poetry prompt

Restored Sight/Rediscovery: a Poem

A prompt from a.r. rogers:

“If I gave in to my free will today…”

It’s easy to think someone else
is the master of our circumstances –
a puppeteer
and we’re marionettes, strings tugged on.
But if I were in charge
of my own strings for a change,
perhaps I would cross a few things off
my list – not my to-do list,
but my bucket list.

Instead of going grocery shopping,
I’d go zip lining in the jungle.
Instead of writing poetry in my room,
I’d be performing it on a stage.
Instead of being a coward,
I’d be brave.
Instead of loving,
I’d make love in the rain.

I never wished to be hollow.
I never wished to be empty.
& yet, somewhere along the way,
I lost sight of free will, and I gave my keys
to a different master.
Somewhere along the way, I surrendered
myself and nobody found the heart
to tell me
I could be anything I want.
I just need to rediscover my free will.

This is the beginning of restored sight.
The start of a rediscovery.

I’m giving in to my free will today.

Isabelle Palerma

Unmoored: a Poem

A prompt from Maureen Thorson.

“Write your own poem in which you recount a childhood memory. Try to incorporate a sense of how that experience indicated to you, even then, something about the person you’d grow up to be.”

A date etched into my heart as though
carved into glass.
My eyes were stained with tears, and
I turned to a notebook,
searching for answers about
why God robbed the world of ordinary men
who did their best to love.
I bled ink onto the page as I struggled
for truth
the night no one remembered as
a young lost princess became unmoored.

Isabelle Palerma

The Rules of the Game: a Poem

A prompt from Megan Amber.

“the rules of the game.”

Nobody ever taught me the rules,
yet
it seems like everyone else was given
some kind of handbook
to follow.

I don’t even know if I have the same pieces
or even a game board.

I’m still circling back to square one,
trying to understand where I am
and why I’m here.
The rules of the game were never explicit,
and yet
everyone else knows how to follow them.

I’m lost as usual, searching
for something,
some kind of footing,
some kind of grounding,
but it isn’t a puzzle where you just
slide a piece in and it interlocks.

Nothing makes sense.
Like I said,
I’m lost
as usual,
and I’m stuck
searching for a rulebook,
some kind of handbook
to follow.

Isabelle Palerma

Where I’m From: a Poem

A prompt from thomaskneelandpoetry:

write a poem about where you come from.

From a place where a house feels less like
home
and more like
a museum.
From a mother whose voice pierced
and a father who used a belt
to prove himself.
From sibling rivalry and brothers
who were class clown and golden.
From a place where I was simultaneously
never enough & too much.
From a place where I was silenced,
so a pen became my voice.
From a place where I used metaphor
to express thought
because reality hit too close to home.
From a place where a house never felt like
a home.

Isabelle Palerma

Her Beauty in Full: a Poem

As April starts Global Poetry Writing Month, I figured I’d kick off the month with a poem of my own. The prompt comes from raeonpaper:

the moon’s yearning whisper.

The deterioration of her internal language
results in an abject pleading,
a fullness only seen from behind the gauze
of cloud,
the thin of cloth, the shape of pregnancy.
A moon’s desolate murmur.

She speaks in a low tone,
too soft for most,
yet those who listen
know.