writing prompts: from moon to moon


Spring 2022

documenting the moon has not worked


sight scythe sigh,
the cut reframed,
explained to a t.
a lee from your name
filling my skin.
an exoskeleton
dance of #sign
ature defeat
bows to the wind,
spins and sheds
its memories


I wrote that the morning of May 16, 2022 on the prompt #sign. Big time gap, right? I’ve done many prompts now. Things have gotten so busy for me that I almost have to choose between prompts and other projects during my morning writing time. And I needed space to know what daily prompt writing is accomplishing. Am I learning enough from presenting to this group in lieu of research? And is my writing style being influenced by an exchange of Likes? Or by the short nature of prompts?

I’m working on some new training in addition to adjusting to new work. Will find a balance and pop back in from time to time. I do love many of the people on there–hearts and souls of poetry. I am around many “brand” writers and often wonder what kind of spell people are under that the realm of poetry too has to be reduced to slogans. I like checking back in on Twitter and seeing growth in people’s writing and love that there seem to be deeper themes and bigger words explored. Of course, anyone can write what they please. I am not judging; I am looking for my arena.

My personal site has been filled with spammers who would like me to mark my own emails as spam or buy their product. I have shown myself that I can keep a consistent schedule and will probably move to a new platform while keeping this one as a type of backup to the backup.

3/22/22
The horse and the elephant and the monkey and me, listen to the forest for the trees. To #taboo, meaning sacred, and came to mean unclean. We #mew about while the falcon molts. Our missions, in a widening gyre, receive and emit.
#vssdaily #prompt #vss365


3/21/22
The Prompt Master this week is @LesleyAnnFogle

This was an honor. I wish it came before I took my hiatus. I’ve done hundreds of these, mostly under vss365, and earned the respect of the community, but they did not respond to my request. I almost wonder if it was a matter of followers, judging by some of the prompt masters. I did get turned off from vss365 by the political right-wing ranting of a prompt master who put their association in their profile name, so that it appeared that the political opinions could have been ties to the group. Or at least been a platform for divisive cocoa puffs. Write a poem about it, faboo flashneck.

The Prompt Master this week is @LesleyAnnFogle
The #vssdaily#prompt for March 22, 2022 is #mew


noun:
1-a gull
2-meow
3-an enclosure for trained hawks—usually used in plural
4-a place for hiding or retirement
verb:
1-to utter a mew; to meow
2-to shut up; confine (used with up)


I’ve done many prompts now. Things have gotten so busy for me that I almost have to choose between prompts and other projects during my morning writing time. And I needed space to know what daily prompt writing is accomplishing. Am I learning enough from presenting to this group in lieu of research? And is my writing style being influenced by an exchange of Likes? Or by the short nature of prompts?

I’m working on some new training in addition to adjusting to new work. Will find a balance and pop back in from time to time. I do love many of the people on there–hearts and souls of poetry. I am around many “brand” writers and often wonder what kind of spell people are under that the realm of poetry too has to be reduced to slogans.


2/19/22
Jon was starting to feel hangry. “What a stupid word. Do we all just pull up language by the roots and salt the earth? It’s like a destructive child making mud castles while lightening #larrups a tower and all comes crumbling down. The child can’t be bothered to look up.” #vss365


2/14/22

It was a war of attrition. Zno babies were raised as slaves. Sae could feel her child #tremble and awaken at the magic age of 7. In harmonia, she absorbed the tacit vibrations, then #thrust, from her bones and throat, dominant waves of calm resolve back to her child.


2/3/22
Lorn and forlorn are words I can get behind. Forlorn is more common nowadays: to lose, forlost to the point of completion; lost or left behind.


2/2/22

The godforsaken creature reeked of deadly sin or revelation—black sun, blood moon, and starlight stripped from the sky.

Aza, she #breathed. I will find you and set you free.

writing prompts: full to new moon in Capricorn and Aquarius

beacon captive hill mountain balk egg duet rain fall devil

January 18, 2022 to January 30, 2022

from the full to the new moon in Capricorn and Aquarius



The realization struck her like a beacon from the moon; held her captive in its lunacy, in the long trance of night. Flushes of rose and gold reached the earth first, outlining Hemlock Hill in amber glow. There. She’d prolong the scatter of violet light with ashes.


