Writing Prompt 25

Twenty-five. Do you know how awesome you are? Twenty-five days, and you keep coming back to take on these prompts. Your dedication is phenomenal.

Your prompt today is:

 

This is what I build:

 

 

Image credit www.cliparts.co
Guidelines, if you want them:

  • Posting your response is not required
  • Feel free to post your response   🙂
  • This is not meant to be the perfect first draft – respond without hesitation for 5-7 minutes, then keep going if you want to
  • While our prompts are geared towards poetry, we welcome all kinds of artists
  • Tips & encouragement are here
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3 comments

  1. In the Gravel Pit, Westside

    I hack down two feet into the clotted limestone,
    build caverns within the soil where roots can spread,
    plunge downward, anchoring so strongly they can
    winter over. Use plants that have moved from place
    to place, heredity known, like some family tree, city
    to town to countryside, then roadside, like the cactus
    bed and yucca, the kniphofia’s red cones. This gravel
    bed is a reclamation from when the country busses
    filled the lot, buckets and buckets of chat and rock
    hauled to the driveway, and bowl shapes created
    to fill with soil and dryland plantings, ubiquitous
    daylilies on the deadshelf at the supermarket for
    a dollar. Houses are built but homes are a process
    and so too these plants adapt, morph over time:
    the everlastings and sedums, the phlox and iris,
    the roadside verbena, the late fall goldenrods.
    More a shack in the woods than a mansion when
    viewed by the unknowing, but each returning
    plant is a small victory, a salvaged timber.

    Like

  2. Rectangular building blocks,
    yellow, red, blue, green,
    squares and pillars, some rounded out
    just enough to provide windows
    or archways for the houses, the garages
    that I built with my son
    for all his Hot Wheels, his vroom-vrooms.
    Then came the thousands of Legos
    that let one build any/everything,
    endless hours of building, building.
    I never minded sitting on the floor with kids/grandkids
    building what may or may not work out as planned.
    It was the sitting, the trying,
    sharing ideas, comprising with two or three or five-year-olds,
    trading blocks or letting them tear down
    my structure to create their own.
    I knew it was not the buildings that were important
    but the builders learning to build.

    Like

  3. Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 25) | Bonespark~


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