Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #47

Here we are at week 47. I can’t believe there are only 5 weeks left in the year after this. I’m already thinking about how to stir up the paint chips for next year.

The Challenge

But for this week I’m still the pulling theme from a random page of a poetry book. This week the theme is from page 205 from a collection called Chiaroscuro: Darkness and Light. It’s an anthology of poems inspired by prompts posted at dVerse Poets Pub, including 2 I wrote.

Anyway, the theme poem is titled “The Painter” by Candace Kubinec. So today I want you to be the painter and create a vivid picture with words. Paint a place that we are either drawn to visit or afraid we’ll have to go to some day.

And I want you to paint your picture with all 7 of these paint chip words and phrases: bramble, wheat fields, graphite, the Great Plains, grizzly, herb garden, and iron gate.

My Poem

A Lovely Stroll

I took a stroll one sunlit day with dappled shadows
from puffy white clouds crossing the cerulean sky. 
Gazing across the Great Plains, a serene breeze 
waves the amber wheat fields that stretch for miles.

I take a turn at the corner of Grizzly and Vine,
tripping, just a little, on cracks in the uneven sidewalk.
Just ahead, maybe a block or two, is my favorite place
to spend a rainless afternoon with time to kill.

I unlatch the graphite-colored iron gate, swing it open
with a discordant creak that says it needs some oil.
I meander into the town herb garden, where the scent
of basil and thyme, rosemary and sage, waft upon the wind.

But there is more than simple herbs to be found here.
My real reason for coming is the bramble near the back,
filled to the brim with juicy red raspberries ripe and sweet.
I fill the basket hanging over my arm then head home.

Back the way I came along the streets of this sleepy town
where a friendly smile greets at every corner and store front,
and my neighbor asks with a grin, What time will pie be served?
I nod and say, Meet me on the porch at 9, you bring the cider.

Your Turn

So what will your painting be? I can’t wait to see. Please post it in the comments, or if you have a blog of your own post it there and share a link in the comments. Happy painting poets!

I am a Jesus Freak, and I don't care who knows it. I am a wife, mother, sister, aunt, daughter, and friend. My blood family is only part of the larger family of Christ that I belong to. I love to write, especially about my dear Savior.

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13 Responses

    • I love your “painting,” somber though it is. It’s a grave reminder that we shouldn’t waste even a moment of the time we’ve been given. (Sorry, pun intended).

      I tried to post this comment on your blog, but I kept getting that weird “your login has expired” error message.

  1. Hi Linda. This was a good selection of words. Here’s my poem:

    I’ve spent my life running, said the old ma, hand touching his grizzly cheek.
    Running from memories, running from pain. I can’t seem to stop.
    Sitting here I see wheat fields, the bramble climbing the hedge
    What’s left of the herb garden by the iron gate. I’m tired.

    What’s that you say? You’ll have to speak up.
    Yes, I’ve travelled. I’ve been around. I’ve ridden the rails.
    I sailed to the States in the forties, a wonderful time.
    The Great Plains, the Rockies, the prairies. I loved it there.

    Yes, I am afraid of death. I am. I don’t know where I’m going.
    Wherever it is, I don’t want to go there. But I know I must.
    Nice to see a youngster using a pencil. Old-fashioned. I like that.
    Paper and graphite working together.

    Thank you for coming, for writing me up.
    It’s good to think that someone remembers me, what I did.
    Mind your step by the gate, that’s where my wife met her end
    The snow and the ice and the blood still lingers.

    No, no, I’m fine, just a memory. A movement.
    Sometimes I see her, at the gate, waiting.
    She’s waiting for me. I know it. To join her.
    A shadow, a whisper, an ending. Good bye.

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