Tag: Life

When the Seas are Rough

there is that lighthouse that shines
when the storm waves crash,
not the traditional yellow beacon
seen on the eastern shore of Nova Scotia
or the wild west coast
steering me from the rocky outcrops,
rather, it comes in a pair of eyes
brown, soulful, always expressive
a little murky now with age,
but there all the same-
they penetrate my heart,
lift my soul when the days
feel like sandpaper,
silent as a whisper
-it'll be okay- 
and you know
you just know,
that she sees the same in me.

©Heather Carr-Rowe
The Skeptic’s Kaddish, W3 Prompt # 203 is given to us by Dennis Johnstone. 

Write a poem in which the speaker is a lighthouse guiding something away from danger, toward safety, or both. 
Guidelines:
20–25 lines maximum
Choose a form that suits the subject
Build the lighthouse through concrete images, actions, and sensory detail rather than abstract statements
As you write, ask yourself: What does your light reveal, warn against, or guide toward?

By the Lea

Sunrise on my morning commute, Dec. 1, 2025, for the Weekend Sky #150
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon
she ripples pink at sun rise.
Is she but an illusion to make us swoon
and whisper promise from our sleepy eyes?

Breathe deeply to our vision sense
this sea that sets our heart afire.
For she gathered moon without offence
to let the day transpire.

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
before the sea becomes winter grey
beg a wish, and a plea
to let my heart sashay?

©Heather Carr-Rowe
The Skeptic’s Kaddish W3 Prompt # 190 is given to us by Sally. 

Sally asks us to Choose one phrase from William Wordsworth's “The world is too much with us,” and steal it—boldly and poetically. Weave the phrase into our own poem in any way we like; it should be recognizable, but the poem should be ours.

I felt the need to steal two lines (highlighted below):

The World Is Too Much With Us’ by Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

Small Generosities

 Pittsburgh people by Reynold H. Weidenaar.

clapboard houses 
stacked upon a cliff wall
residents clutch hope
believe in the smaller generosities;
a neighbourly natter,
smoke in the chimney,
soup on the stove

©Heather Carr-Rowe
The Skeptic’s Kaddish W3 Prompt # 189 is given to us by Violet Lentz. 

We are asked to choose one of three artworks, Pittsburgh People, Jeunesse Passe Vite Vertu! Horses in Dresden with People Strolling and let it take you wherever it wants. Write whatever it stirs in you — a memory, a question, a scene, a poem. All images are open-use selections from the National Gallery of Art website.

James Crews, weekly pause, Invitation to Write: You might borrow my first line here, or even just the idea of it: “Believe in the smaller generosities…” Name those pockets of warmth for yourself, articulating what you trust in the most when the world around you starts to feel dark and cold.

Ragtag Daily Prompt: clutch

Who is Grace?

Grace does not come to the party all a raucous,
nor does she wear a neon light announcing her arrival.
Grace is subtle in her appearance,
gentle in her motives.
Grace gives space. She comes and goes 
silent as slippers upon the floor,
polite as our mother taught us.
Grace like the aurora borealis, 
fleeting and elegant, catches our eye
for all the right reasons.

©Heather Carr-Rowe
Writer’s Digest: 2025 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 14, the prompt: "Who (blank)," replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

James Crews Weekly Pause, Invitation to Write : explore what grace means to you, and how you define it for yourself, perhaps beginning with the phrase, “Grace does not . . .”

Ragtag Daily Prompt: raucous

Sunsets – Haiku

Annie Spratt – Unsplash.com
another sunset 
waves, beneath rose coloured sky
footsteps washed away

sun sets on summer
reflected sea to sky, fall
waves upon the shore

©Heather Carr-Rowe
 SenHai Saturday #18  

Susi Bock provides an image and asks us to create one senryu and one haiku to accompany this image prompt. Remember that a traditional haiku describes nature or a season, while a senryu focuses on human nature and emotions.

Brave the World

It has been 2022 days
since these four walls
became my desert island
of seclusion or is it senility...

Each day,  I repeat 
like the false echoes of a shell,
"brave the world
surf the waves,  crash if you must"

I write my grievances
and my joys 
on parched paper, and sometimes
slip them onto WordPress,

my message in an opaque bottle
that bobs and bobs
out into the cyberspace,
to be read or not...

I do not expect rescue
to fill the silence
I'm content to build
my sand castle, again and again

shape it anew
with each tidal wave
that laps at the shores
of grief, desolation, and joy

©Heather Carr-Rowe

The Skeptic’s Kaddish W3 Prompt # 169 is given to us by the Poet of the Week Lesley Scoble. She asks us to write a narrative poem in any poetic form of our choice. I chose the Desert Island.

Here are the guidelines:
This week, you are the inhabitant of a realm set apart.

Option 1: The Desert Island 🏝️
You’re alone on a desert island. It may be literal—or metaphorical.
Why are you here? What led you to this dilemma? How do you feel, truly? How are you surviving—physically, emotionally, spiritually? What are your hopes? How might you escape? And crucially: do you even want to?
Let solitude shape the rhythm.

Option 2: The Fantasy Castle 🏰
You inhabit a castle—not just any, but one infused with fantasy.
Who are you? Are you a monarch weighed by secrets, a dragon curled beneath the stone, a gargoyle watching centuries unfold, a princess awaiting—or resisting—destiny… or something else entirely?

Heartbeat

there is silence
between each sharp

 s          t
        a          c    c
   a       t   
o  

upon the rooftop

with each beat
yellow becomes green
a welcomed kiss
from the clouds

language of life
a covenant
between heaven and earth

no dotted line
just a breathless
sigh
upon the nape
of Mother Earth

©Heather Carr-Rowe
W3 # 164 is brought to us by this week's POW,  Sheila Bair.   She  invites us to write about: what remains. It might be something tangible—a physical object recovered from ruin. Or something intangible: the loyalty of a lifelong friend, or a memory that somehow outlasts the forgetting.

Loss may be arbitrary, but what remains often feels distilled—essential.

For this prompt, let’s shape our reflections into a quadrille—a 44-word poem with no required rhyme or meter. This unique form was originally created at the d’Verse Poets Pub, where poets gather weekly to distill thought and feeling into brief, potent verse.

Finding Fortune

Fortune, found by the brook,
lapping waters break,
not our soul
for here we set sail
from the voices that rage,
scuttle like a roach
through morning speakers,
news sets off all sparkers.
Can what really matters
be measured by gold metres?

So, we sit in the quiet,
and equate
the anger of greed
vs love's sweet grade.
Breathe our hearts still,
let the wars stall
surrounding noise arrests,
nature resists,
resets the pace,
offers us peace.

©Heather Carr-Rowe
W3 # 159 is brought to us this week's POW, our esteemed  host, David Bogomolny . He asks us to write a poem using pararhyme throughout—where consonant sounds match but the vowels shift (e.g., fill / fell, stone / stain). Let this half-matching quality reflect a theme of incompleteness, near-misses, or strained connection.

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