Dystopian by Vlad Teodor Petcu

In the thirteenth age of the Ununseptium nuclear storm,
The vestige of humans lies exposed in primal skins.
Sun is obliterated; his reign in tenebrous eclipse is walled.
Stars are in obscure dungeons enthralled,
While under moon’s ray of noise are called
Liar gods and mortals… now quantum’s decay,
In obscure abyss to be chaotic reborn;
As the particles of endless time grievous phantasms begin to form.
Caverns awake, mouth wide open as coffins,
And, as rapacious kings of old, over the shattered surface
Go rampant and increase all undead life consumption.
Clouds gather in bitter wings of fallen muse’s lace
Bringing, at dawn, the revival of Akasha’s tantalizing miasma.
Rotten redemption lurks in the shadows of the quill thief.

Congratulations to this week’s community favorite, Vlad Teodor Petcu . You can find the original piece on his blog, here.

Be sure to check in Monday for the newest prompt.

Photo Credit: ghib10 on deviant art/ Design Credit: Laura A. Lord

A Wordy Vote #3

This week’s prompt got us playing around with another poet’s words.

Have you been reading your fellow poets? Well, now’s your chance!

Check them out and vote on your favorite. Voting will last until midnight tonight and the community favorite will be featured on the site tomorrow at 10 am EST.

Thank you for participating and we’ll see you next Monday for a new prompt!

In the meantime, consider submitting to our magazine, which is open and accepting submissions now. Or to our anthology for the theme of Back to Our Roots!

Don’t forget to sign up for our newsletter. We only send emails once a month, but this is how you can stay up on information regarding submissions and also how you’ll get your FREE copy of our magazine.


Wordle Me This #3

It’s time for a new wordle! This week, I’ve taken words from one of our editor’s books, Depression’s Dance by Hastywords. There is no set amount of words you have to use, and you can use any form of the word listed below (plural, past tense, etc.)


Here are you words:


To check out Hastyword’s book, click here!

Good luck and have fun!

Remember, all entries must be linked back to this post with a pingback or by commenting by Friday at midnight EST. Saturday is the vote and Sunday the winner will be featured. The winner is also entered for a place in the spring edition of our magazine.

Alexandrine – Learning New Forms

You know that saying – less is more? Well, the Alexandrine form is one of those opportunities that really forces you to embrace that concept.

In English, a 12-syllable iambic line adapted from French heroic verse. The last line of each stanza in Thomas Hardy’s “The Convergence of the Twain” and Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “To a Skylark” is an alexandrine.

– The Poetry Foundation


– You get 1 line – 12 syllables. That’s it.

We’re so not worried about the iambic part of it right now. Let’s see what you can do with just twelve syllables!

Let’s have an example:

A wall of white appeared and I was not afraid.

Now that’s a complete lie. I saw the pictures from Buffalo, and if I had been there with that giant wall of snow bearing down on me…I’d have been very, very afraid. Don’t lie. You would’ve, too.

Remember, this isn’t a prompt, but a chance to try something new. You can leave them in the comments below or post them on your blog and link back to us. The point is to have fun!

She was Summer Storms

So I brought you a pretty cool prompt full of lots of words to use! Here’s my take on it. Enjoy!

Remember, you have to link your entry up by tonight at midnight to be in the count for tomorrow’s voting!


She had this way of sipping denial
One hundred proof, straight chasing like whiskey
Her restless mind swayed by expectations
And she only sleeps when it’s raining

Her voice held the shiver of jittering emotions
Never able to hide her mask of Cain
I thought, this girl could sing her own obituary
If I could hold back the rain, would you numb the pain?

She held the curtain closed like a consolation prize
Left me dangling with the burden of proof
I heard the music from the basement of her soul
And rain falls angry on the tin roof

Her lips were swollen with promises of melodies
And I was tumbling like bubbling champagne
I watched the storm clouds brew in her eyes
And I wonder, still I wonder who’ll stop the rain