I sang up the mountain,
arpeggiating up
a balkanized cord.
Each step echoed
its linear thread.
Stumbling chromatic
contradictions of blue
and scarlet duets
key the triad
to strike at the top
of the whole
mountain.



She heard the rain sizzle on their skin before finding them huddled together in the thick fog. Old Harry, Azazel, Belial, and Baal. But who was this new fallen devil? He was wearing an attractive meatsuit. “That’s Skroll,” Azazel said. “He’s in charge of the internet.”

witches and midnight with their adders and newts

I wrote this poem on a prompt of the word midnight and wanted to share some insights on the word choices. Without getting too deeply into it at this time (though I wish this was my job), I’d like to share a short key.

At midnight,
the witches gather
and abdicate their veils,
revel by the sconce
of fearless perception
on the winged misdivision
of the adder and the newt;
sing basilisk elegies and play,
then fly away when lore
gives way to darker hours.

The Witching Hour is from midnight to 1am, and the Devil’s Hour, the darker lore, is from 3am to first light. The 3am time is thought to be an inversion of the 3pm time that Christ was crucified.

Veil refers to both veiled feminine insight, personified by the goddess, and the veil of perception between worlds, most notably the mortal world and the preternatural world. Veil of perception also refers to mystical insight, studied and learned on the quest for transmutation. Females were long kept from study, science, sacral roles, healer roles; and the female alchemist was moreoften referred to as a witch. They don’t explain this well on the CW channel. Popular culture puts a lot of more work to put into fetishizing the feminine and nurturing generations to assume gender roles.


[I hope this explains to a certain friend of mine why I trailed off when he referred to my work as “witchy shit.” I study all kinds of things and have been writing a long time, so it is annoying to hear my efforts dismissed as being some kind of misunderstood mystical lunacy. Many have hemmed me into self-doubt over the years, by implying or directly saying that my work is too opaque–Dense! Confusing! Baffling! Weird for the sake of being weird! Perplexing! Cryptic! A word spell striptease! You have to slooowly arrive at a plain, relatable idea: the arrival!]

It took me many years to realize the gift of outer critics and how their energy frees up my inner critic.

Okay, it feels like a weight is lifted every time I post about the slights that have chipped away at my energy, enthusiasm, and motivation. I will get back to the short & sweet key. … And not go on about how gender is weaponized, consciously or unconsciously (please do wake the fock up), to reduce competition. The gloves fit differently but they are on.


Sconce refers to light, illumination, discovery, revelation. From Abscondere! Abracadabra!

Hello, Los 😉

Regarding nadder and ewt, the misdivision reference is about bracketing, or metanalysis. Nadder lost the ‘n’ from spoken ref to ‘an adder’ and ewt gained an ‘n’ from ref to “an ewt.” Spelling mistakenly recorded. I liked how the imagery conjures the idea of treacherous witches stirring their cauldrons and adding eye of newt or tongue of asp. There’s more on why misdivision is winged, but it is work to clarify, and basilisk is next.

Basilisk, adjective, means spellbinding, and as a noun is a lizard; and as noun in lore, a lizard known for its lethal stare.

Kinda cool, right? Cool to reflect and consider language and poetic reference. I do understand the need to give some context and always read the Norton Anthology notes, etc, especially with James Joyce. How cool! But I don’t have a whipsmart publisher. Yet. I’m standing between critics and breakthroughs to new levels. And I am hungry to spill gold.

