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Poetry Prompts

Monday Poetry Prompt: Night

Here’s an easy one. This week let’s write a night poem. So many interesting things happen at night: nightclubs, nightgowns, nightmares. Post your nocturne in the comments below.

Discussion

31 thoughts on “Monday Poetry Prompt: Night

  1. Night

    Night falls
    like a dark blue, plush blanket
    slipping over my head, shoulders, hips,
    down to my toes covering me completely
    closing my eyelids, dulling my mind of ideas
    easing in some peace, serenity, inviting dreaminess

    then I whip out a whodunnit mystery book and
    settle in for a good read in a warm bed on a cold night.

    Liked by 3 people

    Posted by purplestoneblog | November 17, 2020, 8:39 PM
  2. The Night Owl Writer

    Alive
    is the night
    when darkness strikes

    Dim and gloom mood
    lid up
    by the cobra blue moonlight

    Imagination
    runs wild
    on a sleek dark horse back

    Twilight characters
    born
    in the witching hour

    The tower card
    read not in jeopardy
    but in salvation

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by Cassa Bassa | November 17, 2020, 2:27 PM
  3. A Cautionary Tale

    Oh, you crazy Larks!
    Feast on your worms.
    This owl is still awake
    from the night before.
    Watch out.

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by JeanMarie | November 16, 2020, 11:34 PM
  4. dearest mother earth
    I am sorry for this loss
    yet I see some gains
    once the fuels burn much less
    and the night shadows sleeping souls

    From a random find in my writing folder after searching “night”

    Liked by 5 people

    Posted by Lisa Tomey | November 16, 2020, 2:57 PM
  5. Gipsy Dark

    And not until the doors are shut
    sky black and bird-less
    does he appear
    from out the noise
    of busy roads into the quiet

    unwatched.

    Only when the rooks abed
    caw-less in the beech dark trees
    and spiders spin from bush to bush
    does he arrive
    in the given hour ghost like
    for her eyes only
    cloaked and shadow-less

    a rhythm to his stride.

    Half turned faces unaware
    stare self-absorbed unseeing at the road
    snails and other creeping things
    trawl the dew wet flower beds
    trees shiver and cats freeze

    dogs nervously bark.

    He glides past lighted windows
    where watched clocks advertise TV bedtime
    the unseen electric lights
    flickering knife-like on the tarmac

    herald his destination.

    His eyes are shining
    before the given gate
    as ragged clouds scud east
    sure hands materialise and lift the latch
    oiled hinges whisper
    silently he walks past the flowers he never sees

    to the lighted door.

    Then quick as a silvery flash
    the door opens and shuts
    like he was never there
    and the silhouette
    of two forms mating
    blot out the light and
    put the house in darkness

    for her eyes only, gipsy dark.

    ©TonyAshenden

    Liked by 5 people

    Posted by TonyA.......... | November 16, 2020, 1:28 PM

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