This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by WrittenRiver on Twitter. I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
At the end
of the day
when my
strength
is worn
and my
hope is
torn,
cradle
me in
your arms
and hum
a sweet
song of
love across
my skin
soft and
warm.
© Greta Stone
This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter. I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
Waiting for
you to note
my presence,
I’m rapt by
the glow
of your window
& ignorant
to the stiff
breeze
stroking
my neck.
© Greta Stone
This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter. The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I suck you
in until I
grow weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.
© Greta Stone
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until at last
I drench
you in my
release.
© Greta Stone
Behind-The-Scenes
When I think of a storm over water, I think of how it builds speed in all that open space, how it picks up fluid and drenches the land on impact. Sex can be like that too. (Are you surprised I went there?)
Open yourself
up to me and
I will build like
a storm over
water,
I don’t like build. It isn’t quite the best analogy to leading someone to an orgasm. The orgasm builds, but I don’t.
Open yourself
up to me and
I will churn
[something more]
like a storm
over water,
I feel like the narrator and subject of the poem are getting their actions confused. Who is the storm? Who does the drenching in the end? I think it has to be the same person. One can’t be the storm, churning and building, and then the other have the release. Not in this case anyway.
What does the water do to assist the storm? Nothing. It lies there, open and flat. >__>
Now I’m thinking of an entirely different analogy. Like when you’re raging and the other person is just…chill. It’s infuriating. Let me see where I can go with that.
While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I gather
[momentum],
sucking you
in until I’ve
grown weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.
Hm. *ponders* I might just remove the momentum part. It’s more about the all-consuming nature of a fight. I’ll also fix the tense contradictions.
While I rage
you rest,
quiet & still.
Like a storm
over water
I suck you
in until I
grow weary
of the fight
and spit you
out on dry land
far from home.
That’ll do. I’d still like to go back to my original idea though. Let me see if I can make something work with that analogy.
I’m thinking about how the other person can make me build to an intense climax and how those things can relate to the way a storm builds.
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning
into a dangerous
[whirlwind] of
[ecstasy].
Ignoring my
warnings,
you [kickspin]
me into a
rage, a storm
over water
building
until I drench
the land.
Well, this needs work. haha For whirlwind, I really like cyclone. And instead of ecstasy, maybe delirium? That might be too dramatic.
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I will [rage],
drenching
you in my
release.
Not rage. Rampage, tear? Like ripping a path. Grow? Swell. Yes! Swell.
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I will swell,
[an action leading to land/release]
drenching
you in my
release.
The action could be like holding out until the impact of hitting land, or reaching my limit.
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until [another trigger action]
I drench
you in my
release.
This poem is getting long. >___>
With a whisper
you set off a
swirl of emotions,
twisting and
churning into
a dangerous
cyclone of
delirium.
Like a storm
over water,
I swell,
growing heavy
with frustration
until at last
I drench
you in my
release.
If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^
This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by beautifulmess on Twitter. I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
The full moon
knows my peril
and guides
me gently
through my
darkness,
easing me
into the
glaring light
of day.
© Greta Stone
This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by VerseAngel (knee deep), Jilted Verse (soaring whispers), and bstarverse (touch me) on Twitter. The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me
with regard,
and make
me whole.
© Greta Stone
Behind-The-Scenes
I like the contrast of low (knee deep) with high (soaring whispers).
While I’m
knee deep
in [sorrow/servitude],
you [capture]
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
[completion],
and make
me whole.
Going with sorrow or servitude will make this a very different poem in one direction or the other. I’m leaning toward sorrow because it makes the concept more obscure or intangible. “Serving” on my knees to the one I love who makes me whole is cliche and too simple.
But sorrow isn’t quite right. Dejection, lament, melancholy? Maybe despair although it’s a bit dramatic.
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you [capture]
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
[completion],
and make
me whole.
I’m going to move on for now and come back to this later. Instead of capture, maybe snatch, collect, gather.
I’m going to stick with completion near the end.
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
completion,
and make
me whole.
I feel like it needs another action before make me whole. I haven’t really been able to stray far from cliche here so I might as well go all the way. haha There was another prompt for touch me by #bstarverse.
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
wishes of
completion,
touch me
and make
me whole.
The wishes of completion part reads a bit like it should be another action in the list when it’s a clarification of whispers. I could sandwich that phrase in em dashes but in this format, it looks weird.
While I’m knee deep in despair, you gather my soaring whispers—wishes of completion—touch me and make me whole.
Meh. It’s bugging me. Maybe I don’t even need that part. I can use cliche to my advantage here and let it be assumed based on the rest of the poem.
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me,
and make
me whole.
I could add something after touch me to make it more figurative rather than literal. As in touch me with…kindness? Care? Regard?