Time still for gold to spill: the fleece, the bough, and the ratio
All those mysteries alive at your fingertips
Above as so below

(from a song I lyricized and sang years ago with a talented artist who hasn’t released it yet, probably due to the pandemic. It refers to the golden fleece, the golden bough, and the golden ratio. Did I need to say that? We’ll never know.)




writing prompts: new to full moon in Capricorn 2022

prompts: infinity tranquil solar perspicacity pop yawn hugs crisper dollops midnight

January 2, 2022 to January 17, 2022

from the new moon to the full moon in Capricorn


You soar from sky
to infinity in Blake’s
grain, glisten like snowflake
prisms, vapor altered
states: ruby bronze
azure chartreuse
copper violet-rouge;
Ephemeral bloodroot
mulls on leaf mold
and dew—Listen
for the tap
of bones when
the fertile earth
is ready for you.




For each harsh word,
I gained another tranquil
ruffle on the lake, a solar
marvel raring from a grayer day.
I am the end intended, take in
infrared, hug back the rays,
appreciate the symbiotic
interplay. You are the link
that breaks these atoms
into different shapes,
my blood picks up the relics
takes them to the places
where they ionate to give
my heart and marrow all
the strength you could not
spare to spare me. Take.
Your best aim.



“It’s called perspicacity. You explore, learn, reflect, and create with a comparably divergent drive. You’ll starve there. Actualize who you are and step into the light.” Maena crisply pierced the apple’s skin, tearing into its pulp before eyeing me. “Hungry?”



Honesty grabs one hand, loyalty the other. Vertebral seams pop, the serpentine column dances toward a new center, landing in perse moments of exchange: phosphene stories of love and pain ignite the mind.

The next words are butterflies.




She yawned and threw the message into the icebox. Yowls, crackles, and hisses flooded the moment before she slammed the door. The icebox kept words chilled and sentiments on ice. Hugs from the crisper were non-existent. She cupped her hands under the faucet and splashed water over her eyes. From what she’d seen, this one could take some time to cool off.



He felt the dollops of ink release and flow from some great telepathy of the sky; heard the phonological claps of thunder and mortal shock rain fractal words of the weary and fallen onto the page, like tears washing particles from a collective mind’s eye.




At midnight,
the witches gather
and abdicate their veils,
revel by the sconce
of fearless perception
on the winged misdivision
of the adder and the newt;
sing basilisk elegies and play,
then fly away when lore
gives way to darker hours.

writing prompts: from full to new moon in Sagittarius & Capricorn 2022

prompts: barrage charm disguise quiet flashbacks reasonable spotlight passengers becoming renewals

December 18, 2021 to January 1, 2022

from the full moon to the new moon in Sagittarius & Capricorn



The salesman used a barrage of charm to disguise his goal of extracting as much money as he could from her. She stood abruptly and announced she would return after lunch. “Wait!” He cried, “$100 off!” But she’d been advised beforehand: Don’t rush, read the fine print, and always be prepared to walk away.



It’s a quiet connection now.
Some nights, flashbacks blare
and cough, their clamant yawps
muffled by a stuffed shift.
The redress alters me
into a reasonable
block of ice;
thaw will come,
internal, with hope
renewed.


The Ram

A spotlight glances across the land,
like twinkling stars to passengers
headed east; The beast, it flies
and reasons o’er the Black Sea.

Ambassador Spectacular,
hold on tight, don’t handle her;
This chauffeur-alien won’t be fleeced.

Backward, in the nick of sky,
in dark absence of moonlight;
it scans the clusters
searching for its kind.


“Das Zeichen des Bundes” from Genesis section of Augsburger Wunderzeichenbuch (ca. 1552)

Words
like tangerine spray glint,
peel back a summer day when
sunlight filtered longer
through the pied air,
becoming rainbows.

But he never wants
what he has,
so he never gets
what he wants;
then you realize
the circle disappears
beyond the undying horizon.


I’m proud of us: Strong
and conscientious,
hard-working;
Our love renewals,
delight for life,
through growth, detach
suspicion as we do from
feeling what is good
about a friend.

