Weekend Writing Prompt #279- Superimpose

Posted on  by sammicoxwriter

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.

Word Prompt



wk 279 superimpose

Lucy’s Big Feet

To superimpose that she had real big feet
Lucy used towels and a comfortable sheet
They were not that ugly, they were clean but she knew
That if people saw something she’d see something too
She didn’t want help nor some clean soft woolen socks
She only wanted to be known for her long golden locks

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Quadrille #160: Poems that Pack a Punch

Join in at d’Verse Poet’s Pub: https://dversepoets.com/2022/09/19/quadrille-160-poems-that-pack-a-punch/

…make sure your piece contains some form of the word punch and comes in at exactly 44 words total. 


Jackie is such a fruitcake
She has lived her life alone
She never visits family
She doesn’t even own a phone
She drinks her punch real icy
And sips her tea real hot
She always has some old cookies
But, personality she has not.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

The Truth: Compilation 09/18/2022

Narcotic skies depict the culture of the world
Where a fondness for hatred encapsulate thought
An obtuse idea indicative of our leaders
Who think of nothing more than sinking lower than ought

I don’t want to be saved in a place like a cupboard
Closed and dark opened only once for a simple cup
The design of our world should be clean and open
Allowing us to live in peace, while the evil shut up

We are all different or that’s what they all say
like the tiles lining the wall of a bathroom stall
Scrubbed clean only when someone wants to do it
showing the shine that is hiding under it all.

Someday there will be life without hate or sadness
Brought on by others who have no care for the lame
Grief is free, given when we have loved ones who depart
In the end, don’t we know we all are the same

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

The Mayor’s Daughter: Compilation 09/16/2022

The mayor thought her precious with a deadpan-looking face
Flowers lined her golden hair, each blossom in its place
The ring upon her small white hand glowed in the murky light
The evergreen outside the door stood ready for a fight
The knock came unexpectedly like winners in a race
An election of her boyish love etched on her pretty face
Coming in from the cold outside he smiled and bowed his head
For all he really wanted was some food and a warm bed
She knew this was her love for good, love for eternal life
Little did he know right then she vowed to be his wife
Waking in the morning feeling fresh and rested well
The lad stood tall and stretched himself, his body feeling swell
He laid his eyes upon the girl and fell most instantly
and that is how the happy couple really came to be.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

A Meaningless Tale: Compilation 09/11/2022

During the homecoming they were happy to see
That the bush and the shrub weren’t hurt by the bee
There was no regret since no time went to waste
finding the ytterbite was for what they all raced
They wasted no time in this journey of life
like presented with teeth of a tenacious steak knife
For they didn’t know they were next on the list
A symptomatic response like a crack in the schist
they went rocking along, such an agile climb
They picked from a shrub near a dirty clothesline
You could read the response on the older one’s face
That satire here was the ribbons and lace
Tied to the tree to keep all pests away
wanting nothing to bother them during their stay

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

The Human Flaw: Compilation 09/10/2022

The birds and bees will often blunder when they think of who will win
Foisting their ideas on others like the ants fall sadly thin
The difference between these three bugs is multiformed yet luminous
For they are species not alike and form relations not like us
In their hovel they work together for the good of all the group
Humans work for just themselves in one big, selfish endless loop.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Get up and Go!: Compilation 09/09/2022

Getting up this morning I decided it was time
to get those joggers out, it isn’t any crime
It really is the time to suit up then just go,
There is no way to win if I’m lacking to show
the best side of myself on a bleary, wet day
the sun only a garnishment missing its way
through the darkened clouds, floating passive and slow
Letting the sun shine through will not be a go
Donning my outfit I lace up my track shoes
forgetting vitamin g is the worst of my blues.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Judgement Day: Compilation 09/08/2022

Men grabbed him by the tee shirt, his jacket on the ground
entrenched in muddy waters there came a soothing sound
The volume was pervading, not variable at all
They took him on a frogmarch, just like walking to death row
The sobbing was tangential like a whisper on the wind
These were the consequences of a man who might have sinned.
A woman in a blue blouse was standing by the crowd
With tears of pain she jumped out and tried to scream out loud
She knew he didn’t need to be punished on this day
And cried and moaned the whole time they took her son away.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry

Poor Old Man: Compilation 09/07/2022

Beaming in his bolero the peasant wasn’t quick
He knew he shouldn’t dawdle, but man, the air was thick
Being a true pluviophile he really wished for rain
He couldn’t get the portrayal out, like phosphenes on his brain
Liking what he was thinking, a morsel of a plan
He slunk right past the bouncer like a filament in the sand
The pocket of his trousers was full of coins and junk
And also there was woolly fuzz, uncanny ’cause it stunk
But as he thought about it the more he decided no
and feeling strikhedonia was happier to go
His plan to take his money and use it on some drink
Was foiled by his odor and how bad he did stink
He’d never get inside the bar without being thrown out
Serving stinky poor men was not what they’re about
And so he went his way back to find an open space
to rest his hot and weary head and find his happy place.

©2022 CBialczak Poetry