Prompt Nights – Summer sets upon earth’s bosom bare – [19]

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“I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.” – Violette Leduc

“The luxury of all summer’s sweet sensation is to be found when one lies at length in the warm, fragrant grass, soaked with sunshine, aware of regions of blossoming clover and of a high heaven filled with the hum of innumerous bees.” – Harriet E. Prescott

“I drifted into a summer-nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicadae lullaby, to drowsy-warm dreams of distant thunder.” – Terri Guillemets

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.” – John Keats

“What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade.” – Gertrude Jekyll

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” – John Steinbeck

It’s often said that a life without love is like a year without Summer. Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting week at Prompt Nights. It’s that time of the year when we put our worries on hold and just sit back and relax, preferably while sipping coconut water on the beach. What more could we want other than the sun, the sand and sea. Tonight, I want each and every one of you to write a poem or prose piece revolving around Summer. Delve deep and pen down your deepest feelings regarding this season. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the three amazing poems below:

To Summer

by William Blake

O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy goldent tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.

Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.

Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

A Summer Day

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

I

The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.

II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer’s cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.

III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O’er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
‘Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.

Shall I Compare Thee

by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤️

On Popular Demand – Rest is the sweet sauce of labor – [6]

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“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.” – Sir John Lubbock

“Every now and then go away, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer. Go some distance away because then the work appears smaller and more of it can be taken in at a glance and a lack of harmony and proportion is more readily seen.” – Leonardo Da Vinci

“Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save.” – Will Rogers

“To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring — it was peace.”  – Milan Kundera

“There is precious little hope to be got out of whatever keeps us industrious, but there is a chance for us whenever we cease work and become stargazers.”  – H.M. Tomlinson

“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.” – Etty Hillesum

Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting round of our monthly segment “On Popular Demand.” Due to receiving the highest number of votes our topic for this week is “Rest.” How do you plan on resting after a day of hard work? Do you prefer going on long vacations to dream destinations or do you prefer sitting idle and soaking the sun in your backyard? Tonight, I want each and every one of you to pen down your views on rest and relaxation. Feel free to take the topic in whichever direction you desire. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the two wonderful poems below:

Come, rest awhile

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away.

Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street,
And listen to the music, faint and sweet,

That echoes ever to a listening ear,
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear

The wayward chimes of memory’s pensive bells,
Wind-blown o’er misty hills and curtained dells.

One step aside and dewy buds enclose
The sweetness of the violet and the rose;

Song and romance still linger in the green,
Em-blossomed ways by you so seldom seen,

And near at hand, would you but see them, lie
All lovely things beloved in days gone by.

You have forgotten what it is to smile
In your too busy life­come, rest awhile.

A Poet’s Life

by John Chizoba Vincent

Do not stand at my grave and weep
If you can’t offer me goodness now
That I am blossoming with life ventures.
The better angel of our black nature
Might not know a poet but a poet lives
With his life surrounded with obstacles
Which seems lost and unstable to behold.

A Poet sleep not but always awake
Creating and cancelling lines to suit.
He is here or there thinking on the
Next poem to write which will educate.
He is a thousand winds that transform men,
Though not present, but his words work
Wonders to the eyes that behold them in open.
Life of a poet is full of imagery and metaphor.

A poet’s life is the diamond that preserve dreams,
He foresees what will happen tomorrow but
Sometimes his prophesy push him to demons.
The sunlight that reflect the world lies in the blissful
Life of a poet who plays the tune that sweet the earth.
He is the rain that showers happily but
The people abuse him righteously in a glance.
A poet’s life is a life thinking and meditation.

In life, pens are the legs, and book, a friend.
Relaxation could be at flash that torture atoms.
Marriage, a bed of hell buttered with fierce
Hatred of a sweet bitterlove ’cause no time to love.
Children, at the mercy of their own because
Their father as a poet must attend to his calls.

A poet’s life is impeccable,
Leisure admonished with wired eyes soaring for
A simile that could unstable the winds that call.
A poet’s life has no definition of itself base on
The perception of the people or the critics there.
His life is the star that shines in the night to
Embarrass the faceless moon and invite the darkness.

The life of poets are the future hidden in the sun.
Though confronted with many challenges of life
But it face back on track of redemption at dawn,
Never giving in to the white motion of fear.

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤️

Prompt Nights – Let us walk together in the Moonlight – [18]

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“The moving moon went up the sky, and nowhere did abide. Softly she was going up, and a star or two beside.” -Samuel Taylor Coleridge

“The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky are all asleep tonight.” -William C. Bryant

“The moon will guide you through the night with her brightness, but she will always dwell in the darkness, in order to be seen.” -Shannon L. Alder

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” – Oscar Wilde

“She used to tell me that a full moon was when mysterious things happen and wishes come true.” – Shannon A. Thompson

“The faults of a superior person are like the sun and moon. They have their faults, and everyone sees them; they change and everyone looks up to them.” – Confucius

Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting week at Prompt Nights. Perhaps no celestial object has inspired more myth and legend other than the moon. Pale and mysterious it serves as inspiration to millions of people around the world. It is also said that the full moon tends to affect our mood and behaviour. Tonight I want you guys to write a poem or prose piece regarding the moon. Feel free to take the subject in whichever direction that you desire. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the three amazing poems below:

To The Moon

by Count Giacomo Leopardi

O lovely moon, how well do I recall
The time,–’tis just a year–when up this hill
I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:
And thou suspended wast o’er yonder grove,
As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.
But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared
Thy countenance to me, because my eyes
Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;
For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,
And _is_ so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!
And yet this recollection pleases me,
This computation of my sorrow’s age.
How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,
When hope a long career before it hath,
And memories are few, upon the past
To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!

The Moon Song

by Robert William Service

A child saw in the morning skies
The dissipated-looking moon,
And opened wide her big blue eyes,
And cried: “Look, look, my lost balloon!”
And clapped her rosy hands with glee:
“Quick, mother! Bring it back to me.”

A poet in a lilied pond
Espied the moon’s reflected charms,
And ravished by that beauty blonde,
Leapt out to clasp her in his arms.
And as he’d never learnt to swim,
Poor fool! that was the end of him.

A rustic glimpsed amid the trees
The bluff moon caught as in a snare.
“They say it do be made of cheese,”
Said Giles, “and that a chap bides there. . . .
That Blue Boar ale be strong, I vow —
The lad’s a-winkin’ at me now.”

Two lovers watched the new moon hold
The old moon in her bright embrace.
Said she: “There’s mother, pale and old,
And drawing near her resting place.”
Said he: “Be mine, and with me wed,”
Moon-high she stared . . . she shook her head.

A soldier saw with dying eyes
The bleared moon like a ball of blood,
And thought of how in other skies,
So pearly bright on leaf and bud
Like peace its soft white beams had lain;
Like Peace! . . . He closed his eyes again.

Child, lover, poet, soldier, clown,
Ah yes, old Moon, what things you’ve seen!
I marvel now, as you look down,
How can your face be so serene?
And tranquil still you’ll make your round,
Old Moon, when we are underground.

The Harvest Moon

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes
And roofs of villages, on woodland crests
And their aerial neighborhoods of nests
Deserted, on the curtained window-panes
Of rooms where children sleep, on country lanes
And harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!
Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,
With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves;
The song-birds leave us at the summer’s close,
Only the empty nests are left behind,
And pipings of the quail among the sheaves.

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤️

Prompt Nights – Take time out and stop to smell the Roses – [17]

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“The perfume of roses are like exquisite chords of music composed of many odor notes harmoniously blended.”
– N F Miller

“Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose from out night’s gray and cloudy sheath; softly and still it grows and grows,
petal by petal, leaf by leaf.” – Susan Coolidge

“A profusion of pink roses bending ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.” – William Carlos Williams

“And the rose like a nymph to the bath addrest, which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast. Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air, the soul of her beauty and love lay bare.” – Percy Bysshe Shelley

“The red rose whispers of passion and the white rose breathes of love. Oh, the red rose is a falcon and the white rose is a dove.” – John Boyle O’Reilly

“There is nothing more difficult for a truly creative painter than to paint a rose, because before he can do so he has first to forget all the roses that were ever painted.” – Henri Matisse

Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting week at Prompt Nights. June is national rose month. For centuries this beautiful flower has served as inspiration to several famous writers. Roses vary in color and symbol ranging from gorgeous red, pink and orange to magnanimous yellow, black and white. Tonight, I want each and every one of you to write a poem or prose piece revolving around the subject of roses. Delve deep into the countless interpretations that the flower has to offer. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the two wonderful poems below:

The Secret Rose

by William Butler Yeats

FAR-OFF, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred moms had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods:
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?

Coleur De Rose

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I want more lives in which to love
This world so full of beauty,
I want more days to use the ways
I know of doing duty;
I ask no greater joy than this
(So much I am life’s lover,)
When I reach age to turn the page
And read the story over,
(Oh love stay near!)

Oh rapturous promise of the Spring!
Oh June fulfilling after!
If Autumns sigh, when Summers die,
‘Tis drowned in Winter’s laughter.
Oh maiden dawns, oh wifely noons,
Oh siren sweet, sweet nights,
I’d want no heaven could earth be given
Again with its delights,
(If love stayed near!)

There are such glories for the eye,
Such pleasures for the ear,
The senses reel with all they feel
And see and taste and hear;
There are such ways of doing good,
Such ways of being kind,
And bread that’s cast on waters fast
Comes home again, I find.
(Oh love stay near.)

There are such royal souls to know,
There is so much to learn,
While secrets rest in Nature’s breast
And unnamed stars still burn.
God toiled six days to make this earth,
I think the good folks say—
Six lives we need to give full meed
Of praise—one for each day,
(If love stay near.)

But oh! if love fled far away,
Or veiled his face from me,
One life too much, why then were such
A life as this would be.
With sullen May and blighted June
Blurred dawn and haggard night,
This dear old world in space were hurled
If love lent not his light.
(Oh love stay near.)

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤️

Prompt Nights – Rain showers my spirit and waters my Soul – [16]

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“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.”
– Langston Hughes

“Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.” – John Updike

“And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow.”
– G. K. Chesterton

“The rain is famous for falling on the just and unjust alike, but if I had the management of such affairs I would rain softly and sweetly on the just, but if I caught a sample of the unjust out doors I would drown him.” – Mark Twain

“Remember that every drop of rain that falls bears into the bosom of the earth a quality of beautiful fertility.”
-George Henry Lewes

“Tears of joy are like the summer rain drops pierced by sunbeams.” – Hosea Ballou

“I think rain is as necessary to the mind as to vegetation. My very thoughts become thirsty, and crave the moisture.”
-John Burroughs

Listen to the rhythm of rain as it soothes the mind and soul. Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting week at Prompt Nights. It gives me great pleasure to announce that once again we are collaborating with the Music prompt over at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. Rain. There is something about the phenomenon that affects us in ways either good or bad. Tonight I want each and every one of you to pen down your deepest feelings regarding the subject of rain. Explore the various interpretations that rain has to offer. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the two wonderful poems below:

The Summer Rain

by  Henry David Thoreau

My books I’d fain cast off, I cannot read,
‘Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.

Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too,
Our Shakespeare’s life were rich to live again,
What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true,
Nor Shakespeare’s books, unless his books were men.

Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock’s crown?

Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn,
If red or black the gods will favor most,
Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn,
Struggling to heave some rock against the host.

Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour,
For now I’ve business with this drop of dew,
And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower–
I’ll meet him shortly when the sky is blue.

This bed of herd’s grass and wild oats was spread
Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use.
A clover tuft is pillow for my head,
And violets quite overtop my shoes.

And now the cordial clouds have shut all in,
And gently swells the wind to say all’s well;
The scattered drops are falling fast and thin,
Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell.

I am well drenched upon my bed of oats;
But see that globe come rolling down its stem,
Now like a lonely planet there it floats,
And now it sinks into my garment’s hem.

Drip drip the trees for all the country round,
And richness rare distills from every bough;
The wind alone it is makes every sound,
Shaking down crystals on the leaves below.

For shame the sun will never show himself,
Who could not with his beams e’er melt me so;
My dripping locks–they would become an elf,
Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.

Song for Rainy Season

by Elizabeth Bishop

Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.

In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.

At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times–always five–
he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.

House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
bookworms,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew’s
ignorant map;

darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water

the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