It's just poetry, it won't bite


Here’s your prompt! Submit poem responses to: And if you have a photo or piece of artwork you took that you’d like us to consider as a Prompts image, send that as well! 

From wikimedia commons. Public domain image.

From wikimedia commons. Public domain image.

By Nathan Gunter

The city, a drawing made in the sand
a castle built out of leaves
a child’s tunnel dug in the garden

sinking, sinking, sinking

It is no different than any other
of the mighty works of man
except the speed of its entropy,
the watery creep of the inevitable.
The organic reek of marauding death
billowing into the cracks
of an island made art,
marshes made masterpiece,
canals connecting Caravaggio and Canaletto,
Pollack and Palmas,
Santacroce and San Marco

sinking, sinking, sinking.

Dreaming of Venice
By Laura Zucca-Scott

Venice smells of salt
Venice paints memories in the water
Reflections before our time
Longing and loneliness
Love and fear

Running down the canals
Chasing dreams
Fading away
Venice speaks
With the rhythm of the rain
In the brilliance of the sunset

By Jeanette Cheezum

The low lying streets of Venice glisten in the rain and sparkle in the sun.
History circles the storefronts and haunts the narrow alleys.
Venetian crystal and designer clothes struggle to stay above the canals.
Vaporrettos and gondolas keep the crowds mesmerized in all of Venice’s glory.
No one visits that doesn’t desire a return to the charms of Italy’s famous destination.

When The Mist Clears
By Lynn White

One day I’ll see through the mist.
One day I’ll be back to find you again
and uncover what I let slip away
when I became lost in the fog
and the maze
of back streets and tall buildings.
One day I’ll stop searching
and meet the mist with a smile
and watch it fade away.
One day I’ll greet the sun again
as the mist clears
one day at a time.

Calle Zotti
By Ilona Martonfi

In the seven weeks before she left she dreamed, she is walking through narrow cobblestone streets, follows him to Le Café on Calle Zotti. “You’re following me! You’re spying on me!” He understands this vacuum. Disgust in his voice. Delusions, beckoning nothingness

destroying frescoes
irreplaceable relics
unstoppable sea

and when she wakes, she remembers a crumbling Venice. Piazza San Marco, where she sits in the square, waiting. She waits. People pass. Street musicians

on the far lagoon. Hotel by the Venezia-Santa Lucia train station. Dredged canals, calle, streets of the city, wooden bridges. Doorways and medieval iron grates. Marble stairways, mosaic floors. Gothic Doge’s Palace. In the inner courtyards, roses grow. Pomegranate trees. Palm trees. Palazzi on timber platforms supported by wooden stakes.

splashing the walkways
orange moon wading around
saltwater in shops