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Poetry Prompts

Monday Poetry Prompt: Scattered

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This week let’s write a scattered poem. Maybe there’s a poem of things scattered about or maybe the poem gets distracted halfway through itself. Whatever you find, post it in the comments below.

 

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About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.

Discussion

7 thoughts on “Monday Poetry Prompt: Scattered

  1. J's avatar

    A great topic!

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by J | September 9, 2019, 11:22 AM
  2. mbrazfieldm's avatar

    greetings and gratitude from LA this is my first time posting on this sight 🙂

    Geronimo on the way to the fair

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by mbrazfieldm | September 9, 2019, 11:27 PM
  3. Steve Croft's avatar

    Hurricane grows like a god,
    vomits raging venom as winds
    cutting the sea into madness

    unraveling any landscape
    into a mise en scene
    for disaster journalism:
    stripped trees, entire towns

    scattered, flattened to trash
    dumps complete with circling,
    scavenging gulls, an underbelly
    of grief, searing pain of loss,

    lives altered forever

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Steve Croft | September 10, 2019, 4:40 PM
  4. Chris Clarke's avatar

    cool
    blue skies
    driving the kids to school
    my thoughts
    scattered
    across the detritus of the previous day
    like their bodies would later be
    now gathered
    in an incomplete recollection
    being buried by the relentless myopia of time

    I put the pen down and listen:
    the A/C blower
    the pulse of blood in my ears
    the gurgle of the coffee machine finishing
    the bad bearings in the cooling fan

    experience is the most accessible gift of living
    and memory
    its most friable

    you have no say what they do with your after you die

    squirrel!

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Chris Clarke | September 11, 2019, 10:55 AM

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