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Poetry Prompts

June Musical Poetry Prompt

Have a listen to this short piece, maybe put it on loop, and write some poetry then post your results in the comments below.

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.


16 thoughts on “June Musical Poetry Prompt

  1. I struggled with this one a bit. It didn’t sit right and reminded me of Debussy’s Clair de Lune. Did a bit of homework. Shout out to my fellow poet for the Keats reference. Here is an almost sonnet.

    Rosicrucian musings

    Hidden in plain sight
    Root – gnostic
    Keats, Debussy, Satie, Jefferson, Franklin, Washington

    Devotees of Rosicrucian thought
    Belief in mystical knowlege held by a privileged few
    The Constitution that quasi–religious treatise
    written for self-government

    by the sacred Founders
    was really intended just for them
    but I have the audacity

    to believe that those words
    apply to all humanity

    Liked by 3 people

    Posted by Second Act Blogger | July 1, 2022, 12:41 PM
  2. Bartholomew, I can’t seem to attach a post as befoe, since I am caught in a loop with wordpress, at least that is what keeps coming up.. so I am copying my contribution to your June musical prompt here, thanks for the prompt:

    The Garret Room Melody

    The stairs kept him young

    he thought,

    had stopped counting them

    after 20 years

    still the number echoed like a melody

    in his memory

    one hundred and ten.

    He might live to be one hundred

    with his careful diet

    and daily walk

    but truly it would be his

    music that kept him going

    each week he played

    in the cafe

    his music sprinkled through

    the room as his hair grayed

    They always seemed to listen

    though in after years he could

    not hear his own songs

    as if the furrow in the brain

    overflowed and became a sea,

    His fingers knew the melody

    his heart escaped the while so free

    surely such a heart would keep,

    continue beating out the threnody

    for one hundred years.

    Liked by 3 people

    Posted by ts19page | June 29, 2022, 10:06 AM
  3. A bit prose-y, but here it goes…

    She put the broken toy
    a bauble really
    in my hand
    the last remaining tangible relict
    of the time of her great-great grandfather
    a furrier
    from L’viv
    a time when furriers were still
    a respected profession
    in a land that Emperors and Czars used
    to keep score
    of who was winning
    from year to year

    before the fight with his uncle
    before being cheated out of the business
    before his family left
    first to New York
    then to Chicago
    to live a life
    safe from all the fears
    that kept hounding them
    in the empire

    they lived close with each other
    doing what was safe
    doing what Ullmann’s had always done
    buying pelts and selling stoles

    he built this black-and-white-picture house
    with real carved wood and red velvet
    a marker to show the world that
    he had indeed arrived
    in a new world

    but like all things
    his body, his house, his time
    his family
    wore out

    now all that was left
    a small wooden toy
    I imagined
    carried in a woolen coat pocket
    of a six-year old boy
    handed down to each generation for 140 years

    “Just throw that out… I have no use for it”

    He was not my kin
    I had no relation with him
    But how could I discard
    such a thing
    with cavalier callousness

    I put it my pocket
    carried it out of the house
    walked until I came
    to 4th and Walnut
    and when
    no one was looking
    buried it in the ground
    under an elm tree
    giving it a proper burial
    that all such objects deserve

    Liked by 3 people

    Posted by Chris Clarke | June 28, 2022, 11:44 PM
  4. To Keats

    My bed is soaked in the aftermath of night terrors
    My body is weaker than the candle wick

    Wisdom sings joyful tunes in my waiting ears
    reminding me
    God has blessed me with gift and talent
    Then why
    A young man with an old soul deserves no life

    My heart wails like an owl
    knowing the night won’t come
    My eyes are going blind
    knowing the sun won’t rise after dawn

    Sorrow is the hemlock I drink up
    fade, flake and fly away

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by Cassa Bassa | June 27, 2022, 9:20 AM

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