I don’t like to repeat myself, but this prompt is very different. We will work with alliteration this week.Come up with an alliterative title and use the function throughout the poem.Be it a Westward Wing or a poem about Bad Bologna, the repetitiveness will get you noticed.

A good form to try is the Aliterisen



Her kisses peck greatly, gently,
neatly nipping and sipping sweetly.
Smacking of honey and dripping
with the love of long lost years.
Tears left streaming, seeping, teeming
down rosy cheeks, streaks
of mascara marking. Sparks
in lightning striking, stars aligning,
hearts beating, thumps and
bumps, booms and bumps
rhythmically tapping and rapping;
her chest enmeshed against mine. I find
her wave saves me at every roll.
Taking her toll, crash into me!

(c) Walter J Wojtanik

87 thoughts on “PROMPT #428 – AGAIN AND AGAIN


    Curt constantly
    was walking wearily
    by the bay,
    pondering problems
    with wit
    and thinking thoughts
    he’d know for naught.

  2. Thanks for the exercise, Walt. I find alliteration and assonance hard to do when I have to so it.

  3. Pretty Posies

    Pretty posies looking lost
    Amongst amber stepping stones
    No one noticed, count the cost
    Seeds settled and left alone

    Proudly portray joy in pain
    People pass by on the path
    Get a glimpse that with the rain
    We can learn to live and laugh

  4. Full Flight

    I have prayed that I could chill,
    greet God’s mornings with His will,
    pleased with each delightful day,
    while still knowing I’ve gone gray,
    the best of a lovely life,
    free of fear and struggling strife,
    a wonderful way to be.

  5. standing strong

    weary, weeping, yet
    standing strong
    damaged, defiant

    prejudiced people
    playing at power
    hiding their hating
    bullying, berating
    fail at breaking her spirit
    standing strong with
    courage and conviction
    she shines her light on their lies

  6. Not sure if this fits the prompt, but it’s something I wrote for my children years ago.


    If one took time
    To make a rhyme
    Where all lines rhyme
    Time after time,
    Is it a crime?

    To take the time
    To make lines rhyme
    Time after time
    Would be sublime,
    If not prime
    For wasting time
    On a rhyming rhyme.

    But now it’s time
    To give a dime
    To the funny mime
    Who cannot rhyme
    Time after time.

    He’s stuck in slime
    And cannot climb
    Out of the grime,
    Now, that’s a crime.

    But right now I’m
    Gonna’ take the time
    To throw the mime
    Stuck in the slime
    A new enzyme
    That eats the grime
    So he can climb
    Out just in time
    To get the dime

    And hear the rhyme
    That he can’t chime
    ‘Cause he’s a mime
    And mimes can’t rhyme
    Any time.

    Now, should that mime
    Stay in the slime
    Or is that dime
    Worth his time?

    And is it a crime
    For a rhyme to rhyme
    Time after time?

    Don’t ask a mime.

  7. Soothing Seashore

    This beach is a beckoning beauty
    Snow white sand glistens in the sun
    No tourists to take from the splendor
    Just me and my Mrs. all alone

    The sound of the surf at the seashore
    Sooths the soul with every sand slap
    Here I sit in the satisfying sunlight
    Slowly soaking the sun’s gift of life


    how high, your lofty ladder
    shattering space, no matter
    bust through bravely, see beyond
    ponder life by the old pond
    let imagination loose
    maybe chase that golden goose
    seek it sincerely, let go

    (c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2023


    stirred, spun up sugary fluff
    dandy do, stop when enough
    twist it tight, hands and fingers
    hope that smell stays and lingers
    pretty pink on lips, faces
    a lasting leave in places
    yet a sweet taste all the same

    (c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2023

  10. Let Me Slumber as I Sleep

    Most nights my sleep is stirred
    With prevailing pain…
    It dominates my dozes
    As tear tumble
    Down to dribble on my cheeks.
    I cannot toss;
    I cannot turn
    Without the compelling corrosive
    Rub of my bones against brawny muscles.
    Then I awake…

    I want to slumber in my sleep…
    To rest and not be restless.
    I want to be strong and sturdy
    No longer weak and watery.
    My prayers are pleas
    That tonight
    As I slip into slumber…
    Morning mists will wake me
    With the pain no longer bold and brash, and
    I am daring for I have once again defied the odds.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    March 5, 2023

  11. Illiterate Winter Alliteration

    The snow has become a belligerent bully
    Passing its powdered abuse day by grey day
    It may seem quite quaint in its quiet surge
    Now groaning, droning a dastardly dirge
    White on white with whisps of sleeted thorns
    Sharpened pins and prickles its penchant horns

    Contagious, cantankerous crafted brew
    Like mis-swallowed juice of grandpa’s chew
    Shovelin’, spittin’, cursin’ the wind
    Every spare space stacked with snow to the chin
    Lost luster to this crotchety ol’ crank
    Pullin’ for spring with a prayer and a yank

  12. Sunday at Sue’s

    Come to Sunday’s pool party
    a funky feast, says Artie.
    While parents play in Europe
    We’ll blast beats ’til sunup.
    After some swimming and games
    a big barbecue, no rain.
    Please be at her house by two.

  13. Pingback: Poems: Standing Strong – Wanna Get Published, Write!

  14. Finding Faeries

    Oh, they’re there alright
    pirouetting prettily past
    Dickensian skyscrapers their sly
    rattling of nickeled necklace chain
    puddling beneath leashed china dogs

    even before you squint to see them
    listen to their leaping sticking the landings
    along the shiny Pledged ledge
    then leaping to twirl atop the stair-stepped
    triptych as they skate and skip
    flitting fearlessly across wild wisteria
    then down to dazzling dahlia
    launching from redolent rose

    zigzagging zipping zooming
    onto the antique oak rocker
    in a silky swarm all wings
    and Peter Pan tights with silly
    little hats poised pixie-like
    on tiny heads a motley murmuration
    slipping down scrolled chair arms
    tiny feet dimpling dust until
    they stream around the corner

    to climb the poinsettia tree
    the croton in the alcove
    until not a sign remains save
    for a sprinkling of dry dust
    (what the unwashed might scoff
    and say’ tis just pollen, just pollen).


    Now how would Tina Twinkletoes
    tell the time on Tuesday if her sister Tara Twinketoes tarried terribly on Thursday
    forgetting to buy the watch? Only time
    will tell.

    Benjamin Thomas


    Sometimes the words just choose themselves.
    They seemingly appear—slip, slide onto the page
    effectively, effortlessly.

    Sometimes the words just arrange themselves.
    Arriving in droves—like crows—packs of pent up prose—

    Sometimes the words just organize, orchestrate
    themselves. An alliterated symphony of sound
    in rows—searching an audience.

    Benjamin Thomas

  17. I write this because I am in so much pain and it lets go of my frustration

    It is Asinine

    As my iron rumbled and tumbled
    To a low point on the below normal scale,
    Legs began to burn and seize,
    And my buttocks began to cramp and constrict
    Leaving my bums to bruise
    And I cringed
    When I stood, sat or shuffled
    In an attempt to avoid the pain.
    My backside or behind
    Or whatever you may call it…
    Has suffered enough.
    It would be different
    If pleasure or preference
    Had brought this pain,
    But it hasn’t…
    I complain
    That it is asinine
    For my ass to be hurting
    As much as it does
    And am ready for it to be done.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    March 8, 2023

      • Bill, it really is a pain, and I had to make a bit of fun of it…Thank you and hopefully this will be behind me soon.

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