Wojtanik – 2020


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55 thoughts on “PROMPT #282 – HOPPER INSPIRED

  1. The show’s about to start
    And I stand here wondering
    Did I leave the iron on?

  2. William Preston on said:


    My loved one left
    me bereft; love’s
    wild heft has flown
    to its own lee.
    Alone from night to night you’ll find me.

  3. Walt, this is brilliant. It’s as if you took five word# and wrapped a poem around them.

  4. A

    Dear Ed

    Standing back from your easel,
    I see that memories of me
    are still a work in progress.
    Thank you for trying
    to complete me,
    this not being the last thing I
    ever did, yet I was left
    hanging, waiting for a role.
    Did I die well?
    I had never given the matter great thought.
    My preference would have been
    for the least untidy end, free of trauma,
    for me, to be sure,
    even more for my discoverers.
    I had thought it would be best to be
    asleep at the time, but maybe not so,
    perhaps at the cinema,
    where I so enjoyed sitting
    in the dark with strangers.
    I did not want it to be in public,
    strangers made awkward by the intrusion,
    but my fondness for my loves
    led me to wish for it
    not to be at home.
    Ah, the dilemma.
    Well, no more.
    What it was, it was.
    Do not be sad, please, as I am not,
    having seen some of what is to be,
    the great mystery,
    the hopeful maybe.
    Be well, and do great work with small things.

  5. William Preston on said:

    Marie, Your poem’s penultimate stanza recalls for me “the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month,” from the First World War. Such a haunting piece. Wonderful.


    Sometimes we need a break
    from work
    from home
    from life.

    Sometimes we need to step away
    from problems
    from involvement
    from action.

    Sometimes we need a new perspective
    on reality
    on family
    on politics.

    There is no point in running away.
    Life follows no matter where we are.
    But sometimes a little distance
    helps us to see things more clearly.

  7. Theater Woes

    How I hate the term, ‘usherette’.
    We all wear identical uniforms. Shall
    I say, ‘Good evening, may I usherette
    you to your seat’?

    This performance is sold out,
    yet seats remain vacant. I am sure
    late stragglers will tip-toe in
    murmuring, sorry, to those
    seated who will have to stand
    to accommodate them. Mean
    -while, I have a short break,
    leaning against the radiator
    in my un-identical heels.

  8. A Memorable Engagement

    was odd,
    John asking
    me out for a show.
    We don’t often go when he’s not
    on stage.  Now, I’ve got butterflies and he’s so nervous,
    checking his pocket, making sure
    something is still there,
    but why go
    to that

  9. Walt, what an insight into this woman’s life and hopes.
    Marie, Sorry for all the misfortune. I like the way you ended this.

  10. Pingback: A Memorable Engagement – Wanna Get Published, Write!

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