We truly are
each other’s people
Agreed to expect
our loyal best;
To cast away
sorrow.

prompts: gravity mantle steeple constellations starved strings floated pause guide enemy risk

from the new moon to the full moon in Sagittarius

gravity mantle
Smoke & mirrors collect us
as royal subjects.
In imbalance of power,
lateral thinkers
bow in gravity

It is not weight,
does not dismantle
It attracts—
defines compromise,
value in effort—
Willing past the win
of resistance

Yet the planets seem lighter than this phone.


steeple

Imagination questions without fear,
for no one is listening with an ear to control:
to scold as parent or toddler,
to ostracize as jailers of faith,
or primitive posturing for rank;
to be revered rather than injured,
to be obeyed rather than swayed.

In our steeple of curiosity,
tolerance for ourselves and
tolerance for others
gains accordance.


constellations starved

She grew up playing in the woods, orienting by sun, trees, water, constellations; but was lost here, starved for organic connection. Many had no use for nature but to consume, & nature had no use for them. They’d gladly choose a virtual life if she could only perfect the forebrain.


strings floated

She sent vibrational
strings of thought
looping out
Tethered balloon animals
floated, reshaped,
and popped.
One transformed
into a dove
and flew away
on a silvery gleam.

She let it go.


paused guide

Trauma paused us.
We go back, reenact
where stuck. Neural arms,
flailing to connect, reflect
near easy lovers: fear,
unfairness,
primitive defenses.
Our scarry attempts
to block off, protect
Disconnect like cell death.

A plan will guide us,
laurel us through
genesis.


enemy risk

The enemy-risk effect of the virus was isolation and inactivity. Productivity and trade slowed as the needs of survival shifted. But to Hunter, they were the real enemy and the prey. Meanwhile, all the predative profiteers laughed—a nervous laugh.

prompts: kind stuck spouse vulnerable worry journal conversations worry crisis worthy ribbon oracle rival

November 19, 2021 to December 4, 2021

from the full moon in Scorpio to the new moon in Sagittarius


Jake choked off his last shred of objectivity with piercing confidence and rode off into some kind of loner sunset, with only the curtains to hold his hand. Our shared wonder dismissed as magical thinking, wheeled away for correction, argued away as naive—just to argue.


stuck
Kill or be killed, child.
180 shots per intended minute.
Unregistered plastic bag.
Probable conclusion without a scratch.
Presumed protection with intent
to mutilate. Murdered property.
Insurrection.
Hip-hop cowboy, good gang, posse.
Annie, Get Your Gun and a permit.
Marissa, the wall has rights.
Stand your ground unless stuck
interpreting the lunatic
interpreting the reason
interpreting the law


albatross photo


The wandering albatross bow,
widen their wings and scream
at the sky; they circle, preen
and snap at their spouse
in a mating dance for life.

Three million miles
of soaring the skies,
ever to return
to the island
of their love
and birth.



Vulnerable, the reliant pilot hides in a pride of clouds/
seen, the sun comes out/ the complex speaks to the complex/
lowers a bridge open to valuation, closed to faulted criticism/
subject and object scatter, hide in the mirroring sky/
light faces the page, not the eyes



Thanks giving:
Let the worry fall away
from your clear eyes,
For the world turns
and we are in it;
Should joy escape your mind,
allow release to recommit
compliments of reprieve
from lifelessness.

I am your cherisher
thankful for each
delicate moment.


journal photo

Wake and tell us what’s good, love, as the daylight
reaches your mind. Promise to snuggle in deeper,
cross the heart on your chest and hope to die.
Code your secrets in my journal
where I can read between the lines.





“I had conversations, but the upper hand of the masher, phlegm, and baffled stranger would not salute. And the agro. Everything I said was ammo. So I gave him ammo. All of it.”

Cere opened the lid to find furry teal blotches moldering the tops of the apricots.

Worry eats at your thoughts. I needed to be done with it.”



“Recognize crisis mode. Deflection is a way to cope, but it’s pretext. We eventually have to move past it to understand the dissatisfaction that leads to a major life change.”

“Huh. I’ll think about that,” Greg said. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m working on a new perspective,” she said, taping up the last box. The movers would be arriving any time now. “Ultimately, I’m on your side and hope we get to share a better future. Call me after you’ve answered your own call.”



two crows photo




You are shiny,
like teeth bared
through organic
murmuration.

