My pink notebook

Challenging my creativity with poetry prompts

About a year ago I found Maria Giesbrecht’s poetry prompts on Instagram. I immediately opened a blank notebook and copied the prompts, one after the other, on the top line of each page, giving myself space to explore each one.

I hadn’t written much poetry, but I had always thought the process itself, very free. No wrong way to write, and something about it seems very momentary. Very present moment. It feels like a way to tap into both what’s just on the surface of your mind and heart, and what’s hidden deep underneath.

Here’s what I have noticed about my process of opening my notebook and writing from these prompts.

Writing for a certain length of time.

Sometimes I grab the notebook and flip to a random page and commit to writing on that prompt for a certain length of time. I try to go with whatever comes to mind first and develop my thoughts from that first idea. Regardless of if I ultimately “like” what I end up writing or not, I am still interested in thinking more about why I chose to write what I did.

Writing a poem as metaphorical or literal.

Certain prompts stick out right away as either metaphorical or literal topics. Just by reading the prompt, I know immediately what style makes sense for this, right now. These poems tend to flow out more like a narrative, as I imagine them unfolding like as story.

Writing a poem at different times of day.

I have experimented with when I write and have noticed different levels of inspiration, rigidity and confidence. I may have different levels of energy if I work on a prompt first thing in the morning, or as a break during my work day, or right before bed.

A grave I wouldn’t visit a second time

I don’t even want to think “old” or “dying”, “stagnant” or “Death”-

that is a grave I wouldn’t visit a second time.

Driving by- I hold my breath.

Like past a cemetery. I don’t even want it to get near me.

Really, it’s because the first time I died, it snuck up on me.

Crept in, got comfortable and made a home out of little compromises.

Fights not worth fighting, then glimmers muting and hopes fading.

Comfort with meh and blah and “fine”

became so normal I didn’t realize I started searching for a place to lay- dying.

Resignation started flirting with me.

Parading as faith and hope and the submissions of a good wife.

Until I started digging a grave to lay down the life I thought I would have.

A grave I wouldn’t visit a second time.

Twenty dollar sundress

My twenty dollar sundress

put me on a plane

then drove me six hours over the rugged terrain.

My twenty dollar sundress felt the wetness of the waterfall,

then stood me next to trees 100 years old and 200 feet tall.

I was led to the tall grass by the dress that cost me twenty dollars,

And looked up at dusk, to the sky of my mothers and fathers.

Journaling though change:

Here is a small sample of some of Maria’s prompts. Choose a few and see what happens. Where do these prompts take you? What feelings or ideas come up as you are writing?

Rust on my tongue

I’ll never stop trying

Keep it casual, ok

My blurry little secret

Green pennies

Whisper in the window