While I’m
knee deep
in despair,
you gather
my soaring
whispers,
touch me
with regard,
and make
me whole.
There we go.
If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^
This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter. I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
Butterfly
touches
and the way
your tongue
slides along
my lip.
These are my
lifeblood.
© Greta Stone
This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by TastyPoem on Twitter. The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.
© Greta Stone
Behind-The-Scenes
that I
cannot gain
purchase of
This is what came to me first. Now I’m thinking of how a thing can slip through your fingers and how frustrating that can be. So who or what might the narrator of this poem want? What is slipping away?
In sleepless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize
that I
cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets,
I just realized that it probably shouldn’t start with sleepless if there are dreams and she/he wakes.
In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
[following/seeing]
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and hopelessness.
Hopelessness isn’t right. Frustration? Gloom? I like the almost-rhyme of gloom and cocooned. And instead of following, chasing.
In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
I wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom.
The last sentence feels too short. Not enough syllables. Should I combine it to make one whole sentence?
…
just out of reach,
leaving me
cocooned in
damp sheets
and gloom.
No. Too passive.
In [failure] I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.
That’s sufficiently dramatic. I like it. haha Maybe defeat instead of failure.
In restless
nights I
wander my
dreams,
chasing
the prize that
I cannot gain
purchase of,
miles away but
just out of reach.
In defeat I
wake cocooned
in damp sheets
and gloom,
deprived and
broken.
If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^
This poem was written from two daily prompts hosted by IntrigueVerse on Twitter. I post my most popular poem for each half month here, two poems per month. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
While I’m
vulnerable,
disrupt my
frontline,
exploit my
break,
rain arrows
straight to
my heart,
and storm
my castle.
© Greta Stone
This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DimpleVerse on Twitter. The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.
© Greta Stone
Behind-The-Scenes
Love trickles
through my
veins, searching
for that vast
blue playground,
it joins forces,
surging toward
release,
past my
estuary of
gnarled mishaps,
into the deep blue.
First, love needs to be replaced with something more specific or more physical. Fervor, passion, fury. Hm. Interesting switch of mood. If I’m going to switch moods, then let’s switch moods.
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces,
surging toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.
It joins forces (with whom or what)? Itself. But that’s not obvious.
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
release,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.
Any better word than release? Power?
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of freedom.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging
together
toward
power,
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.
Oh! Vengeance just came to me. I think I’ll swap it with freedom.
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
surging and
raking through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.
I don’t like surging and raking. I want to simplify it to just …movement.
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
through my
estuary of
gnarled memories,
into my deep blue.
I’m getting hung up again on what I want the final outcome to be. If it’s going to end in a vast deep blue, that denotes a cool, calm finish. So something has to stop it in its path. Which actually makes more sense for the estuary.
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled [feelings],
choking it before
it dips into my
vast deep blue.
Well that just doesn’t even make sense. haha
Fury slithers
through my
veins, in search
of vengeance.
It joins forces
with itself,
hastening,
until my
estuary of
gnarled emotions
chokes it and
releases it
into my vast
deep blue.
If you enjoyed this post, please share it. ^_____^
This poem was written from a daily prompt hosted by DsubVerse on Twitter. The title is the prompt word. ❤ See more frequent posts on Twitter (text only) and Instagram (with graphics).
I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes.
Paralyzed,
I safeword.
© Greta Stone
Behind-The-Scenes
I wanted to use wrists in ropes as a metaphor. To me, it relates to being tongue-tied.
words tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
From there, I thought about the reasons I might be tongue-tied. Flustered. Surprised. Afraid. I liked the idea of fear applying to both parts, being tongue-tied and being physically tied. I wouldn’t like to remain tongue-tied for long. So I thought about what I would do in play if, for whatever reason, I didn’t want my wrists tied anymore. I would safeword.
words tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword
Echo on words. Plus words was too general and didn’t indicate fear.
fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword
I knew I wanted to end with safewording. So to make the poem complete, I needed to start with an action.
[face an obstacle]
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword
What would the obstacle be? If I’m tongue-tied, I’m interacting with someone. If I’m tongue-tied with fear, I think of those times when you have something to say or something you should say but are afraid to. The simplest way to put it is…
I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
and I
safeword
Now it feels a bit run-on. Instead of and I safeword, I feel like it needs one more thing to drive the point home, to really emphasize that feeling of being afraid to speak.
I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes
[having no other option]
I safeword
I do some thesaurus searching for option, mute, trapped. Then I stumble across paralyzed and it’s perfect.
I face you
with fear tied
to my tongue
like wrists
in ropes.
Paralyzed,
I safeword.
Greta Stone 