Prompt: Rage

Prompt: Rage
She plants her boots until she’s rooted, and ready to engage.
The axe on her shoulder wielded by solid hands — a resolve to match.

A demon adversary with Goosander fangs enters the fray.
With mottled purple flesh, like Gloxinia Empresses, poised to attack.

A towering wolf. His fur, and the fog, are the same graphite gray.
Two legged, and familiar — body knotted like a lumberjack’s.

The wolf seeks her eyes where unspoken words are exchanged.
When the demon shrieks with violent rage, her wolf bellows back.

A third part of the earlier prompts, memory, and sublime.

Prompt: Intertwine

Prompt: Intertwine
By morn, my son returns. His memory fragmentary.
In the thickest of nights, he leaves. Hypnotized.

To the depths of the wilderness, lured by a melody.
I worry about the strange emptiness in his eyes.

“I am at ease in the arms of my beloved,” he assures me.
My son and his wife, their fates always intertwined.

But who embraces my son? His beloved is in the cemetery.
It’s been many moons since my son’s wife has died.

Prompt: Sublime

Prompt: Sublime
Her village, nothing more than scorched wood on a map. 
A cursed land. Mother says she owes her life to the wolves. 
At eighteen, sturdy, and ripe, she chops lumber, and lifts her axe 
with limber ease. The wind scratching her cheeks, so sublime, 
she fails to heed eventide until she hears them. Demons.
Prowling beyond the brushwood, growling with hunger.
A mixture of fear and purpose to mow them down until a familiar howl. 
The moon is whole, and his eyes, glow umber.

A continuation, but a separate poem, from the memory prompt. Trying to stick with nature/wood/mineral themes.

Prompt: Memory

Prompt: Memory
Her earliest memory. Burning lumber, and strangled screams.
He feels as solid as hickory. The heady smell of soil, 
and the comfort of matted emery fur under her belly
as she hangs bonelessly — draped over him like a mantle.

Running. Running. Running. Two umber eyes 
are the last kindness she sees. Her adopted mother
would find the sole survivor of a demon raid
covered in wolf fur, hidden away, inside of a hollowed tree.


A/N: I have a bunch of other poems already completed too, but I'll upload a few at a time.

Prompt: Heart

Prompt: Heart
Plouton’s realm is guarded, as is his heart.
A perished land, the unseen one presides
Goddess of Spring offers her loving warmth
Hark thee, King, she sings, your dread Queen has arrived!

I, Persephone, will be yours — ichor and soul, flesh and bones.
My undying devotion, I hope to depart with one hundred roses. 
I offer companionship for the rest of our lives. To Hades,
King of the Underworld, I offer myself as your bride.


Lore Olympus (the art used) belongs to Rachel Smythe.

You can find this poem, and the rest for this contest on WattPad:

Prompt: Alacrity

Prompt: Alacrity
Darling! Darling! Tap tap tap!
Her casement window rapped. On the other side —
	in the blackest of nights — a rakish, ruby-eyed chap.
The demon king extends his hand to his lover behind the glass.

I’ve come to whisk you away. Together, we shall lord over my domain.
I promise vitality. I promise eternity. And of course —
	my ever lasting love. If only you take my hand.
And with joyous alacrity, she accepted, and was never seen again.

You can find this poem, and the rest for this contest on WattPad:

Update on July, 19th, 2022: I just found out that this poem won for the prompt “Alacrity” on WattPad’s Versification Contest. Yay!

Mama’s Favorite Flavor is Grape

Mama’s Favorite Flavor is Grape
Mama’s favorite beans when cooking are black beans.
Jade Seneca, the Chinese place a block up, and around the corner,
she orders chicken and broccoli. When someone’s sick, we order 
chicken and rice soup. Sometimes she makes Lipton 
with a packet of Sazon and sofrito, a cube or two.

Breakfast on the go is a cherry danish from the coffee stall in the city.
Hot chocolate all winter long. 
In New York, the winters are long.
If you stop by here when it’s winter, guess what you’re getting?
Quiere chocolaté? We’ve got plenty.

At the Japanese place downtown, by Chambers, I think?
She orders lemon chicken. Never sushi.
She doesn’t like mochi ice cream, so she lets me take it.
She doesn’t drink. Only a pina colada. It has to be virgin.

