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Poetry Prompts

November Visual Poetry Prompt

Orange you glad it’s November? Post your poem 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.


22 thoughts on “November Visual Poetry Prompt

  1. It’s too long to post here. It’s a prose.

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Cassa Bassa | November 19, 2022, 3:01 PM
  2. The dead
    left in piles along the path
    like monks in saffron robes
    glow in the autumnal gleaming
    falling from unseen abodes
    in the bowers hidden above

    Rotting where they fell
    the sweet scent of their demise
    permeates the field
    their short lives a battle
    with foes both great and small
    and now their reward: a common grave

    In the distance
    whether by ally or foe
    their bodies are gathered into great pyres
    quick flames to challenge the failing November sun
    their essence freed to the Carolina sky
    to ease both our journeys home

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Chris Clarke | November 14, 2022, 11:23 PM
  3. It is strange that you’re just an orange picture, but capable of make me feel the dry cold breeze on my cheek, make me hear the rustling of the leaves, show me the joy of seasons and true beauty in welcoming autumn.

    Liked by 1 person

    Posted by Aalekhya | November 9, 2022, 1:50 PM
      • Wild Canna Lilies

        They loved the red clay land
        dark loam in fertile valleys
        grandfathers raised cabbage,
        cows, and tall orange canna lilies

        Blackberries ripen in the shell shocked sun
        that shines on the spoils of defeat
        as they learn to live with a prophecy
        come to pass under their feet

        The pasture fence opens at the rusty gate,
        while whistling ballads of hanged men,
        young girls call home the cows,
        tramping down the narrow glen

        It was the slow greening of a burned past
        where children know Uncle Lester’s saga
        at age eighteen he walked barefoot home
        after the battle of Chicamauga

        Years later the families of the dead
        were issued copper plaques
        posed for photographs with the small square
        of wood and metal on their laps.

        In a lasting defeat, these are long since thrown away,
        as photographs of those once loved
        fade from the black and white of sacrifice
        to wavering shades of gray.

        Liked by 1 person

        Posted by ts19page | November 10, 2022, 10:54 AM
      • Love that third stanza with the “whistling ballads of hanged men”. Well done!


        Posted by Bartholomew Barker | November 10, 2022, 9:38 PM
      • Thank you, Bartholomew!

        Liked by 1 person

        Posted by ts19page | November 11, 2022, 8:43 AM
  4. Keep November warm in that pocket
    so the orange can melt into brown
    long enough for autumn to fall,
    hiding promises before snows fall down

    Liked by 2 people

    Posted by utopicdystopian | November 7, 2022, 7:09 PM
  5. It is such a challenge
    to rhyme with orange
    there are single syllables
    such as range, change, derranged, strange
    there is even mange
    I think I have one
    let’s give it a try
    most that will happen
    is I’ll make real poets sigh
    or cry, or poke their eyes
    Here goes, give me a chance

    From my canoe in cool waters
    I watched the fall skies filled with colors
    reds, yellows, violets, oranges
    I noticed were squrrels scamper to their nests
    they were just out of oar range

    I will see myself out…

    Liked by 3 people

    Posted by Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld | November 7, 2022, 7:24 AM

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