Writing Prompt 26

Welcome to day twenty-six of our 30/30!

Do you ever feel like you’re living in some kind of alternate poetry-filled universe? No, me either. Never. Not even remotely delirious with poetry.

Your prompt today is:


Next spring I refuse to



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


  1. Spring makes uncertain appearances in the South.
    By the time February arrives
    many have already begun new plantings,
    lawn clearings and cuttings, only
    to be surprised when cold winds gust
    and birdbaths freeze over,
    Winter reminding us all that she is still dominant.
    So we surrender to the tree shakings,
    some shriveled blooms bowing in submission.
    Then the sun shines so hot that again
    all life greens, and Spring takes hold
    from the ground up, warm earth challenging
    cold winds that gust, waters that slake
    and flood the emerging life.
    So I refuse to be surprised next spring
    when my body shakes and sneezes with life emerging
    from its seasonal death.


  2. Pingback: #NationalPoetryMonth’16 Round-up (Day 26) | Bonespark~

  3. Reprise

    When spring comes again, I will
    celebrate the new shoots, the vigor
    of weeds, the persistence of the same
    birds that wend their way to the same
    fence rows and weathered houses.

    I will know again the inevitability of
    feeling the urgency to plant three
    kinds of lettuce, wait with impatience
    for the ideal warmth in which to nestle
    okra’s round fat seeds. Will rail at the blue

    grass that creeps across the rock borders
    and plot an even better way to thwart
    nibbling deer. Search out the perennials
    and glory in their return. Come the next
    spring, it will be simply rewind, replay


  4. I will not grieve next spring if the tulips
    refuse to bloom, if their color burst is fleeting,
    destroyed by a wild wind or baked by the heat
    of too much sun; even if deer break through the fence,
    feast on their petals, trample their green leaves.
    This April they are a splendid crowd of gold,
    orange, red, purple – marching like eager pilgrims
    in multi-colored robes across our earthen slope.
    At night cool air refreshes them, or steady rain
    slakes their thirst. They march on and on,
    arouse in me each dawn a thankfulness –
    Still here! Still bright and buoyant!
    So much joy this season’s tulips bring
    that I’ve no right to grief another spring!


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