Write an If I Were… Poem

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 205 | If I Were Happy Poem | Poems | WritersDigest.com.

It’s Wednesday on Robert Brewer’s blog. Today, fill in the blank in this phrase and make it your title: If I were…

Read the responses and add your own.

Here’s mine:

If I Were an Eagle

If I were an eagle,

I’d angle my wings

and slowly circle

over the frozen lake,

watching for an unwary

rabbit venturing out

across an unmarked

patch of snow. I’d

pass the cottonwood

aerie where I was raised

with my brother

and not wonder where

he had gone. I’d own

only the brittle winter

sky and a bare branch

with a hungry view.

Write a Poem About Birth

We are nearing the end of the Poem a Day challenge on Robert Lee Brewer’s blog. It has been an interesting experience. I will either continue with my own prompts or find another community. You are certainly welcome to join me by posting in the comments.

Today’s prompt at PAD is to write a poem about giving birth. Click on the link to add your own. You can join in any time.

2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 29 | Birth Poem | Experience | WritersDigest.com.

Here’s mine:

I kept telling

myself that

the Queens of England

did this

as I lay on the table

under blazing lights

coming undone

the most

private places

in full view

of strangers,

And then, the doctor

said, “He’s going

to be smart.”

A nurse said,

“What a pretty

little face.”

It was like

the blessing

in a fairy tale,

especially when

eyes still blue

as heaven

cast their

virgin gaze

on me.

Linda Armstrong, 11/29/2012, All rights reserved.

Beans: A Warm Up Poem

Like thousands of other writers, I will be participating in National Novel Writing Month.

To warm up each morning, or at least until I run out of steam, I will write an original poem on this blog.

I’ll start early with this one. It is about cooking dried beans. If you need an idea today, try writing about something you have cooked, about an evocative scent, or about time.


Last night,
after buying a bag
of dried
navy beans
in the most
crowded aisle
of the grocery store,
I measured
two cups of
the small white
seeds into a bowl
I bought too long
ago to remember
and covered them
with water.
All night,
while autumn
breezes rustled
brittle cottonwood
leaves outside
our closed windows,
they plumped up
until, as the sun
rose, I rinsed
and poured them
into the crockery
cooker, where
now they simmer,
filling the house
with the perfume
of Italian spices
and time.

copyright Linda J. Armstrong 10/22/2012 All rights reserved