While we’re shopping on Myrtle, to cool off on a hot summer day,
there’s a piraqua stand on the same block as Payless. 
Her piraqua is either grape or cherry flavored.
When we’re buying candy for the theater or at home, her favorites 
are Mary Janes, Peanut Chews, and Snow Caps. Random days my dad will come back 
from the bodega with Sno Balls to surprise her.

She hates olives. She uses her fork to take them off her plate, and drop them onto my father’s.
At the dollar store, she grabs a pack of jelly rings, chocolate covered cherries,
and when it’s Easter, it’s Peeps, and chocolate covered marshmallow eggs.

Whenever I visit, and I’m homesick, she makes fricassee de pollo for lunch.
At the all you can eat Chinese buffet, my mother likes crab legs.
Ice cream from the Mr. Softie truck, always vanilla.

Grape juice, cranberry juice, apple juice — always juice in the fridge. And iced tea.
My mother bought the frozen kind, concentrate. 
Where she mixed it with water and stirred it in a pitcher.

She doesn’t like spicy. She buys Franciso Rinaldi
pasta sauce. Meat flavored. So she doesn’t get heart burn.
Always Tums in the house. Heart burn is something she always has.

She expects nothing less than Whitman’s chocolate for Valentines Day.
If we’re making a trip to the bodega for munchies, honey BBQ chips it is.
Come church events, she’s bringing potato salad.
Sunflower seeds on the train, we spit our shells in the plastic bag.
She’d always tell me, when your father and I were dating, 
he took me to Outback’s.

Burgers and steaks, always well done.
Applebees for birthdays.
McDonalds: Big Mac, Burger King: Whopper, Wendy’s: 
Either a taco salad, chicken sandwich or baked potato with cheese and broccoli.
I know all her favorites, and all her orders like the back of my hand,
even though I don’t remember what I ate for dinner yesterday.

I’d do anything to cook for her. She doesn’t have to cook for me.
I’d do anything to eat with her again. 
I’d do anything to treat her again. 
To meet her for lunch during my work break.

I’d do anything anything anything
to just share that last piece of cake 
we baked together from the box
always white cake mix
always vanilla frosting or cool whip on the top.
But I can’t, because it’s four years later,
and my mama’s still gone.

And I still use present tense because these things I know about her
still are.
Just like she still is.
In my memory, in my dreams,
even if not physically. 
with me. 
She’s in my heart.

I hear Jade Seneca closed. It was our go to Chinese restaurant ever since I was a kid. The place was probably as old as, if not older, than me. I think the pandemic must’ve hit it hard. Was sad to hear it’s gone now.

The Roads Our Hearts Know

The Roads Our Hearts Know
We know all the avenues, and all the roads.
I can walk to Mrytle, Wyckoff, or Knickerbocker 
with my eyes closed.
And I do. 
More than you can imagine.

The way to the post office, the supermarket, the cuchifrito.
Street fairs, and flea markets.
All across Brooklyn and Queens. 
Times Square, 34th Street, and Broadway.
All the bus lines, all the trains.

My soul aches 

the way people’s broken bones ache
on rainy days. Except for me
it’s every day
when my eyes are open.

We roam Bellevue, Memorial Sloan Kettering,
the dollar stores, and the parks.
All the places I don’t visit anymore
in New York. We’re like ghosts 
replaying records new and old. Except one of us
is alive, 
and alone.

All the time,
I hang out with my mother.

Nowhere fancy. Nowhere grand.
Just a mother and her daughter buying groceries together
every night
since she passed.
I dream, and I long
for the roads our hearts know.
And for the life mama, and I
no longer have.

Prompt: Ferocity

Prompt: Ferocity
Heed caution. Full moons promise bad omens
Do not be fooled by beasts who were once men
Unbridled ferocity
Hungry, wild, monstrosities
Make meals of infatuated women

You can find this poem, and the rest for this contest on WattPad:

Prompt: Infallible

Prompt: Infallible
The monarch, self proclaimed infallible 
Discovered dragon scales were valuable
Sent his men to kill the pests
Promised them untold riches
Now dead men hang from dragons’ mandibles

You can find this poem, and the rest for this contest on WattPad: