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 A poem a day keeps the cobwebs off my keyboard. |
| A place for the poetry that I will need to write now that I made a special book for it. |
| spring pollen tickles tiny stickles invade my nose it blows Task Prompt: Write a haiku that breaks the rules of traditional Western haiku—but still feels like a haiku. |
| A whisker twitches as the dust mop swishes and stirs the air under the bed. In the corner they gather by the lost antimacassar holding onto its unraveling threads. “It’s not the Hoover, there’s time to maneuver” the dust bunny leader said. He was collecting the crew with plans for a coup when the mop dragged off part of his head. Then the next big push blew off part of his tush no more a bunny, just a dust ball instead. The mop blazed a trail through the cottontails, those left were filled with dread. They panicked and ran right towards the dust pan, and got swept up at the edge of the bed. But still the dust gathers by the lost antimacassar, where the next dust bunny army is bred. Written for "PromptMaster !"  Prize Prompt: The most nefarious thing dust bunnies are likely to plot. |
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