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Polished Regret, After Catullus

Polished Regret, After Catullus

i hate this little book i made
scraped clean, polished thin,
as if shine could hide the hollow.

i hate the hours i fed it,
the quiet lies i told myself
that it was worth the breath.

now it sits in my hands,
small, stubborn, unwanted
a thing that asks to be seen.

o want to throw it away,
yet I don’t. i won’t.
something in me still clings

not love, not pride,
just the sick, stubborn hope
it might outlast my regret.

Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 5 Prompt

Today, your challenge is to take a page from Catullus and Darwin, and write a poem in which you talk about disliking something – particularly something utterly innocuous, like clover. Be over the top! Be a bit silly and overdramatic.

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-five-13/

Poem reference from Catullus

The Dedication: to Cornelius by Cattulus

To whom do I send this fresh little book
of wit, just polished off with dry pumice?
To you, Cornelius: since you were accustomed
to consider my trifles worth something
even then, when you alone of Italians
dared to explain all the ages, in three learned
works, by Jupiter, and with the greatest labour.
Then take this little book for your own: whatever
it is, and is worth: virgin Muse, patroness,
let it last, for more lives than one.

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Dirge for the Seventeen-Year-Old

Dirge for the Seventeen-Year-Old

we mourn you,
seventeen years pressed into silence,
your life torn before it could bloom.

how cruel the world that asked you to be small,
to trust the wrong hands, to believe in lies
that shattered your fragile spring.

you were pinned,
a shadow beneath the weight of a man
twice your size, but not twice your innocence.
he stole what no one should ever take.

we weep for the moments you could not fight,
for the choices no child should bear.
we mourn the years that should have been yours—
laughter unbroken, mornings unafraid.

“i used to be seventeen,”
we whisper to the empty air,
to the memory that lingers,
to the girl who deserved safety,
to the soul we could not save.

forgive us for what we cannot undo,
for the world that let you fall.
we carry your sorrow
like stones upon our hearts,
and we remember,
always, the seventeen-year-old lost
to a violence no one should endure.

Dirge – This is a poem of any form that is a lament for the dead. Focus on victims of violence.

Val’s 2026 Scavenger Hunt Challenge

Looking to Scavenge the Month
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Summer Sun

Summer Sun

feel the heat, the sun’s bright glow,
summer’s here, and spirits flow.

beach waves crash, your heart’s delight,
golden sand beneath your sight.

though skin may burn, a fiery kiss,
the warmth of sun brings endless bliss.

fun and laughter, day begun,
summer’s magic, bright and fun.

Finally, here’s today’s prompt. In his poem, “Spring Thunder,” Mark van Doren brings us a short, haunting evocation of weather and the change in seasons. Today, we’d like to challenge you to craft your own short poem that involves a weather phenomenon and some aspect of the season. Try using rhyme and keeping your lines of roughly even length.

Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 4 Prompt

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-four-14/
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Write To Inspire, An Acrostic

Write To Inspire, An Acrostic

When challenges rise, write with courage and heart
Reach out to others, encouraging them to start
Instill love for all, let kindness guide your way
Tell the truth boldly, let your words have sway
Every voice counts, no matter how small

Teach generosity, let compassion be your call
Open hearts with love, let hatred fall

In every line, let your message shine
Never skip a rhyme that motivates and aligns
Spread peace and unity, let it be your goal
Promote understanding, uplift every soul
Inspire action, creativity, and hope
Respect all differences, help others cope
Every word matters, let it light the way

Acrostic – This form requires that the first letter of each line forms a message. It was used for messages in code between lovers, spies, and mischief-makers. Write a message to other poets.

Val’s 2026 Scavenger Hunt Challenge

Looking to Scavenge the Month
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Inchoate Bloom

Inchoate Bloom

flowers will continue to bloom,
their petals whispering in the gloom.
even when humanity weeps,
and the world trembles under sorrow,
life stirs in its inchoate form;
a nascent pulse, fragile yet fierce,
unseen but undeniable.

nature endures,
woven into the bones of the earth,
just as it has for billions of years,
always beginning, always becoming,
a quiet magic that outlives despair.

For Violet’s Literary quote challenge

“Nature was continuing its march, indifferent to human suffering.”― Tracy Chevalier, The Glassmaker

The Olive Trees

For Reena’s Exploration Challenge

INCHOATE

It captures the state of something just beginning, yet not fully formed. Frequently encountered in philosophical, legal and literary discourse, the term conveys a sense of potential, incompleteness and emergence.

Reena’s Xploration Challenge #424
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Votes Are In

Votes Are In

votes are in,
the people have spoken.
i now waive the flag
of humility,
not a banner of ambition or greed,
not a standard for personal gain nor wealth,
but of service,
fluttering proudly in the wind.

i am a politician, yes,
but not as the world expects.

no whispered deals under the table,
no lust for power,
no tally of wealth in hidden coffers.

i serve with my heart,
stumbling sometimes, yes,
laughing even,
for governance need not be grim.

imagine a leader
who naps mid-council meeting
or sketches doodles of children on budget reports,
who greets taxes with a sigh and a joke,
yet somehow, just somehow;
brings honesty into the halls of power.

today i claim that path,
not for glory, not for praise,
but to show that even here,
in the weighty world of politics,
there is room for joy, for hope,
for the improbable:

a humble politician
who serves,
truly,
with a heart wide open.

Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be. Perhaps your poem will feature a very relaxed brain surgeon, or a farmer that hates vegetables. Or maybe you have a poetical alter-ego of your own, who flies a non-wan, treasure-hunting flag with pride.

Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 3 Prompt

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-three-12/
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Death, A Jisie

Death, A Jisie

1. Red Rose

when i go sooner,
plant red roses on my grave
let them drink the rain.
in their quiet, blooming red,
know that i have made my peace.

2. Mourned

i mourned you long ago
before your final breath
your cruel words and deeds
buried you inside my heart,
alive, a shadow i shun.

Jisei – A traditional Japanese Buddhist death poem which discusses death and the meaning of life in the last moments before death. This form uses the syllabic form of the Tanka (5/7/5/7/7) and is generally serious though it can be humorous. We have all mused on our own demise – try to do it in this form.

Val’s 2026 Scavenger Hunt Challenge

Looking to Scavenge the Month
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Memories of Your Hands

Memories of Your Hands

i cried
and the crying came in waves,
as if my body knew before my mind
that something had been broken
beyond repair.

the world did not pause.
the dog kept barking.
the afternoon stayed ordinary.

and somewhere between denial and dread,
i waited for a call
that would never come.

you were out there—
as you always were—
running toward danger
while the rest of us
learned to live around it.

i told myself,
“tomorrow, i’ll check on him.”

but tomorrow arrived
with a voice i did not recognize—
mother’s grief
spilling through the phone,
turning hope into truth.

you died the way you lived:
facing the dark
so others wouldn’t have to.

they honored you with rifles and flags,
with stories that stretched far beyond
the walls of our home—
proof that your courage
had a reach i never fully saw.

but i remember something smaller.
a kitchen.
pancakes.
a childish fight.

the sting of your hand—
and then,
your tears.

“i’m so sorry,” you said,
holding me like the world might end
if you didn’t make it right.

and maybe that was the first time i knew—
not in words,
but in the quiet shaping of my heart—
that strength could be gentle,
that protectors could weep,
that love meant taking responsibility
for the harm you never meant to cause.

you grew into a man
who carried that truth into the world.

and i—
left here in the echo of your absence—
am still learning from it.

still trying
to be someone
who holds,
who protects,
who says “i’m sorry”
and means it.

you are gone.
but you did not leave me empty.

you left me
a way to be.

Na/GloPoWriMo 2026 Day 2 Prompt

Today, we’d like to challenge you to write your own poem in which you recount a childhood memory. Try to incorporate a sense of how that experience indicated to you, even then, something about the person you’d grow up to be.

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-two-13/
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Broken World, A Bop Poem

Broken World, A Bop Poem

as if it were not enough
that children go to sleep unfed,
their ribs counting the nights,
their bodies frail with hunger,
their futures thinning like air—
still, we choose destruction.

who will choose to heal this broken world?

we build empires on their silence,
trade lives for power and pride,
send fire across borders and homes,
where laughter lived in small rooms.
innocence buried beneath rubble,
dreams cut short before they begin,
a generation taught fear instead of hope

who will choose to heal this broken world?

we could feed instead of fight,
lift instead of destroy,
teach hands to build, not break,
guard the fragile light of childhood—
but will we act before it’s gone,
or watch as hope fades again?

who will choose to heal this broken world?

The Bop – A form of 3 stanzas with a refrain following each stanza. the 1st stanza of 6 lines presents a problem, the 2nd stanza of 8 lines explores the problem, and the 3rd stanza of 6 lines documents the solution or failed attempt to solve the problem. The refrain is a single line repeated after each stanza. This time look at your world and try to fix what you see wrong!

Val’s 2026 Scavenger Hunt Challenge

Looking to Scavenge the Month
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My Core

My Core

what you see is what you get, they say;
but i am no glass display, no polished window.
i whisper: look again.

you’ll have to wade past the glitter,
past the sequins stitched by strangers,
past the neon glow of curated feeds
and the masks that smile on command.

beneath the shimmer,
there is a quieter fire—
not meant to dazzle,
but to endure.

i am not on board
with the passing tides of trend,
not a name pinned to a moving board
of borrowed voices and borrowed light.

i do not drift where the crowd surges;
i root where the ground is real.

and at my center—
not hashtags, not applause—
but a pulse that beats steady, insistent:
for women,
for voices long softened,
for stories that refuse to be small.

this is my core,
my unfiltered truth—
not what is seen at a glance,
but what remains
when the lights go out.

For David’s Weekly Prompt

Marion’s prompt: Beneath the surface
With spring flowers pushing up along the verges, it’s easy to forget how long they lay buried in darkness as bulbs. That contrast draws my attention to what remains unseen—what lies beneath, whether in the soil or within ourselves.

For this prompt, I invite you to explore the theme: 

Beneath the Surface.

Write in any form, but keep your poem to 20 lines or fewer.

W3 Prompt #205: Wea’ve Written Weekly

For Esther’s Prompt

Your prompt word this week is

BOARD

Writing Prompts
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