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Poetry Prompts

Monday Poetry Prompt: Louise Glück

This week let’s celebrate Louise Glück winning the Nobel Prize in Literature by using one of her poems as a prompt. I must admit that while I recognized her name, I didn’t know much of her work before last week so if you’ve got a favorite poem of hers, use that, otherwise may I suggest:

The Night Migrations

This is the moment when you see again
the red berries of the mountain ash
and in the dark sky
the birds’ night migrations.

It grieves me to think
the dead won’t see them—
these things we depend on,
they disappear.

What will the soul do for solace then?
I tell myself maybe it won’t need
these pleasures anymore;
maybe just not being is simply enough,
hard as that is to imagine.


About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.


8 thoughts on “Monday Poetry Prompt: Louise Glück

  1. A quiet, sweet soul
    Left his riverside cabin
    Motoring to the banks
    With a side trip
    To the ICU
    Now the boat is engraved
    A side panel of his urn
    A final resting place
    And now his soul
    Maybe skims the waters

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Lisa Tomey | October 16, 2020, 8:32 PM
  2. (is there a way to edit posts after you post it? I ** always ** find typos or dropped articles…)

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Chris Clarke | October 15, 2020, 10:36 AM
  3. The HOA likes to think
    it controls all things
    mandating the shape and form
    within it’s parochial influence

    And so it has declared war
    on the old Elaeagnus at the front of the neighborhood
    Once shaggy and unkempt
    Fourteen feet high and queen of this land
    Planted before houses sprouted up
    like onion grass in the Spring 
    or mushrooms after a rain 
    the lone legacy of a tobacco farmer’s wife
    long since gone 
    first to coast and then below it

    Three years ago they ripped it out of the ground
    Two years ago they poisoned the roots
    Last year they banned it
    an example of our hubris

    Now, with the first cool breezes of the fall 
    evaporating a summer’s worth of sweat
    leaves (only dry yellow and brown) swirl
    and the sweet fragrance of the queen’s illicit flowers
    scents the imperative of living things in their time

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by Chris Clarke | October 15, 2020, 10:30 AM

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