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prompts


Here’s your prompt! Submit poem responses to: voxpoeticasubmissions@gmail.com. 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! 

Outer Banks North Carolina by KC Bosch

Outer Banks North Carolina by KC Bosch

Bashō hut
By Ilona Martonfi

On the island of Kyūshū, hills west of Sagano, we crossed the Hozu river. Mount Ogura, a place of bamboo groves. Persimmon fruit. Here along this way, cicadas still sing. Wild boar and deer. On my feet waraji,

rice straw rope sandals. Straw raincoat of an itinerant monk, sedge hat. With cane and white hair. Hemp satchel. My friend Kawai Sora and I sharing a thatched hut. Warmth of wood fire, woven rush tatami mats. I carried with me ink and brushes.

Kyōto city
full moon lighting up night skies
wild pampas grasses 

I began once more to write hokku. Calligraphy haiga drawings on washi paper. In the summer rain, a yellow wild rose. Rhododendron.

A five-month long journey. Returning to Edo in December.

bidding farewell
let us recall the yuzu tree
cool rushing waterfall

No Place
By Lynn White

The buildings line the street.
Such bright colours
lining the street
of the holiday resort,
a place near the beach,
a living place.
But if I should transform the cars,
into their metal box shapes.
If I should paint out their windows
and doors,
and the windows and doors
of the buildings in the street,
it would leave me
with coloured squares
and rectangles
dividing blue from green or white
with no life left there.
No place,
no place
for life
at all.

The Secrets of a Storm
By Laura Zucca-Scott

I cannot see the bright colors
Caressing the skies
A silent promise
Of love and kindness
Without thinking about storms
Angry greens and dark blues
Threatening the warmth
Of trusting shelters and souls
The roaring of power and hatred
Muting the world

Beauty eludes us all
There is ineffable splendor in the storm
Yet we long for the light
And a rainbow of ordinary lives

Bay View Haven
By KC Bosch

I remember
trips to the beach,
but it was never really the beach.
We usually rented some cottage
way back on the bay side.
I’m sure it was cheaper
to find a place that would hold us all.
It was also more to dads liking.
He was never a get in the waves
kind of guy.
Crabbing was his thing.

I remember him teaching us
how to catch them with
a chicken neck tied to a string.
Pull them in slowly,
dip them out quickly.

I remember wanting
to escape to the boardwalk.
It was a couple mile hike
but it didn’t matter.
I did it every night.
No money in my pocket
but being in that crowd
was addicting.

I remember the Peanut
smell of Thrashers fries.
Loud music, flashing lights and
best of all the pinball arcades.
Being alone in that crowd
was a lot like my family life.

Today I sit on a deck overlooking
buildings that block the ocean view.
This rented house is full of people
and I’m out here alone.
I remember when it mattered,
but it doesn’t anymore.