Prompt: Courage

Prompt: Courage

A mountain village. Stripped down to the bone.
A burning tonnage. Deaths of famine sown.

Winter’s bitter bite. Bears teeth as tombstones.
A young witch’s intoned prayers. Spells unhoned.

Such ill placed resentment, does sorrow smite.
A witch slayer fetched. Her head for a price.

Her eyes clear. Like the marbled midnight skies.
Bereft of courage, was the hunter’s knife.

Art by ArtofReza

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

Prompt: Euphoria

Prompt: Euphoria
The seas’ susurrous seductions summon
ashmen, where the seas and skies are seamless.
With silver pendants, they sail Galleons
seeking conquest beyond the shallow shores.
Days of starvation. A pretty maiden.
An oasis, to heedless seafarers.
She charms the masts towards sharp crags. Death is —
like icy spikes, then euphoric slumber.

Art belongs to Tsabo6 at DeviantArt.

Prompt: Ancient

Prompt: Ancient
My lover is three centuries ancient.
A dragon with a penchant for savants.
Smooth carborundum scales calefacient.
Shallow beauty or station — he cares not.

Brick chested in mortal transformation.
A tail of smooth ebony hair, tied taught.
A true gentleman — devout, and patient.
My dragon is a handsome juggernaut.

Dragon art by Kekai Kitaki @

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 “Ancient” on WattPad’s Versification Contest. Yay! I like this one a lot too so I’m going to pin it on my blog for a while.

Prompt: Eloquence

Prompt: Eloquence

Between sanity and grief, a fine line.

We had burned the warlock’s lover alive.

His incantations ruled the elements —

with words so ancient, smooth, and venomous —

he summoned winds with fiery eloquence.

Destruction is our fated punishment.

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

Prompt: Carcass

Prompt: Carcass
A witch's carcass, crimson orchids seethe.
A rotten hamlet, hidden majicks bleed.
To hearken natives is your bounden need.
A piton's target, the reckless receive.

I’m playing with iambic pentameter. Not sure if I did it right. I haven’t written a new poem in a long time, and was actually starting to wonder if I can still call myself a poet. When I discovered this contest, I thought it’d be a good way to get back into it. Cross your fingers for me.

An entry to WattPad’s poetry contest titled “Verification.” The only rules are to write based on their daily prompts, and poems can only be 4-8 lines long.

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

Covid-19 in NY

Covid-19 in NY

Photo from “13 photos of New York City looking deserted as the city tries to limit the spread of the coronavirus

Trigger Warning: This poem is about how Covid-19 is affecting our current way of life. There are some graphic images described in this piece. Please proceed with caution if you choose to read this poem. Be safe and healthy everyone.

Covid-19 in NY

New York was the city that never slept —

until February 2020.

Two hundred thousand ill, three thousand dead.

Only the children are safe from drowning.


No showtime on Broadway, nor on the trains.

Rockefeller! Fifth Avenue! Times Square!

All shuttered. Abandoned. Still — like a wake.

The planes are grounded. Poison in the air.


More unemployed since the Great Recession.

The future unclear. The future unsure.

How long until they start welding our doors?

Disinfect and bleach the trains! Bleach the floors!


In China, the infected dragged away,

captured with the same nets they use for strays.

All day long, we sing Happy Birthday.

Italy keeps their residents at bay


with flamethrowers while they sing from the windows.

All we see are eyes. Windows to the soul.


Shelves are empty, and the price gougers fat.

Our mothers are sewing surgical masks.


There aren’t enough vents, nor are there beds.

Our grandparents, dying alone in their beds.

CPR denied to cardiac arrests.


Central Park, Jacob Javits, Navy ships —

temporary hospitals for the sick.

Bodies are being cradled by fork lifts

instead of loving hands, loving arms.


We’ve gone through March.

We’re going through April.

Social distancing has banned funerals.


We pray the summer burns away the plague.

The number of cases swell with the days.


– Rachel R. Vasquez, March/April 2020

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.


Never have I wished to be farther from New York than now. I’ve lived here all of my life. 9/11 happened when I was in high school. This? I’ve never experienced anything like it in my lifetime. Some days I’m not sure how to cope, some days I’m inside trying to pretend this is just a really long staycation. The only thing I can do is take it day by day, and write. Hoping everyone stays safe out there.