Is it the love shown
or the love deserved
that makes us worthy?

Two lorn brood
recuperate
in innate pattern,
flockwise;
their calls imitate
a wildish belonging.


ribbon

If I were a ribbon,
I’d curl around your finger
to remind you
that I am always
there. In spills of ink,
siftings of sand, traces,
and twisted strands of hair
Snug between the wanton
hand of death steepling in prayer.

If I were your ribbon.




oracle

She placed her hand on the young king’s chest and closed her eyes: He floated in a river of blood, tethered to a casketful filled with paper money.
Fire cremated the land into black ghosts pillowing the lusty blaze. Through the roar, he heard his name as a boy dipped a toe in from the shore.

The oracle opened her eyes and locked gaze with the young king. “You have enough for now. Do not invade. Take a vacation with your son.”




In returning warmth
that refuses to leave
the season,
mistle breaks,
disturbs a winter silence.
Leave your contortions
where misery can find its
mirthless tune. I’m here
in life’s harmoniacal quietus,
a rival of the snow, parched
as the ground, threshing
its mortal boon.

prompts: sugarcoat fingerprint primrose retrograde saga dormant hypothetical implores plumes resolve normalize shame

November 4, 2021 to November 18, 2021

from the new moon to the full moon in Scorpio

sugarcoat
The sugarcoat fairy has a white wand that sprays a sweet powder onto desserts, glass rims, and hard truths.
Often followed by the elusive tooth fairy who sneaks in to collect your teeth and the occasional sock.


fingerprint

fingerprint
o your voice
unlocks
cliche
ridges, whorls
veins, shape
disturbs the air
in a lover’s mouth
vowels
of
admission
quicken, thicken
the formant
folds deep
in throat
open and close
tremerous
sympathetic
bones and body
lash and tongue




How fast you move, swift Mercury
how slowly your myth wanes
Appearing to regress backward
as you pass in retrograde

Venus relaxes on cowslip wine
made from the primrose
of youth, when a paused
message of love was new


saga
“Sorry about that! It’s a monthly saga. She sought help but her insurance might as well be a coupon for 10% off Midol.
Her support group changed locations without telling her and, oh no.., I can’t find my wallet—“

“GO!” The clerk said, standing in the rubble. “LEAVE!”


dormant

“The term ghosting is an insult to ghosts.”

Cere cut deep into the burning bush, removing dead weight from the dormant plant to stimulate growth in the spring.

“All you can do is treat yourself better than that—care well for yourself—and love comes back. New love.”


hypothetical implores

It hurts. The expectation.
But it was a lipless hypothetical notion.
A narrative unspoken neither guides nor implores action to reach that forever ending, where pride belongs to everyone.


plumes photo

plumes resolve
plumes of lament
$2k in car repairs
filigreed wreathy elegy
time = money + interest
shearing scytheless stylist
resolve mends or ends
in determination

thoughts
like a fresh
haircut


normalize

“Not everything has to be normalized. You don’t comb the beach looking for the least exceptional rock.” I looked at Ash. “Sorry, the graveyard, seeking unremarkable stones.”

Something like a smile broke through Ash’s stolid face. “Or the bones of sane people.”


shame

I’m a firestarter
A ram bored with shame
Blood cut off from tight reins
Cold hand fumbles matchstick

A shrug-off warms up
this sympathy dance
Great romance cues
the strings, notes
like tears drop
Douse a flame

Relax the grip
gentled baton

prompts: trust signifies cafe innocence intimacy accidentalist hurt foreshadow sleepwalk

October 20, 2021 to November 1, 2021

from the full moon to the new moon in Libra / Scorpio


trust

Back to the wilder
from collapse
under stacks
of undecayed
inorganic
matter—
It’s all temporary

Underground digs
in sentiment trapped
Prone to lucid dreaming’s
involuntary maw
Steps into the yawn
of your own pitfall

Take to the trees
like Tarzan—climb
your agile mind—
swing from trust-
worthy vines


signifies

In his ghast and livid beam, no colors absorb; absence signifies his subject in virous torrents of rayed devastation.
I am spared—my eyes cauterized at first sight. Mere ash beside a vacuum, patient for the Spring. Cremains in the kindness of a friend.


cafe
I’m a tourist in their cafe
where they talk over a good song;
Collectors of the medium/ who trade
the pain of kids who don’t belong.

