Poetry on Odyssey: Prompts for Each Day of the Week
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Poetry on Odyssey: Prompts for Each Day of the Week

For the aspiring poet with no inspiration.

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Poetry on Odyssey: Prompts for Each Day of the Week

Dealing with writer's block? No problem. Below are some poetry prompts for each day of the week along with some examples I've written.

Monday: Use Last Week's To-Do List

https://unsplash.com/photos/RLw-UC03Gwc

To-Do

- Start essay

- Fold laundry

- Get car serviced

- Work on essay

- Pick up groceries

God my head hurts

- Pick up groceries (and Advil)

- Text my sister back

- Help friend study

- Work on Essay

It's a pressure headache, like my skull is shrinking

- Study for exam

- Work On Essay

- Email boss for time off

- Pay rent

I need to close my eyes, keep my mouth shut

- Try to meal prep

- Fail at meal prep

Or else all that will come out

- Get up and go to gym

- Don't

- Work On Essay

Will be notes, numbers, reminders and they just

- Keep

- Piling

- Up

Tuesday: Look Outside - What's The First Thing You See?

https://unsplash.com/photos/a-s8yLWmv7k

The Oak Tree

There is an oak tree outside my window

Whose bark is knotted and gnarled

Leathery with age

Folding over itself

Spindly branches firm and frozen in time

I look upon it and wonder

If it would change positions if it could

Or if it can

And chooses not to

Wednesday: Use The Last Conversation You Had With A Family Member

https://unsplash.com/photos/nRRLMwK7jVE

Zinnias

I can't help but wonder if you lose interest because you get older

Or if you get older because you lose interest.

My grandmother loved to plant flowers.

She treated each bud with reverence

And seeing her appreciate such beauty made it easier to see her own.

She also loved charities, church, and walking her dog.

All had to do with the preservation of life at the expense of her own time.

Now, all she does is watch TV and call us by the wrong names.

Focusing on the past instead of the present.

Her yard is empty now

And I wonder if it relates to her loss of self.

Thursday: Write About The Five Senses

https://unsplash.com/photos/kJUxs4gzKIE

Metonymy

There is no one Definition of life.

I prefer the weather to be cold

The colder the better.

I like when my skin feels like static, and I'm hyper aware of every breeze.

When my lungs feel full of needles,

I'm reminded of the process needed to breathe.

Hearing my feet crunch in leaves or snow indicates how far I've come

And how much longer I have to go.

I love seeing my breath curl in harsh coils.

I'm known to be a visual learner - driven by sight more than anything.

Ironically, I need glasses

And my prescription will always be changing.

Friday: Use A Picture In Your Camera Roll

https://unsplash.com/photos/5e-ljvIaiBM

The Diner

Heels grind into wet pavement

Shifting under my weight, anxious to get inside.

I shoulder the door open,

And biting wind fades into hazy mist

Heavy with the steam of coffee cups and cigarette smoke.

Harsh yellow streetlights fade to vibrant crimson

Soft and sweet like the early hours of morning.

Low voices curl in lazy coils as I finally sit,

And feel the cushion sigh underneath me.

Saturday: Write The Cheesiest Love Poem You Can

https://unsplash.com/photos/AsahNlC0VhQ

Conditional Love

In summertime, our love is delicate,

Like lilies floating in the breeze.

In wintertime, our love is warm

It dances from lips to toes.


If skies are blue, our love is serene

Two people floating in the sun.

If thunder rolls our love is euphoric,

A refuge from the rising floods.


When spring flowers bloom, our love is bold,

Like evening copper clouds.

When autumn leaves fall,

Our love is champagne petals on the peonies.

From winter till summer solstice

Our love will continue to delight.

From season to season-

My one, my only, my darling.

Sunday: Write About Your Perfect Morning

https://unsplash.com/photos/IuLgi9PWETU

Half Past Nine

Daylight breaks through broken blinds.

A lizard crawls across the path.

Music plays softly.

The grass is being cut.

I breathe in,

And out,

The soft sweet smell of roses.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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