#poemtober

[hearthspeaker]

hello~ I'm trying something special for the month of October and would love for you to join me! I've created 9 poetry prompts, inspired by inktober, to gather up the creepy cozy vibes for autumn's pinnacle. The intersection of creepy and cozy is where I feel the most inspired, so I'm hoping these one word prompts invoke creativity for us all! I'll be starting on October 1st, and my personal challenge is to fill the whole board, but if you play along with me, you could just shoot for a bingo! We can use this opportunity to shine some light on old work or conjure up something entirely new. If you use my prompts, please tag me! I'd love to see them being used!

[julia-writes-things]

Poemtober

y’all I have very little artistic talent, but I do write a decent poem. (IMO)

Would you guys like to see me do a poem-tober for the spooky month?

Poemtober???

yes, I’d watch you do one but not participate

yes, I’d participate with you

don’t do poemtober

Haha -tober suffix (results)

Voting ended onSep 9, 2024

(Reblogs appreciated bc i think this idea is cool)

((I could do like poem prompts, too))

[altheterrible]

Tired.

[strawberryfight]

There’s black thunder in my brain

only muffled by

pale pangs of empty silence.

[palamedeeznuts]

Thunderstone (17 Oct)

1.     any of various stones or fossils formerly thought to be fallen thunderbolts.

2.     Archaic: a thunderbolt or flash of lightning

 A watcher of the skies now spots

A striking stone towards the ground.

A vertical pebble, skipping ‘cross a pond,

Into the flattened earth it slots.

 It leaves a trail that zigzags through the blues,

Molten gold. Where it lands, a ripple forms.

Spread in circles, the rock does. Only in storms

Does it show itself. This thunderstone, son of Zeus.

[starliighting]

3. delirium (whumptober) orpheus 

I refuse to greet the harsh reality that is morning—not when I could lie here, pretending it is still night because anything is possible in the dark. Some invisible lover’s arms will twist around mine, weighed with world-weary fatigue equal to my own, brushing like the wind over my flesh, warm as the nearby fire. Hide me from the incoming light, I will scream— love, that deathless wanderer, will comply.

[deadestpoet]

At the End of It My life was true. I was fancy.

Gosh. Think about it.

Harris, Charlaine. Definitely Dead. Ace, 2006, p 324.

[quinnathans]

Vertigo

My head is slammed sideways, yet inert.

In its instability, my body is dragged downward.

There is nowhere to run; I was already resting.

Instead, I pull in, fighting rotations that aren't real,

Imagining that if I make myself miniature,

I'll stop slipping sideways while standing still.

It amuses me that this fight is both physical and not.

For the moment, my head spins, or doesn't,

Yet my mind remains at rest.