It bounces off the reclaimed beams—
factoids, brag, gimcrackery;
lathers popularity
without a sole
analogy/ of us

on the island of loneliness


innocence

Innocence is a gift—mingled in commitment—of passage.

It has been slain on the altar of infant helplessness sulked in vengeance.

It has been saved by the certainty of power relinquished in permanence.

One day you won’t give your heart to bargainers.


intimacy

At the corners of their bed sate epic tales of wind, fire, earth, and sky loving the anthropomorphized form of their senses, conjured from the aromatic pyre; a tinder nest, intimacy the tender.

Not even the fires of hell refined worked so well to warm the dead.



She was an ‪accidentalist in one great big song about obedience.
More deistic than contrarian, because those small-town panderers just couldn’t be the gatekeepers of divinity.
They sounded more like creations of comedy.


hurt

“You’re being emotional and kinda paranoid,” Maena said. “Read the situation like a book.”

“Like look at a few words, jump to conclusions, and cry into my pillow?” Cere asked.

Maena smiled. “No, we don’t read books like the words are going to ‪hurt us.”


foreshadow
In the afterglow
of a gamma-ray
burst/ in her hard
bright light

His silhouette whistles—
harsh foreshadow,
blocking the lumen;
inkling black hole,

a cold hero’s trope


sleepwalk

I sleepwalk & talk
expose the bare truth
that fear & pain
hang from the pall
that covers the life of day

Mantle worn by soothsayer
who blankets infantile babe

There, in low waves
while the mind hides
memories, ring words
of the dissembler:
vestments
unpicked to rags

©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle

prompts: autumn winds dandelion poem blackbird tangling fireflies river funambulo ebb stranger hesitate

October 6, 2021 to October 19, 2021

from the new moon to the full moon in Libra


autumn, winds, dandelion, poem
‪Autumn winds
compose fire-pit scents
under dandelion parachutes
—echo bloom;
crackles underfoot

As trees discard
their rupturous leaves;
cells grown in between
life-giving stages

Deep discoverable mystery
unlike a poem’s
slow
arrival
on high-speed internet


blackbird
At noon, hiding her shortest shadow in alignment with the bridge, Maena followed between the dark images of the blackbirds bouncing across the water, ignoring the ripping vortex of shattering muck and slosh as the surfacing malevolent spirit lunged to tow all shadows underwater, leaving its victims soulless and forever staring at their own reflection.


tangling
In same footsteps/
wind & sun ‪tangling for our skin/
the weathered abrasion of a rock
we stop to pick up/ real weight/
shapes of polished angles
tumble to dents clove
from the whole/

Our fingers bump
across the crust
of our proud
mantle


fireflies
My love’s eyes strike like a floodlight
When he blinks, ‪fireflies disappear
Every week, a brave new season
I’m just here, prepared—
I got boots, flip-flops, cloak,
sneakers, shades, change of clothes
Umbrellas are useless in storms, climactic
And the rain just feels good.


river
Our cup spilled
unspeakable
divine fem
granules
whole flawed alien
Entire love
I could never be
but in that night of time
scythes
petalled revolution
bloomed execution
o the so-called weak
gentle tears
better part o u
I will singe us together
our cups will form a river


funambulo, ebb
Spored tears, at lashes tip—
‪funambulo cries
from ‪ebb of rope,
subsides;
Moist moss untwists
quiet, fast arias
—balloons—
post-wildfire.

May the fire-lighters,
wisdom pre-dominant,
palettes & moss,
plan the burning.


stranger, hesitate
Our guards and guardians
have never acted stranger:
they hesitate, nip
at phantom peripheral itches.
Animal mom, animal dad,
do bugs live in your skin?

©2021 LAFogle / Lesley Ann Fogle